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.

After spending the day locked in a pet crate, Quinn is finally piecing together Alena's ultimate plan for him. But there is still her third sexual fantasy to come]

---

TRUST EXERCISE

I woke up with a start, feeling that strange sensation of being somewhere unfamiliar, until my mind settled and I realised that I was on my own in the guest bedroom. Sunlight was streaming through the window because I had forgotten to close the curtains, the sun shining directly into my face and rousing me from troubled dreams.

I swung my legs out of bed and stretched, my body stiff from being packed inside the pet crate for most of yesterday. My manhood was throbbing, pressed tightly against the steel bars of its cage, but more than usual this morning after the torture of yesterday. Alena had stepped it up, adding public humiliation to her repertoire, and even the act of remembering my helpless position, locked in the pet crate in the open back of the car in the middle of the car park, caused my manhood to swell unbearably. It was as if she had done it purposely to etch the memory into my mind, so that I would replay it over and over, and the feelings of complete submission would take hold of me again. She had made me start conditioning myself: the reliving of her cruel treatment of me sending an urgent thrill through my body, making me desperate for her touch, for the mercy of her release. I allowed myself a moment to contemplate the feeling of Alena's smooth hands unlocking me and granting me my long-sought freedom as a reward for me obedient behaviour in the crate; it was almost too much for me to bear.

With a supreme effort, I put it all out of my mind and went to find my wife. I could hear movements in the kitchen, and when I arrived, Alena was already dressed for the day in jeans and a blouse, tidying away breakfast things. She looked up at me and gave me a sweet little smile.

"You're up," she observed.

"Yeah."

Alena came over to me. Without warning, she reached out and tugged on my cage.

"I mean, you're up. Or as up as you can get."

"Yeah."

She grinned as her fingers slid around the steel cage to cup my balls.

"These must be full to bursting by now."

I made to pull away, but she seized the cage, trapping me.

"Please," I said, "Don't."

"Still a little sore from yesterday?"

"Yes," I replied, "I'm still sore about yesterday," making a clear distinction that my issue was with what happened.

Alena's smile faded and I sensed a hesitation in her. She let go of my cage and resumed the task of putting her breakfast things in the dishwasher, ignoring me as I stood there, caged, naked and obviously still struggling with how yesterday had unfolded. Her reluctance to talk riled me up, the anger coming out of nowhere, fuelled by the endless frustration of not even being allowed the simple pleasure of an unfettered erection, let alone the chance of physical relief.

"Is that all you've got to say?" I snapped, my gaze fixed on the back of her head as she bent down to put her plate into the rack.

Alena froze. A moment later, she slid the rack back into the dishwasher, closed it carefully and then stood up. My anger turned to uneasiness at having crossed the line and incurred my wife's wrath. The man Alena married would not have thought twice about speaking his mind, but here I was, dreading the next words out of her mouth, fearing what else she was going to do to me. Her hold over me had become absolute.

When she turned around, I braced myself for a broadside, but instead she went up on her tiptoes and kissed me, just a light peck on the lips.

"Yes, that's all I have to say right now," she replied, "You need to be dressed and ready to go in twenty minutes otherwise we're going to miss lunch. Let's get that out of the way and then we can have a discussion."

I blinked in confusion. "Lunch?"

"With my parents."

"You didn't tell me we were having lunch with them."

"I don't have to. I control the diary. I say if you have anything on, and you don't. You didn't need to know what we're doing, darling, you just need to be ready to go in twenty minutes."

I gaped at her. For some reason the only thing that came out of my mouth was, "But I haven't even had breakfast."

"You slept in and missed it. You snooze you lose."

"That's not fair."

Alena shrugged and patted me on my bare bottom as she walked past me. "Nineteen minutes now."

I turned to say something, but she was already through the door. We weren't going to talk about the crate, we weren't discussing the fact that Alena had turned her husband into her obedient house-broken pet, we weren't even going to cover the fact that I wasn't allowed to have breakfast, because it seemed that Alena didn't care about my opinions. All that mattered is that I did what she said, when she said. The memory of Alena bringing herself to a massive orgasm watching me eat from my bowl in my crate proved that I was being groomed to fulfil a very specific control fantasy of hers. I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen trying to understand any of it.

"Eighteen," I heard her call out from somewhere else in the house, "And you are definitely leaving on zero, dressed or naked, your decision."

I sprang into motion, heading for the shower. As I let the water run, I contemplated what was in store for me today. A visit to her parents was a stressful affair at the best of times, but seeing them after having put myself completely under the control of their daughter was going to be excruciating. Her father, the recently-retired Dean of Mathematics at the university where Alena worked, was not a man to be trifled with. His opinions, delivered vociferously over the dinner table, had long dominated all our interactions. It wasn't hard to see where Alena's intransigent streak and her fickleness came from.

I soaped myself up, washing my hair quickly then cleaning my manhood as best as I could, working between the bars of the steel cage. I couldn't wash myself properly, and for a moment, I was carried away by a wave of apathy, overwhelmed, holding my imprisoned manhood in my hands and staring down at it. I found myself wondering how I had managed to get myself into this.

"Ten."

My head snapped up to see my wife leaning against the door frame, arms folded, watching me. I turned the water off and stepped hurriedly out of the shower. She handed me a towel and I dried myself off. I didn't meet her eyes though. I couldn't: I felt ashamed of being caught out wallowing. My wife waited until I had dried myself off and then took the towel from me, hanging it up again.

"You're really struggling today," she said.

"Yeah."

"Wait there a sec."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

Alena left me alone for a few moments before returning with something dangling between her fingers. My excitement spiked as I recognised my key.

"This might make it easier," she said, "Hold still."

Alena went down on her knees, taking my cage in her hands and I felt a sudden dizzying rush at being finally granted my freedom. She was doing it out of the blue, without prerequisites, baffling me. Alena fitted the key into the lock and there was a reassuring click. I felt the steel fall away as she removed it, then the softness of her hands as she slid my shaft and balls through the locking ring, leaving me standing unencumbered at last. I began to swell and extend.

"Oh no you don't," Alena murmured, watching me come erect, "Eight minutes."

Her face was close to the tip of my cock, her soft lips slightly open. Unable to resist, I felt the blood pumping into my cock until I was rigid, standing proud and tantalisingly close to her mouth. I wanted to feel her lips on the purple tip of my manhood, and then the delight of sliding into the moist warmth of her mouth. I was so very horny; it would take less than a minute of her expert attention and I would finally empty my balls in an exquisite climax. Even if she left me to shoot my load uselessly across the floor, it would be enough. I looked down at her upturned face, my eyes burning with longing.

Instead, Alena stood up. She wrapped her hand around my shaft and squeezed slightly.

"You know, I'm not sure which is the cruellest," she mused, "Is it keeping you locked up so you can't get hard, or is it letting you out so you can?"

Her hand began to move back and forth, eliciting a groan from me.

"With the cage on, you know there's no possibility of climax. With it off, you never know, do you? I might just keep doing this until you finally get to...."

Alena brought me expertly to the brink, and I suddenly twitched in her grip. I cursed myself, but it was enough, telling Alena all she needed to know. She withdrew her hand, leaving me rock solid and unsatisfied, bobbing in the air.

"Six minutes."

I clenched my jaws shut, hissing through my teeth. The tease was unbearable.

"Please," I rasped, "Just finish me. I'll do anything."

Alena's mood had shifted again, and I saw the gleam in my wife's eyes that told me beyond a doubt that she was as horny as I was, turned on powerfully by her display of control over me, making me beg her for even as little as a hand job for relief.

"How about you get dressed like a good husband then? That'd be a start."

She swatted my engorged manhood playfully, then walked out. I followed like an eager puppy, stark naked behind her. Alena led me through to the bedroom, where she had laid out on the bed what I was going to be wearing. I looked over her choices, frowning in confusion.

Alena had picked out a pair of jeans and a casual shirt, which was as I'd expected for a visit to her parents, and socks, but the final item was a shock: a pair of briefs. She must have read the expression on my face.

"We're going to see my parents," she said, "We're not playing games. You're allowed underwear."

I hesitated.

"Get dressed, Quinn. I want us to have a normal lunch. Then we can talk."

I hurried to comply, slipping the briefs on. It was deeply strange to be wearing underwear after all this time, as if my skin had forgotten how it felt. I pulled on socks too, and it felt like a luxury. The jeans went on next.

"Four minutes. You might even get to wear shoes at this rate."

I began to pull the shirt on, finding shoes at the same time, buttoning myself up as we moved towards the front door. Alena picked up the car keys.

"I'll drive," she said, "It's safer. Your concentration's shot to hell."

I didn't argue, going around to the passenger side and allowing my wife to drive us to her parents. I registered the fact that Alena was now in charge of the car as well, sitting in the driver's seat and relegating me to the role of passenger in our journey.

"Don't look so worried," she told me, "It's just lunch."

"Is it?" I asked.

Alena squeezed my hand. "Yes, Quinn, it's just the two of us going to lunch."

"Really, though, is it?"

She had used my name, which was unusual, acknowledging me as an equal for once, but I needed an answer. Alena kept her hand on mine for a moment longer and then returned it to the steering wheel.

---

Lunch went as well as I'd expected: an hour of trying not to fall into discussions on the things that her father specialised in, which was pretty much everything. I had an unexpected win, steering the conversation around to the subject of the new privacy legislation that was currently going through. It was the one area that he ceded to me, leaving his daughter to listen in silence as we debated the finer points of law.

I kept looking across at Alena, trying to gauge her reaction as I interacted with her father, but she was curiously blank. The subject turned to other matters, and Alena remained reserved, not committing herself to an opinion, deferring to her father. She'd always done this, all the way through our marriage, deferring naturally to me in the same way when we first started dating. Looking at it through the lens of the last few months, I began to realise that my previous bombastic behaviour had been triggering the corresponding docile behaviour in her, instilled into her since childhood by her dominant father. It made me realise just how much we were both being changed by Alena's experiment.

Her mother enquired about the conference that Alena had coming up next week, and they talked about the paper she was presenting. I watched my wife's reaction closely as her mother teased out the details, showing an interest in her daughter's research. Alena seemed to come alive for the first time since we'd sat down to eat, delighting in the opportunity to show off her work to her parents. I watched her smiling as she talked, basking in the attention until her father made a comment about perhaps she'd be able to get as far as being the keynote speaker next time. It was an offhand remark, but not a compliment. I watched Alena crumple a little as her father made it clear that she still had some way yet to go.

Afterwards, Alena didn't drive us home. Instead, we headed down to the lake, which was only a short distance from where her parents lived in one of the more expensive outer suburbs of the city. She turned down a dirt road, slowing down as we bumped over the potholes, until we came to a deserted carpark alongside the edge of the water. Our conversation had dried up, and as she turned off the engine, the silence was stark.

"I thought we could go for a walk," Alena said at last, "Would you like that?"

"If you want."

Alena hissed through her teeth. "Do you want to, is what I'm asking."

"Sure."

"Good."

She opened the door and got out. I followed, trying to read my wife's mood. A visit to her parents was usually a stressful affair for her, but this was different. She met me in front of the car and stood, staring out at the lake.

"How about you say what you're thinking, Quinn?"

I hesitated.

"You're fully dressed, going for a romantic walk with your lovely wife by the lake. She's asking you what's on your mind."

The hesitation wasn't because I had nothing to say. It was because I didn't know where to start.

"Damn it, come on," she snapped, rounding on me unexpectedly, "There must be something you want to get off your chest. There was a time when I couldn't get you to stop talking long enough to listen to me, and now you're afraid to even start."

No, the strain of lunch with her parents had not helped her state of mind.

"There is," I responded, a little too quickly, not thinking it through, speaking off the cuff, "The crate. What you did to me yesterday."

"Which part?"

"All of it, Alena," I replied, "All of it."

She held my gaze for a few moments longer, then she nodded over to the lake. "Shall we walk?" she suggested.

There was a little path threading its way through the long grass at the lake's edge, winding its way towards a low cliff in the distance. A veil of water spewed over the lip and plunged into the lake. She began to head towards it, and I followed her.

"Where do you want to start?" she asked.

"The treatment. It was inhumane, what you did to me."

"I know."

"You know? Yet, you still did it? Why?"

"You need to ask yourself that question."

"I don't. I wasn't the one who locked my husband naked in a dog crate for my own kicks."

"You were the one who stripped off and got into a dog crate naked."

I groaned, and she gave me an inquisitive look. We were side by side on the little path.

"You told me to," I shot back.

"You wanted to, Quinn."

I laughed, but there was little humour in it.

"Really, you don't think so?" Alena continued, "If that's wrong, then what the hell was going on between your legs?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"You were filling your little cage. I thought you were going to pop it."

"I...."

"No, stop. That's all I'm doing Quinn. I'm listening to what your body's telling me when I do those things. Remember your birthday? How much you protested that? The indignity of your wife caning you, of having to bend over and take punishment from the woman you used to wrap around your finger?"

She paused, searching for the words she needed.

"All of the while, you were rock hard. In the crate, even as I fed you my leftovers, you were rock hard. You get off on it, all of it, which means that all this protesting is just window dressing."

Alena made a sour face, her exasperation surfacing.

"I know why you're doing it Quinn, it's to assuage your bruised male ego as you willingly put yourself under my control, and I'm done hearing it. I've never seen you so turned on as when I looked at you through the bars of the crate."

"I've never seen you so turned on either," I countered, remembering the lust in her eyes.

Alena came to a halt, turning to me, searching my face. I could see she was hesitating. My words had hit a mark.

"What?" I prodded, feeling like I had the upper hand at last, "You look like you want to tell me something."

"I, uh, yeah, I guess."

"Say it."

She didn't speak, but instead she slipped her hand into mine and squeezed it tightly. When we started walking again, the tension between us had lessened. Then she spoke, and her tone was softer, less argumentative.

"I know what we discussed at dinner, after your birthday," Alena said, "I think you've seen that I'm honouring my part of the deal. But, I still have questions that I need answered."

"Are you talking about going to the club? Asking to be whipped?"

"Yeah, but more than that."

The path was rising, picking its way between boulders as the terrain rose towards the cliff. We had to walk single file and I let my wife go first. Despite the contention between us, and her strange, quixotic mood, I felt a deep longing as I watched the way her tight jeans accentuated the curve of her rear. I was reminded of the freedom she had granted me between my legs as I felt myself begin to grow.

"I'm doing a lot of research," Alena continued, speaking over her shoulder, "The community."

"The coven."

"Coven?"

"Yeah, you know."

The path emerged onto a clear slab of rock capping the top of the cliff. We stopped to take in the view over the water from our vantage point.

"They've been invaluable, Quinn. You make them sound like a gaggle of evil witches, but they're not."

"It feels that way," I replied, sullenly.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because they're smarter than you? Because no matter how much you try and think through all the angles, there's an answer you didn't come up with?"

I nodded.

"They aren't smarter. They're just, uh, there's a history of experience. A few conversations with someone who's already been down these paths eliminates weeks of missteps and...."

"You mean, makes the path to breaking a man more efficient," I cut in.

"No, goddamn it. No, Quinn, that's the entire fucking point," Alena snapped back at me.

I was taken aback by her sudden outburst, the depth of underlying feeling it revealed.

"It's not some guide to slavery. It's not about subjugation."

"Then, what is it about?"

Alena stalled, a strange look on her face.

"Love," she confessed at last.

"Love? How the hell is this about love?"

"The steps we're taking, the steps they're all taking, I'm trying to learn what to do, to avoid the pitfalls. To avoid hurting you."

"But you are, don't you see?"

Alena settled herself down on the rock, watching the little stream unravel into a veil of mist as it spilled over the edge. After a moment, I relented and sat down beside her. Alena snuggled up next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.