Alena's Game

[Author's note: if you don't like to read about female domination or male chastity, 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.

Quinn has found out just how much control Alena has managed to achieve over his body, using a ruined orgasm to turn him into her fuck toy. Off balance, he is given more rules to follow, further constraining his life and tightening his wife's control over him.]

---

TOGETHER, FALLING

Cassie led Quinn into the meeting space, but when she offered him the chair, he declined.

"I'm okay as I am, thanks."

"Big night?"

Quinn put his hands in his pockets and wandered over to the windows.

"It's just easier to keep moving, otherwise I start to get a little stiff."

"How was Syn?"

"Merciless, thorough, savage," Quinn replied, ticking each item off on his fingers, "It was everything I could have wished for."

Cassie looked at him quizzically. Quinn shrugged his shoulders in reply, not elaborating.

"She sends her regards, by the way," Quinn said.

"That's nice of her."

Quinn cocked his head, studying Cassie now.

"She was very curious about our sessions."

"I expected she would be. Don't worry Quinn, I haven't been discussing any of this with her."

Quinn laughed and shook his head. "Of course not. I trust you completely, Cassie."

"Then what?"

"It's just that, uh, she was more interested in whether we were working well together, how you were going?"

"Me?" Cassie blurted, surprised.

"Yes," Quinn continued, "She was enquiring about you."

"Why is she interested in me?"

Quinn laughed again. "You know Syn, you've seen how she works. Has it ever occurred to you that it's no accident she's got us talking to each other?"

"I'm not the one in therapy. What's on her mind?"

Quinn leaned tentatively against the window, his expression becoming more serious now. In answer, he pointed at Cassie's left hand. Cassie looked down instinctively, stroking her ring finger with her thumb.

"She wants to know how you are, Cassie. I do too, not that I guess it's really my place."

Cassie looked up from her hand to the soft brown eyes. She could see Quinn's concern, and in that moment, she understood a little better how Alena had fallen for him. The contrast between his marriage to Alena and her own was stark. On one side, there was the kind of love that joined two people together by their souls, and on the other, a landscape of deceit and betrayal, reinforced by Lily's subjugation of Cassie for her own twisted pleasure. Cassie too, like Quinn, was someone else's plaything, but the difference could not be more clear. Cassie's controller had only distain for her, making her watch as Lily fucked her husband. Everything that Alena had done to Quinn was out of pure love.

"I'm good, really. Tell Syn that I'm okay," Cassie said, knowing as the words came out of her mouth that it was a lie.

Worse, she could see Quinn didn't believe her, but he nodded anyway.

"It's always hard," he conceded, "Bargaining from a position of weakness."

Cassie took her chair, opening her laptop and paging through her notes, trying to keep her attention on the screen.

"Yes, I guess we should get started," Quinn said, and Cassie felt a surge of relief.

"Where do you want to pick it up from? We left it last week where we were talking about dinner."

"Ah," Quinn sighed, "Yes. That dinner changed everything."

---

Alena turned up the heat just a little. Something about watching me eat my dinner from a plate on the floor gave her the confidence to step it up into a new phase. Some parts of it were hard to take, even as we fell into a new rhythm, but I would be lying if I didn't also admit that some parts were very fun. Let me illustrate.

When I get dressed, I wear underpants, socks, trousers and a shirt. If the weather requires it, I would wear a jacket. If it's a day with clients, it's a full suit with a tie. For the former, that's either four or five pieces of clothing. For the latter, it's six. Footwear doesn't count, neither does jewellery or watches. When Alena goes to the university, she'd usually wear panties, bra, blouse or top, and then either trousers or skirt, sometimes with bare legs or stockings. If you add that all up, it's anywhere between four and six items of clothing, depending on the combinations. It might not sound very important, but Alena knew I would find it important, tapping into my ordered nature. She knew how to slide in the hooks.

Having me naked on the floor while she sat at dinner in her lingerie gave her a particularly wicked idea. It was a simple rule, but with endless possibilities for humiliation: I was at all times to wear less clothing that Alena. She absolutely knew what she was doing to me, right from the start, burdening me with something that would constantly remind me, no matter where I was, of the imbalances she was introducing into our relationship, the subtle gap between us where she was carrying her life on as normal and bit by bit she was restricting the way I lived.

She also knew how it would nag at me, my particular need to have everything in order, having to maintain the rule at all times. I would watch her getting dressed in the morning, and then work out what I would be allowed to wear that day. Alena had taken to sleeping in a nightie with nothing underneath, forcing me to spend my nights curled up next to her stark naked, since that was one piece of clothing less, as per the rules. If she wore underwear with a blouse and trousers, that left me three pieces of clothing, which I usually chose to be the ones that were important for being in public: a shirt, trousers, and socks. I was only able to wear underwear on the days she added an extra item to her wardrobe, such as stockings with a skirt. This had the added bonus, to her thinking, of concentrating my mind on the fact that she was wearing stockings as a special treat for me, granting me the luxury of underwear.

The only exceptions were court days. There is obviously extra paraphernalia required to attend court and it's clearly not practical for me to be naked from the waist down in court to compensate for the extra items. Though, one day she did joke, just as I was going out the door to prosecute a particularly difficult case that I had been hard at work on for weeks, that maybe she wouldn't grant me the leniency this time. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and I waited with just a hint of nervousness at the front door before she just gave me a kiss and wished me good luck on my big day. I felt a wave of relief, much more than I would have expected to feel, and stepped outside. Alena was behind me, leaning against the door, arms folded. Then she told me to keep checking my phone for messages, because she might decide to change her mind.

That was what she did, not all the time because it would have been exhausting, but often enough. She'd just push me slightly off-balance and keep me there, guessing as to what little punishments she was cooking up for me.

Other aspects were a little more difficult, but manageable. For example, she used the cushion more often, rescinding my right to sit next to her on the couch or at dinner. If she was feeling particularly cruel, then it could get a lot worse. One night in particular bears mention, since she used it to introduce the last of the new house rules, one that I found very hard to deal with.

---

I had a big day ahead with back-to-back client meetings in my suit. Alena had chosen a blouse and skirt with bare legs, which was four items to my required six. All the way to the point of leaving the house, she didn't relent, enjoying watching her husband walking around the house in shirt, trousers and jacket without underwear and without socks.

"You can't be serious," I protested, "I can't turn up like this. Terrence is going to think I've had a nervous breakdown if I arrive in the office missing my tie and socks. I'm going to look ridiculous."

Alena was brushing her long, auburn hair, inspecting her make-up in the mirror, seemingly oblivious to my plight.

"Yes," she said at last, "I imagine that's going to be humiliating for you."

"Please," I begged, "Have some mercy."

Alena put down the hairbrush very carefully. She had been waiting for this moment, for me to get to the point of begging.

"We could have additional rules, I suppose."

I nodded vigorously. "Sounds like a good idea. Like court days, I need special dispensation for client days. I love our games, you know that, but I also need to look professional. I need to keep my job, Alena."

Alena touched up her lipstick, taking her time to make sure it was perfect. She turned to me with a little, sly half-smile that boded difficulties ahead for me.

"How could such a pretty face hide such a cunning soul?" I breathed, momentarily taken aback by my beautiful wife's face.

"Oh Quinn, you really have no idea."

She beckoned me with her finger and led me back to the bedroom. We were due to leave for work, but I had the sudden inkling that perhaps her idea was that I earn clothing credits through a little unscheduled oral. It seemed the most likely idea my wife would come up with to get me out of the predicament she had engineered for me.

In the bedroom, she went over to her underwear drawer and slid it open.

"I had this in reserve for a rainy day, but I think it might work."

She brought a little cloth bag out of the drawer.

"I was going to put stockings on as we went out the door, giving you a choice between socks and a tie," she smiled to herself while she opened up the bag, "But it occurs to me that this may be a lot more interesting."

I looked at the bag apprehensively.

"What are you planning?"

In answer to my question, she pulled an item out of the bag. I caught a glimpse of silver and heard a clink of metal on metal.

"What on earth is that?" I gasped, my eyes locked on the device nestled in her palm.

"It's negative clothing, Quinn. You wear this and you get an extra point."

I looked from her hand to her face, an expression of horror on my face.

"Or you could just wear stockings like you said you were going to do."

"Oh honey, I think I've changed my mind. This is so much more entertaining. You know what it is, right?"

"It's a cage. It's not in the least bit entertaining."

At this, Alena approached me, reaching out to take my hand. I felt the weight of the cold steel in my palm as she gave the cage to me.

"It's up to you, Quinn, but I'm not putting the stockings on."

"Then it's not up to me, is it?" I snapped, more angrily than I intended, almost instantly regretting the outburst, regretting showing Alena how off-balance I was.

To my surprise, her expression softened, a shy smile playing on her soft lips. She kissed me delicately.

"It's always up to you, Quinn, you know that. This was always going to be something we were going to try. You knew that."

I opened my mouth to protest, but I could see that Alena wasn't playing the game now. She was asking me what I wanted to do, whether this was too much. I could see how aroused this was making her, asking her husband to volunteer for the cage.

"Look," she said, "I have to go, I'm going to be late. I'll take the stockings with me so I can put them on if you need me to. Send me a selfie of you in the car and I'll know what you decided."

Alena kissed me again, and then left me alone in the bedroom, holding the cage. I stood there dumbly staring down at it, only roused from my reverie by the sound of the front door closing. It was my choice, but it was also Alena's way. She wanted me in this device, but she had left it to me to take the step. Once again, she had allowed me the illusion that I was still in control of my destiny.

In reality, I was exercising less and less choice over what happened to me these days, as Alena took control of more aspects of our relationships. I watched her grow in her new role even as I seemed to diminish in mine. Where once I would have been dictating the pace, be it in the bedroom, going out for a night out or even what to have for dinner, these days I was hesitating, opting to defer to my wife's judgement. Here, at last, was the ultimate test. She was once again asking me to accept her judgement.

I inspected the device, noting the expensive finish of the polished steel, the larger ring that presumably went behind my scrotum, and the locking bar. There was also a key, and that was the thing that decided me. Alena hadn't taken the key, she had intended that I keep it, that I could back out at any time. I was being given a prison but also the means to set myself free whenever I wished.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, playing with the pieces, exploring how it all fitted together. It took me a few moments of tinkering before I arrived at the moment of truth and made my decision: just try it and see. I slipped my scrotum through the locking ring, feeding my flaccid cock through it afterwards. The ring sat comfortably against the shaved skin of my crotch and I stood up, walking around the room, feeling the alien weight around my genitals.

I sat back down and contemplated the cage itself. It seemed simple enough. All I had to do was feed my manhood into it and slide the locking bolt into the ring to connect the two pieces. After a moment's hesitation, I slid the cold steel over myself and brought each part together. I inserted the key into the lock and turned. There was a click.

I panicked at that sound, feeling an unreasoning fear that I was trapped, permanently, in this shiny steel prison. Maybe that's what Alena had planned, somehow sabotaging the cage so that once I had locked it, I wouldn't be able to take it off. I could imagine the smugly superior look on her face as I pleaded with her for release. I imagined her shaking her head slowly, grinning at my discomfort as she told me that I was going to stay like this. Incredibly, I felt myself firming within the cage, strangely aroused by the thought of my wife's cruel trick.

I turned the key and the lock clicked open, but I could still feel myself swelling. Why was this turning me on? What on earth would be appealing to me about having my manhood imprisoned at my wife's request? I realised that I had my answer: it was my wife's request. It would be a powerful turn-on for her as soon as I took my selfie wearing my socks (a better choice than the tie), letting her know I was caged. I took a deep breath, turned the key again and locked myself up.

I was going to be late, so I pulled my trousers up and fastened my belt. I grabbed a pair of socks and put them on, sliding my feet quickly into my shoes. Quickly, I took the selfie and sent it to Alena. Lack of tie would perhaps pass as smart casual. It would be....

The phone buzzed. I looked down to see a message from my wife and I opened it. It was a picture of her in her car, taken from a high angle, smiling happily at the camera. I could see her blouse and her skirt and then I stopped. She was wearing stockings. She had sent two words: 'tie or...?'

I came to a halt in the middle of the bedroom. Again, she was giving me a choice. I could take off the cage because she'd added the stockings to her ensemble, or I could add the tie for myself. It was a more fundamental choice, of course: to accept that my wife wanted me to wear a cage, to submit to her desires, without now needing to wear the cage to balance up the clothing score. I felt the unfamiliar weight of it between my legs. She had spared no expense on it; I could sense how important it was to her, but if I did this, I was giving her the green light to use the cage on me, to surrender control not just of my climaxes, which I had effectively already given away, but even of something as fundamental as the ability to have an erection. She was desperately keen to know if I was able to surrender that most intimate freedom into her control also.

I selected a tie from the rack and tied it around my neck, standing in front of the full-length mirror to take another selfie. I looked at the picture for a long time, torn, one part willing me to delete it, to not admit to Alena that I had done exactly what she wanted, and that from now, even my erections would be at her discretion, the other part wanting to give her this, knowing what it meant to her for me to take such a big step. I was late for work. I could feel that I was filling my steel prison, expanding until my flesh was bulging between the shiny bars of the cage. I hit send and then fled the house.

---

Driving home after work gave me time to pick through it all as I negotiated the traffic. On a purely rational level, I had no doubt that if I said no, Alena would just stop what she was doing. I imagined the scenario: Alena teasing me in her finest lingerie, acting coy, stroking me, working me up to bursting point. But instead of letting her do what she wanted to me, I could take her in my arms and just tell her no, tell her that I needed satisfying and tonight I wasn't playing denial games.

She would struggle and pout and complain, but in the end, she would give in and give me what I wanted. The idea of not being allowed inside her was an artificial construct, a game we were both playing. There was even a middle ground, where I could walk through the door, find myself accosted with her latest trickery, and tell her not tonight, I'm not in the mood to play. I could tell her that I wanted to make love to my wife tonight, not be tricked and teased by my tormentor, and we could resume the games tomorrow. She had threatened that we would go back to how we were before the games started if I ever did that, but increasingly that felt like a bluff on her part. She was enjoying all this as much as I was: the spice had us both hooked.

That was the heart of it. We were hooked on this new phase of our relationship, each of us putting the effort in to keep up the momentum. It was almost like I was living with a new partner, someone who demanded of me things that I never thought I would ever give. The comfortable, reassuring old Alena was still there, we still had the fallback, but I was letting her play her new role more and more often, giving in to her devious games, letting her take control. If any of my friends, or family, or work colleagues, ever found out the things she had me do, the humiliation would be unbearable, but that was the spice: the astonishing secret was between just us two. It would ruin us both if it got out, so we each needed to trust the other that it never would.

In the car, away from the pressures of work and the mind-games from my wife, in that little safe space, I could always find perspective. I had to admit to myself that I wanted to see just how far we could go together. The denial and then the prospect of a spectacular release was one part of it, but there was something else, something that I suspected that Alena herself didn't know. It was the expression on her face when she did those things to me, the way the coy, superior attitude slipped for a moment and I could see the yearning need in her to be allowed to do to me whatever she wanted. It sounds like a paradox, but by giving her total control I had made her powerless to resist me.

That night, Alena was late home from work, so I did the cooking, standing barefoot in the kitchen in jeans and a t-shirt, feeling the hard object between my thighs. By this point I had struggled with it all day, but I had stayed the course and felt strangely proud of myself. Of course, that was the easy part, hiding my little secret at work. The hard part would be facing Alena. She had gotten what she asked for, which was control over my body, proving to both of us that I would do it for her. It was setting a precedent, crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed, and I fretted about what it meant for my future. How far would Alena push, now that she knew she could?