Brie
Copyright© 2026 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 4: Time to Let It Go
I held out my wrists, and he locked the handcuffs around them.
Then he added the belly box.
The waist chain.
The connecting chain.
He snaked the waist chain through the box and padlocked it behind me.
Then he secured the leg cuffs.
He didn’t ask.
And I just held out my wrists. My ankles.
I was tired.
Tired from last night.
I’d given him the prison fantasy he loved, and now I was sore and exhausted. Too tired to even ask him not to restrain me.
Not to transport me to work.
Instead, I just went along with it.
And this had become our routine. That much was clear now—especially after last night.
I stood in the bedroom while Tim checked the restraints one last time. I turned slightly so he could pull at the padlock behind me, making sure it wouldn’t open.
“Everything okay?”
He wasn’t asking if I was okay.
He was asking if the restraints were on properly. Securely. If I could get out.
“Yeah. Yeah,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I can’t get out.”
I nodded as I said it.
He seemed satisfied.
Even though, honestly, he could see I was tired.
He’d kept me up most of the night.
We started toward the front door, cutting through the house.
He picked up my purse as we passed the kitchen and handed it to me.
I took it awkwardly, then turned toward the door.
The short chain between my ankles forced me into the same little hobbling steps I’d taken the night before.
One.
Two.
Three.
I didn’t have to think about how to walk anymore.
That bothered me.
As we stepped outside, the cool air hit us, even though the sun was already beating down almost directly overhead onto the driveway.
It was around ten. Enough time for me to get to work and get things ready to open at eleven.
Honestly, I didn’t know why I opened the bar in the mornings. Well, what I called mornings. What I guess everyone else called midday.
The only people who ever showed up that early were the ones who’d just been released.
I looked at Tim’s car.
“Is there enough?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Gas,” I clarified. “That cop only gave us a gallon. Maybe.”
“Yeah,” he said, as though he’d forgotten.
“You said you’d get some from the neighbors.”
He glanced toward their house. We could see it through the trees.
Tim’s place was in a rural area. There were houses around, but it wasn’t really a neighborhood. Just homes sitting on their own lots, separated by trees and stretches of woods.
Close enough to walk over.
Not close enough to casually drop by.
Which was good. It meant I didn’t have to worry about being seen in the restraints. The houses were set far enough back that you had to be almost at the end of our driveway to see anything. And even then, you’d have to be looking.
“Yeah. Alright,” he said. “I’ll walk over.”
“You’ll be fine?” he asked looking back at me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not hobbling over there. Would rather not explain these.”
He chuckled and started down the long driveway.
It was easier to walk down the road and up their driveway than to cut through the thick woods between our properties.
I stood there, leaning against the car for a few minutes. Then I spotted him through the trees, his red shirt flashing between the branches as he made his way up their driveway.
A few minutes later, I caught sight of him again, heading back in the opposite direction.
Eventually, he came walking up our driveway, no gas can in hand.
“They’re not home,” he said, voice raised, not quite having reached me yet.
“We should have enough to get to the bar,” he continued as he reached me. “I can hit that station on the way to work.”
“Should?” I said gently, shaking my head. “Tim...”
I was about to say something.
I didn’t want a repeat of last night.
He didn’t understand how lucky we’d been.
Had that cop run my information, seen that I was a convicted felon, for armed robbery...
I’d probably still be sitting in a cell right now while they tried to figure out exactly what was going on.
For all I knew, Tim might be sitting in one, too.
It would have been a very different night.
Tim didn’t seem to understand how close we’d come to that.
But before I could say anything, he opened the passenger door and reached out to help me inside.
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t want to argue.
I walked over to him, and he got me comfortable before getting in himself.
He started the engine, and we made it to the street when—
Nothing.
The same sputtering as last night.
The engine coughed.
Shuddered.
Then died.
Tim tried again.
The engine turned over, but it wouldn’t catch.
I looked at him, raising my eyebrows.
He gave me a look, and I knew I didn’t have to say anything.
But I did anyway.
“We can wait a little. They probably just stepped out to run errands or something. When they get back, you can borrow some gas from them and we can go. I can open up later. It’s not like it matters. Just call work and tell them you’re going to be late.”
He nodded reluctantly. There weren’t many other options.
He turned the key again.
Nothing.
I watched him stare at the dashboard for a moment, as if somehow the car might change its mind.
“Fine,” he finally said, accepting that I was right.
He got out and came around to my side.
A moment later, we were heading back up the driveway toward the house.
That was when we heard a car coming up behind us.
We both turned.
It was our neighbors.
They were heading home.
Their car slowed as they passed ours, sitting awkwardly where we’d left it, partly in the street and partly at the end of the driveway.
I watched them look at the car.
Then at us.
Their car slowed even more.
I stopped walking.
There was no point in continuing. They’d already seen me. There was no hiding it now.
Their car then came to a complete stop beside ours.
George got out.
Then Dottie.
“You guys, okay?” George called out looking concerned.
Tim started walking toward them, raising a hand in that casual little gesture you give someone when you’re saying ‘hi’ before you actually speak.
I stayed where I was.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to do.
So, I just stayed put, letting Tim deal with it.
As I watched him walk toward them, I could feel George and Dottie’s eyes on me.
And they talked for a minute, Tim gesturing back toward me as he spoke.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I knew who the conversation was about.
He was probably explaining that he liked me like this, but that I was only this way because I was okay with it. Because I wanted to be.
Then Tim looked back at me.
“Walking over with George to get some gas,” he called out.
I nodded and smiled.
George and Tim started walking toward the house, leaving their car behind with Dottie.
Then she started walking toward me.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said.
I could see the little movement, like she was thinking about hugging me, but wasn’t sure if she should.
This was Tim’s place. He’d been George and Dottie’s neighbor for years. I’d only met them recently, after I moved in with him.
But they’d been friendly to me. For whatever reason, they liked me.
Even though I was completely different from them.
I was the kind of person I knew they would normally never speak to. Never associate with.
I just looked at her, not knowing what to say.
“Tim let us know.”
Again, I didn’t say anything. I was just embarrassed. There was something especially awkward about discussing Tim’s fetishes with a woman in her sixties.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she added.
My eyes dropped to my wrists. I didn’t want to look at her.
Dottie followed my gaze.
“Oh, honey. You don’t have to be embarrassed about those.”
I looked back at her.
She gently shook her head, as if trying to reassure me.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she repeated. “We all struggle. We all get into trouble. What’s important is that you get through it.”
There was a pause. I just looked at her, but for a very different reason now.
“What ... um. What did Tim tell you?”
Dottie seemed surprised by the question.
That somehow made it feel worse.
Because she looked at me like I should already know. But the look in her eyes wasn’t the look of someone simply talking about a neighbor’s fetishes.
She smiled gently.
“He just said you’ve had a difficult time adjusting.”
“Adjusting?”
“Being back. Learning to cope with all the pressures and stress of having to figure things out. Making your own decisions...”
I stared at her.
“And without the structure you had when you were...” She paused, apparently searching for the right word, but then not saying it. “You know.”
I nodded slightly and let out a quiet breath.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she said. “He said that sometimes things get ... difficult for you. That you have your moments.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, finally understanding.
He hadn’t told them the truth. He hadn’t been honest with them the way he’d been with our friends.
So that was all I said.
Just, “Yeah.”
She gave me the sort of encouraging smile people gave children who had broken something expensive.
“But that’s all right. I’m just glad you found something that helps you. Helps you cope.”
She was talking about the cuffs.
“I’m really happy that they help you feel safe. That they keep you safe.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yeah,” I said quietly again.
I felt defeated. Humiliated. Somehow, this was worse than if he’d just been honest with them.
“For when things get bad,” she added, nodding sympathetically, as though reassuring me that it was perfectly all right.
I stared at her, not crying. I wanted to cry, but I think she took my expression to mean I was upset.
I was upset. Just not for the reason she thought.
Dottie immediately shook her head.
“Oh, no. No. Not—not like that.”
She was doing her best to correct whatever she thought I was thinking.
“I just mean ... when you’re upset. Or anxious. When you feel like you might do something ... impulsive.”
There it was.
The rest of it.
Tim had painted them a story.
And it was easy. So easy.
He had all the pieces he needed.
Criminal record.
Prison.
Structure.
Released.
The rest practically wrote itself.
No structure.
Trouble coping.
Add a little anxiety.
Maybe a temper. Maybe trouble controlling myself.
None of it was much of a stretch. Not with the foundation he’d already established.
And then there were the cuffs.
That was the part that made the whole story work. They were the glue holding everything together. Like the restraints themselves, they contained it all—kept every piece of the story in place and made the whole thing believable.
Dottie was looking at me with an expression that was almost unbearably kind.
“You’re doing the right thing,” she said softly.
She reached toward my wrist, then stopped herself.
“I think it’s very brave ... that you’re willing to wear those until you’re better.”
I managed the best smile I could, but I knew she could see I was fighting back tears.
“And we’re really happy you have Tim. He’s so understanding. He really loves you. It takes someone who really loves you to be that patient and understanding ... especially with everything you’ve been through.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
When I opened them again, Dottie was still smiling.
“Well,” she said, leaning in a little, “don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone.”
I looked at her.
“Tim asked us to please not tell anyone else.”
She shook her head and raised two fingers to her lips, miming a lock.
Then she threw away the imaginary key.
“Thanks,” I said, managing again something that was supposed to be a smile.
“Of course,” she said, giving me another sympathetic grin. “That’s what neighbors are for.”