The Clerk
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 2: Make a Little Money
I was in the back, cutting open a new shipment of books when I heard the door chime up front. Susan was at the counter, which wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but it was Friday, and Fridays always brought in a bit more foot traffic. And with Susan now a curiosity, more people were coming in to see if the rumors were true. So, I didn’t like leaving her alone with customers. Not that she was in any danger—she was fine, really—but some people didn’t know how to just come in, buy a book, and leave.
Instead, they had to engage her. They just couldn’t help themselves. It was like they had to make her feel uncomfortable, asking too many questions or staring just a little too long. A few of them were polite, sure, but enough made it awkward. It was the kind of thing that got under your skin after a while.
I set the box cutter down and stepped out into the main store, the scent of new books and cardboard lingering on my hands. The soft murmur of Susan’s voice mixed with another, a customer, or maybe more of a curious observer.
There was a girl standing at the counter, chatting with Susan, her voice a little too loud in the otherwise quiet shop. She turned as she heard me, the corners of her lips twitching into a tentative smile. Then, almost nervously, she gave an uncertain little wave. “Hi. Um. Remember me?”
I tilted my head slightly, letting the words roll around in my mind for a moment. Recognition hit, but it came slowly, like a fog lifting. When it clicked, I let a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Oh—yeah. You were at that restaurant. You and your sister, right?” I paused, amusement creeping into my tone. “Sophie had you in handcuffs.”
That’s when I noticed the group of girls outside, hovering by the window, pretending not to stare. It looked like the same group from that night at the restaurant, though her sister wasn’t with them. They were clearly watching, just close enough to make it obvious.
She froze for a second, eyes wide, clearly caught off guard. Then she let out a half-laugh, trying to brush it off, but I could tell I’d hit a nerve. “Yeah ... that was me,” she admitted, her cheeks turning pink. She glanced down, recalibrating, before looking back up at me.
Her confidence had wavered, just enough for me to catch it. She was doing her best to act like it didn’t bother her, to pretend the awkwardness wasn’t there. But I could see her eyes flick between me and Susan.
I stepped behind the counter, shifting my focus. “Are you looking for a specific title?”
She shook her head, her ponytail swishing slightly. “No, not really. I was actually just talking to Susan about something...” She trailed off, nervously tugging at the edge of her sweater sleeve. “Um. About a thing. At the college.”
I raised an eyebrow. “A thing?”
“Yeah. A thing,” she repeated, half-laughing at herself. “Okay, okay—it sounds weird when I say it like that.”
She took a breath, clearly trying to gather herself.
“So ... I’m in a kink club at school. It’s not like—well, not what it sounds like, I promise!” she blurted out quickly, raising her hands in defense. “It’s not creepy or anything. It’s just a bunch of students who ... you know ... are kind of curious? Like, interested in learning. Not doing creepy stuff.”
I leaned on the counter, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Curious,” I echoed. “Like letting strangers handcuff you at a restaurant?”
Her eyes widened, caught somewhere between laughing and panicking. “No! I mean—well, yes,” she admitted, flushing. “Okay. That night ... I was just—”
She groaned, covering her face with both hands. “God, you’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
She peeked through her fingers, cheeks bright red.
“Depends,” I said, smiling now. “What exactly are you asking?”
She dropped her hands and stood up a little straighter, trying to look confident but still radiating nervous energy. Her fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of her sweater, her ponytail swishing slightly as she shifted on her feet. It was clear she was trying to ground herself, but the words seemed to be coming out faster than she could control.
“Well,” she began again, her gaze flickering toward Susan for a moment before returning to me, “we invite people to give talks—educational stuff, you know? About safety, consent, all that.” Her words tumbled over each other as she tried to make it sound less out of place. “And it’s my turn to find a guest speaker. I thought ... maybe, if you and Susan are comfortable with it, you could come? Share your experiences? Maybe talk about some of the things you said at the restaurant that night?”
I glanced over at Susan, who was watching, but staying quiet.
“A speaker?” I repeated, more curious now, leaning forward slightly to let her know I was paying attention.
She nodded, her cheeks flushing a bit under the weight of her own request. She was hopeful, but the nervousness was still there—an awkward energy that seemed to crack through despite her attempt to cover it. “Yeah. You guys clearly know your stuff. And you seem ... like, responsible.” She gave a little shrug, almost apologetically, trying to downplay her own words but failing to hide the sincerity. “And cool. And it’d be really nice to have someone talk about this who’s not a professor or a jaded old Domme who makes it weird.”
I shook my head, straightening back up. “We’re not really experts in this. If you’re looking for real knowledge, you’d probably be better off talking to Becca and Sophie.”
Turning to the laptop on the counter, I quickly pulled up an article I’d found while working through things with Susan. I gestured toward the back of the store as I spoke. “They’re probably at the museum today. They’re the ones with the experience—you should talk to them.”
I spun the screen around so she could see the image from the article. “They’d be able to explain things a lot better than we could,” I said, motioning to the photo.
It was Becca, clearly in her element—restrained, confident, and in control. The shot had been taken at the museum at some event. I let the image linger between us for a moment, letting it speak for itself, confirming everything I’d just said.
The girl’s face immediately shifted, her expression becoming more guarded. She frowned, eyebrows knitting together as she processed what I said. “That’s that woman. The one who was in those too?” She nodded toward Susan’s restraints, a clear shift in her demeanor. “The one who looked like a bondage pin-up?”
I nodded, not missing the way her voice dropped slightly. “Yeah. Rebecca Bounds.”
Her hesitation deepened, the edges of her smile fading as she looked back toward the door, as though the thought of that night was still hanging in the air. “Yeah ... she kind of creeped me out that night.”
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now.
She continued, her tone cautious but clearer. “I mean, the other girl—the tall blonde? She was okay. Quiet, kind of awkward, but fine. But the one who was all chained up, doing most of the talking?” She shuddered slightly, her eyes flickering over to Susan before quickly darting back to me. “I don’t know. She just came off really aggressive. Like, intense.”
I glanced over at Susan, who caught my eye with a look that said everything—quiet, knowing, and just a little amused. She didn’t say anything, but there was a shared understanding between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of what the girl had picked up on.
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, “Becca can be a little strong-willed when it comes to certain things.”
It was true—she didn’t hold back. At least not when she saw something in people, some kind of spark or need she thought she could fix or push.
“The way she was asking my sis if she wanted to keep me in the cuffs,” the girl continued, frowning slightly. “Like I didn’t have a choice. Like consent didn’t matter.”
I raised an eyebrow. It was clear she’d missed the point of what Becca had been trying to do.
“I think she was trying to understand if the cuffs brought you comfort,” I said, my voice softer now. “Like a kind of security. And as for the thing with your sister, that was all about permission. You’d be consenting to her keeping you in them. Giving up any say you have to get out of them.”
The girl shook her head slightly, still unsure. “She just made it weird,” she muttered. “Not like you guys. You two were so laid-back that night. Chill. You didn’t make it weird or uncomfortable.”
She looked at me with a pleading expression, like she was searching for validation.
“Please,” she said, then paused before adding, “And you seem younger. Like, more my age. Those two—Becca and Sophie—they weren’t old-old, but they definitely gave off serious adult energy, you know?”
I couldn’t help smile. “When is this event supposed to happen?”
“Next week,” she replied, then caught herself. “Well, it was supposed to be...” She trailed off, clearly unsure whether to continue. “But we lost the space we usually meet at, so now we’re scrambling to find a new one.”
I glanced at Susan again, who was watching with her usual calm interest, the faintest smile playing on her lips.
“And how many people usually attend this thing?” I asked, turning my attention back to the girl. My gaze flicked to the girls outside, still lingering by the window, doing a terrible job of pretending they weren’t watching.
She gave a little shrug, a little embarrassed now. “Um ... maybe ten of us? Sometimes less if its midterms or something.” She glanced back toward the window, finally realizing her friends had been standing there the whole time.
Seeing that she was now aware of them, I raised an eyebrow, half-teasing. “And do you all show up in restraints?” I gestured to the girls outside.
Her eyes widened in confusion. “Wait—do you mean, like ... show up ball-gagged?” She made a face. “Ew, no!”
I chuckled at her reaction.
She quickly rushed to clarify, looking back at the girls outside again. “I mean, yeah, some of us wear leather skirts or whatever. But it’s not weird. More like ... sexy, you know?” She waved her hands a little, like trying to explain some unspoken truth. “But no one’s crawling around on a leash or barking like a dog or anything.”
I couldn’t help but smile, her awkwardness making the whole conversation feel lighter.
“Tell you what,” I said, turning back to her. “If your group’s willing to meet here, we’ll keep the store open for you after hours. That way, I don’t have to transport Susan somewhere unfamiliar. It’s a hassle, researching the location, especially if it’s out of town.”
She nodded, listening intently, so I continued. “It’ll be a private event. Susan and I can give a talk about our experiences so far—share some insights. And you’ll get a chance to check out some of the books and gear we’ve got here.”
Her eyes lit up immediately. “Wait—really?” She practically bounced in place. “So that’s a yes?”
I held up a hand, cutting her off. “No guys,” I insisted. “I’m sure they’d be fine, but I’m not dealing with it. Just not.” I added, almost jokingly, “And there’s a dress code.”
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