Total Female Control Ch 04

[Author's note: Hector is married to Lotte, with whom he has signed a slave contract to become her 24/7 submissive. Lotte has previously outsourced her husband's training to her best friend Bea, who has demonstrated a hidden aptitude for dominance that belies her softer, happy-go-lucky nature.

Hector thought a slave life was what he wanted. Lotte's definition of a Female-Led Relationship is more developed. Bea's divorce is still fresh on her mind. When you give up control, where can it lead?

This story contains themes of female domination, male slavery and degradation.]

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DINNER PARTY

When Hector entered the bedroom, the curtains were drawn against the darkness. Illuminated beneath a downlight, Lotte was holding up the transparent plastic bag between her thumb and her finger, her face lit with an impish grin.

"No... no way," Hector stammered.

"Oh, don't be like that. Or...."

"Or what, Lotte?"

"Or this can very easily become the least of your problems."

"What if I don't want to?" Hector persisted.

"That doesn't matter now, does it? It's what I want that counts." She pressed the package against his chest. He took it. "But it's academic anyway. You know you want to. Now, strip."

Hector waited for his wife to relent, but she didn't. She stared back at him, amused, but also with a challenge in her eyes. She wanted him to protest. She wanted the tussle because then she would assert her dominance. Lotte wanted to prove to her husband who was in control; it turned her on. Opting for the lesser of two evils, Hector took the plastic package and went into the ensuite bathroom to strip off.

He folded his jeans and his t-shirt in a neat pile next to the sink, adding his socks and finally his underwear. In the mirror was a man who had been stripped completely bare. He was shaved from the neck down, pressed to maintain himself like that by his wife for her viewing pleasure. It still looked weird, Hector thought, like he'd been turned into a life-sized doll. Even his manhood didn't ruin the illusion of being a sexless toy, sheathed in its tiny plastic prison, his shaft and his balls neatly tucked away inside a clear plastic shell.

Hector was filling his little prison entirely, even as he protested inwardly at the prospect of what his wife was going to do to him. His body burned with the humiliation of giving in to her, becoming her fantasy. Lotte was in fine form; dinner tonight was going to be challenging. He grasped the clear plastic shell that his wife had sealed his manhood within, controlling what should have been a powerful, solid erection. His mind reeled at what his wife was capable of putting him through, but his body buzzed with the desire to be subjugated. He didn't understand how Lotte had done it, but Hector was surprised by the need that he felt to give Lotte complete control over him.

He ripped open the package. Inside was a length of tubing connected to a plastic bag via a little plastic snap lock. He unscrewed the opening at the top of the bag and ran the basin tap until it was warm. He filled the bag and then screwed it shut again, weighing it in his hand, feeling the way it rippled as he moved his fingers. He shuddered.

It had been on the list. It ha even been on one of the stories that Hector had passed to his wife. Now it was about to become his reality. A deep foreboding warred with a strange thrill. He tried to adjust the plastic casing locked between his legs to ease the pressure somehow, but it was impossible. Imprisoned, denied an erection, aching for release, holding the enema bag, Hector felt overwhelmed.

"Do you need a hand, slave?" Lotte called out from the bedroom.

Hector had to swallow hard before he could speak. "No, Mistress."

"You're taking your time."

Her tone was light, mocking. It twisted something inside his brain, triggering the need for submission to a superior female. He began to move.

The lube was in the cupboard. He got it out and daubed the tip of the tubing until it was slick, then leaned forward, spreading his legs slightly. Hector caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and froze. Staring back at him was a stranger, holding a bag of water in one hand and the end of a tube in the other. Hector watched, in mute fascination, as the figure inserted the tube into his rear.

Hector felt himself pucker as the tip touched his rear entrance. He took a deep breath and then pushed gently. The tube slid inside without protest; it had been lubed and Hector had become accustomed to the sensation of the butt plugs that Lotte had been training him to accept, all building up to this moment.

She'd kept up a training schedule, starting with the smallest plug and working him up to accept the next size, stretching his anus to accept the intrusion. His wife had delighted in it, widening him, forcing him to submit to the indignity of being penetrated by a butt plug for hours each day. She would ask little questions, as if checking on his comfort levels, but she'd revealed that it was for another reason. Lotte was ascertaining his ability to accommodate the plug, and when he was able to bear it, she would step up to the next size. He could see the glee in his wife's eyes, the way her cheeks coloured as she asked her questions. Training her husband to open himself up was a powerful turn-on for her.

Hector felt the tube slide deep into him and he clenched around it, then opened the snap lock on the bag to let the water flow. There was a sudden disquieting feeling of a warm, filling sensation.

"Higher."

Startled, Hector turned. His wife was in the doorway, arms folded, leaning casually against the frame. She was grinning at him, and Hector felt his cheeks colouring with embarrassment at being completely exposed in front of his fully-clothed and effortlessly in-control wife. She unfolded her arms and made a raising motion with her hand. Hector obeyed, raising the plastic bag above his head.

The change was immediate, the warm water flushing into him, swelling in his guts. He felt a pain and then a loud gurgling noise, and then the pain dissipated.

"Good boy. How's that feel?"

"So... uh... so weird."

Lotte didn't reply, her attention on the plastic bag as it emptied its contents into her husband's body.

"Okay, hold and count to two hundred, then you can flush it out."

Hector felt awfully full. He could feel the liquid sloshing about inside him, his bowels clenching, ready to expel it all.

"Uh, what if I can't?"

"You will. Count to two hundred, then you can go. Then clean up and come back into the bedroom, I have a surprise for you. Bring the lube."

With that, Lotte turned and left him to it. Hector stared after her, anticipating what she had planned, enumerating the possibilities that would require him to be clean inside. Stoically, Hector counted down, then hurried to the toilet. It felt like a blissful relief as he released.

Out in the bedroom, his wife had changed into a blouse, tucked into a pair of pants, stylish and casual but not particularly flattering to her figure. She was on her phone, sitting on the bed. She looked up as he entered the room.

"Come here. Turn."

Hector stood in front of his wife and turned away from her as instructed. He felt her hands on his buttocks, then she splayed him wide. A single finger touched his rear opening.

"Lube. Bend over. You know the drill."

Hector handed her the lube and bent forwards, his hands on his knees. He knew what was coming next, waiting for the snap of the tube opening up, then the slop of the lubricant. It was cool against his opening, making him contract.

"Perfectly still. Come on, slave."

Calling him a slave had an immediate effect on him. He was formally under her control and required to obey without question. She was no longer his wife but his owner.

The tip of the plug pressed against his opening and he did his best to relax, letting Lotte push the plug into his rear. He closed his eyes, controlling his breathing, fighting his instinct to clench and resist the violation because all Lotte would do was wait and then still continue.

She took her time, working the lubricated shape further and further into him. She pushed and Hector felt himself stretch to his new limit, wider than he'd been able to go at the start of his training. He waited to feel the girth of the plug slide inside and his sphincter contract around the neck, pulling the plug inside him.

Instead, Lotte kept pushing, flaring his tortured rim wider than it had ever been.

"Lotte," Hector gasped.

The was a light slap on his rump that made him clench around the incompressible object lodged part-way inside him, sending pain shooting through him. He gasped.

"Silence. Concentrate."

Lotte waited for the convulsion to pass and resumed her gentle pressure, forcing him wider than he'd ever been. She had never let him see the next plug in the sequence, but she'd said there were three. This was the final plug, and it was much larger than the ones before. Its tip penetrated deeper into him, filling him further, stretching him until it was almost more than he could bear. Suddenly, he began to narrow again. He groaned as the monster plug was accepted into his body.

The steel was cold like ice inside him, and he had been filled completely by it. He brought himself upright carefully, feeling the way it moved and settled inside him. He reached back around himself, feeling the smooth metal disc pressed tightly against his sphincter.

"You're all in. That took a lot of effort, slave. I've got no idea how we're ever going to get it out again," his wife chuckled.

Hector frowned, his face carefully turned away from his laughing wife. There was a playful slap on his buttock.

"Well, walk around, try it out for size."

Hector lurched into motion. The plug felt huge, pressing against his prostate as he walked in a slow circle around the room. The effect on his body was immediate, his cock threatening to burst out of its tiny plastic enclosure. His wife noticed it too.

"That's new. Imagine that, every step you take keeping you as hard as a rock in your little prison. It takes all the slog out of teasing you, slave. All I need to do is order you to fetch me things."

Lotte sat on the bed with one leg crossed over the other, looking delighted with herself.

"Tonight is going to be so much fun. Now, let's get you dressed for dinner."

Lotte sprang up from the bed, crossing over to the wardrobe. She pulled out a suit hanger and laid it on the bed.

"Look at what I got you to wear tonight, you're going to look so good."

Hector viewed the excitement on his wife's face with apprehension. She unzipped the hanger and opened it up to reveal the clothing inside. Hector's jaw dropped.

"What a perfect outfit for a dinner, don't you think? I have heels that match too."

He found himself staring at what Lotte was going to make him wear all evening. She'd found him a French Maid costume.

"Remember when we talked about this? A sexy little maid outfit. What do you think? Isn't it just exquisite?"

"Uh, I... that's for me?"

Hector's brain wasn't working correctly, struggling to find the words. It had been a fantasy of his ever since they'd met, to have Lotte as a French Maid, tottering around on high heels. He'd imagined it many times, how she would look when she bent down to pick something up, the curve of her pert bottom in the little black skirt. He'd imagined sitting her on his knee, his hand tracing up her stocking until he found the little damp patch between her legs, where he would rub and stroke her until she gave in and wrapped her lips around his erection. But now, she'd taken his deeply-held fantasy and twisted it around back on him.

"I know you wanted me in it, but we're not doing that. It'd be degrading, having me mincing around as a maid at your beck and call, servicing you when we both know your purpose is to serve me. This will look so much more appropriate on you, slave. I can't wait to see you slinking around the house in this later on tonight."

She came over to him, wrapping an arm around his waist, face to face. Her hand slid down to cup his bottom, her fingertips close to the steel disc sealing his rear entrance. Fingernails stroked his skin, tantalising.

"I'm going to give you what you wanted, tonight. I've put a lot of effort into this. Are you going to thank me, slave?"

Hector looked down at his wife. Her expression was playful, teasing, but her eyes were wide. She was burning with desire too, just like him. He looked down at her soft, perfect lips, curved into that coy half-smile he knew so well. A fingertip tapped the steel plug lodged within him, sending little shocks into his core. Her smile widened and Hector bent down to kiss his beautiful, cruel, cunning wife.

A stinging slap across his buttocks brought him back to the moment. Lotte pulled away, grinning knowingly. "The shoes are in the wardrobe, get dressed. I'll be in the kitchen."

"But...."

"Is that your safeword?"

"No."

"Then you're under my command. Get dressed. Dinner isn't going to cook itself."

With those words, Lotte flounced out of the room, clearly delighted with herself. Hector was left with the outfit, staring at it like an animal sniffing a trap. It was a trap, there was no doubt about that. When his wife had suggested a nice dinner on a Friday night, Hector had expected a twist, but he hadn't seen any of this coming.

He'd expected maybe to be naked, or collared, but to sit down at the table with his wife after a week of doing exactly whatever she said and have a nice meal together. Hector had barely put a foot wrong, showing his wife that he could be a good slave, that he didn't need punishments. Lotte had even seemed to respond to him, not inventing misdemeanours so that she would have an excuse to punish him. After the first few weeks, it had felt like they were finally settling into a rhythm with their new lives, with Lotte in charge and Hector subordinate to her. She was breaking him into the twenty-four seven lifestyle and Hector was responding.

He'd allowed himself to believe that the Friday surprise that his wife had been alluding to was going to be payment in full for all his efforts, giving him release and blissful fulfillment. He'd expected to be degraded, of course, because Lotte needed that in the same was that Hector needed to be put under control. He hadn't minded the thought of that; after all, it was fun to be toyed with and subjugated, to build up to a sexy reward at the end of it. He had even imagined that Lotte was ready to call him housebroken and uncage him, letting him slip inside her after weeks of denial.

At least she'd appeared to relent on the threat to banish his orgasms forever. She didn't need to. Maintaining strict control of his releases gave her exactly what she wanted: her husband pathetically eager to please. The holy grail, of actually being allowed inside his cunning wife's lithe, stunning body, was dangled enticingly out of reach, but never actually taken off the table. It felt like a new normal, after a shaky start, pushing him so that she could stretch his body and his mind, to mould him into what she required.

Now, looking down at the costume on the bed, he realised that they hadn't reached Lotte's end goal in his transformation. No, they'd reached a plateau. This was a base camp on the way to a lofty summit that Hector wasn't permitted to see. His wife was going to push him further into total submission, and she was going to have the time of her life doing it.

He hadn't crossed it off the list, because it had neither appealed nor horrified. But, feminisation was pushing his wife's excitement to new levels, promising new things. Hector pulled out the clothing, noting the short black lycra dress, the apron, the little cap. There were also the stockings and the lacy set of panties and a camisole top. He ran his fingers over the slinky material; at least these hadn't been pre-worn. They were a step up from what Lotte had been sending him to work in day after day.

He began to dress himself like the good slave he was.

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Hector was hard at work in the kitchen, keeping the red wine jus on the heat, reducing it down until it thickened. The rest of the meal was in the warmer ready to serve. Despite his discomfort in his appearance and the ever-present pressure in his rear, he'd done well. It smelled delicious.

Lotte called through to him, asking, "How long to dinner?"

"Five minutes," Hector called back.

"Have you set the table?"

"Not yet."

"Okay."

There was a pause. Hector turned off the heat and decanted the jus into a little gravy boat: perfect.

"My wine's empty, too."

Hector snatched up the opened bottle of red and fished the cutlery out of the drawer, turning towards the dinner table. He wobbled, stumbling on the high heels he was wearing, almost going down in a heap onto the kitchen floor. He took a moment to steady himself, thinking: more haste, less speed. He'd done everything right; dinner was going to be perfect, he'd dressed up like his wife had wanted, and he'd maintained a respectable, subservient tone all the way through. He tottered into the lounge with the bottle in one hand and knives and forks in the other, trying not to look flustered, taking rapid, mincing steps because it was all he could manage.

The plug moved inside him, grinding against his prostate as he strutted on his high heels. He didn't know if it was meant to, but the possibility that his resourceful wife had chosen a toy engineered specifically to tease him like this wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. Lotte looked up as he entered the room, holding her wine glass up without comment for a refill. Hector tilted the bottle.

"Stop."

Lotte gave him a look, and Hector found himself going through his mental checklist. There was something he'd done wrong, he could see it in his wife's expression. Everything was on time, he had picked up the correct wine, his maid outfit was neat, he had a properly deferential expression on his face. Surely she didn't require him to kneel at her feet? Dinner was about to be served.

Lotte's eyes trailed down his body, and Hector looked down at himself too. The tight black lycra dress was sitting neatly over his camisole top, the white maid apron wrapped around his waist. The hemline of the dress was straight, pulled down to cover his stocking tops. His stockings were straight on his smooth, shaved legs. Then he realised and brought his feet together, ankles touching, like she'd made him do: a proper maid pose. He felt his adjusted stance place pressure on the cock cage nestled under his little lacy panties, and the plug in his rear. Very carefully, he bent from the waist to refresh his wife's glass.

Hector was greeted with a hint of a smile: he'd done well, remembering everything that his mistress had told him about deportment and the proper way to serve. He straightened up.

"Will there be anything else Mistress, or shall I serve?"

"You're already serving, maid. But yes, I'd also like to be served dinner at some point before midnight."

The comment stung but Hector didn't react, giving a little nod and then going back to his duties. He made sure to walk slowly and steadily; the last thing he needed after all his hard work was to topple over in his heels and disgrace himself. He was acutely aware of the way his bottom rolled in his little tight dress with each step he took. Lotte had chosen high stiletto heels for this specific reason, and the irony wasn't lost on him that he'd always loved watching his wife's rear as she walked in high heels, and now there she was, taking the same delight in watching him.

"You look delicious from behind. I may need to keep you like this."

Hector didn't reply, but he could feel his wife's eyes on him. Deep inside the dress and the stockings and the panties and the plastic cage his wife had made him wear, his manhood was throbbing, aching with a singular purpose. He was waiting to be unleashed and put to use. He just needed to get through dinner without any mistakes. The gleam in Lotte's eyes told him that whatever she had been planning, it was going to be spectacular. Hector set the two places for dinner, and allowed himself a smile.