The Clerk
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 19: Reduced to Simply Obeying
Sheriff Collins was leaning against the corner of the room. Susan sat at the table, unrestrained. Next to her was Jeffrey, and on the other side, a woman in a pantsuit and stacked heels. I hadn’t noticed the badge on her belt—or the gun—until the deputy pushed me down into the seat, cuffed my wrists to the table, and then shackled my ankles to the floor. He muttered something and walked out, closing the door behind him.
Jeffrey just watched him leave.
“Are you okay, Anne?” he asked.
I nodded.
“How are they treating you?”
“Fine,” I replied.
“He seemed rougher than usual,” Jeffrey said finally, glancing back at the sheriff.
“I think Sophie educated him,” I told him. “So, he’s in a bad mood.”
Jeffrey nodded.
“Sophie will be the least of his problems if I get involved,” he said.
“I’ll speak with him,” Sheriff Collins interjected. “If he doesn’t change, he’ll find himself protecting Mrs. Langley’s rose garden—full-time.”
I chuckled aloud—I couldn’t help myself.
The agent then introduced herself.
“I’m Agent Myers,” she said, holding out her hand for a moment before quickly withdrawing it.
We then went over the case—what happened that night, the run-in with Megan and her friend, the arrest, and the charges.
Jeffrey explained the information Susan and I had and why it might be relevant to the FBI. He made it clear that, without some official assurances or agreements through proper channels, there wouldn’t be any formal cooperation.
Basically, he was saying that unless there was a formal arrangement in place, we wouldn’t provide any official statements—at most, all we could share was our account, with no witnesses or corroboration.
The agent paused, her expression unreadable.
“And you’re saying this involves the prison ... the one about an hour from here?” she asked finally, her voice calm.
Jeffrey nodded.
Agent Myers leaned slightly forward.
“Mr. Sims, I understand your client is represented. I can hear the overview of what she has voluntarily brought forward, but we’ll go through you. Nothing shared today will be treated as an official statement without your approval.”
Jeffrey nodded, glancing briefly at Susan and me before turning back to the agent.
“Anne, Susan, if you’re comfortable, I’d like you to tell Agent Myers exactly the same thing you told me. Don’t offer any more details beyond that—please.”
I swallowed, feeling the weight of the cuffs on my wrists, and nodded.
“Okay,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension.
I looked at Susan and nodded. Together, we gave Agent Myers the same high-level summary we’d already shared.
Jeffrey raised his hand subtly, and I paused. He turned to Agent Myers.
“They’ll provide additional context as necessary, but I’ll manage how it’s relayed. Nothing beyond this overview should be considered an official statement.”
Agent Myers nodded, pen hovering over her tablet.
“Understood,” she said, her voice calm and professional.
She explained that she’d need to consult her supervisors and check a few things. It would take several days, but she promised to get back to Jeffrey.
He mentioned that I had a bail review scheduled with the judge next week and would like to hear back before then. She didn’t make any promises—only acknowledged that she understood.
With that, she excused herself, explaining that the other agent she’d been with earlier in the day was dropping something off but would be swinging by to take her to the airport.
As she walked out, the deputy walked in and saw Susan hugging me. He immediately stepped forward.
“Wait outside,” Sheriff Collins said.
“She’s touching the inmate,” the deputy replied, matter-of-factly.
“Hermie,” the sheriff said, firmer this time. The deputy hesitated, then stepped back and left.
“I’d like to speak to you,” Jeffrey said quietly. “Privately.”
The sheriff nodded and gestured toward the door.
“I’ll give you two some time,” he told Susan and me, then closed the door behind us.
Susan and I talked. She told me what had been happening and reassured me that everything was okay. The bookstore was fine, and Andrew had been taking care of her.
She said Sophie checked on her daily, and they’d have dinner together at least twice a week. She seemed okay.
When the restraints came up, she said she was fine. She mentioned the sleep sack that Sophie had told me about—how snug it was, impossible to move in once it was zipped up and the straps buckled in place. But she said it really helped. She’d been sleeping in it for about two weeks.
“Andrew just puts you in it before bed and takes you out in the morning?” I asked.
She nodded. “Sophie said she saw you in it at his place,” I told her.
“It’s strapped to my bed now,” she said. “That was after he made it and I was testing it out, to make sure it was okay.”
I blinked. “It’s strapped to your bed?”
“It has straps that feed through it and around my bed,” she explained. “I just climb inside, slip my arms into the sleeves on the inside, and get comfortable. Andrew zips it up and buckles everything in place.”
“So, it keeps you in place on the bed?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “He said I might accidentally roll around or off the bed. He was worried I’d hurt myself if that happened.”
I smiled. “Sounds like he’s thought of everything.”
“Sophie was impressed with it,” I told her. “Said she’d have him make her some stuff. Said Becca would want a few things too.”
“She thought the quality was really good,” I added. “I guess she saw you in the muzzle he made for the jacket.”
“It’s a different one,” Susan explained. “It connects to the collar on the sack, just like the one for the jacket, but it’s different. It’s designed to go over a hood.”
“She didn’t mention that you were hooded,” I said.
“I didn’t have it on,” she replied. “You can wear the muzzle without it, but yeah—he made a hood to help with sensory stuff.”
I nodded.
“So, it just goes over your head and then the muzzle?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “It laces in the back, and then the muzzle locks on over it.”
“Have you tried it?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “It’s fine. It’s different—not being able to see or hear—but I like it.”
I looked at her. “You—you can’t see or hear?”
She shook her head. “There are no eye holes and they’re slightly padded, so it keeps your eyes shut, and the ears are even more padded, so it’s hard to hear. The mouth is open, and there are large holes for the nose. But once the muzzle is on, the mouth gets covered. I can still breathe fine, though.”
“It’s okay, Anne,” she said firmly. “Really. He doesn’t leave me alone when I’m in it or the sack.”
“I’m fine. It’s comforting.” She looked at me. “He sleeps on the floor of my bedroom, so I’m not alone while I’m sleeping.”
“And the transport restraints?” I asked her.
“I wear them sometimes, during the day—at the bookstore, when he’s with me,” she replied. “But I can’t be in them all the time. He has to work at his dad’s shop.”
She shrugged. “You took care of things at the bookstore when I was in them.”
She was right.
“So ... everything’s okay, Susan?” I looked at her. “Really?”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling. I could see it on her face—she was being honest. But she was holding something back.
“And you’re okay with Andrew?” I asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
I smiled before asking, “Have you heard from Bobby?”
Susan looked at me and pulled out her phone. A second later, she held it up.
“Asshole,” I muttered.
Susan shrugged—the kind of shrug that tries to play things off, like it doesn’t bother you, even though it clearly does.
“It was never like that,” she said.
She had held up a social media post from Chloe—her and Bobby at the springs, with the caption: Back together again.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
I could see she was upset. I tugged at the cuffs, which, of course, was a waste of time—but I just wanted to hold her. And I couldn’t.
“It’s okay,” she said, looking at the post. “They make a cute couple.”
“They’re perfect for each other,” I muttered.
I huffed under my breath. I wasn’t going to second-guess myself. I wasn’t. I knew what I saw. He was into Susan. He was into clothes—the hose, heels, dresses, maybe even the restraints too. But he was into her.
I shook my head. We knew Chloe—she’d never wear anything like that for him. I don’t even think she’d ever worn pantyhose.
But whatever. She probably let him fuck her whenever he wanted, whereas he knew Susan wouldn’t. He had no idea that if he weren’t such an asshole, he’d have a beautiful woman who would dress up for him—and be completely devoted to him at night—tied up from head to toe.
“It’s okay,” Susan said again, seeing me shake my head. “It is.”
She reached out. “Look at me. I cried ... a lot. But I’m okay now.”
I closed my eyes.
“Sophie?” I asked.
Susan shook her head.
“I don’t think she knows. I didn’t tell her,” she replied.
“I told Andrew, and he fed me ice cream and we talked.”
“Fed you?” I asked.
She smiled looking a little embarrassed. “I may have been in the sack.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“What did he say?” I asked her.
“He wanted to beat the shit out of him,” she said.
I tried not to laugh.
We talked more after that—about the case, about money, how Susan was handling the bills, and whether we were okay. I had to tell her I’d lost the job at the department store, but she already knew.
We talked about the bond, the bookstore, and how that wasn’t an option. It wasn’t.
Sheriff Collins walked in sometime after that. Susan went home, and the sheriff took me back to my cell.
I think it was Thursday when Jeffrey told me he’d heard from Agent Myers. She had informed him that she’d spoken with her superiors and that the information Susan and I had provided might be useful in an ongoing, though unrelated, case. She was waiting to hear back on how her superiors wanted to proceed, but she promised to call him as soon as she knew more.
On Friday, I was supposed to be taken to a doctor’s appointment. From what I’d been told, detained inmates were required to undergo a medical clearance or wellness exam. It was standard practice if you’d been held for more than a few days.
And, of course, I had to go in restraints.
Sophie must have found out, though, and convinced Sheriff Collins to let me go in civilian clothes. She’d even brought an outfit she’d gotten from Susan for me to wear. Honestly, I would’ve been fine going in my jail uniform—it would’ve made the physical easier. Getting in and out of pantyhose was a lot more trouble than slipping out of a top and pants.
Still, it was fine. The outfit gave the whole experience a sense of normalcy, and I think that’s exactly what Sophie wanted.
She’d mentioned she was planning to take Susan next week to get birth control, along with her own appointment. That was something we’d talked about a while ago—back when I’d confided in Sophie that Susan had been fantasizing about sex and bondage, back when I thought she and Bobby were going to work out.
I didn’t tell her anything new. It just seemed easier that way.
I chuckled to myself as I sat on the cot, dressed and slipping into the five-inch stilettos. Sophie knew I’d been wearing heels at the bookstore—making Susan wear them too. It wasn’t exactly practical attire for a physical, but I appreciated what she was trying to do. They were the same heels I’d accidentally worn home that night after helping Bambi and her friends pick out clothes.
That was when I started thinking about her. I hadn’t asked about her earlier in the week when I talked to Susan. I’d wanted to, but I was afraid she’d tell me something like what had happened with Bobby.
I stood and checked the mirror, making sure I looked as presentable as possible. There was a knock at the door.
“I’m ready,” I said.
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