The Practitioner
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 18: Need to Stop Fighting
It was the next morning.
Isla sat on the couch in her black babydoll, hosed legs tucked to the side, her hands still mittened and cuffed together in front of her. The cuffs at her ankles had only just come off. On the coffee table in front of her sat the puppy hood—upright, watching, almost like it had a presence of its own.
“I washed it last night,” I told her, noticing where her eyes had drifted. “Used the sanitizing wipes from work too. It’s clean.”
She gave a small nod, but didn’t take her eyes off the hood. “What about the panel gag?”
“I cleaned that too,” I said. “Every piece. It’s ready if you ... if you want it again.”
“You said I didn’t drool,” she murmured softly, ignoring my comment about her wearing the hood and collar again—or so I thought.
“Last night ... when you took it off. But I could feel it. There ... wasn’t any inside the hood? Or on the gag?”
“Not really,” I replied. “Not until I pulled the gag out. Most of the drool was on the ball itself, and then whatever dripped onto the panel and the inside of the hood.”
“That panel pressed really tight against my lips,” she said, glancing at me. “That was probably it. There was nowhere for anything to go. And with the hood sealed over it ... it was just ... really tight. All of it.”
I nodded. “So, it hurt? You were in pain the entire time?”
“No,” she replied sounding surprised. “It didn’t hurt at all. It was tight, yeah—but it just felt like ... a tight leather glove. It ... it kind of felt nice.”
She then pointed gently toward the hood again. To the collar.
“I didn’t want to make it worse,” I said. “By telling you about it.”
She nodded slowly—because we both knew what she was really asking. It wasn’t until this morning that we realized the hood seemed custom-made, and the collar was specifically designed for it. It locked perfectly into place, sealing the entire thing tight around her neck. Once attached, the hood and collar became a single unit—secure. Final.
But it was what was embossed across the front that Isla was really talking about. Centered, in dark matte lettering, were the words:
Dumb Bondage Bitch
Cold. Permanent.
She had seen it last night, in the bathroom mirror, while changing.
“Sophie and Becca...” She closed her eyes. “And Rachel saw it too. They all saw it.”
“What are the fucking chances?” she said, mostly to herself. “I just need to stop fighting it.”
She shifted on the couch.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “I can take them off.”
“No,” she replied pulling her mitten hands towards her. “They’re comfortable.”
“It’s not them,” she added as she shifted again. “You came inside me. Multiple times. I asked you not to come inside me. Not there.”
She gave me an angry look before I could apologize.
“I’ll take a shower in a little while and see if I can get some of it out.”
“We didn’t have to do anything last night,” I explained. “I know you’re sore and tired.”
“I wanted it,” she replied. “You were playing with my ear ... and the look on your face. You wanted me ... and I just wanted you.”
She paused.
“I really wanted you inside me, but we’re just a few days from my ovulation ... So, I figured ... I’m already dressed up like a dog. What better time for you to fuck me from behind?”
“And the cuffs?” I asked.
“Guarantee,” she said. “So, you couldn’t have fucked me the other way and gotten me pregnant. You could feel how swollen I was. Those cuffs kept me from spreading my legs. I mean, yeah, you still could have, but with the pantyhose, I figured...”
“That’s why you wanted to keep your legs cuffed all night?” I asked. “After I removed the hood?”
She nodded. “I knew that if you removed them, I’d be on my back, hands above my head, begging you to fuck me. I was just ... you felt me ... I was completely engorged.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she then added, sounding tired, frustrated, and exhausted. “It’s like the restraints just make me want to be fucked. Taken.”
“It was like the other night—when I was in the hogtie with the cuffs...” She paused, her voice softer. “Becca was right. About what she said after her time at the mansion. Being like that, it—it triggered something. Some kind of endorphin rush.”
“And at the audition?” I asked gently.
She nodded. “Yeah, there too,” she said quietly. “So, when you told Becca I was really in the role, and that I never broke character...”
She gave a small smile. “Yeah. I just wanted you to fuck me.” Looking at the hood, she then said. “And that fucking thing ... I should hate that thing, but I don’t.”
She sighed. “Like I said, I need to stop fighting it. The clothes, the cuffs ... we know you like it, but obviously, it does something to me too.”
Isla then looked at me. “You said ... when you were talking about cleaning it ... that it was ready. If I wanted to wear it again.” She paused. “You want me in it, don’t you? I mean, you want me to wear it for you?”
I looked at her. “I—I don’t know. There’s just something about it. That outfit they put you in—the skirt, all of it—it was really sexy. But the hood ... it just ... the big floppy ears.”
I hesitated. “I can’t explain it.”
She looked at the hood again.
“It’s fucked up,” she said quietly. “Like, really fucked up.”
Her voice faltered as she searched for the right words, trying to untangle how she truly felt.
“But, yeah, the ears...” she said, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. “The long, floppy ears are ... Becca was right. They’re cute.”
She glanced at me. “It’s degrading. And somehow ... adorable.”
She shook her head slightly, disbelief and amusement flickering in her eyes. “I get why you like me in it—I can’t talk, just whimper. It’s humiliating but fucking sexy at the same time.”
“Yeah,” she said without pause or hesitation. “I just admitted it felt good on. Even with the muzzle underneath.”
She added, “We’ll have to see what that penis gag feels like. But yeah, I’ll wear it.”
Then she hesitated. “In public?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not after what Rachel said.”
Isla nodded slowly. “Yeah ... you’re right.”
I kissed her. She looked at me and smiled—then reached down and felt me through my pajamas.
“See?” she said. “Just talking about me wearing the hood got you hard. And you’re throbbing. I can feel it—even through these mitts.”
She lay back, placing her hands gently against her neck. I touched her softly. She was swollen. Aroused.
She looked up at me, eyes wide. “See? This just ... does something to us.”
Then, glancing down, she added softly, “Maybe it’s the something special?”
She sat up and kissed me, her voice quieter as she tried to shift the mood.
“Okay, time to get my hands back. I need to get all the come out of me—or at least try—before you take me to work.”
Isla held out her mitted hands. “What time do you go in? I want to get that birth control prescription after class.”
“I don’t have to leave until six,” I told her. “I’ll bring you home, we’ll have dinner, and then I’ll head in.”
She kissed me again—now with her hands free—then turned and walked seductively into the bedroom.
While she got ready, I changed, gathered the restraints, and double-checked that I had the right keys.
I was in the kitchen, halfway through emptying the dishwasher, when she stepped out. She was tugging down her sleeves, adjusting the button-up shirt at her waist—the same crisp, white fitted shirt she’d worn to the prison on Friday. It was neatly tucked into her jeans. The heels—ones she’d gotten from Becca—were back on her feet.
She caught my expression, gave a soft smile. “I told you I’d wear heels for you.”
I blinked. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” She stood a little taller, adjusting her shoulders. “But I should get used to them with the cuffs.”
I didn’t argue, instead putting her into the restraints.
She struggled a little once I was done. We both knew she couldn’t slip out of them. But it seemed like she liked trying—or maybe just liked being reminded that she couldn’t.
“Want the shorter ones?” I asked.
I could see it on her face—she did. But then she said no.
“I really shouldn’t be hobbling around campus,” she murmured.
She paused, biting her lip as if weighing the idea. Then she said quietly, “It’s bad enough that people will be staring and whispering. And since we have to stop at the university police station first ... everyone’s just going to assume I got arrested—or did something really bad.”
Her voice cracked slightly, worry clear in her eyes. “Let’s not make it worse by letting them see me hobbling around too.”
I looked up at her. “Is that what they told you?” I asked softly, gently helping her kneel on the couch so I could lock the leg cuffs on her.
She nodded. “Yeah. I sent them the letter, and they want me to go there first. They don’t want me wandering around like this.”
She gave a quiet laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “That I’d have to be escorted by an officer—they weren’t exactly happy about it.”
I grabbed her backpack, purse, and we headed out.
As I held the door open for Isla and me to exit the building, a man and a woman approached from the parking lot.
“Isla Kumar?” the woman asked, her eyes flicking briefly to Isla’s cuffs before settling back on her face.
Isla hesitated, glancing at me, then gave a small nod.
“I’m Investigator Halvorsen, and this is Investigator Daniels. We’re with the DOCCS,” the woman said, her tone calm and even. “Do you have a moment to speak with us?”
“I’m taking Isla to work,” I said, stepping in gently. “We’re on our way there now.”
“We’re here regarding the events that took place on Friday,” Investigator Halvorsen replied. “We have a few questions.”
“We’ve actually been waiting for someone to reach out,” I said. “We’d like to get this resolved—so Isla doesn’t have to keep wearing these. It’s been days.”
Both investigators glanced again at Isla’s restraints—trying not to stare, but clearly registering the full extent of the transport gear.
“We’re aware of Ms. Kumar’s situation,” Investigator Daniels said carefully. “And we understand the ... urgency. Would you be available later today? Or tomorrow morning at the latest? It’s important that we speak with you both.”
I looked at Isla. She nodded slowly.
“Will we be discussing the fact that your system still has her listed as an inmate?” I asked. “That she’s been forced to remain in restraints—in public, at work, even at home?”
Daniels didn’t respond immediately. The other investigator met Isla’s eyes instead.
“We’re aware,” she said again, more gently this time. “And we’re not here to make things harder. We just want to understand what happened.”
A quiet pause followed.
“Could we come by later today?” Halvorsen added. “We’ll keep it brief. And private.”
“I have to work later,” I said. “Can we meet tomorrow morning instead?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
She glanced at Daniels, then turned back to us. “But we’ll be at the prison. Is that alright? If we meet there? Eight?”
We both nodded, agreeing to the time.
“Eight o’clock,” I confirmed.
They handed over a card, thanked us both, and headed back to their car—leaving Isla and me standing in the quiet, warm morning air.
We sat in the car for a few minutes. Similar to what we had done last Friday. And once we were on the road, it didn’t take long to get to the university, not with finals week in full swing. The campus wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been earlier in the semester.
I parked at the campus police station, grabbed Isla’s license, tossed her purse in the trunk, and we headed inside.
I helped her through the classroom door into a small waiting area. Behind the counter, an officer just stared at Isla.
“Why’s she in those?” the officer asked, voice sharp and suspicious.
“I’m an instructor here. I need to teach my last class today,” Isla said. “I called ahead.”
She paused, realizing the officer probably had no idea what was going on. “Sent the letter? I’m the one in the restraints? They told me I had to come here first—that I’d need a police escort to be on campus like this.”
“Hold on,” the officer said, poking her head down a hallway that ran perpendicular to the counter. A moment later, another officer appeared.
“Kumar?” he asked, looking at Isla.
She nodded.