[Author's note: Hector has signed a contract with his wife Lotte to enter into 24/7 slavery under total female control. He expected to add a sexy new dimension to their bedroom games, but he soon realises just how serious about a Female-Led Relationship his Domme wife is.
Contains themes of consensual female-led-relationship, impact play. If femdom is not your thing, please browse my other stories for
something more to your taste
.]
---
BOSS WOMAN
Hector stirred in the bed, rolling onto his back without really thinking about it, eyes snapping open at the discomfort in his rear. He rolled back onto his side quickly, reaching behind himself to run his hand over his sore buttocks. The leather cuff grazed his hip, triggering memories of the previous night.
He was naked in bed, still wearing the leather cuffs, the thick leather collar still locked securely around his neck, and a dull arche in his backside from the punishment beating meted out by his wife over the kitchen benchtop. Lotte had been very thorough, pushing much further than he was expecting, making him take each stroke as she caned his exposed backside. She had reduced him to a sobbing mess.
Bea had been there too, and his guts clenched at the recollection of the expression on her face after she had administered the final two strokes, joining in his humiliation at the request of her best friend. Bea, the woman he least expected to be into anything like this, the one with the soft voice and the quick smile; she had added her witness signature to Hector's slave contract without hesitation, then she had stepped up and beat him just as his wife had. Hector laid in bed a long time, thinking about all that, replaying the moments in his head.
In the distance, he could hear movement as his wife started her day. Reluctantly, he checked the time and realised that he needed to get up and going, otherwise he was going to be late for work. Gradually, he slid out of bed and got to his feet, taking a few careful steps to test the discomfort in his rear.
Lotte's punishment had left him with a deep ache, but as he ran his hands over his rear, he conceded that she'd bruised him rather than breaking skin. He relieved himself in the toilet, still naked, and looked at the shower. It would have to wait: he was still shackled, and getting water into the locks didn't sound like a good idea.
Instead, he went to find his wife. Hector didn't bother covering up, but only because there seemed to be little point, not that being naked until commanded to dress was the proper action of a slave. In fact, it was the last thing on his mind as he found his wife in the kitchen and called out to her.
"Morning. You're up early."
Lotte was already dressed, wearing a long, striped dress that came down to mid-calf. She had clasped it with a belt at her waist, her long black hair brushed back into an easy-to-maintain ponytail. She was sipping a coffee and tapping on the screen of her phone; she looked up at his words.
"You're up late."
"I know, I kinda took a while to get going this morning."
Hector looked at her phone. "Who're you messaging?"
"Just keeping my friend appraised of progress."
"You're telling some strange guy what you did to me last night?"
"Relax. It's all anonymous. We're all safely tucked away behind pseudonyms. He's been very helpful."
She put the phone down on the island benchtop. The slave contract was where they'd left it last night.
"It needs a wipe," Lotte observed, following his gaze, "You slobbered all over it."
"You were beating me."
Lotte drew herself up, her supple, willowy body straightening, and Hector realised with regret that she'd been awake a lot longer, boosted by coffee. His thoughts were still sluggish. She appraised him for a moment.
"I guess technically I allowed you free speech last night in bed, and I haven't rescinded it," she observed.
Hector blinked in confusion, firing back, "What?"
"We're still in familiar mode, as opposed to deferential mode."
"Deferential? I don't...."
"It's in the contract, remember? The default mode of address for your owner?"
"Lotte, hold on, before you start...."
"Ah, no," she tutted, smiling, "There is no start, not anymore, is there? You signed the contract, twenty-four seven. We're not dipping in and out of this anymore, you signed yourself over to me completely."
"Lotte, we need to talk."
"I wanted to talk last night, but you didn't seem bothered."
Hector's eyes widened.
"You'd just given me twenty lashes, I was a little bit, uh, overwrought."
"I know."
Hector hesitated, trying to process her flippant reply. He had been expecting something else from his wife: an apology for the hurt she'd inflicted, or at the very least a hint of chagrin for taking it too far. Lotte didn't intend to apologise, though, he realised.
"I didn't deserve twenty. You just did that because you could."
"I decide what you deserve. I'm the judge and the jury and the court of final appeal."
"And the executioner."
"Don't be so sour. You're up and walking about, there's no major harm done, except perhaps to your male pride."
His wife grinned slyly, then continued, "But then, that's what all this is about. A true slave has no male pride. His ego is stripped from him. He obeys, debasing himself in whatever way brings delight to his owner. That's where this is going. But you knew that, you signed the contract. It was all written down in black and white."
"I just didn't think you'd do that to me."
She shrugged, ignoring his objections. "Anyway, it was twenty-two. Bea, remember?" she said.
Hector's face darkened. He wanted to say it, but accusing his wife of playing to the audience to flatter her own ego was just going to start an awful row.
"I remember Bea, Lotte. I was wondering what the fuck she was doing there. I was wondering that intensely as she used the cane on me," he grumbled.
Lotte folded her arms, unperturbed by the strain in his voice.
"It was in the contract. You read it. Final clause."
"Huh?"
