The Practitioner
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 17: A Proper Pet
“And it’s that panel gag she’s got underneath?” Becca asked as she fiddled with the zipper on the snout, testing whether any part of it would come loose—even though she could see that one of the padlocks was clearly threaded through it.
“The one you borrowed yesterday? It’s just ... those puppy hoods usually have a built-in, detachable gag—shaped like a stub ... you know, a penis.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s the one you let us borrow.”
I reached into the grocery bag and pulled out the thick gag she was referring to. “This?”
Becca nodded, taking it from me and turning it over in her hands. “Yeah, that. It snaps into place—keeps it locked in, especially once the snout is zippered shut.” She examined it further. “It’s about four inches, so it’ll reach the back of her throat some. But it’s wearable.” She then looked at me. “It’s going to be a little bit of an adjustment for her, but it’ll get her used to ... you know...”
She trailed off, the implication hanging between us. But it was clear—Becca kind of expected that Isla would be wearing it.
She then carefully felt around the hood, inspecting the locks that kept everything sealed in place. “These are ours,” she said. “We don’t have extras.”
Isla just looked at us, her eyes barely visible through the small openings of the puppy hood.
Becca ran her hands over the thick leather again. “It’s definitely high-quality. The same quality stuff we saw at the mansion. This stuff’s not cheap,” she muttered. Then she paused. “When Ben gets back from grocery shopping, maybe he can figure out how to cut the locks off.”
“Did she lock the harness gag too?” Becca asked.
“No,” I replied. “She put on the muzzle first. Then started to put on the collar you lent us. But as soon as she saw it, she decided to use the hood, and then swapped your collar out with one of her own. And finally used your padlocks to lock everything in place.”
“Okay,” Becca said, nodding slowly, sorting through the details. “So, it’s just the padlocks on the hood and one on the collar.” She was piecing together what would need to be undone.
“And you said she got upset when she saw the collar?” she asked, circling back to what I told her earlier.
“Yeah ... I mean, she was fine. Well, fine in that intense, laser-focused way. She started questioning Isla about having to wear all the restraints. Making it sound like she was just finding an excuse to be hogtied in the cuffs ... that it had nothing to do with what happened at the prison.”
“Anyway, I uncuffed Isla when she asked, and the moment she was free, the Mistress had her strip out of the suit. She then cuffed her wrists behind her back immediately. Then the muzzle went on. Tight. She said it was so the ball couldn’t move. Said it was safer that way.”
Becca nodded. “Yeah, it is. It sounds counterintuitive, but a snug fit is better—you don’t want it shifting around where it could go deeper and block your throat.”
I continued. “But then she saw the collar. That’s when things changed. She started questioning Isla—asking where she got it. But Isla was already gagged. Couldn’t answer.”
“So, I told her it came from you guys. I described you, and she immediately recognized you—from the mansion.”
“Which one was it?” Becca asked.
“Liora,” I said.
Becca nodded. “Right. The calmer one. Her sister was the intense one.”
I looked at her. “She’s the calmer one?”
Becca nodded.
“And she got upset?” she asked.
“Yeah. It came out that Isla had worked behind the scenes at the mansion—just staff. She never interacted with Liora directly, never even spoke to her. But the moment Liora heard that, she got cold. She said Isla had lied—that she’d claimed they’d never met.”
“Liora made it sound like it wasn’t just a mix-up—like Isla was deliberately challenging her. Pretending she didn’t remember her, or trying to downplay her importance,” I told Becca, still trying to make sense of it.
“It didn’t seem to matter that they never actually talked. Just being in the same space—even as background staff—that counted. So, when Isla didn’t acknowledge that, Liora took it as defiance. Like Isla was saying she didn’t matter. Or that she was being deliberately disrespectful.”
I paused, thinking back. “That’s when everything shifted—her tone, her posture, the way she looked at Isla. Like I said, she got cold. Colder than before ... almost cruel.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t fully get it. It felt ... extreme. But I think in her mind, it was all about control. About authority. Respect. And she wasn’t going to let it slide. I was about to step in, to stop it. I wasn’t going to let her do that to Isla.”
I looked at Isla. “But then Isla gave me this look ... like it was okay.”
Becca’s expression darkened.
“So that’s when she brought out her own collar and hood. Locked everything in place with our padlocks. Over the muzzle?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We didn’t realize until afterwards that we didn’t have the keys.”
“And you’re sure it was Liora?” Becca asked again, just to be certain. “Not the other sister?”
“Yeah. That’s ... that’s how she was introduced,” I told her, watching her face. “So, yeah. It was her.”
Seeing my reaction, she pressed, “It’s just—she seemed like the easier-going one. Almost friendly, if you get past that outer shell. Definitely more approachable than her sister, who barely spoke to anyone that weekend.”
“What you’ve described ... it just sounds more like the other mistress,” Becca then said. “And what did she say? After Isla was hooded?”
“Said it would give Isla time to reflect—on her disobedience. That next time, she’d think twice. She was really emphasizing this whole ‘pet’ thing. That Isla needed to learn her place. That she needed to learn discipline. But that she was also property now. Like a dog. A plaything.”
“Anything else?” Becca asked.
She added that she wished she’d brought the pussy harness and hood. That, she said, was what Isla truly deserved.
Becca smiled, clearly understanding what the mistress was referring to.
“Uh, probably for the best that she didn’t,” Becca began. “It’s a hood with only a large mouth opening, but there’s a harness that locks over it—kind of like a harness gag. Except instead of a ball, penis, or panel, there’s a ... vagina.”
She glanced at us. “You can probably figure out what it’s for. As intense as the dog hood might seem, it’s actually kind of cute—and a lot less humiliating than having a big silicon pussy strapped to your face, unable to see.”
Her jaw then tightened smiling at us. “But the audition itself? It went ... okay?”
I glanced at Isla, who looked back at me through the small circular eye openings. “Honestly? I think the producers liked her. She didn’t break character. Even hogtied, she played the role perfectly. Couldn’t see her face, not with that hood, but her eyes—she used them. You could see the frustration. It was powerful.”
“And after?” Becca asked. “She just uncuffed her?”
“Yeah. Isla was hogtied the entire time, as they read through the scene. One of the producers fed her lines. Then the Mistress uncuffed her after it ended. That’s when we realized the keys were missing.”
“And the other woman? One of the producers? You said she was cuffed too?”
“Yeah. Not sure what happened earlier, but something went down. She was still in cuffs when we left.”
“Isla got dressed, I helped her back into the restraints, and we walked out. There was another woman in the waiting room—probably the next actress scheduled to audition. Both she and the receptionist looked shocked when they saw Isla in that hood ... and because of the restraints, too. I doubt the woman knew why Isla was chained up.”
I paused for a second. “Then the receptionist asked why Isla was still in the hood and collar. I told her the Mistress had locked her in them ... but we’d left the keys at home.”
“What did she say?”
“She just shook her head and said the Mistress was a psycho. That the two auditions before ours didn’t even finish because she was too intense,” I told Becca.
“And they didn’t fully grasp how unpredictable she was until this morning,” I went on. “I guess they hadn’t seen that on Friday—she must’ve seemed calmer then.”
“That explains why the actress we saw leave before us looked like she’d been crying,” I added.
“You just left and came here?” Becca asked. “You didn’t go home?”
“You were closer,” I explained. “I asked Isla, and she wanted to come here. I think she ... well, me too—we hoped you had extra keys.”
“I wish we did.” Becca blinked slowly, processing everything. “Did anyone see you leave?”
“No,” I replied. “People glanced at Isla at stoplights—did double takes—but that was it, I think.”
“Do you have to return the collar and hood?”
“I don’t think so. The Mistress said she’d bill the studio. Didn’t seem to care. She was more focused on Isla learning to be a ‘proper pet,’ knowing her place. That she needed to learn obedience. Like I said, she needed to be disciplined.”
“Okay,” Becca said. “Let’s get you out of those clothes,” she told Isla, helping her to her feet.
Just then, Sophie came in through the front door.
“Hey,” she said. “So, I spoke with Rachel and Laura. And here’s the story on the house. It’s up for sale, but Laura knows it’ll take a while to sell. So, she’s open to renting it. And—she’s willing to count the rent toward the final sale price, assuming the renter eventually wants to buy. Basically, she’ll rent it out for a year, then reassess. But she’ll lock in today’s price if you decide to buy. And ... it’s under market price already.”
When Isla and I arrived at the Prescotts, we noticed a “For Sale” sign on the house across the street—and the realtor was there, hosting an open house. Isla spotted it first and pointed it out; she seemed genuinely interested.
Anyway, once we got inside, we gave a quick rundown of the whole hood situation. And while we definitely don’t have the money for a down payment or anything, I mentioned—kind of offhand—that the house across the street was up for sale.
That’s when Sophie said the owner might actually be open to renting it out, too. Which is why she went over to talk to the realtor and get more details.
“How was she?” Becca asked. “I wish we could have gone to the funeral.”
Sophie shrugged. “Given the situation with her mom and this place ... it was best she didn’t advertise the service.”
“But she’s as good as you can be after losing a parent,” Sophie explained. “She was grateful Ruth passed peacefully in her sleep. But yeah, she doesn’t want to stay in the house anymore—too many memories, I guess. She’s moving in with her brother for now, but she plans to relocate to Florida.”
“Florida?” Becca asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Guess she’s been planning it for a while. And now, with her mom gone, there’s nothing holding her back.”
“Anything else?” Becca asked.
“Yeah. Laura had to go, but the place is yours if you want it—either to rent or to buy. She said my word was good enough for her. But Rachel is leaving in about 30 minutes, so if you want to see it today, you’ve got to go now.”
“Uh,” I began, about to point out the obvious—Isla locked in the dog hood and restraints—when Sophie cut me off.
“I told Rachel,” she said. “She knows what happened. She might stare a little, but otherwise, you’ll be fine.”
Becca jumped in with a smirk. “If she’s staring, it’ll be at the hood, not the cuffs. Trust me.”
Sophie added, “Really—it’s okay.”
I looked at Isla, who was already standing. She gave me a quick glance, then started walking toward the door. She seemed okay with it. So, we crossed the street, and Sophie introduced us to Rachel.
As expected, Rachel stared. And, just like Becca predicted, it was mostly because of the hood. That pretty much confirmed what Sophie told us yesterday and what we’d experienced. People around here were used to seeing women in restraints. Between Becca, Sophie, and maybe even that woman from the bookstore, no one seemed particularly fazed.
After the introductions, Sophie returned home, saying she’d see us in a little while.
That’s when Rachel turned her attention to us, confirming everything Sophie had told us. She then began showing us the home—but the entire time, her gaze kept drifting toward Isla.
It was hard not to look at her.
Isla stood silently, striking and surreal. She wore an impeccably fitted suit that hugged her figure with precise tailoring, paired with sheer stockings and six-inch stilettos that clicked against the floor. But what truly drew Rachel’s eye—what made Isla impossible to ignore—was the mask.
Her head, face, and neck were completely enclosed in a meticulously crafted leather puppy hood. Made from thick, high-quality leather in matte black and deep brown, it clung to her like a second skin despite its weight and thickness. Long, floppy ears protruded from either side, softening the otherwise imposing silhouette. Her eyes were just visible through round, openings—watchful, readable.
“I know it’s an older home,” Rachel said as we left the kitchen. “Rebecca and Ben really lucked out with the house next door—it had been completely remodeled. But most of the homes in this neighborhood are still pretty much as they were when they were built.”
She gestured out toward the street. “That said, it’s a beautiful area—close to downtown, the university, and it’s a quick hop onto the highway to get just about anywhere. And if you do decide to buy, you can always remodel.”
Isla pointed toward a side door. We had passed it twice already. The layout was similar to the Prescott’s home but felt less open—more compartmentalized. After seeing both properties, it was easy to appreciate the work that had gone into theirs, and just as easy to see the potential this one held.
Isla tried to speak, but it came out as a soft, muffled Mmmph. She had tried back in the car too. The gag panel under her hood made her unbelievably quiet. Or, at least, it rendered anything she tried to say completely unintelligible.
Rachel noticed Isla glancing and pointing toward the door.
“Is that the basement?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “We can go down there if you want.”
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