Alena's Game Ch. 02

[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. He has related a night at the Lost and Found where she turned him into club property to service a stream of women, but now he comes back to the day it all started]

---

A SIMPLE PROPOSITION

"Ismay," Cassie said, "Tell me about your nightmares."

The two women faced each other across the grey carpet. In the intervening silence, Cassie shifted slightly, adjusting the fall of her skirt as she crossed her legs, waiting. Ismay began to talk, opening up about what see saw in her dreams and how it made her feel. Cassie tapped away at her keyboard, taking notes.

It took nearly an hour, but by the end Ismay was slumped in the big comfortable armchair in tears. Cassie had nodded, prompted, taken notes and now that they were done, she offered her patient a little box of tissues. Cassie let her recover, watched her go through the usual process: blowing her nose, wiping her eyes, taking in a deep, shuddering breath until at last her distress gave way to an accepting calm. Finally, Cassie sat up a little straighter in her chair, closing her laptop and putting it to the side. She watched her patient sit up, raising her chin and folding her hands in her lap.

It was always a good sign when they mirrored her. It meant they had a rapport, that Cassie was trusted. Cassie paused, clearing her throat. Ismay watched her expectantly.

"I think we have two ways we can go here," Cassie began, "Both approaches try to deal with the issue in different ways and we can switch if we find one approach isn't working."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"The first is a programme of cognitive behavioural therapy. We talk through what your triggers are and how they affect you, and we can begin to give you mechanisms to cope with the responses so that you don't dive down the path that leads you to the feelings that you're finding problematic."

Ismay nodded, her attention focused, waiting as Cassie delivered her judgement.

"Option two is a medical intervention. We can try and stabilise the moods through a regimen of medication. Initially, we'd try a low dose of an anti-depressant to try and even things out, and then see how we go from there."

Cassie leaned back in her chair. Ismay followed her, relaxing into the armchair.

"Any questions or thoughts?"

They talked for another few minutes. Cassie was conscious that they had gotten to the end of the hour, but she understood that her patient needed to ask all her questions. Eventually they settled on option two. Cassie wrote out a prescription and handed it to the other woman, rising from her chair to see Ismay to the door.

Afterwards, she sat down at her desk to tidy up her notes, but the little screen couldn't hold her attention. Instead, she found herself staring out of the window at the way the sun cast shadows across the monolithic glass surfaces of the marching ranks of high-rise buildings.

It was always the same: option two. Cassie finished her notes and stretched, massaging her scalp with her long fingers before pulling her sweep of expensively-styled blonde hair back and smoothing it into a neat ponytail, ready for her next appointment. Instead of calling out to reception, though, she stood up and crossed over to the window, feeling the ache in her feet from a day of wearing heels.

Option two was a good choice. The drugs almost always worked, and popping a pill to not feel the emptiness every morning was a lot easier than option one. Option two also kept a roof over her head: the patients dutifully booked a session with her every month for a check-in and more importantly a prescription renewal. She would very likely be seeing Ismay for years.

Still, Cassie would have liked to try option one and, just for once, take the opportunity to instil real change. She would have enjoyed the opportunity to reshape her patient's thought processes, to tackle the root behavioural issues. It would have been nice to put her years of clinical experience to use, just for once.

Cassie clasped her hands behind her back, arching her slim frame and trying to rid herself of a feeling of stiffness. She wandered out to reception to collect her next patient. The stiffness hadn't gone away, but she hadn't expected it to. It was deeper than muscle, deeper than tension in her neck and back. The underlying causes were more difficult to deal with.

Quinn was standing by the reception desk, waiting. For some reason, he never chose to sit. Something about him always radiated a restlessness, a nervous energy. Today, he was in jeans and a long-sleeved black sweatshirt covering his sparse frame. Cassie was conscious of the way he towered over her when she approached and saw how he immediately began to stoop. A reflex, learned over his time with his wife and now projected onto the female in front of him. Cassie headed it off with a quick smile.

"How are you, Quinn?" she opened, with enthusiasm.

He seemed to relax at her warm greeting, and took her hand as she offered it. They shook.

"I never know whether to shake your hand or kiss it."

"Shake. Always shake. But good, we're making progress on the separation of the two."

Quinn shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose we are."

Cassie began to walk and Quinn fell into step next to her.

"How are you though?"

"Normal. Or, at least I'm doing normal. Or at least, I'm doing normal more often."

Cassie laughed, a genuine reaction. Behind it all, she had begun to see a quick witted, intelligent man in Quinn. Was this a hint of the man who existed before Alena, or the one who existed with Alena?

She opened the door to their meeting space and invited him in, then closed the door softly behind them.

"Make yourself at home Quinn," Cassie said.

"Thanks."

Quinn remained standing.

"Anything the problem?"

"No. Um, yes. I'm...."

His words petered out.

"Whatever is on your mind, you can say it."

Quinn flopped into a chair.

"I guess I know what I want to talk about today."

"That's good."

"No, not really. I want to try and tell you how it all started. I'm... I've been thinking a lot about it, trying to work out how to say it so you would understand."

"Just let it flow. If it doesn't make sense, we can work through it until it does. That's what these sessions are all about."

"Oh, it all makes sense. It's all crystal clear in my head. I just need to make sure you understand, so you can help me with some questions I have."

"Why don't you tell me the questions up front then as I listen, I can work on that?"

Quinn ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. His warm brown eyes met hers. She could see the conflict in him.

"It's deeply personal," he said.

"This is all deeply personal. If you're able, I'd like to know."

Quinn exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Okay," he began, "Here's what it is. I think I know why she did what she did to me, but I guess now we'll never know for sure. I want to know why I let her do all those things to me. Why did I let her turn me into that?"

He leaned forward in his chair, making tiny stabbing motions with his hands.

"I want to get into that. What was it in me that needed her to do all that to me? When we started out, it was a million miles away from where I thought we were going."

"You expected to be in charge?"

"Yes. I thought I was the dominant one. I was always the one making the decisions. I mean, in court, of course, that's the job, holding your line in front of the jury. Also, at home though. When I started all this, I expected Alena to go through with it, to fall into line."

"And that didn't happen."

"No, it didn't. Instead, it was, I don't know how to describe it. It's like we fell through the ice."

---

I made dinner that night, the night it started. Alena had been flat out on a grant proposal and I'd just come off a case, so I was happy to take up the slack. Normally, Alena cooks. It just sort of fits, given that when she isn't at the university she's working from home, writing papers or preparing lecture notes. If she's away at a conference, or building up to that, I might take up the slack but generally I work longer hours with my job. We always tried to make it balance out, but in the end, we had a nice house and it came with a big mortgage, and well, university life never has paid very well.

So that night, I had done a Coq au Vin and opened a bottle of the good red from the wine cellar. I'd almost gone as far as candles, but honestly, she's never been that type.

When she came through the door, I could just tell from the way she was walking that she hadn't had a good day. I headed her off in the hallway with a glass of wine. I wrapped my arms around her.

"Smells nice," she said.

"Should be. I've been slaving away."

Alena delivered a quick kiss.

"You? My slave? I'd never have that luck."

"Well, I did for this. Come through and sit down."

Alena followed me through to the dining room. We had an actual dining room, separated from the kitchen and living areas. There was a solid wooden table and a candelabra. We'd spent several weekends finding that perfect light fitting to go above it, trying to make the room look just right. The intention was to have sophisticated dinner parties with our witty and interesting friends every weekend, but you know how it goes. It's a lot of work. Plus, they have kids and we didn't.

We got through the meal making small talk and catching up each other's news. Alena had a promising new research collaboration on the horizon with a team from Japan. I was about to launch into some case that I thought was big at the time. Looking back now, all that stuff seemed so important. The real things that ended up shaping our lives were not even on our radar.

I had bought a banoffee pie, but an expensive one. I whipped the cream myself. While I served it up, I got around to the subject at hand.

"So, ready to discuss the list?"

Alena looked at me, blinking, and I realised there and then she hadn't really been thinking about it, which disappointed me. I'd come up with the idea a week ago, after a lot of trawling the internet looking for ten ways to reboot your love life, or whatever those clickbait headlines say. We were both tasked to come up with a list of things we wanted to try in the bedroom. I put it into a spreadsheet, and showed her just how extensive the list was. She had given it a lukewarm reception, but had at least promised to look at it and get back to me a week later.

"Ah, is that what this is all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"The cooking, the dessert. Like you're buttering me up."

I sat back down and began to munch a forkful of pie. I was also trying to pick the best approach. One thing they don't really teach you in law school, but you find out pretty quickly when you're standing there in front of the jury, is that you need plans A to D and the ability to switch between them at speed if something isn't working. Fortune favours the prepared.

"I meant, we agreed to look at the list and fill it in, then compare notes. I thought you'd done that."

Alena took a sip of wine, but I knew she was stalling. "I had a look, yes," she replied, her blue eyes poised above the rim of her glass, watching me.

We finished the pie and I cleared the plates. Alena remained sitting, glass in hand. I could feel her eyes on me.

"I'll deal with these and go get my laptop, then we can look at some choices," I said.

In the kitchen, I took a moment to assess the situation. I could tell from the look on her face that she was just going along with it. Stubbornly, I picked up the laptop from the breakfast bench and ploughed on. Looking back now, it would have been so easy to return to the dining table empty-handed, to have just shrugged it all off like Alena clearly wanted to do. It is absolutely incredible the extent to which life-changing events come from the smallest of choices.

In the dining room, I set the laptop down in front of her and settled into my chair. I cleared my throat.

"These are the things I thought we could maybe look at," I said, "If any of these match yours."

I waited while she scanned the spreadsheet. All I could do now was wait for her to pick something or laugh me out of the room. She shifted in her seat when she was done, then she turned to look at me.

"I understand we are married, and that open communication is essential," she began.

My heart sank. She was speaking like she was in the lecture theatre, not like we were about to embark on a sexy adventure.

"It's just... you put a lot in here. I didn't really have the time to look up all the names. I mean, Autassassinophilia? Where did you get this stuff?"

That goaded me, but I kept my tone even.

"I looked at a list of things that people like to do together. Fantasies. I tried to make a complete list."

"I understand that, but really, which one of us did you think would harbour a secret fantasy about having sex so risky that we might end up being killed?"

"Ah, so you did do the research."

"You left me no choice. I mean, coprophilia. Really? This could have benefitted from some serious editing before it got to me."

"Okay, fine. I just wanted to...."

"Wanted to see if I liked playing with shit?"

"It was just for...."

"Completeness. Yes, you said."

"Look, that's what this is about," I interrupted, "You put a red square next to things you never want to do and green next to stuff you are interested in."

"I know. I can see what you chose."

I was quiet then, feeling very much like this was going badly off track. In front of her, I had already shown her my choices. It was obviously very confronting for her. I topped up the wine glasses, letting her read further. I needed to let her get used to the idea that we were going to discuss all this.

"And that's another question," Alena piped up, "What about the stuff that's not green or red? What about that?"

"That means it's something we might want to see if we like, if we wanted to be adventurous," I improvised.

I can say it now with the benefit of hindsight, but that off-the-cuff improvisation, that little making up of the rules, was the thing that almost destroyed me. We were completely oblivious to the risks we were taking with each other and our marriage.

"Do you have a list?" I ventured.

Alena just nodded.

"Where is it?"

"I remembered it. Let me add it in."

I watched as my wife began to fill in the lines, colouring green or red. Coprophilia was out, a double red, as were a number of the more esoteric options. By the time she was done, the spreadsheet looked very different.

"Is that it?"

Alena folded her arms across her chest, leaning back. Far from it being fun and sexy, it had somehow turned into a bone of contention between us.

"Look, Quinn," she stated, "I agreed to marry you, so I guess I knew what I was getting into with your lists and your plans. I also recognise that means also hearing you out when you come up with some scheme, but really, I'm not all guns blazing for this. It's your idea."

I found myself looking at the spreadsheet, the patterns of colours.

"I just thought this might be good, y'know," I confessed, "Liven things up a bit."

"You're not happy with how we are?"

"Yes. Of course I am."

"Then why do we need this?"

"Because."

I faltered, knowing what I wanted to say but suddenly afraid to say it.

"If tonight is all about communication," she continued, "Then you need to tell me."

"Okay. Then here it is. I do love you, but it feels like we're just going around in the same track, like, y'know, those toy race cars. We've no kids, and," I followed on hurriedly, "We never wanted them. It's just us two. But I feel like it's... like we're not feeling the specialness anymore."

I watched her face carefully, trying to read her expression. "It's not like we haven't talked about this before. I'm just putting something out there we can try. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work."

"And if it doesn't, where does that leave us?"

Alena's eyes were hard now, and I felt we had crossed into dangerous territory, but this riled me up.

"It's not make or break, for fuck's sake. It's just... I'm seeing what we can do that would be fun. More fun."

Alena looked back to the spreadsheet, sipping wine while she was thinking. When she reached forward to the laptop I had the awful feeling that she was just going to close the screen. Instead, she surprised me.

"This is what I do. I cave in," Alena said.

"If you just can't be bothered, then we won't."

"No. If you feel strongly about this, then we should. Pick one, Quinn. Let's do it."

"You pick. I'll try whatever you want to do."

Alena wrinkled her nose. "You're the one who feels strongest about this. You pick."

"What does that mean?"

"You're always the one going on about sex. I'm quite happy with a night cuddled up on the couch but you think we need to be always swinging from the rafters."

She looked at me, defiantly.

"Just pick," I said.

"Fine," she snapped, "Denial."

I stopped, in shock.

"It's there in the spreadsheet. Line six. You marked it green, I didn't mark it red."

"I can see it."

"So we're all good?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Okay."

With that, Alena stood and gathered up the dessert plates. I watched as she cleared the table and headed into the kitchen. Out of all the ways I thought the discussion would go, that had not been on the list. For once, I really didn't know what my wife was thinking. I could hear the scraping of plates in the other room. I tried to judge whether she was scraping them angrily or not, whether I had just gotten myself into a world of pain with my stupid suggestion.

---

Later, in the bedroom, I tried to broach the subject again, but she just shushed me. I got ready for bed as usual, listening to the sounds of brushing teeth and toilet flushing from the ensuite. When Alena opened the door, she was dressed in a nightie, but there was something different about her. It took me a moment to realise that she had brushed her hair, her auburn locks now cascading down the side of her neck and over her shoulder, enticing me. She smiled at me sweetly.

"Sorry about earlier," she said.

Alena slid into bed and cuddled up next to me.

"About what?" I asked.

"About giving you a hard time. I understand where you're coming from, really I do."

I felt her wrap her arms around me, the warmth of her skin through the cotton nightdress against my body.

"So you want to try it?" I asked.

"I think so. Let's just see how we go."

"Do you know how you want to go about it?"

Alena leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips, her blue eyes sparkling.

"I've been doing some reading, yes. But first, let's just... y'know. Then we can start on your list."

"I do know. Come here."

I kissed her fully on the lips and she responded, letting me run my hand down her thigh. I stroked the soft skin of her leg, working my way up under the hem of her nightie, all the while placing soft kisses on her lips.

Alena rolled onto her back and lifted her hips, allowing me to slide her nightie up to her waist. My hand trailed back down, brushing over the tight curls of her hair until I could feel the warmth of her labia under my fingers. Alena sighed, spreading herself wider for me, and I began to run my thumb gently up and down her outer lips. She closed her eyes, folding her arms behind her head and arching her back.