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 finally called Alena his Mistress. She has convinced him to visit a kink club and while they were there, she put him on display in bondage in front of a roomful of people. The way she used him for her own pleasure has left Quinn with questions: is she still the wife he knows, or has she grown into something new? On his birthday, he's about to find out just how much she's changed]

---

CRUEL AND ARBITRARY

Cassie poured a couple of glasses of water and handed one to Quinn before sitting down in her usual seat.

"How've you been since last week?" she asked.

Quinn shrugged. "No better, no worse."

"Do you want to continue where we left off? Or do you want to try something else? I'm happy to go with whatever you think's helping the most."

Quinn took a sip of water before answering.

"Look, I know that Syn thought I should come here, and I really do appreciate you doing this for me, but I really need to address something first."

Cassie leaned forward, unsure from Quinn's tone. Was he having second thoughts about continuing their sessions?

"Sure, go ahead. This is your time to talk about whatever you want."

"It's just, uh. How can I say this without sounding weird?"

"Shoot."

"I'm not paying you for any of this, and I have already taken up a lot of your time. I know that time isn't free."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to pay you for these sessions. I want to be on the books. I don't think it's fair to you to be taking on charity."

Cassie actually laughed. "Don't worry, it's fine. I thought you were going to call it all off for a moment."

Quinn remained serious. "Is Syn paying?"

"No. No, she's not. No-one is. Why, would that make a difference?"

Quinn sank back in his chair before answering. When he spoke, it was softly.

"It would. She's done so much already. I have the means, I want to put this on my own account. I want to show that I'm taking this seriously."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

"If I pay you, then we're bound by doctor-patient privilege, right?"

Cassie frowned, surprised by the turn of the conversation.

"Yes, of course."

"So whatever I tell you stays in this room?"

"Yes. Does that make you feel better?"

"Even if crimes were committed?"

Cassie paused before answering, choosing her words. "If you reveal details of a crime, then I am bound not to disclose, unless I believe it would mitigate immediate danger to myself or others."

Quinn was watching her closely now.

"Is that the case?" she prompted.

Quinn shook his head, looking sad now. "No," he said, "It's all history."

"Then it's okay. If it's part of your story, and the story is getting you better, then we can continue. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, now where did we get up to?"

Quinn sighed and looked down at his hands.

"My birthday," he said.

---

We had this little thing on our birthdays, just breakfast in bed and opening cards. This time though, it was different; something had changed between us after the club. I had tried to talk about it, but Alena had stopped me, even going so far as forbidding me to speak. The next day, she'd simply asked if I'd hated it and when I said no, instead of allowing me to elaborate on the single-word response and taking the time to probe deeper into my feelings, she ordered me to wear the cage instead, as if I needed something else to distract me from my thoughts.

She didn't have that right, but I realised that it was a sign that she was heavily conflicted within herself, so I gave ground and complied, waiting for the right time to lay it all out in the open. That's what marriages are, really, aren't they? Picking the right moment to tell each other the truth. It took a couple of days.

I had been finding myself getting short with her in our conversations, and not just because I was locked up on a strict regime of orgasm control, though that wasn't helping. We were washing up after dinner, when it all sort of boiled over. I put the cloth down and looked at her.

"What?" she said, raising her eyebrows, hands poised to pick up a plate.

Her expression was neutral, disinterested, like it had been for days.

"We need to talk," I said.

Alena shrugged and continued stacking the dishwasher. "No, we don't," she replied.

I didn't move, waiting for her to finish and straighten up again.

"Yes," I continued, more forcefully, "We do."

She regarded me for a moment, and I thought I detected a defensive expression on her face, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she shocked me.

"No, we don't. Stop this, Quinn. You've been moping around the house for days. It's not good for either of us."

My mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Really, what?" she continued.

"I just thought you'd... when you left me in the club, I thought...."

"What did you think?" Alena interrupted, frowning at me, her tone now brisk.

Far from surfacing an inner conflict within her at the way she'd treated me, or showing some gratitude for what I had endured for her, my wife was instead showing her irritation with me. She set her mouth in a firm line and stood in front of me, hands on hips. I had expected contrition but instead, she went on the offensive.

"Can you do me a favour, Quinn?" she snapped.

"A favour?" I echoed incredulously.

"Can you please stop complaining?"

"Me? What?"

"Remember what you said? You told me I'm your mistress, right? Which makes you what?"

It was my turn to frown, suddenly confused by the turn of the conversation. I shook my head slowly.

"That's right, you know what that makes you," Alena murmured, "And that means I have the right to do whatever I like with you, right? So, if I want to leave you on the floor while I go downstairs and enjoy my evening, I will do. You're going to have to get used to your new station in my life. You're not my masterful husband anymore ordering me around, or expecting to be able to get me to do things for you. No, now it's the other way around, and I'll use you whatever way I please."

She eyed me up for a moment. I tried to read her expression, to discern her true feelings.

"All the way through our marriage, I've been trying to please you," she said, "But that's over. Now, you're going to be pleasing me. That's what it means when you call me Mistress. You're not in charge anymore. You only need to know two things, are you ready?"

I stared at her, but then I nodded.

"Good. The first thing is you exist to serve me now. I might tell you to do things that you don't get pleasure from, but you will do them anyway because I get pleasure from them. So, you may not have enjoyed parts of the night in the club, but rest assured that I had the goddamn time of my life having you helpless in my hands."

She matched my stare, holding my gaze for a moment in emphasis.

"It was astonishing," she murmured.

"Second, that I would never do anything to hurt you. I will make you suffer, but that's not the same thing. I'm going to push you, Quinn, because I saw how you reacted. You want to be pushed. You need it, I can see that. Don't mistake cruelty for lack of love. I love you Quinn, to the moon and back."

She took a look around the kitchen. "Finish cleaning this up," she told me and walked out, leaving me standing there, mouth agape.

I hadn't expected that at all. I had expected that surrendering myself to be turned into her dark fantasy would have made her profoundly grateful for making it real for her. Instead, I could now see that it had simply added more fuel to the fire, making her more sure of herself, bolstering her confidence. She wasn't feeling her way tentatively through the experiment anymore, she was advancing in confident strides, and I was expected to fall into line and keep up. She had pushed me to the edge and instead of standing up for myself against her inhumane treatment of me, I had capitulated and let her do everything she wanted. That night had been her test for me, a gate that she had directed me through, effortlessly, giving her the green light to push further, to realise her newfound ambition to remake me from her dominant husband into her subservient plaything.

---

It was my birthday a few days later, on the Tuesday, and my work always gives an extra day of holiday for birthdays. Alena was working from home, so that meant we could be together. I was hoping that we could spend time together, just the two of us, and talk. It turned out that Alena had other plans for my birthday, though, and once again I didn't see it coming. It was becoming a pattern.

Alena had been evasive about her present and I hadn't seen any sign of it. Usually, the card and the present would be sitting on the dining table the night before, all ready to go onto the breakfast tray in the morning, but last night there had only been a card.

The next morning, I felt her slip out of bed and I rolled over into the warm space next to me, smelling her scent on her pillow. In my drowsy state I must have rolled onto my front, because I felt the tight, stabbing sensation of my caged erection being pushed into my groin by my body weight. I groaned to myself and flopped over onto my back, feeling my manhood throbbing in its little steel prison. My aching desire returned, shredding the last remnants of sleep. Surely that's what my present was going to be: the key.

I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my cock trapped in its unyielding steel cage. I was always horny these days. Sometimes it was a background itch that I could put out of my mind and switch my attention to other things, like work. Other times, like now, it was a throbbing, insistent ache. Alena had locked me up and simply forgotten about the anatomy between my legs. I began to count the days back to the start of the experiment, to our first conversation about that damn list, the thing that started everything, and I realised that I'd been allowed to orgasm maybe only half a dozen times. Worse, Alena had only let me cum inside her twice, once at the beginning of the process before she understood properly about the power that denial gave her over me, and the second time with me shaved bare and tied to the chair.

Beyond that, she had done everything in her considerable power to tease, deny and ruin my climaxes, until she had simply locked me up and removed my ability to get an erection altogether. Was that her plan? Did she intend to push me to the point that I woke up one day to find that she'd turned me into a willing eunuch, pleasuring her whenever she asked for it without even the faintest hope of ever being allowed inside her ever again?

The thought filled me with an awful, twisted dread. Had my wife been playing the long game, finally returning us to the point at the start of the experiment but with the crucial difference that she didn't have to give in to my cajoling her into sex anymore, because the key to my manhood was dangling from her finger and I was safely and securely locked up tight? She would end up being able to pick and choose her orgasms without her husband nagging for his.

The worst part of it all was that the endless need to fuck her, the torment of wanting to be freed from my cage and feel myself slide my manhood deep into my wife, had begun to transform into something else. I knew that Alena was spending time online, engaged in conversations that I was forbidden to read, taking instruction from likeminded women who had subjugated their own husbands and were now dispensing tips and tricks, turning me into a human guinea pig.

Alena had stoked these new feelings, teasing me with her body, asking me to pleasure her, reinforcing my own unbearable denial as I explored her crotch with my tongue, hearing her groans of ecstasy, until something had rewired itself in my brain. I now found myself looking forward to spending time between her legs, feeling the closeness of our bodies, enjoying her climax even as I went without. Starved of my own release, even the prospect of my wife's release had become something to anticipate, to desire. But, I had to keep this to myself. The last thing I needed was for Alena to see that her training was working. What would she do? What if her plan was to turn me into a eunuch, make her husband into her sex toy, to be turned on when she needed and left alone when she didn't?

My birthday was the thing. She would come through the door and let me slip inside her, finally, because it was my birthday and she was always nice to me on my birthday. I sounded a little pathetic, even to myself.

I propped myself up on my pillows, listening to the faint noises of my wife preparing breakfast for me. She had told me she had a surprise planned; surely the surprise would be something to do with my cage. I began to let my imagination wander: the vision of my lovely wife between my legs with the key between her manicured fingernails, the click and the release of the pressure between my legs, the glorious feeling of finally unfurling myself to full size in front of her; my wife looking up at me and whispering, "Happy birthday," as she bent forward to take my aching manhood gently between her soft lips.

I closed my eyes, imagining the feeling of her mouth around me, sucking and teasing my tortured cock, then spreading herself wide, beckoning me to enter her, to fuck her, bringing me finally to the bliss of a long-denied orgasm as I filled her with my seed like I had done each and every birthday since we'd been together. Perhaps that was what all this was building up to: Alena was sorry for what she had put me through and was going to make it right.

"Wakey wakey."

I opened my eyes to see Alena standing next to the bed, a white babydoll negligee wrapped around her gorgeous, toned body, the breakfast tray in her hands. Her auburn hair was still in disarray from waking up, but she looked absolutely stunning. A sexy little smile played on her lips that had me filling my cage within seconds. The scene in the kitchen yesterday, the short temper with me, it had been consigned to history. Looking up at her enticing figure, I realised that I needed to sink my manhood between her legs, pushing my rigid cock between her soft, warm folds. I wanted to escape the cage and fuck her, more than I had ever done.

"Happy birthday."

"You look... wow," I replied, trying to read my wife's mood, to work out if this was a good sign or not.

"Wow? Is that all you've got to say?"

Alena set the tray down on my lap, allowing my eyes to see down her cleavage as she did so.

"I... sorry. Is that new?"

Alena straightened back up and placed a hand on her hip.

"You like?"

"Very much."

"Good."

She settled onto the bed next to me, pulling her lovely long legs underneath her and snuggling into my side.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked.

I wanted to stare at her, but I tore my eyes away and looked down at the tray: bacon, eggs, toast, mushrooms, and a card in pink paper. I reached out and opened the card. It had a cartoon of two dogs on the front, one dog putting up a 'Lost' poster on a tree showing his testicles, while saying to the other dog, "I went to sleep and when I woke up they were gone!"

Alena laughed to herself as she watched me read it. I opened the card. Inside she had written, 'You know how that feels. Happy Birthday Quinn, all my love, Alena.'

"God, yes, I do know how that feels," I confessed, feeling the way the tray was pushing down on the cage between my legs, how my cock was straining against its confines with my wife cuddling up next to me in a tiny negligee.

"Would you like me to give you your balls back, be my big strong husband again on your birthday?" she asked, "I'm sure I've got them around here somewhere."

"Very much," I replied.

"Are you begging?"

"Yes. You have no idea how much I want my balls back."

"Is it the negligee? Am I giving you blue balls, baby?"

I looked at her with earnest longing and she nuzzled against me, her lips meeting mine in a long, tender kiss.

"Eat," was all she said.

Obediently, I began to tuck into breakfast. After a few mouthfuls, I got up the courage to broach the subject on my mind.

"Nice card, but it does leave me wondering what my present is," I remarked.

I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing just how much her beautiful sexy body pressed up against mine was tormenting me. I didn't want to give her any more ideas about extending my denial further, on a whim, just to amuse herself. There was a glint in her eyes, like she was planning something; I didn't trust that she wouldn't do it, even though it was my birthday.

"Ah," she replied.

I took another mouthful and chewed. "Ah?"

"So, you believe that your stunning wife giving you all this attention in her latest purchase isn't present enough?"

I took another bite, stalling for time, puzzling my way through a response to a loaded question.

"It's a lovely present," I managed, lamely.

Alena settled a hand on my bare chest, stroking my skin with her index finger, leaving me to wonder what game she was playing. Her smile was innocent enough, but more and more, I didn't trust her. She leaned closer until her lips were against my ear. When she spoke, her breath sent little shivers through me.

"Were you hoping for something more?"

It felt like a trick question. "I don't know," I replied, cautiously.

"Oh now, Quinn, you know what happens if you don't tell me the truth when I ask you a question, don't you?"

I nodded, concentrating on my breakfast. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't. I opted for the truth.

"I was hoping, yes."

Alena kissed me gently on the ear. Beneath the breakfast tray, my manhood was raging in its prison. Her hand slipped down to my waist and she began circle her fingertip around my belly button.

"Let me guess," she murmured sexily, "I bet you thought that since it's your birthday, I would let you out and give you a special treat."

Alena paused, waiting for my confession. I put my knife and fork down.

"Yes."

Alena's hand drifted back up my chest until her fingertip found my nipple. She toyed with it for a few moments.

"Yes what?"

Suddenly, she squeezed, sending a pulse of sharp pain through me, reminding me of the clamps she'd attached to me in the club. I gasped in shock.

"Yes," I stammered, "Yes, Mistress."

Alena released me and I turned to look at her, but her hand was on my chin, stopping me. I could only stare straight ahead.

"Better, but not quite good enough. Seems that erection of yours is causing you no end of distraction. Is the little brain doing all the thinking?"

I wanted so much to turn my head and look into my wife's beautiful eyes. I wanted to kiss her, feel her lips on mine. I wanted to cup her breasts with my hands. I wanted to nuzzle into her neck, working my way between her breasts, lifting the negligee to reveal her crotch. I wanted to taste her so badly. The breakfast was now forgotten.

In response, Alena slid her hand under the covers, searching. I felt cool fingers close around my cage, gripping me tightly.

"Feels like the little brain is firmly in charge. What a pity."

"What?"

Alena removed her hand and leaned back, asking, "Are you done with breakfast?"

I nodded dumbly, my mind racing to work out what my wife had planned.

She picked up the tray and walked away from the bed, knowing that my eyes would be locked onto the way her body moved under the negligee. At the door, she looked over her shoulder at me.