Tell Me What You Want Ch. 01

[Author's note: Contains themes of consensual female-led-relationship, impact play. If femdom is not your thing, please browse my other stories for something more to your taste.]

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BINDING CONTRACT

The Thursday all-team meeting seemed to just go on and on, way past the point that Hector was paying attention, until he found himself just watching the way his boss's mouth moved as she rolled out the plans for the next quarter. He should have been listening, because what Claire was telling them was important. She had been seconded into a senior management role for three months, working her way up the food chain, and Hector was only too aware of what that meant at his level. He had seniority in the team and someone would need to step into her shoes. It was an opportunity for him to finally get one more rung up the ladder.

Claire was maybe five years older, recently divorced, recently blonde, losing weight steadily, with an air of knowing authority that kept his attention. Her lipstick was red, but not vampire red because that would have been too much in a work setting, though Hector often imagined her going into the restrooms at the end of a Friday and fixing her hair a little less straight, plumping her soft lips and applying a crimson shade, ready for a night out with her newest date. Or maybe even a night at home, getting through the door and unbuttoning that sensible work blouse to reveal something lacy, leading her chosen man by his tie to the bedroom, a sultry smile on those lovely lips.

He felt a little dig in his ribs and caught Bea's eye. She was watching him, smiling slightly, like she could read his mind. Maybe she could, they'd known each other long enough. Beatrice was his wife's best friend all the way from school and still inseparable.

Bea and Lotte, Hector's wife, booked holidays together most years, had been each other's bridesmaids, and Lotte had been there like a rock all through the aftermath of Bea's recent divorce.

Hector had supported her too, putting her name forward when an opening came up to join the team, campaigning on her behalf with his boss, getting Bea the chance she needed. She hadn't known too much about car fleet management, or financing contracts, but Bea had thrown herself into it with all the focus of an early-thirties woman who had expected kids by now but abruptly found herself on her own, abandoned by a husband who had simply appeared to get tired of her.

Not long after she'd started in the team, Bea had burst into tears one day at work, staring at a message on her phone, and Hector had pulled her aside into the privacy of the break room, holding her as she howled into his shoulder. It had been a one-liner from her now ex-husband with a picture of a champagne flute, marking the finalisation of the divorce.

Hector had never liked Brent, had never really clicked with him, but like everyone else around Bea, he hadn't said anything, assuming that just because the rapport wasn't there between him and her new husband, that at least Bea was happy.

When Brent split from her, demanding his half, Lotte had let slip one night after a few drinks that no-one had really liked him anyway, assuming that it would have made Bea feel better to know that everyone was on her team and not her husband's. It had produced the opposite effect, prompting heartfelt recriminations from his wife's best friend for not speaking up before she fucking put the bastard's ring on her finger in the first place.

Hector's wife could be like that. Lotte was boisterous, the queen bee at school, and had carried that attitude over into her adult life. She led from the front, running her department in an advertising agency in the middle of town with skill and flair, as if she enjoyed bending others to her will. But, sometimes she just couldn't read the room, as if she was so caught up in her own opinions that she couldn't conceive of a flip-side, hence the comment that cut her best friend to the bone.

Afterwards, Hector had walked Bea to her car, told her that she'd had too much to drink, and drove her home instead. They'd had a long chat; he did everything but tuck her into bed. He still remembered the utter silence in her house in that moment before he let himself out.

There was the rumble of chairs as the meeting ended; suddenly everyone was getting up, rousing Hector from his thoughts. Bea's hand was on his shoulder as she rose.

"We're done for the day, Heck. You can go home now," she said.

Hector got to his feet too, giving her a distracted smile. Bea beamed back at him.

"You seem happy," he noted, "Got something on this weekend?"

"Oh, maybe."

She was being coy, and Hector felt a little tug in his chest.

"Something special?" he probed, but she just smiled.

"What about you?" she replied.

"You're changing the subject."

"You're not just a pretty face, Heck. Smart too. Yes, I am changing the subject."

She was grinning at him now, giving him that teasing look.

"You have a secret," he noted.

Her brown eyes twinkled in amusement. She always seemed to love playing with him like this. Hector studied her face for a moment, trying to work out what it was that she had planned.

"A date?" he guessed.

"You guessing or offering, Heck?"

There it was again, that little spark. It had been missing from her demeanour for a long time, but it was back again, and it gladdened him to see it. Hector found himself staring down at her expression, transfixed, in the middle of the office. Bea didn't flinch or look away either, her soft eyes smiling as she looked up at him. Her delicate face, framed by a blonde bob, close to him: that little familiar tingle of temptation.

Bea had taken to wearing a skirt in the office, heels, nice blouses that were more tailored to her trim body, her small breasts, but still appropriate for the office. She'd started dressing like their boss, even down to becoming recently blonde herself.

Hector had always had a soft spot for her, even from the first time meeting Bea and Lotte together on a night out, talking to her first but then drawn towards Lotte, taking the taller girl's number at the end of the night rather than the more petite one. That feeling had long since transmuted as his relationship with Lotte had deepened, as Hector and Lotte had explored their connection, shared beds, fantasies and eventually matrimony. If Bea had found someone, and if that's what she was doing this weekend, he could feel happy for her. She deserved it.

"Did you actually step up, Bea? Is the assertiveness training paying off?" he joked.

"It was a leadership course."

"Cat herding you mean."

"You should take it more seriously. Techniques for getting people to do what you want. Let's face it, in this industry, getting men to do what you want."

The way she said it gave him a tingle, but he just laughed it away and turned to scoop up his bag.

"Can't wait to get away from me?" she teased.

"Just following orders. Lotte said to be home early, she's got something planned."

Even as he said the words, the tingling feeling increased. He couldn't say anything to Bea, even though he had found over the years that he could say anything to Bea.

"Well, whatever it is you're doing, have a fun. See you tomorrow," he told her.

"Oh, I'm going to Heck, and maybe I'll drop by this weekend."

"I'll let Lotte know."

"No, I'll let Lotte know."

Bea gave him that smile again as he turned and headed for the elevator bay. For some reason the smile lingered in his mind, the change in her attitude. He liked it, that she was giving as good as she got, no longer shying away.

Maybe the assertiveness course had been good for her, maybe this weekend was going to be good for her, after the mess of the separation. She hadn't said what she was going to be doing, but then she was entitled to her secrets. So long as it made her happy, because she deserved that.

Hector had a secret of his own. Watching his boss in the meeting, the way she took charge of the room, the way Lotte already had the weekend mapped out, even the way Bea had given him that coy, confident smile, they all tweaked something deep inside of him, something only his wife really knew about, his own little secret.

Hector loved to be surrounded by confident women. He loved to see them in control. It was a little delicious, dark secret, that for all his masculinity and his physical dominance over the women around him, towering a head higher than Bea, or his boss, taller than even his wife, who was above average with her willowy frame, her narrow hips and her long, slender legs, he felt the little twisted pleasure whenever he was told what to do. It could be something as simple as being told to wash up, or be given a project deadline, it didn't matter. He loved it when they took charge.

Hector was mildly ambitious. His wife had crafted her image as the rising star in her advertising agency, and he'd supported her fully. He didn't need the alpha male bullshit. He was happy with maybe getting a chance at that promotion as Claire let him act in her stead on secondment. It would be nice, a little more money.

He didn't need to be top dog. In fact, and this was the little secret that only Lotte knew, he often wanted to be the bottom of the pack.

Tonight was going to be very special. Bea's little smile just added fuel to the fire, his fevered imagination weaving it all together, the vision of being made to give up control, to surrender. Bea wasn't like that, but that didn't matter: Lotte was. In fact, he hoped that Lotte was a lot more than that. He was on his way home to find out.

The commute home felt like it took forever, his mind churning through the possibilities. Lotte had been coy, in the same way that Bea had been coy, hinting at a weekend of surprises for him when he got home. His thoughts went back to the previous weekend, to what they had done together, and he was left to wonder what his future held. Was it to be more of the same, or was Lotte ready at last to step it up?

Last weekend had been mind-blowing. He'd been told to strip as soon as he'd gotten through the door, and hadn't been permitted a stitch of clothing until Monday morning, packed off to work with a kiss from his wife and a set of stripes across his rear that he was reminded of all day at work every time he sat down. She had been sexy, creative, unstoppable. Lotte had taken charge, and they had gone much further than ever before, turning bedroom games into kitchen games, or lounge games, or even, in the dark on the Saturday night, garden games.

She had led him around the lawn in the nothing but a collar, the summer night air cool against his skin, but not cold. He'd been made to stand there, his wife's finger curled through the D-ring on his stout leather collar, pulled up to attention, hands behind his head. She'd held him there, her hand moving up and down his shaft, bringing him patiently to the edge, forbidding him to move.

Lotte had tormented him, after a day of tormenting him, until all he could think about was her hand on his cock, the feeling of each languid stroke of her fingers. She'd teased him to the brink, until he'd begged, then she'd let go, running her nail from his balls up the underside of his quivering, rigid shaft, to rake across his swollen tip. It had been enough, but at the same time not nearly enough, his cock erupting in a steady white stream, strands of cum dripping from his twitching tip into the long grass, his balls draining in a ruined orgasm that left him more desperate than ever to do whatever she wanted.

He'd protested, but she'd leaned in close to his ear, until her body seemed to fill all his senses, and made clear that it was all about her pleasure. Hector was made to understand that his role was to serve and his wife's role was to receive that service, shifting the dynamic between them, assuming the power in their relationship for herself. Then she'd asked the question as he ached, as he stood there in the garden in the display pose she had placed him in, his cock softening as the last of his seed dripped into the grass.

She had asked Hector if he wanted to become her slave and he had said yes, just like that. It had felt like heaven.

As he got closer to home, the butterflies in his stomach began to dance, swelling to a tempest as he laid his hand on the front door. She had asked, and he'd said yes. After years of easing into it, of role playing in the bedroom, progressions on a path that both of them were eager to explore, the question in the dark had finally been the watershed moment Hector had been expecting, and, he admitted to himself with a guilty thrill, had been wanting for a long time.

He opened the door and entered the house.

"Lotte, I'm home."

The words were met with silence. Curious, having expected to be met at the door by his beautiful, sexy wife with a gleam in her eye and that knowing smile on her lips, her absence was unexpected.

"Lotte?"

He closed the door behind himself and made his way through the house, checking the rooms one by one. They had a nice house, the money saved from no children going into a larger mortgage. The lounge was empty, so was the office, though why would she have been in there?

He made his way through to the back of the house, to the open plan kitchen and dining room, with its wide fold-back doors that led out onto the garden. The house was drifting into the gloom of dusk, eerily silent. Maybe she was in the garage? Or maybe already upstairs, lying on the bed, waiting for him. Maybe she was wearing the lingerie he liked to see her in, the black lace that emphasised her long legs, her sleek body. Her long, black hair might be gathered back in a ponytail, or a sexy French twist, wisps framing her face, or left loose, to fall softly around her bare shoulders.

Rounding the corner, he found his wife sitting at the island bench, phone in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, dressed in her work skirt and top, scrolling absently though her messages.

"Hey," Hector called, feeling suddenly deflated.

Lotte looked up, as if noticing him for the first time.

"I called out. Why are you sitting here in the dark? Do you want me to switch a light on?"

He tried to keep his tone level, to hide the disappointment. He waited for her to shift her attention from the little screen in her hand.

"I'm early, like you said," he continued, "I got here as quick as I could. You said you had something planned."

He scanned the room, seeing nothing out of place. Everything looked the same as when he'd left that morning. His wife took a sip of wine, then put her phone down at last. She finally seemed to notice him, her pale grey eyes suddenly skewering him in the dim light of dusk, and he shivered. No, he'd been mistaken: it was all still definitely on.

"Upstairs. Get a shower. I want you clean."

She emphasised that last word, letting Hector know exactly what she expected of him.

"Uh, okay."

His wife stiffened, a subtle change of posture in the gloom, but enough.

"Yes," he corrected himself, "Yes, Mistress."

She picked up the phone again and started scrolling through her messages, as if he'd ceased to exist. He watched her take another sip of wine, then turned, heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. The bedroom was exactly as he'd left it also, nothing out of place, giving no clues as to his wife's intentions.

He stripped off quickly, dumping his clothes on the floor, and headed towards the ensuite bathroom. Hector entered the shower, turned on the stream of hot water and stepped into it, luxuriating in the spray against his skin. He shampooed his hair and then applied body wash to all his crevices, then he repeated the process, sniffing his armpits tentatively until he could detect no trace of body odour. He killed the jet and towelled himself off, picking up the tub of body lotion and squeezing some out onto his palm. He rubbed it over his skin, replacing the scent of his body with the waft of apricot and coconut, just as his wife liked. Finally, he inspected himself in the mirror and trimmed his crotch hair until it was neat.

Satisfied that he had followed his wife's orders, he stepped out of the bathroom to find his wife standing on the far side of the bed and regarding him steadily. There was a stiff leather collar and two sets of leather restraining cuffs laid out on the bed.

"Get dressed."

Hector hurried to comply, feeling his wife's eyes on his naked body as he began to wrap the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. He slid the straps through the buckles, securing them in place with their shiny steel D-rings glinting in the light. Finally, he picked up the collar and placed it around his neck, buckling it too into place. His finger threaded through the D-ring mounted in the front of the leather and he tugged, demonstrating to Lotte that it was securely in place.

He chanced a smile at his wife, hoping that his display of submission pleased her. From the frown on her face, he could tell that it did not. His excitement stalled.

"A slave is an essential part of any home. He keeps the place tidy for his owner, he sees to its upkeep in the same way as he sees to her needs."

She cast her eyes down at the pile of clothing he had discarded in his haste to get into the shower.

"Sorry, Mistress," Hector blurted, stooping instantly to pick it all up.

He felt her eyes on him as he folded his clothes, discarding the underwear and shirt into the washing hamper, putting his trousers and shoes away in the wardrobe.

"Get in."

He turned to his wife, confused.

"The wardrobe, get in. Close the door and shut yourself inside."

This was new, but the cold, calculating look expression on his wife's face brooked no questions. Hesitating, he looked back at the open wardrobe.

"I won't fit," he protested, then followed hastily with, "Mistress."

"You will. I'm sure I can find a slot for you between your suits."

She strode around the bed, and he noticed the difference instantly. Lotte was wearing a new pair of boots, knee high with a wickedly-thin stiletto heel that gave her another six inches of height. She approached him, stalking across the carpet, halting in front of him. For the first time in his life, Hector found himself having to look up at his wife, and the effect it had on him was terrifying and exciting in equal measure. It didn't matter that he was wider, heavier, stronger, it was all about being looked down upon, his wife taking her literal place as the head of their family. She reached into the wardrobe, pushing his suits apart, creating a little gap. She held it open, grey eyes watching him closely, her face unsmiling, expectant.

Hector slid himself in, crouching slightly to cram himself into the enclosed space. The suits pressed up snugly against him as he wriggled into the gap until he was in. He stopped.

A hand pushed against his shoulder, forcing him further, until his other shoulder was pressed tightly against the back of the wardrobe, his face in the material of the jacket in front, smothering him slightly.

"All the way, that's better. Good."

The hand shifted from his shoulders, stroking down his arm to his hand, pushing forward over his hip until fingers wrapped around his solid erection and gave him a squeeze. Hector shuddered as she maintained the pressure. She let go.

"You see?" she mused, "I can have my fun with you, then I can just put you away like a suit when I don't need you. Like now, I don't need you."

He turned his head, peering between the hangers at the face of his wife. Her lips curled into a smile and then she closed the wardrobe door, shutting him inside in the dark.