Tell Me What You Want Ch. 01

Hector strained to hear any sound from the outside, but there was only silence. He waited for her to open the door again and bring him out, but as the seconds became minutes, he realised that his wife had other plans. She'd done what she said, storing him for when she needed him. He wondered when that would be: soon? Later tonight? With a delicious tremor, he wondered if it would be tomorrow?

Could she do that to him? Leave him stored away, opening the door in the light of morning, to pull him out by his collar and press him into service, lying between her legs, giving her pleasure as she stretched herself out on the bed that she'd denied him all night? Was that what she had in mind? He felt is cock pulse in anticipation of that thought.

In the dark, in his arousal, his mind began to drift as the silence rolled on. She had been different tonight, taking control with a surety that he hadn't seen before. Lotte had been on her laptop a lot in the last few weeks. She'd simply said it was research, without elaborating. Whatever she was researching, she'd spent a lot of time doing it, and if the last hour had been anything to go by, Lotte had progressed a long way in her thinking.

That gave him a buzz, just realising that. She'd always managed to get her way in their marriage, though in the early days it had been tentative, a steady pressure to get what she wanted, staying on target until Hector yielded. It might have been a shopping expedition, or the destination for a weekend away, or dinner bookings. Later in their marriage, it had been furniture choices, houses, cars, all filtered through her discerning eye as she made sure it was what she wanted.

Often, it was what he wanted too. His wife had excellent taste. Often, like with their kitchen, it was just easier to let her have her way, rather than pretending to care about bench tops or tap fittings. It made her happy, and that made him happy.

More recently, it had shifted into the bedroom. There hadn't been the big, world-changing discussion, but a steady shift in direction. It had turned into one-way traffic, an exploration of only her fantasies, but again, Hector didn't mind. She asked him to do things, and he did them, and it made her happy. Sometimes it made her ecstatic.

Now, in the dark with a raging hard-on, with nothing to do but think, he began to see it as something else. Lotte had stopped asking him to do things for her, and started to tell him. It had been a subtle shift, but the tone of her voice had changed, no more please and thank you. It had triggered something deep inside him, a yearning to respond.

Looking back, she'd known a long time before he did, pushing gently, supply inexorable pressure, moving their relationship from pouting and fluttering her eyes while asking if he could please do this or that for her, go down on her, make love to her, to this: collared and naked, stored out of sight in his own wardrobe.

Hector could have opened the door and stepped out, gone to find her, like way back at the start when he could have refused to give her oral and taken her anyway, sating his desires.

But, she knew he would stay where she'd put him. No, Hector was fixed in position in the wardrobe, not tied there with rope, or handcuffed to the hanger rail, but bound with something far stronger. Hector was unable to move simply because his wife had told him he couldn't.

Hector lost track of time, his mind wandering, his body aching more and more for release, his manhood still rigid, pushed up against the clothing in front of him. Suddenly the door opened, flooding his little, cramped world with light. He turned his head, temporarily blinded, feeling a hand touch his throat, scrabbling for the collar, then a click, and then withdrawing again. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he could make out the figure of his wife, still in her skirt and top, but also still wearing her savagely-high boots, a supercilious smirk on her lips. A leash ran from her hand to his collar. She tugged.

Hector slipped out of the wardrobe, straightening up again. His back ached, indicating that his wife had left him there a long time. She hadn't changed, what had she been doing? He opened his mouth but before he could ask, she cut him off with a stern look.

"Silence. Slaves are to be seen and not heard. Don't make me have to discipline you."

Hector's mouth snapped shut, partly in shock. She'd said she would discipline him. That was new. They'd explored impact play before; even last weekend, when she bent him over the island bench and assaulted his rear with a bamboo cane. Discipline meant something else, and he wondered at her choice of words.

The caning had been deeply sexual, the sensation of being struck had engendered a physical response, sensitising his skin, the flood of adrenaline, the endorphins, the pain mixing in with arousal as she continued through the punishment. Then there had been the other aspect, the part that had led to the arousal, the bit he hadn't talked about, the confession that he hadn't even made to his wife, even as he bent over the cold stone top, spreading his legs and presenting his buttocks to her.

He was the man of the house, the protector. It was his role to keep his wife safe and secure. He'd let her build her nest, providing her a haven, enjoying the feeling of being a good husband, the respect in her eyes. His strength combined with her delicacy, dominating her physically, seeing the way she always had to look up at him. To have his delicate wife push his naked body down onto the benchtop, have him pinned there by no greater constraint than her hand on his back, and then to receive the blows from the cane, that had been utterly humiliating.

Even now, a week later, that feeling of his bulk being bent into surrender by his wife's slight frame, to be put into such pain merely because she wanted it, the way she debased him, made him tremble a little. The willowy woman he shared his life with had proven to be easily stronger in the end, doing as she pleased with her big, hulking husband.

She tugged on the leash and he followed her down the stairs. Discipline was different. Discipline was about behaviour modification, not about release. When she had finished with the cane, she'd reached beneath him, wrapping her hand around his solid erection, tugging at him until he had erupted in her hand, shooting his load onto the kitchen floor, his body finding a savage release after the torment of the lashes against his skin. Discipline meant something else, something they'd talked about after, sitting together on the couch, his wife still fully-clothed, and Hector naked, trying to keep his throbbing buttocks comfortable.

He knew the difference between what she'd just put him through and a punishment beating. The cane, the way she did it, the build-up and then the release, it was all a part of the play, the dynamic, aimed ultimately at the ferocious pleasure of his orgasm afterwards, and her pleasure from sating her burgeoning sadistic streak, the exercise of her power as the dominant party in their relationship. A punishment beating was just that, a means to correct behaviour, not meant to be erotic or exciting. It was meant to hurt, and the slave was meant to use it as motivation to correct his behaviour. He'd read the stories, and a part of him had wondered why a man would allow his wife to do that. Now, he was about to find out. The story was about to become real life.

Lotte had explained it to him, that the slave's reward came later, in other things, in the love of giving perfect service to his owner, of enjoying the benefits of her attention. He had gone along with her explanation at the time, nodding, but not really understanding why they were having the conversation, up until now. He'd thought that his wife was speaking in general terms, using the word as a bit of spice for their next round of play, that she would surely never just choose to hurt him for her own ends.

But that was what it meant to be a slave, to truly commit to it. On his wife's leash, being led back to the same cold stone island benchtop, Hector began to understand what she'd been telling him. Lotte was serious; she wanted to be a proper Mistress, to be a slave owner, and looking back over their relationship, it had always been there in the background. Initially unshaped, a nebulous idea, it had coalesced as they progressed, crystallising now into a firm resolve to make a bold change.

Hector scanned the kitchen nervously, his eyes tracking back to the stone surface, seeing nothing that would give a hint of what was to come.

"You look worried, Heck."

He turned to his wife, opened his mouth but then stopped. Lotte smiled sweetly at him, standing primly with her feet together in her black boots, the heels shaping her calves into delectable curves. She was sexy yet demure, achingly fuckable, but he had no illusions that she was completely off-limits.

"Good boy. You remembered. But I want you to speak."

"I'm a little worried, Mistress, yeah."

"Ok Heck, let's just talk, drop the Mistress. It's important."

Hector frowned, puzzled by the abrupt change of behaviour.

"What's important?" he asked.

"What we're about to do."

"And what are we about to do?"

Lotte let go of the leash and stepped close to her husband. She rubbed a thumb over his cheek gently and then kissed him.

"You know what we're about to do, we talked about this."

Hector held her gaze a moment longer, searching those beautiful pale grey eyes, then he nodded.

"Yeah."

"We've been building up to this."

"I guess."

"You don't seem sure."

Her words carried a subtle rebuke, a little tension in her expression, the precursor to something else: perhaps disappointment?

"We could just carry on like we were, Heck," she murmured, soothingly, "But you don't want that, do you? I don't want that either. I want to change you, just like we discussed."

She let the words hang, waiting for Hector to fill the silence. She wanted to extract his confession. He felt the pull to give in, to just do what she wanted, to give her what she asked for. He'd already thought about it a lot, but now with the question poised, he hesitated again.

"You were the one who sent me the stories, Heck. I didn't send them to you."

"I know."

"I read them all, and it was like a light going on, for me and also for you. I'm asking you to confess your secret. You were showing me what you wanted, weren't you?"

Heck hesitated, then finally nodded.

"No, Heck, you need to use your words. We need to be absolutely clear, for what we're going to do next."

Hector met her eyes, but it was too much. Ashamed, his gaze drifted down her willowy body to the tips of her black stiletto boots and stayed there.

"I was, yes," Hector murmured. "The stories turned me on."

He flinched as her hand touched his face, but all she did was run her fingers tenderly through his hair.

"They turned me on too," she confessed. "So much. I felt so depraved, reading them. I felt like a deviant. Then, something just clicked. You know what it was?"

"No."

"That it was what you wanted. That there was no shame in living like that, the two of us together in a new type of relationship. How could it be depraved if it's what we both want. It is, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Lotte. I guess it is. I just, uh, I never thought I'd ever get to here, at this moment. It's so strange."

"But good? Or bad?"

"Good. It's good."

Lotte leaned in and kissed him.

"I have a confession, Heck."

At last Hector's eyes locked back onto his wife's lovely face. He could see behind the smile, to the softness in her eyes, the way they shone. She was powerfully aroused, excited to be finally in the moment too.

"The stories you sent me," she continued, "I read more. I couldn't help myself. I even set up a profile on the site."

Hector remained silent, watching the play of emotions on his wife's face.

"I reached out to one of your favourite authors and he responded. We had a long conversation about the stories he wrote, and I told him all about my plans. He sent me more information, suggestions. I read it all. How does that make you feel?"

Hector's mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed.

"I don't know, Lotte. I didn't think you were that into the stories."

"I have nothing to go on, and you want so much. I had to start somewhere. Background reading, his advice, I think I understand what I want to do to you now. I think I know how to push you. Are you ready?"

Hector stared at his wife. The ropes, the constraints, being tied down and used, he thrilled to the idea of it. To be denied, to be teased until he was bursting, to have the right to release taken away from him and controlled strictly and unilaterally by his wife left his with a deliciously dark ache inside. The cane, the agony, the gleeful look on his wife's face as she landed each blow, the way it pushed him to the edge, he could learn to love as well. The humiliation, the power-reversal, the degradation of having to give in and obey, it was all part of the glow he felt as he looked into her eyes. Even the mention of punishment beatings, he could bear that. It would be a small price to pay for the ecstasy his wife was promising him.

"I'm ready," he told her.

She kissed him again, a soft, lingering touch that enflamed him.

"You'll be my slave?" she asked.

Hector knew this game. His manhood was painfully engorged now, standing rigidly out from his crotch.

"I'll be your slave," he replied.

"You'll let yourself become my toy?"

"I'll be your toy."

Lotte wrapped her fingers around his shaft. He trembled at her caress.

"All the time?" she asked.

Hector froze. His wife's eyes shone.

"All the time?" he rasped.

"Twenty-four seven."

"All the time?"

Lotte scrutinised him intently, her cheeks flushing as she looked into his eyes, her pupils dilating. This was where she had brought them to, the destination to the journey.

"We talked about it, Heck. Remember?"

"I do, yeah. I just... I didn't really think...."

"Oh, now that's not true, is it? I know how you work, babe. It's been on your mind ever since we talked about it. You've been coming around to the idea, haven't you? Tell me I'm wrong."

Hector didn't reply. The corners of his wife's mouth turned up into a little smile, growing wider as the seconds passed, as Hector didn't counter her assertion. She didn't take her eyes off him because Hector knew that she was watching him give in.

It had started with a joke she'd made, about selling him into slavery to make some extra money for the household budget. At least, Hector had taken it as a joke at the time. But Lotte had kept coming back to it, socialising the idea of him becoming a proper slave for her, normalising the discussion. She'd backed it up in the bedroom, changing the way they played, taking command more aggressively, until Hector had become used to being dominated for sex, until he'd expected it, but this was another step again.

She'd been given the big promotion at work, making junior partner status in the agency, turning up the heat in her personal life as well, letting it be known to him with a little coy smile that the pay rise meant she could afford to keep a slave around the house. At work, trapped in interminable meetings about things that didn't matter, Hector had caught himself wondering about it, and the little seed planted in his mind by his wife began to take root. Now, here she was, finally asking him the question.

"I... it's a big step. What would I do? What about my job?"

An image of Bea flashed into his mind, sitting with her at the table in the break room at work, eating lunch, laughing about something. He felt a little pang. To his surprise, his wife laughed.

"Oh, hell, wait," she blurted, "I'm not talking about you giving up your job. We still have a mortgage Heck, or hadn't you remembered that crucial little detail?"

Hector blinked at her, but he felt a wave of relief. No, she didn't mean going that far, being kept in the house all the time, secreted away from the world. That was ridiculous, why would anyone ever choose to go as far as that?

"Uh, okay, then?" he stammered.

"No, I mean going to work, shopping, going out at night, all that, everything stays the same, Heck, none of that changes. But, when you are with me, even though no-one else can see it, even though anyone who looks will see me with my husband, we'll know different. You won't be my husband anymore, you'll be my slave."

"At home?"

"Oh, babe, at home it's no holds barred. I'm going to do everything."

She bit her lip suggestively, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

"I'm going to take charge, Heck, I'm going to demand to be serviced. I'm going to put you to work. What do you think about that?"

"All the time?"

"Yes, that's what it means. Twenty-four seven. Your body will belong to me. I promise not to humiliate you in public, but in private, well...."

She kissed him again, and he felt her body pressing up against his erection, grinding slowly.

"What's it to be?" she murmured, "Yes or no?"

Hector swallowed. "Yes," he said.

A kiss, and then he was left standing, senses reeling, as she walked away. Lotte opened up her handbag and extracted a sheaf of paper and a pen. She came back to him and laid the document on the counter top, smoothing it flat.

"What's this?" Hector asked, but he already guessed the answer.

"It's a slave contract, Heck. It's a fairly standard one."

"Where did you get this?"

"My helpful friend. He said it's a fairly standard one for these types of situations."

She was matter-of-fact about it in a way that shocked him.

"You mean you told a guy that you wanted to have a slave contract for your husband, and he just conjured one up?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Hector picked up the document.

"You want me to sign this? Really?"

"No, babe. I want you to read it. Then, if you're okay, I want you to sign it. I want you to know what I want, what your obligations would be, I want you to understand."

"Is this even enforceable?"

"You mean is this a binding contract of ownership, like selling a car? No, it's not."

"Then why do it?"

"Because it's binding to me."

She paused, meeting Hector's gaze.

"This is it, Heck, you sign this, you bind yourself to me. You commit to becoming what I want."

"Is this really what you want? You want to turn your husband into a slave with a piece of paper?"

Lotte's expression became sombre, and Hector felt a tinge of warning.

"No, Heck, I want to turn my husband into my slave with training, with perseverance. I have a programme worked out that will get us to that place. It's going to take commitment and there will be hard parts for you. I want to take control, I want you to give me everything. That's what signing means."

Hector regarded the contract. Suddenly, it didn't matter that he was naked except for a collar while his wife was standing next to him fully clothed, or that she had leashed him and led him here. The contract mattered, the commitment. He drew up a stool and began to read through the clauses.

The contract felt familiar, and then he realised that she'd shown it to him before, on screen, making mention of it almost in passing. Of course, nothing his wife did was in passing, he saw that now. She had been planting the seeds for this moment for a long time.

The clauses were straightforward, dealing with expected behaviour, standards of dress or undress, hard limits. He noted that there were already lines through certain items.

"Scat?" he mused, "Crossed out."

"Yes. I don't think either of us intend to play with shit. If it's not crossed out, then it's consented to. We can update this as we go, by mutual agreement. It's the only part of the contract that is by mutual agreement, you'll notice."