Alena's Game

[Author's note: if you don't like to read about female domination, please skip to the next story, or

check out my other stories

for something that's more to your taste.

Through a series of counselling session with Cassie, his therapist, Quinn is trying to come to terms with how his wife Alena managed to transform him from her assured, overbearing husband into her willing slave.

Alena has completed the denial games, but steps up Quinn's training, ticking off new items on the list. Quinn is left desperately trying to catch up and makes a startling choice]

---

FOLLOWING ORDERS

We sat down and had a long talk, my wife and I, after dinner one night. I poured two generous glasses of red and we snuggled up on the couch to discuss. After the weeks of denial, it felt good to be cuddled up next to her, though I still made sure to keep eye contact and not let my attention stray to her shapely legs tucked beneath her, or the tantalising curve of her breast in the tight white top she wore. I knew that she had dressed to put her body on show for me instead of opting for loose pants and a sweatshirt. Since the start of her experiment on me, I had been subjected to all manner of clothing choices, from the tight, revealing top she now wore, to eye-popping lingerie, all with the express prohibition against ogling her on pain of being punished with a demerit for inappropriate behaviour.

The last few weeks had wrought a change in my wife, and not just in the clothing she wore. It was the way she wore it, to flaunt herself but forbidding me to touch or look, all the while knowing that my frustration was boiling over after weeks of being denied any release. But now, we were cuddled up together, drinking wine and talking as if the trials she had put me through in the last weeks had never happened.

It was strange, the feeling of just being together like we used to do, the quiet, easy companionship that I had taken so much for granted. After all that had happened, I could see it from her side now, how it wasn't empty time waiting to be filled; to my wife it was a welcome sanctuary from the rigours of the outside world, a safe space.

But, tonight, I was unable to concentrate, fidgeting in my seat with nervous energy.

"Just to be clear," I said, "We're past the point, right?"

"Which point?"

"Don't, please. Haven't I suffered enough?"

Alena wrapped her arms around me, brushing my arm with her breasts. "I guess that's something we need to talk about."

"What is?"

"Whether I really have made you suffer enough."

I tried to read her emotions, but her expression was warm and playful. If she was lining up any curveballs, I could see no sign of them. There appeared, for the first time in three weeks, to be no ulterior motive in play. Alena was simply holding me and smiling.

"Just, first, confirm that we are done."

Alena laughed easily, throwing back her head, cascading her auburn locks down her back.

"Oh Quinn, you are such a worrier."

"With reason."

Out of the blue, she planted a kiss on my cheek.

"Without reason. Okay, how about this," she announced, "I hereby categorically acknowledge that you have completed the agreed period of denial. Satisfied?"

I let out a long, slow breath, sinking into the couch. I could feel Alena's eyes on me.

"Was it really that hard?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

Alena seemed to be pondering my response. "What was so hard about it?"

"Aside from having to not stare at you in lingerie, you mean? Or, aside from giving you pleasure and not being allowed anything in return, ever?"

"Yes, aside from the obvious."

I looked at her, stunned by the way she had just dismissed my three weeks of suffering out of hand, like it didn't matter to her that she'd done that to me.

"Didn't that mean anything to you?" I asked.

To my amazement, my pretty wife shook her head. "Not really," she confessed, "It was part of the game. That's what denial is."

"Easy for you to say, you weren't the one constantly frustrated," I huffed.

Alena gave me a reassuring squeeze. "I mean, aside from that, what else were you struggling with?"

That part of the conversation was clearly done, and we were moving on to whatever she wanted to talk about. Making my life hell didn't warrant further discussion.

"Honestly?"

"Uh huh."

"It was the not knowing. I seemed to spend all my time trying to work out how to avoid demerits."

"How do you think you went?"

"Well, uh, what was my score in the end?"

"Minus three. Close, but no cigar."

"And yeah, that meant three weeks without even a single moment of release."

"I know. I could see how hard you were trying, too. Just the last few days, trying to get to zero."

"I goddamn got there too, and then you pulled that stunt."

Alena giggled. "You mean the lingerie fashion show?"

"If that's what you could call it. It was more like a porn show."

"I know, I could see how hard you were, as you were watching me."

"Racking up demerits for," I screwed up my face in distaste, "Ogling. Or was it lusting?"

"Lusting and ogling."

"Yeah, lusting, until I was firmly in the red again. So, yeah, that was the thing. I knew that whenever it looked like I was going to win a release, you would engineer some trick or some trap to put me back in my place."

I had become quite heated, and was conscious of the way that Alena was watching my reactions.

"I really got to you, didn't I?"

"Yes," I growled.

"Interesting."

I rounded on her, then. "Is that it? That's all you can say?"

Unfazed, Alena simply nodded. "Pretty much," she stated.

I scowled at her in return, but Alena kissed me again. I could feel the warmth of her exquisite body wrapped around me, tapping into the desperate longing engendered by three weeks of her relentless teasing and her denial of my right to orgasm. I was adamant that I wasn't going to let myself get distracted: the air needed to be cleared.

"Did you expect it to go the way it went?" she asked.

"I... um... no. It was, uh, different to what I expected."

"In what way?"

"I thought it was a game, but it wasn't."

"It was a game, Quinn, it was always something you could have called off, but that's the interesting thing. Even when I could see you suffering...."

"And you increased my suffering," I interjected.

"Okay, yes, even then, you never considered pulling the pin, not once. Did you?"

Slowly, I shook my head.

"And what does that mean, do you think?"

"Uh, that I like to win?"

"Do you really think that's true? You lost and you continued to fall further behind. Winning wasn't even on the horizon, was it?"

"That was up to you," I murmured, frowning.

"No, it was up to you. You were buried so far in the game, that there were times that I...."

Alena stopped herself, and closed her mouth. Her eyes darted away from my face and she took a long sip of her wine.

"You need to finish that sentence, Alena," I warned her. I needed answers to the questions she was posing.

"There were times that I lost sight of you."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Alena disengaged from me and I felt acutely the loss of the touch of her body against mine. She seemed to pull into herself. When she broke the silence, her voice was muted.

"It's like you were someone else. Someone who became very good at obeying instructions, who was so desperately eager to please he would do just about anything for me. You became so good at being told what to do. It was quite unlike the man I married, in fact, it was the polar opposite."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Despite what I would like to have believed about myself, my wife had hit a nerve. There was a grain of truth in what she said.

"I think maybe, deep down, you get off on being told what to do."

"Seriously?" I objected, but I could hear a lack of conviction in my tone.

"I think you like me telling you what to do," she continued.

Alena leaned back against the couch and took another sip of wine. She had clearly finished her assessment. Now, it was my turn to speak, but I couldn't. I was once again struggling to process what she had just said, the implications. I had to assert myself all day, every day, influencing juries, shaping the evidence, convincing, arguing, cajoling. I was described by colleagues as a steamroller, a dog with a bone. What my wife was saying was that beneath all that, I was something different, that I had a need to be given rules, to be told how to act and what to do. Was that possible? Did I really get off on letting my wife control me?

"I think," Alena continued, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "Maybe we explore this further. Do you want me to think about what the next steps might be?"

"Next steps? So, you're saying we carry on."

Alena bit her bottom lip. To my astonishment, I thought I could detect a flush of arousal in her cheeks as she contemplated it.

"I do," she confessed, "Let me come up with an exercise to explore where this leads us."

"No more denial."

Alena shook her head, "No."

"Good."

"Sorry, I should clarify, I was disagreeing with you. Denial seems to be a very powerful tool to use with you. We need to keep it as an option."

My mouth opened. Was she asking me to go back into denial now?

"But not tonight. Tonight, like I promised, I'm going to give you something amazing. You earned it."

I laughed, suddenly giddy with relief.

"That would have been too cruel," I smiled.

"Too cruel?" Alena echoed, "Maybe not cruel enough."

Her eyes flashed and I had a strange feeling that she had already settled on the next course of action. Then she stood up.

"Come on," she said, "Let's get started."

---

She strode purposefully through the house, showing off her toned legs and bare feet, and I followed along in her wake, drinking in the sight of her body. Briefly, my eyes flicked down to watch the way her behind wiggled in the tight denim skirt and then I fixed my gaze firmly on the ringlets of glowing auburn hair falling around her shoulders. I had gravitated to that part of her during the last three weeks, as a safe place to look without racking up a demerit for staring at her body. Incredibly, I found myself doing it again and when I looked down to admire my wife's legs in the tight denim skirt I felt guilty. Whatever Alena had done to me, it was still happening. A strange thrill went through me: just what had she done to me? What if it was a permanent change?

I expected to be led through to the bedroom but instead we went into the office. Alena stopped in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind her back, watching me with a measure of muted excitement. She had a plan. Looking at her pretty face, seeing that knowing half-smile, I felt equal measures of trepidation and a strange excitement.

"Strip."

"Hey, Alena, hold on. We're not in the game anymore."

My wife didn't answer, but her look of amusement increased.

"Strip."

"You promised me something wonderful."

She regarded me closely, and I could tell she was working me out again, like she had been doing for the last three weeks. Alena straightened her back, which lifted her breasts. Her playfulness evaporated.

"Strip."

I stared at her. Then I bunched my fingers in my t-shirt and pulled it up over my head. Alena watched me, expressionless, as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs, stepping out of the bundle of clothing at my feet to stand in front of her in just my underwear.

Alena looked pointedly at my crotch. Reluctantly, I peeled off my underwear and let them drop to my ankles. Alena tutted, eyes on my manhood. I looked down too, to see I was already at half mast.

"Seems the lower brain is listening, at least," she observed, drily.

"The upper brain is...."

I didn't finish my sentence because at that moment, Alena stepped forward and sealed my mouth with an unexpected, passionate kiss. Her hands were on my skin, exploring my naked body. I encircled her waist, stroking her skin under the fabric of her top. I was now rock hard: just like that, she had pressed my buttons and turned me on. We weren't in the game anymore, but she had given me an order to obey and taken control. Eventually, she broke off the kiss.

"The upper brain worries too much. Don't you trust me?"

I found myself lost in her blue eyes, once again feeling the confusion and the desire welling up in me like so many times over the last few weeks. I was acutely aware of being completely naked before my wife in her tight white top and short denim skirt. I didn't understand why I hadn't even attempted to undress her, why I was waiting so attentively for permission.

"You're doing it again, aren't you Quinn? You're being a good boy for me."

"I... uh...," I faltered.

"See what I mean?" she crooned, "I think you like being a good boy for me."

She ran a hand delicately through my hair. I remained fixed in position, my hands on her waist, my erection standing proud of my crotch, almost close enough to brush against her tummy. I wanted nothing more in the world that to feel her touch on my engorged purple tip, but neither of us moved. I realised that she was testing me, pushing me. She wanted to know if the lessons had been learned, or whether I would disregard them now we were done.

"You see, you're still playing. It's not a game for you either, is it? I'm starting to think this is very real for you, Quinn."

Her hand drifted down to encircle my shaft and my body shivered. She ran a single manicured fingernail up to my tip, holding it there, applying a little pressure against my burgeoning erection.

"I think I could make you stand like this all day, couldn't I? But you've been a good boy, so I'm going to give you the reward I promised."

She released my cock and spread her hand over my stomach. She smiled at me and pushed me backwards, forcing me to take several hesitating steps before the backs of my legs hit something and I fell back onto a desk chair. It rolled back slightly under my momentum. I looked up at my gorgeous wife in alarm as she stood over my naked body.

"Trust me," she murmured.

I was silent as I watched my wife's pretty face. She was grinning, eyes sparkling with mirth, cheeks flushed. Whatever she was about to do to me, it was turning her on. She straddled my knees and plopped onto my lap. I felt the warmth of her thighs on mine as she leaned forwards, pressing her breasts against my chest. I breathed in the subtlety of her scent, raising my hands to hold her, but she grasped my wrists, guiding my hands behind my back. My erection was pushed up against her crotch, aching for attention.

Once I had understood that my hands were to remain in position, she released me and I heard her picking something up from the desk. Her hand circled my wrist again, but this time I felt something else against my skin: a cable.

"Hey," I gasped.

Alena didn't react, continuing to wind the cable around my wrist. I heard the scrape of plastic against plastic and realised that she was now wrapping the cable around the chair's back support. Her hand grasped my other wrist to pull my free arm into position. I locked my muscles, refusing to move, feeling Alena pull harder. I hadn't consented to this.

"What are you doing to me?" I murmured, my face buried in her hair.

"Line seven."

"What?"

"Of the spreadsheet. You coloured it green."

I felt lips brush my ear, sending a thrill through my body.

"You're going to tie me up?"

"Just a little. Trust me, please. I'm interested to see how you take this."

She was still pulling my arm, insistent. I began to understand what she thought the spreadsheet meant, that the lines I had green-lighted were the things I wanted to try: a default consent list. I began to wrack my memory for other things I had green-lighted, trying to piece together what I was letting myself in for. I hadn't envisaged that it meant I would be tied up, like I hadn't thought that green-lighting denial would mean that I was the one going into denial. I hadn't specified that all these things were to be done to me, but Alena had other plans. I realised that this was her next test, that if I yielded here, it would give her permission to use the list in the way she intended, as a list of things she was going to do to me. Once again, she was implicitly asking a question: who was in control? How far were we going to go?

Eventually, fatefully, I allowed my arm to relax. Alena moved my wrist into place and secured my arms firmly to the chair back. She got up from my lap, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She wasn't smiling now. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. It was the last thing I saw, because at that moment she bought a sleep mask out of her back pocket. I didn't protest as she slid it over my eyes, blindfolding me.

The only thing I could hear was her breathing. My rigid cock twitched and danced, begging for attention. Alena had never done this before, had never even mentioned it, and yet in the space of a handful of minutes I had been transformed from cuddling up with my wife on the couch, to being bound to an office chair, blindfolded and naked, with a raging erection that seemed unlikely to ever abate. She had wanted to do this to me, I realised, had already planned everything as we talked on the couch. Asking me if I wanted to continue was merely a formality. She must have known exactly what she wanted to do with me, to have the sleep mask in her pocket and the cable loose on the desk. Even cuddling up on the couch, she had always intended to strip me and tie me helpless to this chair. Once again, I hadn't seen any of it coming, completely outfoxed by my sexy, beautiful wife, too preoccupied with the feel of her body next to mine to pick up the signals that we had entered a new phase of the game.

I felt hands on my thighs and suddenly I was being turned and then wheeled across the floor. I tried to visualise my position in the house, feeling myself turning right, out of the office and down the hallway. The bedroom was at the end, but we turned again and confusion set in.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Just ticking off the list, honey."

"Ticking off what?"

"Well, it occurred to me that if denial by itself took three weeks to get through then we'd take forever to get through it all, so as you can tell, I'm combining."

"Why?"

"It's more efficient."

I could hear the mirth in her voice.

"So far," she continued, "We've ticked off blindfolds and being tied up. Let's knock off one more, and then you can enjoy your reward, okay?"

I didn't respond, trying to figure it all out. What was she about to do? The room before the bedroom was the bathroom. What would we be doing in here that was on the list?

"Lift your bottom up."

I complied.

"Good boy. Down."

I sat down, feeling the thick softness of a bath towel beneath me. To one side, I heard running water and the rattle of something metallic. I opened my mouth to speak, but I felt a finger pressed against my lips, staying there until I relented. I was not meant to ask questions.

Something buzzed next to me ear and I froze. Surely not? The sound was below me now and then I began to feel a shape combing the hair between my legs. Alena worked in slow, careful strokes, running the edge of the hair trimmer over my pubic area. While it had been on the list, once again, I had not intended it to happen to me. I had wanted to shave my wife, to see her crotch bare and pink, not mine.

Finally, the buzzing ceased and I felt her fingers brushing over my skin. There was a rattle next to my ear and the swishing of water. When she touched me again, I could feel wetness. My erection showed no sign of abating, as I felt her begin to work a soft lather into my crotch, over my scrotum and around the root of my shaft.