"Lotte was right. It's such a thrill. I'm sorry I messed all over you, Heck."
Gently, she reached forward and pulled the ball gag up, sliding it back into his mouth. She tightened it up again, her fingers lingering in his hair.
Bea cradled his chin, brushing his sodden cheek with her thumb, tenderly. She looked down between his legs, her face becoming more serious.
"Look at what a mess I made of you. I didn't think I'd be this cruel, either, taking it all and leaving you with nothing in return. Look at the way you're filling that thing. You must be fit to burst."
Her eyes fixed on his and he could read the intent in her gaze.
"I could let you out, it'd only take a moment, wouldn't it? Just a couple of quick strokes and that would be enough, you're so ready to go. But it isn't what you want, is it? You want me to walk away."
Hector shook his head vigorously, tormented by the thought of Bea sliding down onto him, her hot, wet pussy enveloping his rigid cock, of filling her with his seed. He gasped. Bea hesitated for a moment, then began to pull her jeans back up her legs, zipping herself up again, leaving Hector wallowing in crushing disappointment, denied the thing he needed so desperately.
Bea strode past him, and he waited in silence, trying to bear the discomfort of the steel bolt that penetrated his shaft and skewered it in place, and then the metal shape filling his rear. Bea was right, and it was all he could think about: her soft hands unlocking his cage, stoking his hardening cock, and then him erupting all over himself. It would be glorious, but she had denied him, and for some reason seeing the gleam in her eyes as she'd walked away was even more glorious. Bea had reduced him to a thing and she had loved it.
"I think that's her car."
Hector jumped with surprise, but also with apprehension at the idea of his wife about to come through the door he was facing. Bea stood to one side with a washcloth in her hand. She touched it to his cheek. He could feel the cool moistness of it.
"No," she murmured, "No, I think I'm gonna leave you just like this. Lotte's gonna see. She's gonna find her husband plugged and kneeling and caged. She's gonna see him with his face all sticky and smelling of sex. You look like you've been thoroughly used, Heck. Your wife needs to see that."
There was a knock on the door.
"Don't go anywhere," Bea smirked, "Not that you can, anyway."
Bea opened the front door wide. Lotte was standing there, elegant in a long black maxi-dress that came down to her ankles. She was wearing heels, her hair pulled severely back from her face and coiled into a tight bun. She'd spent time on her make-up: dark kohl eyeshadow, blood-red lips, every inch the femme fatale from Hector's darkest fantasies. She leaned towards Bea and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Sorry, Bea. Traffic."
"No problem, come in."
Lotte swept down the hall towards her kneeling husband, high heels clicking, the shape of her body mesmerising his arousal-addled mind. He needed her body against his, despite her cruelty and her manipulation of him. He wanted to be used, to have his cunning wife pull up the hem of her dress and crush her slick crotch against his helpless face like Bea had done, demanding worship.
She glanced down at him as she approached, her lips curving into a little smile. Hector's heart surged, preparing for his wife's touch, thrilled and petrified in equal measure. Her hips rolled delightfully, setting his heart racing. What would Lotte do, seeing her husband in the middle of the floor, slick with fluids, plugged in every orifice? He was handcuffed, kneeling, unable to resist if she chose to torment him. He feared what she was capable of inflicting on his helpless body.
Lotte raised her chin, breaking eye contact, swaying past him and continuing down the hallway without even so much as a touch.
"I could use a wine, Bea," she called over her shoulder, "Let's catch up."
Bea followed close behind, and Hector was left listening to the click of heels receding into the distance. His own wife had ignored him completely, more concerned with having a drink and a chat with her friend than showing even a moment of concern for the man she had delivered to be conditioned. He blinked, unable to believe that she had left him kneeling and ignored after abandoning him to another woman for the weekend to train him. Surely she had some words for him?
Hector's head drooped, staring down at his imprisoned manhood despondently, felling utterly insignificant. Everything was happening too fast. From signing the slave contract to being bound and naked on his knees in the hallway smothered with Bea's juices had been what, four days? They'd only taken four days to break him. His pride had been stripped away completely, the idea that he'd be hard to train, able to resist being bent to his wife's will. He'd wanted to believe himself a strong, resourceful man who had been going along with his wife's ideas, playing out a fantasy they shared. In the space of four days Hector had been thoroughly disabused of that notion.
Now, it was obvious to him what the plan had been all along: they had been playing her fantasy, and it went a long way deeper than his. Hector had assumed that entering into a twenty-four seven female-led relationship would involve some lifestyle changes, sure, but also a lot of sexy slave play. He found out to his surprise that his wife had viewed it differently: she was playing for keeps. She wanted to make a permanent change to him, until he was her unresisting plaything. It was a long way past what Hector had expected; he should push back, reclaim some of his self-respect and draw the line, but he'd been steamrollered into obedience by the training regime enforced by the two women in his life: Lotte, the woman he'd married, and Bea, her best friend. The contract was supposed to be just a prop in their fantasy: it wasn't real, he didn't have to be bound by it, it couldn't be enforced in a court of law.
Yet, the two women talking quietly in the kitchen just out of earshot were enforcing it. It was real to them, and therefore real for him. Hector had no doubt that Lotte had always intended to get to this point, but the shock, the blindside that had sent him reeling, was that Bea wanted it too. Far from being a reluctant accomplice, pressed once again into Lotte's plotting, Bea had debased him and then exhibited her handiwork to her friend. She didn't have to show him off to his wife like that, she could have cleaned him up. But, she hadn't. She was proud of what she'd been able to make Hector do and she wanted his wife to see.
Kneeling silently in the hallway, Hector recalled the feeling of her body pressed up against his in the garden chair less than an hour ago, that intimate connection between them. He remembered the way Bea had quivered in his arms after they'd ejected Brent, her ex-husband. It had been a watershed moment, having been discovered as slave and owner, binding them together at a fundamental level. He recalled with a touch of pride the way Bea had stood up to her controlling, demeaning ex, threatening to invent a story that would implicate and humiliate him as much as them if he ever uttered a word of what he'd seen. It had been a watershed moment for Bea too, finally taking back some control from the man who had believed she was still the meek woman he had divorced. A lot had happened in this hallway.
They had forged new ground, a new relationship, and then as soon as Lotte arrived, Bea had turned back into the dominating controller of his every movement that she'd been all weekend. It left him with a question as to what was real: the Bea curled up softly in his arms or the Bea showing off to her best friend? Hector strained to catch anything of their conversation. It seemed to be going on forever, and no doubt Bea would be giving a full report. Would she mention Brent? Bea had told him it was her mess to fix, but how would Lotte react?
Eventually, there was a scraping of chairs and then the sound of high heels coming closer. Hector tried to discern his wife's mood from the cadence of her steps: maybe a little quicker coming back? What did that mean? Lotte swept past him, ignoring him again, raising her hand to click her fingers imperiously as she opened the door. She didn't look back at him as she stepped out into the night.
Bea stood next to him and he looked up at her for any hint. He needed to know the lay of the land. Bea stared down at him impassively, and the cold look in her eyes chilled him. Gone was the warmth in the last light of the sun, curled up together in the back garden. Whatever Bea and Lotte had discussed had hardened Bea's attitude.
Nervously, he got to his feet, looking from Bea to the open door. He wanted to say something to her, ask what she'd said to his wife, how much she had revealed, or maybe even just thank her for the weekend.
"See you tomorrow."
It was all she needed to say. Hector made his way down the hall and out the front door. His wife was standing impatiently beside her car. Although he was naked and cuffed and now in public, Hector scurried around to the passenger side to wait for his wife to open the door for him. She didn't move. Perplexed, he turned around to grab the door handle with his hands secured behind his back.
"Husbands sit in the front. Property goes in the back."
Her tone was icy, and as he spun around to face her, she sneered, as if disgusted by the plugged, sticky spectacle of the creature before her. Hector's heart sank, and any idea of protesting his treatment left him. Lotte walked around to the back of the car, opening it up and indicating the luggage compartment with a tilt of her head. Hector hesitated, but then caught Lotte's glaring expression and thought the better of it. Now wasn't the time, standing naked and collared where anyone could pass by on the street, for him to grow a spine. He clambered into the back, feeling pathetic, humiliated by his wife's haughty expression. She closed the back up and he felt the car lurch as she got into the front.
