The Practitioner
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 9: Frustration, Not Escape
There it was. They had finally brought up the restraints. Sure, they’d been touched on earlier—when Isla had indirectly explained they were part of her character interpretation—but now, it was explicit.
The woman in the block heels, the one who had read lines with Isla earlier, spoke next. Her voice remained calm, but her tone had shifted.
“We’re happy to hear you’re okay with the scene and any potential changes,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “But we’d like to see how you actually handle being in the position.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “You mean ... in the bondage? From the scene? The hogtie and the gag?”
The woman in the stilettos smiled, her gaze unwavering. “Yes,” she replied. “We can see you can act—deliver the lines, bring emotional depth. But there’s a physical element to this, too.”
The woman in block heels nodded, her expression serious. “Exactly. We need to see how you physically handle the hogtie and the ball gag.”
She paused, choosing her words carefully. “This scene is very visual. You’re an escort—you think you’re there to fulfill the main character’s sexual fantasy. She ties you up, and you expect to be her plaything. But instead, you’re left there—bound and struggling—while she goes into a long emotional rant about everything that’s happened in the episode.”
Isla blinked, processing the explanation. “So ... I’ll be struggling?”
The woman in stilettos gave a soft, almost reassuring smile. “Not like you’re trying to escape. It’s frustration. You’re helpless, bound, expecting to be used—but instead, you’re her therapist. She talks. You listen. And all you can do is react with your body and mumble through a gag.”
She leaned in, emphasizing her point. “That’s why you have that line you read earlier. You’re frustrated because even in bondage, gagged and helpless, you’re still serving her—but emotionally, not physically. That tension is the heart of the scene.”
She sat back. “And that’s why we need to see you in the hogtie and gag—to make sure you can bring that emotional depth to the physical part of the role.”
“Okay,” Isla said quietly.
“But we really do love your interpretation,” the woman added with a small smile, glancing at her tablet. “It gives the character real depth—like she has her own story beyond these two scenes. Strong work. Really great stuff.”
Isla smiled, her shoulders lifting slightly. The words had reached her. For a moment, she let herself believe she might actually be a decent actress. That all the work, all the struggle ... maybe it was worth it.
But then reality settled back in.
The woman in stilettos echoed her colleague, polite but firm. “So, if you could—please—remove those restraints.”
Isla looked at me.
“I ... I can’t take these off,” she said quietly.
Two of the women glanced at me, clearly assuming her response had something to do with me—which, to be fair, was exactly what Natalie had implied earlier when she told them Isla wasn’t allowed out of the restraints, then glanced meaningfully in my direction.
Sensing this, Isla continued, offering a condensed version of what we’d explained to more people than I could count back at the museum earlier.
“So ... you really can’t get out of those?” the woman in the block heels asked, visibly surprised.
“One of the deputies is supposed to be coming by,” Isla said. “He’s on his way with the keys.”
“But you’re saying you’ll have to stay in them until this whole situation is sorted?” she asked gently.
Isla nodded. “Yeah. A few more days, maybe. But yeah ... I have to stay in them until then.”
Trying to salvage the moment, she added, “But if I were offered the part, honestly ... this experience would only help me understand the character better.”
She shifted slightly, repositioning her wrists.
“If you’re worried, I’ll still be in them when we start filming—don’t be. I’ll be out of these by then. Everything should be cleared up.”
The woman gave a small nod.
“Okay,” she said, though it was clear she wasn’t quite sure what else to say.
And with that, it was over. They thanked Isla and told her they’d be in touch if she was selected.
As we stepped back into the reception area, Natalie looked up from her desk.
“How’d it go?” she asked, checking the time on her monitor. She seemed to notice we hadn’t been in there long—or maybe she’d already guessed it hadn’t gone well.
“It was okay,” Isla replied, sensing Natalie knew. “We couldn’t do the actual bondage scenes—because of these.”
She lifted her hands slightly. The soft clink of chain filled the silence.
“Like I said, I’m not allowed out of them.”
Natalie smiled, then nodded toward the parking lot.
Through the frosted glass of the windows and front door, we could see the silhouette of a police SUV parked outside.
“He got here a little while ago,” she told us. “Came in, asked if you were here. I let him know you were in the audition. He said he’d wait.”
She gave us that same mischievous look from earlier, then turned back to her monitor.
I held the door open for Isla, and we stepped outside. The officer was standing in front of his SUV. He nodded and gestured for us to come over.
“I’m Sheriff Collins,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “Welcome to the neighborhood—or, I should say, community.”
He glanced at Isla’s restraints, then back at me. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”
His demeanor was friendly. We’d expected a deputy, not the sheriff himself. I nodded and glanced at Isla.
“Um, we just got out of an audition,” I said.
“I’ll be out of your hair in a few,” the sheriff replied with a warm smile. He removed his hat and looked at Isla. “I imagine you know what I want to discuss.”
Isla, smiling wearily, gave a shrug. “These? Sophie said someone from the sheriff’s department would meet us here.” She tugged slightly at her cuffed hands, emphasizing her exhaustion.
Sheriff Collins looked her over, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am, those would be the matter of today’s visit,” he said, calm but firm.
Much of what he told us, Sophie had already explained—but we learned a few new things.
The New York Department of Corrections had officially launched an investigation—largely prompted by the lockdown incident, though there were other issues involved that he couldn’t discuss. We also learned that his inquiry about Isla, after hearing about her from Sophie, had helped accelerate the timeline. That’s why everything suddenly seemed to be moving much faster than we’d anticipated.
The investigation would have happened eventually—there was no stopping that. But instead of letting the department uncover the situation on its own, he essentially handed everything to them.
Naturally, this likely disrupted whatever efforts Officer Claire had been making to quietly resolve the matter. As a result, she was placed on immediate administrative leave—along with several other guards.
The sheriff had also contacted our local police department. They created a record for Isla in their system. If she were stopped or reported, the responding officer would—hopefully—see it. However, as Sheriff Collins warned, it depended on the officer taking the time to read the record. Otherwise, Isla could still be detained.
To help, he gave us a letter, printed on official letterhead and signed by him. It explained the situation and instructed any law enforcement officer to contact his office immediately. It wouldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t be taken in, but it would likely speed up her release.
But the larger issue loomed—Isla couldn’t leave the jurisdiction of either sheriff’s office. Technically, she could, but doing so could risk her being held for weeks.
After receiving the letter, Sheriff Collins handed over a bag—but it wasn’t the one Officer Claire had packed earlier today. Inside were the restraints she had shown us, along with a few unexpected additions: another set of chain handcuffs, extra waist and connecting chains, and a thick leather belt with a D-ring. The belt looked old and worn, but still perfectly functional.
“While you’ll need to remain in the restraints you’re wearing now when you’re out, I understand that having to wear them at home will be difficult,” he explained.
“In the bag is a leather belt,” he continued. “It fastens around your waist, and the handcuffs are threaded through the center ring. It’s pretty self-explanatory. When you’re at home, you can wear that—just use the chain handcuffs in front. If you’re in your yard, driveway, or any place that’s considered your property, please be in the hinged cuffs with the belt. Or simply the hinged ones behind your back.”
“So, I have to be cuffed. Period,” Isla remarked.
Sheriff Collins nodded with a sigh. “Yes, Ma’am. That’s what the record states. Unless you’re in a cell, you’re in restraints.” He looked at us and added, “As I said, the belt and handcuffs should help alleviate things when you’re home. Between those and the leg cuffs, I’m satisfied they meet the requirement.”
He went on to explain that the matter of the restraints had also been coordinated with our local sheriff’s office.
We didn’t tell him we live in an apartment building. I think it was because we were surprised that Isla was expected to be restrained at home. But I guess it made sense. From everything we’d been told, the prison record only stated that she had to be restrained. So logically, yeah—if she wasn’t in a cell, she was in the chains.
But all it really meant was that while she was in the building, she’d have to wear the belt, one of the handcuff options, and the leg cuffs. The only time she ever left the apartment without actually leaving the building was to use the small gym on the ground floor. And with her in cuffs ... well, that probably wasn’t going to happen until things got resolved.
Outside of that, I honestly hadn’t expected Isla to be cuffed while inside the apartment.
Altogether, our interaction with the sheriff was pleasant. Yeah, the topic itself wasn’t, but he was polite—even warm. Still, we saw what Sophie had told us. You could see it in his face. He was strict. Fair, but unwavering.
He asked if we needed instructions on how to apply the restraints. We explained that the officer had already shown us how to put them on. He then said that if we were uncertain, we could stop by his office on our way out of town, and one of the deputies would walk us through the procedure.
We wrapped up the conversation, and he went on his way, wishing us a good day. And unlike earlier, when Officer Claire left, we didn’t sit in the car to decompress. This time, we got on the road immediately.
I was hoping that the long drive, because of traffic, would give us a chance to talk. But Isla didn’t want to. She just wanted to get home, out of the restraints, and unwind.
It wasn’t until her phone buzzed that she broke the silence.
“Can you...?” she asked softly, looking at me.
At the next light, I pulled it from her purse and placed it in her hands.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Charlie,” she said with a small smile. “He just found out they liked me. Liked the story ... the backstory I gave the character ... well, the story you gave her.”
“That’s great news!” I said, watching her reaction. “So ... you got the part?”
She exhaled, her face flickering between excitement and anxiety.
“They want a callback,” she said, reading the message again. “A screen test.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s what they wanted before, but we couldn’t do it because of these fucking things. Now they want me back for a second audition. In full wardrobe—business suit, pencil skirt, blouse, seamed stockings, stilettos. The whole package.”
She scanned the message further, then let out a heavy sigh.
“Seriously, they really want six-inch heels,” she added. “And single platform.”
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