The Clerk
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 5: I’ll Wear them
“Remember that giant SUV?” I asked Susan. “From earlier last week?”
She gave a vague nod.
“The one that didn’t seem to understand that people park on one side after six, even though there’s no parking spots? And you have to loop around Grant just to keep traffic moving?”
I glanced at her again. “They ended up blocking Main for thirty minutes, inching down and weaving around parked cars.”
This time, her nod was more definite. “Yeah, I remember.”
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “Rumor has it they’re federal agents.”
“Those two women?” I nodded toward the pair who had just left.
“They were talking about someone they know—Tiff, I think? She lives in Becca’s neighborhood. Anyway, one of them said Tiff saw the same SUV parked outside Becca’s place later on. Two women in suits, wearing badges and guns on their belts, went inside and stayed for a while.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “So, that strange comment from the sheriff ... that he was worried we’d tell him I’m in these because of the FBI?”
“Yeah,” I said, watching her make the connection.
Another clap of thunder rumbled overhead, and this time, the rain started—a light drizzle against the store windows.
“Hopefully, it’s not another violent storm,” I muttered, watching the rain collect on the glass. We don’t need any more flooding.
I walked over to the window, watching people trickle into nearby stores to escape the rain. Coffee shops always had a captive audience when storms hit—not the bike shop down the street, or the trendy boutiques that had popped up recently. And definitely not the quirky little bookstore in the heart of downtown.
It always bothers me ... well, until the whole historic district goes dark. It’s usually a downed power line. Everything north of Madison is fine, like the museum, since their lines are buried. But here? Yeah. One good lightning strike, and boom ... no power to make coffee.
I walked over to the door and flipped the sign to “Closed.”
“It’s supposed to get worse,” Susan said, who was probably still staring at her phone. “Hopefully, we don’t lose power.”
I nodded, my eyes on the cars driving by, some flicking on their headlights as the rain picked up.
That’s when they appeared. Bambi’s face pressed up against the door, her wide eyes peering through the glass. I opened it, and they all piled in. They were all wearing what they’d bought Saturday night.
I stepped outside, glancing down the street before stepping back inside.
“Is anyone else coming?” I asked, scanning the sidewalk.
“No,” Bambi replied looking disappointed. “The other girls texted and said they weren’t coming. They didn’t feel like it since it was off-campus.”
She paused, rolling her eyes dramatically. “But honestly, when they heard there weren’t going to be any guys this time, they kinda lost interest.”
“That’s fine,” I said, shrugging. More intimate that way.
I’d suspected it might just be the three of them. I’d worked Sunday and last night, and no one had come by to buy anything. Unless the other girls already owned pantyhose and four- and five-inch stilettos, they weren’t showing up.
Bambi smiled and shrugged again. “It’s all good. More kinky fun for us, right?”
I smiled back as Susan walked up to us. The rattle of the connecting chain sliding along her leg cuffs caught their full attention.
“Hi,” she said, waving a hand at her waist. “I’m Susan.”
Bambi greeted her with a cheerful “Hi!” while the other two just stared.
She then held up the plate of cookies she’d been holding like it was a rare treasure.
“Double chocolate chip,” she announced, waving her hand over them like she was showing off a winning lottery ticket. “Like I promised.”
I took the plate from her as Susan grinned at me.
Placing it on the counter, I looked over at the other two.
They weren’t exactly surprised—well, maybe a little—but they’d known. I was pretty sure Bambi had told them. And I think they’d been here that day, pretending not to be staring in. But seeing it in person ... that was the real shock, I think.
So, they stood there, silent. Awkwardly. Just staring.
That’s when Susan, sensing the unease, spoke up to fill the silence. “These are maximum-security prisoner transport restraints,” she said, her tone breezy, almost too casual.
She let the words hang in the air for a moment, hoping they’d say something, but they just stood frozen, staring at her cuffed hands.
“You know, the kind they put really dangerous inmates in?” she added, her voice a little slower now, as if she thought they might not be fully grasping the situation. “Like, the really bad ones,” she added, thinking maybe they needed a little more explanation.
Seeing they were still standing there, wide-eyed but silent, Susan reached down, grabbed the connecting chain, and lifted it, gathering it in her hands. The movement raised the leg cuffs slightly, drawing their attention even more.
“They’re the real thing,” she said, stepping forward a bit. “See?” she added, gesturing for them to take a closer look.
Jennifer leaned in, studying the box and the cuffs, while Trix hesitated just long enough to reach out and touch the chain Susan had collected. She didn’t say anything, just pulled her hand back and stepped away.
“So ... they’re like ... real real?” Trix finally asked, her voice soft with disbelief.
Susan nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Uh-huh,” she replied, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. She turned just slightly to give them a better view of the padlock, then moved her wrists from side to side, making the waist chain shift, causing the padlock to slide with the motion. The chains rattled faintly.
It was clear—she wasn’t going anywhere.
“You ... you can’t get out of them?” Jennifer then chimed in.
Susan turned fully toward them and adjusted her wrists in the cuffs. Then she bit her lip and shook her head slightly, nodding towards me.
“Anne can get them off—but I can’t,” she said.
I stepped in. “Why don’t we all go sit down?” I suggested, gesturing toward one of the seating areas.
After Susan began wearing the restraints, we redesigned the store with a more open layout. We’d scattered couches and oversized chairs throughout, and for tonight, we’d pulled a few of them together into a more intimate setup.
But that also meant the entire store was visible from the street. The bookshelves were arranged perpendicular to the windows, leaving open sightlines—which was exactly what we wanted, to give the place a more inviting feel. Unless, of course, you were hosting a college kink club.
So, I was actually kind of happy about the rain. As it picked up, the glass started to fog, and I knew that eventually, it would be impossible for anyone to see inside the store.
As the girls sat down, I offered them some coffee, juice, and pastries I had picked up earlier from the bakery down the street.
It was a simple spread I had set up on the low table between the couches. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure what you were supposed to serve at an event like this.
And then, of course, there were Bambi’s cookies.
I’d also used the table we usually save for new releases to display some of the kink gear I’d ordered.
A few leather collars—though they were really more like chokers. I’d also picked up a pair of handcuffs. Not the heavy-duty kind you’d see in official use, but a cheaper set. They were real enough that none of us could slip out of them, but not the kind you’d use on someone truly dangerous.
Not the kind of cuffs I’d ever use on Susan.
I hadn’t told her yet, but I’d also picked up another full set. I’d been wanting to for a while. Becca had suggested we keep a backup set—just in case.
It was the cost that had held me back. But while I was browsing for inexpensive cuffs for tonight, I came across a full set from a discontinued line. Or maybe just a model the site was phasing out. Either way, they weren’t selling any more of them and were clearing out the remaining stock.
I was a little worried at first, but they turned out to be surprisingly high quality. The only expensive part was the lockbox and padlock—those had to be purchased separately. I could’ve just bought a regular padlock, but I wanted something tamper-proof. And pick-proof.
The leg cuffs were also slightly shorter than what Susan was used to wearing. Which was fine. Honestly, I’d rather end up with ones that were too short than too long. She’d just have to adjust to a stricter hobble when I had her in those.
I positioned the cushions for Susan and helped her settle on the couch. She leaned her torso slightly to the left. Normally, she’d brace herself with her bent arms resting along the backrest, but given she couldn’t—not with the restraints—that’s what the pillows were for.
She looked relaxed. Elegant, even. She sat neatly on the couch with her legs crossed—her right leg draped smoothly over her left, angled to the side, feet pointed downward in a graceful line. I’d put her in open-toed high-heeled sandals—borrowed from Becca. Or I guess, Sophie. I’d originally asked for the pair Susan wore that one night, but after I explained what they were for, Becca suggested these instead. Said they were way sexier. And she was right. The single sole and six-inch heel matched perfectly with the dress I’d described for Susan. Becca also recommended a nude pair of Cuban stockings. I was hesitant at first—especially with sandals—but she was right.
The girls, seated across from her, just stared. She looked sexy, yes—but also composed. Poised. Even though she was completely restrained, completely helpless.
And the girls saw it. I wanted them to see it.
Just like when I sat down, I crossed my legs deliberately, making sure they noticed I was wearing five-inch stilettos.
Jennifer sat up straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, knees together—not that her skirt would have allowed anything else. She seemed a little rigid—still figuring it out. She’d walked into the store fine in the heels, but I could tell she was still adjusting.
Trix looked more comfortable. She unbuttoned her suit jacket and crossed her legs. She’d also chosen five-inch stilettos, though, again, her foot was tipped just beyond vertical in them.
Bambi seemed the most at ease. She walked perfectly in her heels, like they were second nature, like she’d done it a million times before.
She sat to my side, giving me a clear view—no table blocking the sight. Angled slightly away, she still offered a full glimpse of her in the dress, the hose, and those heels, legs crossed just right. Her wrists rested folded over one another in her lap, as if they’d been tied together.
“You mentioned that guest speakers...” I started, easing into the conversation. “They just share their experiences?”
“Yeah,” Bambi said, a small smile playing on her lips. “Usually about how they got into kink and why.”
“Okay,” I said, glancing over at Susan. “So, I guess Susan’s story started pretty early.”
“When we were kids, I’d wrap her in blankets,” I said, smiling at Susan and the memory. But that smile slowly faded as the realization hit me—all the signs had been there, right in front of me. Yet, it took two strangers one night to make me see it. Or at least, to make me finally do something about it.
Susan nodded, smiling too, though there was a hint of embarrassment in her expression.
“She’d ask to be tucked in really tight,” I continued, my eyes locked on her. “She loved those weighted blankets. She’d want me to layer them until she couldn’t move.”
I then gestured to her, inviting her to continue—to tell them herself. I knew it made her uncomfortable, talking about the bondage, but it was something she needed to do. When people asked about the cuffs, I let her respond—unless I had reason to believe she wasn’t safe. I felt it was important that she explain it in her own words.
I saw it as a form of therapy. By having to explain herself out loud, it forced her to confront why she was locked in cuffs every day. Given her behavior since Bobby showed up at the store, reminding her of the reasons she needed to remain in bondage seemed important.
“Yeah,” she said, pausing to gather her thoughts. Then she looked at me and added, “I remember all of that. We were really young.”
“I don’t even know when I started feeling this way,” Susan murmured, her voice quiet, like she was unsure whether she should even be saying this. “It’s like ... I’ve always been drawn to the idea of being tied up.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow—not judgmental, but genuinely surprised. “So, this isn’t just some kinky thing you do for your boyfriend?”
Susan shook her head quickly, her cheeks flushed, though she couldn’t quite look Jennifer in the eye. “No. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.”
Her gaze flickered downward, then back up, a subtle darkening in her expression. “It ... got stronger after puberty,” she said, her voice soft, almost like the words were slipping out before she could stop them. “That’s when those thoughts really started to take hold. Wanting more than just weighted blankets...”
She trailed off. Her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something else—something heavier. But her lips pressed together instead.
There was a pause—a flicker of hesitation, like she saw where her own thoughts were going and yanked them back just in time. Her cheeks flushed deep red.
When she finally spoke again, it was barely audible, the words small and fragile.
“I craved it.”
Jennifer leaned in slightly, though her posture stayed rigid on the couch. Her voice dropped—lower now, more serious, almost probing.
“You mean ... being tied up in different ways?”
She wasn’t judging. Just trying to understand—her gaze steady, searching.
Susan nodded, slowly, the flush on her cheeks deepening, and a small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah.”
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