The Practitioner
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Prologue
It was my turn to stay with Becca tonight. The doctors were supposed to clear her to come home tomorrow, so tonight was hopefully the last night I’d have to sleep in that uncomfortable chair.
As I walked down the hall toward her room, I saw a young man exit. He gave me a polite smile and a brief nod as we passed.
Stepping inside, I found Becca sitting up in bed, trying to arrange a pillow behind her. Her eyes met mine, and her face softened when she saw me.
“Hey,” I said, walking over to her. I gently adjusted the pillows and helped her lie back, making sure she was comfortable.
“Thanks,” Becca murmured, her voice faint but grateful.
I sat down beside her, my eyes lingering on her tired face. “How are you feeling?” I asked, watching her closely.
She blinked a few times, clearly fighting the drowsiness from the pain medication. “Better,” she replied quietly, though her words were slurred with fatigue.
I studied her for a moment, then asked, “Who was that? The young guy who just left?”
Becca’s lips curled into a small smile, though her eyes fluttered closed. “Noah,” she answered softly. After a moment, she added in an even quieter voice, “The paramedic. He’s the one...” She paused, catching her breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort of speaking. “From the accident ... The one who brought me here.”
I nodded, watching her with concern. “Did he come by to check on you?”
Becca nodded again, her eyes still closed, her breathing slow and steady. “I asked one of the nurses to find him ... to bring him here.” She paused to take a long, careful breath. “I wanted to thank him. You know, for helping us.”
It was clear how much it meant to her. Despite the pain and exhaustion, she needed to make sure the person who’d saved her knew how grateful she was.
“Maybe we can thank him properly when you’re feeling up to it,” I said gently, offering her a reassuring smile.
Becca’s lips twitched. “Yeah ... when I can breathe without sounding like I’m drowning ... maybe we can have him over for dinner.”
I chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “Yeah, we can do that,” I promised, my voice quiet and comforting. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here. Sophie will be here in the morning, and we’ll get you home.”
Her eyes met mine briefly, filled with a quiet determination. “I hope so,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she drifted off to sleep.
As Sophie and I had hoped, Becca was able to come home the next day. We spent the month of May focused on making her as comfortable as possible, all while I helped Sophie settle in.
With so many changes happening at once—figuring out what to do with the money, adjusting to my new routine now that I was no longer working—it wasn’t until late June that Noah intertwined with our lives again.
Becca had reached out to him and invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner. But with everything going on, we completely forgot that it was tonight.
Becca and I were on our way home after picking her up from the museum. As we pulled into the driveway, it hit us: a car was parked out front, and Noah and his girlfriend were standing at the front door. Waiting for us to answer.
Needless to say, it made for a memorable introduction, especially for Noah’s girlfriend, who looked genuinely startled at the sight of Becca.
I tried to take them off as soon as we got out of the car, but I realized I didn’t have the keys. I was so used to Sophie carrying them—and, of course, they were tucked away in her purse. With Sophie at her yearly physical, Becca would have to stay in her restraints.
We had extra sets of keys, of course—just not in the rental car we were driving. It hadn’t occurred to me to throw a set in the glove box. I think it was because I knew we’d only have the rental for a short time while the whole car insurance situation was being sorted out. All the extra keys were in the house.
As we eased into the driveway, Noah and his girlfriend rounded the corner and started walking toward us, having clearly seen us pull in.
“Hi,” Becca said as Noah approached.
“Hey,” Noah replied, then turned slightly toward the woman beside him. “This is Isla, my girlfriend.”
She nodded, gave a small wave, and said, “Hi. Thanks for the invite.” Then she reached out and handed me a bottle of wine.
That’s when we all recognized one another.
“Oh. Hey,” she then said. “Do you remember me? From the café?”
We nodded. “Yeah,” Becca replied. “The barista. Yeah. We remember.”
Smiling at her, I took the wine. “Thanks. That’s really thoughtful of you.”
“It’s the least we can do,” Noah added. “Seriously, thanks again for having us.” He then looked at Isla and us. “So, you guys know each other?”
Isla looked at him. “Yeah. They came by once. A Sunday, I think. For coffee and pastries at the café where I worked. When I lived in the city.”
“It must have been memorable,” Noah remarked. “I mean, for all of you to remember.”
Isla smiled. “Uh. Yeah. You can say that.”
While we talked, it was obvious that all of Isla’s attention was on Becca—specifically, on the restraints. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of her.
That’s when Becca, doing her best to lift her bound hands in a casual wave, said dryly while catching her breath, “Yeah ... I’m in transport jew—” she then caught herself, “Uh, restraints.”
Isla blinked, clearly unsure of how to respond to Becca’s comment.
That’s when she asked, “Are—are you still acting? Are you getting ready for another audition? Like—like last time?”
She offered a tight smile, glancing quickly at Noah, who—surprisingly—wasn’t completely surprised.
Well, not at Becca in restraints, but about Isla’s comment. About the acting.
That’s when Noah said, “You’re getting ready for an acting role? Okay, that explains those.” He gestured toward the restraints. “They were scattered all over the floorboards of the wreck.”
Confused, Becca raised an eyebrow. “They ... they were on the floorboards?” She then looked at me.
“I hadn’t told you—or Sophie—but when I went to pick up our stuff from the car before it was turned over to the insurance company, the restraints were everywhere,” I explained to Becca. “The crash had opened the glove box, and they’d scattered all over the place. I spent a while crawling around collecting them while the guy at the junkyard just stood there and stared at me.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I added, “because I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories. The car was ... really mangled.”
There was a brief pause before Isla glanced between the three of us, her expression softening. Then, looking at Becca with a kind of quiet sympathy, she asked, “So ... you’ve been wearing those? I—I mean, out in public?”
Becca smiled and said, “Um, yeah.”
I glanced at everyone and suggested, “Why don’t we head in? We’ll tell you all about it during dinner.”
Once inside, we introduced them to Lucie and Godfried, explained that Sophie would be home soon, and set out some food while letting everyone know dinner would be ready shortly.
Luckily, I had made a large meal earlier in the afternoon, thinking it would serve as leftovers, given how busy things seemed to be. So, there was plenty to eat—it was just a matter of finalizing the meal. It would be ready by the time Sophie walked in.
I opened the wine and poured everyone a glass except for Becca. I then glanced at her to see if she wanted to get out of her restraints. She caught my eye and gave the faintest shake—she was fine.
Isla noticed the exchange and reiterated her question from earlier, “So ... you’ve been wearing those?”
Her eyes were fixed on Becca, and it was obvious that her curiosity had been simmering.
Becca met her gaze and gave a small, knowing smile. “Um—well ... It’s kind of a long story.” She paused to catch her breath, then added, “But yeah. I’ve been wearing these.”
“What’s the role?” Isla asked. “Are you playing an inmate or something?”
Her eyes dropped to Becca’s heels again. “Or is it one of those femme fatale parts? Is that why you’re in those shoes? The dress and stockings? You’re practicing walking in heels that high ... with leg cuffs?”
Becca gave a small shake of her head. “Uh, no. Not a femme fatale role.”
Thinking it was a prison role, Isla continued, “I have this friend who had to do that for a Netflix show,” she began. “One of the big ones from a few years back. They put her in the real deal—cuffs, leg irons, belly chain, the whole thing. She said they were such a pain to get on and off that they just kept her in them between takes. For hours. She had to hobble around the set like an actual prisoner. She said it started to mess with her head. It didn’t feel like acting anymore—it felt real. She kept hearing the sound of the chains in her head, even after she got home.”
She paused to think how to explain it. “She said it was like she missed them. Missed their weight. Said her body got used to them so fast, her brain didn’t know what to do once they were gone.”
I looked over at Becca and could see that it was time for her to fess up. And she did—sort of.
“I’m not an actress.” Becca admitted. “I’m a curator. I work for a foundation through a local museum here in town.”
Isla looked completely confused, her eyes darting between me and Becca as she tried to piece things together. “Wait, is that the role? What are you saying? You’re not an actress? I don’t get it.” She shook her head, clearly struggling to make sense of it all. “You were handcuffed at the café, and now you’re in ... those.”
She paused again, still frowning, her thoughts racing faster than she could get them out. “And that thing at the mansion—wasn’t that part of the gig? You were part of the talent, both of you. I mean, it looked like that. You were wearing—what was it? A sexy French maid outfit. Stockings, heels, the whole thing.”
She turned back to Becca, her gaze sharp. “Those mistresses—they kept your hands like that.” She pointed to Becca’s wrists. “Cuffed to your waist. In one of those box things.”
That’s when Noah glanced over. “Handcuffed? French Maid?” he asked. “This is why you all remember each other?”
Becca and I must’ve looked completely stunned. I opened my mouth, but of course, Becca beat me to it.
“Wait—how did you know about the mansion?” she asked, her tone abrupt with surprise, strained further by the need to catch her breath.
“I was there,” Isla said simply. “I worked that weekend. Well, behind the scenes. Staff. I helped with setup and logistics, organizing the events, and making sure everything ran smoothly. I was one of those people you saw running around doing stuff.”
She paused, then added, “At first, I thought it was just an acting gig—that’s what the agency told me. I was already up there visiting a friend, and they said they needed people for some kind of immersive theater project. The agency knew I was in Philadelphia; I’d told them, just in case something came up and they couldn’t reach me. You know, I didn’t want to miss out on a role. I think that’s why I got the job—I just happened to be nearby. But no one mentioned anything about the bondage or ... the rest of it. Not until I got there and saw what was actually going on. That’s when I saw both of you arrive.”
“We didn’t even know you were there,” Becca replied. “Wow. Small world.”
“So, you weren’t acting?” Isla asked, brows knitting together in confusion. Her gaze darted between us, looking for some kind of explanation.
Becca hesitated. “It was ... kind of a favor. For some friends. Do you remember the photographer? And that one mistress—Mistress C, I think they called her? She’s his wife.”
Isla nodded slowly, processing. “Yeah, I remember. You arrived with them.”
“They were helping out the two sisters—the real mistresses,” Becca continued. “Apparently, they’re the ones who hold those events. Mistress C and the photographer were more like ... facilitators, I guess. Creative types. They brought us in at the last minute and asked if we’d be willing to help. Said they needed ‘talent’ to fill in some roles.”
I chuckled lightly, finishing the story. “So, I ended up being the butler. And Yvette here,” I gestured toward Becca, “got to play the maid.”
“And they kept you in restraints?” Isla asked, eyes wide. “Did you know?”
Becca gave a half-shrug and a sly smile, taking a deep breath. “Uh, yeah. Part of the vibe. They had me cuffed at the waist for most of it—I knew about that, anyway. But the whole punishment part? That was a bit of a surprise. They kind of introduced it on the fly, I think.”
“That’s what they said. Well, not that it was a surprise. I mean, that’s what we were told—that you were being punished. But we didn’t understand why.” Isla’s eyes flicked to me. “We just assumed it was part of the story, you know? Part of the narrative. They didn’t give us all the details.” She paused, then added, “I mean, we had a meeting ... to explain the rules. But that was it. At least for the staff.”
“Um, yeah,” Becca said with a grin. “For ... disobedience.”
There was a teasing lilt to her voice, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced at me. “So, yeah, it was part of the story the mistresses wanted. Or at least I think it was.”
“Are you saying that the mistresses weren’t actors?” Isla breathed. “So, those sisters—they were real? Like, actually real?”
Becca nodded. “Yeah. That’s what our friends said. Professional. Experienced. Dominatrices.”
Isla leaned back, her eyes unfocused, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle that had just shifted under her hands. “I thought the whole thing was staged. Like ... some kind of elaborate performance. I figured they were just really good actors—because honestly, they were terrifying.”
“Yeah,” Becca said, nodding slowly. “They were. Really intense. They, um ... took their jobs very seriously.”
There was a pause. Isla’s gaze drifted, her voice softening as she started to think aloud. “So those women—the couples ... the ones in the restraints, the collars...” Her brow furrowed. “That was real, too? I mean, their husbands, boyfriends—whoever—brought them there to be ... trained? Like, for bondage? That wasn’t pretend?”
Becca and I exchanged a look.
“Not pretend,” Becca said softly. “It was consensual—well, sort of. At least for the ones who stayed. But it was definitely real. Most of those couples were there because they wanted to be—”
She paused for a second, searching for the right words.
“The women were being trained. But ... it was more about connection. About becoming emotionally close with their partners. The submission was part of that. The bondage—it was just a way to get there.”
Isla stared at her, mouth slightly open. “That explains the one night with that couple leaving. And the other couple, the next day.”
“Yeah,” Becca replied. “I don’t remember much now. It wasn’t the girl with the Vixen collar. Maybe Minx? Sassy?” Becca then looked at me as though she was trying to recall the names on the collars in the quiet room.
Isla shook her head. “I don’t know. I just remember the women being upset. We heard that the mistresses had the women change into lingerie or something. Then they cuffed them—back into the handcuffs. Like to sleep in?” Isla added, turning a little red. “I think the point was so their partners could ... you know.”
Becca smiled and gave a slight nod. “Yeah. As I said, the mistresses were supposed to help the couples grow closer, emotionally and psychologically. But there was definitely a submissive component to it for the women. That was part of the whole dynamic. It wasn’t just about obedience or control for control’s sake—it was about creating trust, structure, and intimacy. And yeah ... that dynamic extended into the bedroom, too. It was all connected.”
“Okay,” Isla said quietly, trying to process it all. “But the women were expected to be restrained? Like ... was it actually required that they be handcuffed to the bed? During ... you know.”
She sounded curious but cautious, like she wasn’t sure how far to go with the question.
Becca’s voice remained gentle, but I could see the conversation was wearing on her, not because of the topic, but because she was still recovering from the accident. The strain showed in the way she held herself, in the slight pauses between her words, like her body hadn’t quite caught up with her mind yet.
“I can’t remember now. If they were actually cuffed to the bed. But I don’t think they were. But they did have to wear them to bed. So, they did sleep in them. And whatever else they did as a couple.” Becca then grimaced and said more bluntly, “Yeah, the women had sex in handcuffs.”
“But getting used to being handcuffed when intimate wasn’t the point. It was always about connection—finding a deeper way to relate to your partner.” Becca explained, trying to clarify it all. “Bondage wasn’t the goal; it was just one of the tools. The idea was that by surrendering control, the women could learn to trust more fully. The mistresses guided the couples through that process, helping them build something rooted in communication and respect. So yeah, that meant being cuffed or tied. And that included the women being restrained during sex. But it was never about force. It was about mutual trust. About letting go and choosing to trust someone completely.”
“Okay,” Isla said again, nodding slowly as if the pieces were beginning to fall into place. “That one woman—Monday morning—I remember. Everyone was leaving, and I was heading out, too. I think we had to be out by ten or something. They were really strict about it. Most of the staff had already cleared out the evening before. I wanted to talk to you guys, but the few of us who were still around were being kind of ... ushered off the property.”
She paused, brows drawn slightly as she recalled the moment. “Anyway, I saw her. She was talking to you two, then she left. But she was cuffed. I think she left that way. Like, went home like that.”
Isla turned to Becca, a note of uncertainty in her voice. “So ... I guess it worked? I mean, for the two couples that stuck around?”
Becca hesitated, her breath catching slightly. “Um ... maybe. Was that Vixen? Or the other girl? Harlot, maybe?” She furrowed her brow. “But if it was Vixen, I think the cuffs were for different reasons. She wasn’t doing it out of trust or connection. I think she was scared of losing her boyfriend. Or maybe it was her husband. Either way, she was afraid of losing him ... and the lifestyle he gave her. It felt more like desperation than devotion.”
Isla tilted her head slightly, her curiosity still turning. “Do you know what happened to them? I mean ... the two women? Do ... do you know if they kept wearing ... you know...?”
Her voice trailed off, uncertain, not embarrassed—just cautious. Like she wasn’t sure how deep she wanted to go with the thought she was having.
Becca didn’t answer right away, trying to catch her breath again, and in the silence, Isla’s mind began to wander.
I was pretty sure she was thinking about Becca at the café that day—how composed she’d seemed, how calm. No one around us had noticed a thing. But later, Isla realized that Becca had been wearing cuffs under her sleeves. She’d hidden them so effortlessly, like it was second nature. That detail, I think, now stuck with her.
Becca glanced down at her hands, then gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe they kept wearing them. Their partners didn’t take them off, not even in public. It was ... part of the agreement. A symbol of trust and connection. A constant reminder of the bond they were building. Honestly, it’s hard to say.”
Isla hesitated, trying to wrap her mind around it. “But out in public? Like ... all the time?”
Becca shrugged again. “Maybe?”
“That’s so ... I don’t know.” Isla shook her head lightly, her brow furrowing in thought. “It’s intense. I mean, if handcuffs are the bare minimum in public, then behind closed doors, there must’ve been ... more.”
“Again, it’s hard to say,” Becca said softly, her tone reflective. “But it’s all about trust. Nothing’s forced—it has to be mutual. If it’s not, the whole thing just falls apart.”
“But you just said their partners might not take them off.” Isla’s voice was hesitant, her mind clearly trying to make sense of everything. “So, if they refuse to remove them...”
Her words trailed off, but it was clear she wasn’t just asking casually. She was trying to understand something deeper.
Becca paused before answering, her voice calm but firm. “If they gave themselves to their partners, then yeah. It’s not negotiable. They have to be in them. If it’s part of their agreement. But it’s still consensual. The women allowed themselves to be put in restraints. As I said, it’s not about force. It’s about the bond they’re building together.”
Becca’s voice softened as she added, “It’s not for everyone. But for the ones it works for, it could be something really powerful. Really special.”
Isla was quiet for a moment, her thoughts still racing. She could feel the weight of the conversation pulling her in different directions. Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer but laced with curiosity.
“But how would you know if it’s for you?” Isla asked, her voice uncertain, almost tentative. “How do you even ... know if you can trust something like that? If you really want it?”
Becca met her gaze, calm and steady, with a quiet kind of knowing in her eyes. “The only way to know is to try,” she said gently. “It’s not something you can really understand by just talking about it. You have to feel it. Be in it. See if something clicks—if it feels right, or ... like it’s waking something up in you.”
She hesitated, then added, “But honestly? Sometimes you already kind of know.”
Isla looked confused. Becca tilted her head, her tone soft but certain. “That friend of yours—the one who was cuffed all day in those transport restraints for that show? You said it felt strange when she took them off? Like her body missed them? Like she didn’t want to, but part of her did?”
Isla blinked. “No. No way. She’s, like ... really vanilla.”
Becca smiled, a slight, knowing curve of her lips. “Not completely,” she said with a nod. “She just might not realize it yet. But her body? Her brain? They were telling her something. Even after she got home.”
Isla felt her heart beat a little faster. There was something about the way Becca spoke—so confident, so sure—that made her ask more questions. “You mean ... being bound?” Isla’s voice faltered slightly, but she pushed on as if testing the waters. “In public? Like ... tied up? Handcuffed?”
Becca didn’t hesitate. She met Isla’s eyes with quiet sincerity, taking a slow breath before speaking.
“It doesn’t have to be in public. Or even handcuffs,” she said gently. “Cuffs are just ... easy. That’s why people reach for them. I mean, yeah, these kinds of restraints can be a pain to get on and off if you’re not used to them. But once they’re on? They work. Really well.”
She tugged slightly at the cuffs around her wrists, the faint clink of metal emphasizing her point. “They hold—if they’re put on right, you’re not getting out.”
She gave a slight shrug. “There’s rope too. Rope can feel more sensual, maybe even more intimate. And if it’s tied properly, it’ll hold you just as securely. Same with leather cuffs—they’re sturdy, and they work. But rope takes more time. More skill. And it can be a hassle afterward. Leather cuffs usually mean padlocks and buckles, and that can be a bit much when you’re just trying to get into—or out of—a moment.”
She looked down again at her wrists. “Handcuffs are straightforward. Click, done. That’s why they’re kind of the go-to.”
Becca paused for a moment, letting the silence settle between them before continuing.
“But again, it’s not about the cuffs themselves. Or what you’re wearing. It’s about what they represent—the trust, the surrender, the connection with your partner. The idea that you’re offering yourself to them completely. Whether it’s in private or public, it’s about letting go. Letting someone see you. It’s vulnerability. Even in the quietest, most ordinary moments.”
She then gave a soft smile. “Like I said ... it’s not for everyone. And that’s okay. It’s all about finding what works for you. It’s not about doing what someone else does. It’s about what feels right for you and your partner.”
Isla nodded slowly, processing everything. “Okay.”
Noah, who looked completely stunned, finally spoke up. “You never told me about this,” he said to Isla. “I mean, about the mansion. What you saw.”
“There wasn’t much of a reason to,” she shrugged. “It was before we started dating. And it’s not like I was one of the women being trained. I was just hired to help. The friend I went to visit—she had to work that weekend—so it kind of worked out. I would’ve been alone in her apartment anyway. She was pulling those crazy hours. So, I ended up getting paid to move equipment around and help with catering.”
She glanced over at Becca with a smile. “I was so jealous at the time. You’d landed an acting gig, and I was just dragging stuff around in the background.”
Isla took a deep breath. “But you’re telling me they were really cuffing you? For real? I guess working behind the scenes wasn’t so bad after all.”
I could see her mind still turning, trying to make sense of it all. “Does ... does that mean the sisters were trying to train you too? I mean, were they trying to ... you know...” She glanced at me, clearly looking for reassurance. “Were they treating you like one of the couples?”
Becca smiled a little, her expression one of quiet irony. She paused for a moment, her eyes flickering as she seemed to consider how to answer. “Yeah. Um.” Her response was hesitant, almost as if the question caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly. She gave a slight, wry shrug. “Like I said ... it was all real. And so were the two sisters.”
Becca then shifted a little, glancing away for a moment before meeting Isla’s gaze again. She could see that Isla wanted more. “Uh. I guess you could say that. They didn’t exactly pull us into the whole thing, but they ... definitely had their methods.” Becca explained while taking a large breath. “You don’t just get involved in something like that without ... well, let’s just say that they were very ... thorough in how they went about it. Like you saw that weekend, they made sure I stayed restrained the entire time.”
She then looked at me before continuing, “But we were there to help our friends. They were stuck. Needed someone at the eleventh hour.” Becca then tried to shift the topic away, “Had we known you were there, we would have recommended you. You’re the actor. We were just helping out.”
Isla raised an eyebrow, her expression one of curiosity and a hint of admiration for Becca’s openness. “So, you weren’t acting. You were really chained up. And the mistresses were ... kind of training you, too? Is that why your hands were still cuffed to your waist when you were leaving on that Monday? I just thought you were, like, a method actor, really deep in the role. But it’s because you were in training, too? They were getting you used to...” She gestured vaguely to Becca’s restraints, her voice faltering slightly, but the words still came out. “Getting you used to being like that? Like ... submissive?” She hesitated, then added, more quietly, “Like ... training you to be restrained, not just for sex, but in, like, every way?”
Becca smiled, the irony still lingering in her expression, though she seemed a bit surprised at Isla’s bluntness. There was something unspoken in Isla’s tone, a hint of curiosity or maybe concern, that made Becca’s smile falter for just a second.
“It’s ... not that simple,” she began, her voice softer now, a bit more thoughtful. “But, um, yeah. The cuffs—they were part of the process. It was real in ways ... we didn’t expect.”
Isla leaned in, her eyes sharpening as the pieces began to fall into place. “Wait—is that why you’re in leg cuffs now?” she asked, her gaze flicking between Becca and me, searching for confirmation. “You’re actually kept in those? And you consented to it? Based on what you two figured out that weekend—about yourselves as a couple?” Her voice grew more focused as everything started to align in her mind. “I honestly thought it was just acting, but now ... the cuffs, the chains—it all makes sense. They’re not part of a role. You let Ben put you in them? To get used to being that way? To help you become more ... submissive? To bring you closer together?” She gestured toward the chains, her voice dropping. “The leg cuffs, the heels ... it’s all part of it?” Isla leaned back slightly. “You chose this? All of it? That ‘something special’ you mentioned ... this is what you meant, isn’t it?” She shook her head slowly, caught between understanding and disbelief, still trying to wrap her mind around the dinner table discussion.