Tell Me What You Want Ch. 02

Hector rested his forehead and elbows against the cool surface, feeling the tension in his shoulders from having his hands secured behind his neck. His bottom was sticking up and shackled like he was, there was no possible way to shield himself from the blows to come. He knew that he'd broken the rules, entreating Bea, but she wouldn't say anything. Twenty strokes of the cane was nearly double anything he'd ever endured. Lotte would have told Bea that. Bea wouldn't want to add to his suffering.

"He spoke again, Lotte, even after you told him not to. That makes it twenty-one."

Hector screwed his eyes closed, clenching his teeth together at the betrayal of the woman he'd thought was his most trusted friend. He couldn't understand why his cock was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, pressed by his stomach against the cold stone.

"Oh, really?"

"Uh huh, and given the fact that he did it on purpose, I think he deserves an extra one on top."

Wordlessly, he pleaded with her to stop, unable to believe the inhumanity of her suggestion. Hector knew that whatever Bea suggested, his wife would carry out. She would be delighted to see Bea embracing his punishment.

The click of heels sounded behind him, close now. A hand stoked the defenceless skin of his buttocks, tracing the contours. He felt her fingers travelling down between his legs, cupping his balls. All at once, the throbbing need for release was back, worse than ever. She gave him a little squeeze then withdrew.

"We need to establish a pattern," his wife announced, "Everything I've researched emphasises that. Arbitrary enforcement of the rules just leads to the slave left wondering where it stands. Ready? You may nod."

It? Hector balked at her choice of words, to be reduced to a thing by his wife. He could sense her waiting for his response, and as the silence lengthened, he raised his head and nodded once. There was no point fighting it. Every word would add another stroke. It was better to just get through it.

"Every transgression it makes is punished. It's a mercy, in a way, because it's never left doubting. Same failure, same punishment, until it stops failing."

He heard a little grunt and braced. The cane swished through the air and cracked against his soft skin, sending the pain through him. Hector hissed, grinding his teeth together, determined not to give his wife the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, or the insane possibility of receiving extra strokes for verbalising.

"Just a warm-up, that one. One."

From the way she said it, Hector realised that his wife was directing the comment to Bea, as if making an excuse for not delivering a full-throated roar of anguish from her husband for her friend's enjoyment.

Hector concentrated on the pain, letting it ebb. The only warning he had of the next strike was the swish of the cane through the air. Lotte hit higher this time, striping the tops of his buttocks where the flesh was less padded, jarring the base of his spine. Again, he ground his teeth together, adamant not to make a sound.

"Two. See, you have to vary the impact. That's the secret. If you hit the same part over and over, you'll just split the skin."

Hector could hardly believe it. His wife was giving a demonstration of how to cane her husband.

The cane swished again, striking over the top of the first blow, much harder. Hector gasped, but managed to supress the cry, delighting himself that he was denying his wife what she wanted. Lotte wanted Bea to hear him, to prove her skill.

"Three. Close to the first one, but not quite. The skill is in the aim."

Hector wanted to dispute that, to let her know that she'd messed up and hit him in exactly the same spot. That she was justifying herself to her friend meant that Lotte knew she'd messed up, but she appeared to be undeterred.

The swishing sound was longer this time, the stroke more powerful that the others, hitting towards the bottom of his buttocks, sending a shockwave through his flesh into his balls, searing across his skin. Hector cried out this time, unable to stop himself, his body overruling his control as it fought to absorb the damage.

"There, see, now we're getting somewhere. Four," Lotte remarked triumphantly.

As if encouraged by his response, the fifth stroke came in quicker, before Hector's body had time to process the pain, building on top of it, making him cry out again. His wife counted the strokes steadily, no longer running a narrative for the benefit of her audience. Hector kept his head down, the only mercy being that from this position, they couldn't see his face.

Somewhere around twelve, Hector lost track. Lotte had given him twelve strokes before, bent over the same benchtop, but that had been different. Her hand had stroked his tortured rear between strokes, her fingers manipulating his erection, pumping him, keeping him hard. It had been one of the most painful and erotic experiences of his life.

Now, she was hitting without the sensual interludes, administering punishment rather than playing a game. Hector's choices were stark: could he carry on, absorbing the pain, taking his beating, because that's what he'd signed his rights away for? The six strokes for talking back to her were undeserved, but to top it up to twenty because of some imagined ingratitude was crossing the line. Should he endure, keep his head down, take his licks and get to the end?

Or should he stop it? The pain seared across his flesh again, his bottom raw with punishment, throbbing and red. He heard his wife count off sixteen, but he was detached from it now, in a world of his own.

The first time they'd experimented with beating had been Lotte's suggestion. She'd had him tied face down on the bed, his bottom on full display, and she'd mentioned it almost in passing. She had confessed to wanting to try it, like it was her dirty little secret, nothing too severe, just slapping him with her hand. Hector had managed to turn enough to see the look on his wife's face, the flush in her cheeks, and realise how much the idea turned her on.

He'd said okay, and she'd slapped him immediately, a stinging swipe across his rear that made him yelp. Lotte had pulled back, worried about his pain, but he'd seen the smouldering look in her eyes and asked to be smacked again. Lotte had given him six of her best, Hector grinning and bearing it, hamming it up a little because it seemed to give her a kick. It didn't do anything for him, but he was fine with that. A red bottom was a small price to pay for the epic lovemaking that happened immediately afterwards.

Even as they progressed with it, Hector bore it with good grace, letting her bend him over a chair, or the bed, or the last time, across the island bench. That had been the cane, and twelve strokes, each time with an interstitial of touching and stroking, so that even after twelve, he'd wanted to slide into her, filling her, slaking his need.

Hector could see it now, from the other side, how his wife had been paying very close attention to his responses, detecting his forbearance, going away and reading up on the subject, coming back with a new plan. The dozen strokes had been much harsher than anything before, but the relentless teasing had driven Hector wild. Lotte could easily have taken it as her husband's conversion to masochism rather than his simple need to fuck her regardless of what she was putting him through.

"Eighteen."

The word penetrated his haze, his body shuddering, his knees weak. It was too late to stop her now, pointless, having taken almost all of the punishment. He swallowed, his throat raw, his cheek wet where it was pressed against the cool surface. He was crying and howling, reduced to a mess, wailing as his buttocks were wracked once again with fire.

"Nineteen."

He balled his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into his palm, heard a long, lazy swishing noise and an almighty crack that left him sobbing in shock and disbelief as the agony rolled on and on.

"Twenty."

His body ached from the onslaught, each heartbeat making his tormented buttocks pulse and sting. Gradually, he became aware that the only sound in the room was his own sniffling. Lotte had stopped.

He fought back a sudden urge to thank her, to slide down onto his knees and kiss her feet for showing him mercy. She had been savage; twelve strokes would have been enough, twenty was far in excess. He felt an immense unreasoning gratitude towards his wife for limiting herself to the original punishment.

"He's quite a mess."

Bea's voice.

"He's being punished. Of course he's a mess."

Lotte's response.

"I can't believe he lets you do this to him, Lotte."

"Why?"

"He's always been so sweet, so caring. I would never have imagined this side to him."

"The slave side?"

"Yes. I can't believe he wants to be our slave."

Our slave: there it was, laid out for him. The words penetrated through the fog, sharpening his thinking.

"Oh, yes," Lotte chuckled, still a little out of breath from administering the beating, "He's always been under my thumb, Bea, even before we were married. I just thought it was time to step it up, to formalise the arrangement."

"With the contract."

"That, yes, but other things. It's been a gradual process, but now the contract's signed, it's, uh, I guess it's a watershed moment."

"What do you mean?"

"He understands that he's going to be trained. I'm going to turn him into my perfect toy. Here."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Bea."

"I'm not sure."

Another pause.

"Think of it as taking control. You wanted this change for him too. Take it, have a man serve you for once."

Hector turned his head, able to glimpse a flash of red dress. Bea turned, stepping closer. The cane was in her hand.

"Hard. Make sure he feels it."

Hector's heart sank, twisting his neck painfully to catch sight of his friend's face, to make contact somehow. He was sure that he could get Bea to refuse to administer the extra two strokes she'd added. All she had to do was look at him.

Bea changed her stance, flexing the cane. Hector glared at her, willing her to make eye contact. She didn't, staring rigidly at his buttocks, bringing the cane back over her shoulder. Hector made a little choking, mewling sound, his cheeks wet with spittle and tears. He had been prepared for his wife to punish him, but not gentle, lovely Bea. It felt like someone was turning a knife in his guts.

She moved, bringing the cane down with an unexpected ferocity, and he howled. The pain was no worse than before, but it was a sound powered by something else, by the pure degradation of having to submit to her. Bea recoiled.

"Twenty-one," Lotte counted, "One more."

Bea drew the cane back quickly, sent it back down, slashing across the tops of his thighs in her haste. Though less powerful, the pain was immense, falling across his straining thighs. He watched as she handed the cane back to her friend. Only then did she look at Hector.

Where he would have expected to see hesitancy or fear, there was a curious blankness.

"New world, Bea. You did great. You're a natural."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks."

A hand pressed against his shoulder.

"Stay here slave, while I see my guest to the door."

Hector sagged, no longer able to fight or protest that at least she should unlock his wrists, let him try and get comfortable. It was useless to argue. His wife had made her point, demonstrating her superiority to her audience. The sound of the women faded into the distance.

Some time later, he heard the familiar clicking of stilettos approaching him. Hands went to the back of his neck and suddenly his arms were free. He folded them underneath him gratefully, letting his wife's hands pull him upright. The leash was detached, and he allowed his wife to guide him towards the stairs, feeling every muscle in his body protest. They climbed up the stairs slowly. Lotte brought him through into the bathroom.

"Grab the edges of the sink. You may speak again."

Hector raised his head and found himself staring into reddened eyes in the mirror, his hair dishevelled, the thick leather collar still around his neck. He could see the reflection of his wife next to him, looking at him too.

"Nothing to say?" she asked.

Hector just shook his head slowly. She opened a drawer and extracted a tub of ointment, unscrewing the lid.

"This might sting a bit."

Hector winced as she began to apply the ointment gently to his tormented flesh, smoothing over the welts and bruises she had given him. He bore the pain without complaint, letting her care for the marks she'd left. Eventually, she screwed the lid back onto the tub and put it away.

"Let's go to bed."

Lotte slid a hand around his waist, drawing him out of the bathroom and towards their bed. She pulled back the sheets and helped him down onto the mattress. He drew a sharp breath as his bottom made contact, but he rolled onto his side, facing his wife as she began to undress herself.

Lotte took it slowly, unzipping the back of her cocktail dress, letting it fall and pool around her ankles, leaving her in her lingerie. She had chosen a flesh-coloured set of bra and panties made from a sheer, gauzy material that let the dark circles of her nipples show through the fabric. The front panel of her panties hinted at the dark crevice of her labia through the material. She bent forward, showing him her cleavage, and unzipped her wickedly-high boots.

Hector watched his wife strip, revealing herself bit by bit, stepping out of her boots, unfastening her bra to shake her modest breasts free of their constraints, finally sliding her panties down to reveal her waxed pussy and her reddened, puffy labia. There was just a glint of moisture between those lips, enticing. She stepped closer, until she was standing against the edge of the bed, her pussy close enough to taste, her hands on her hips again.

Lotte was staring down at him, an eager expression on her face, her eyes sweeping over his body, stopping at his flaccid shaft. A shadow clouded her expression. She hesitated.

"I guess I should just go get ready for bed then," she said, and went back into the bathroom.

Hector understood, even as he strained to hear indistinct little gasps from the other side of the closed door. Having him at her mercy, seeing the way that she had been able to make him take his punishment, sharing that elation with her best friend, had turned her on enormously. Each stroke would have been making her hotter and hotter, her crotch crying out for attention. His wife had fulfilled a fantasy, and was expecting a shattering orgasm, all the way up until the point that she'd seen his manhood in bed, lying soft between his legs.

In the bathroom, there was a little cry and then the tap ran, the toilet flushed and a moment later, the door opened. His wife came out and got into the other side of the bed, behind him.

"Want to roll over this way?" she murmured, slipping a hand around his waist.

Hector just shook his head.

"Too uncomfortable?"

He nodded.

"Want to talk?"

Hector closed his eyes, feeling drained. He shook his head. His wife moved, spooning up behind him, taking care not to brush against his rear, wrapping her arms around him. He felt a soft kiss on his shoulder.

"Thank you for signing. It means so much to me. I know this was rough, but I promise you, it's going to be amazing, you'll see."

She held him tight until he heard her breathing deepen, becoming slower. Lotte slipped into sleep, her arm still draped around her husband's waist, leaving Hector still wide awake.

His wife had promised that it would be amazing. Right now, all he could think about was the low throb of his punished buttocks. She had disciplined him, taking on the role of his owner effortlessly. He shifted a little, still naked, trying to get more comfortable. She hadn't even removed his collar or his cuffs, emphasising his new status in their relationship.

As sleep claimed him, a thought came back to him again. It was the memory of Bea's face as he lay on the countertop, the way she had looked down at him. He tried to interpret her expression, but he couldn't. All he knew for sure was that he would have to go into work tomorrow, and he would have to face the woman who had seen him degraded by his wife, had heard him sobbing and crying out. Any equality he had with Bea had been destroyed, reduced now to her subordinate. Perhaps that was what the look on her face was: disbelief at his submission.

A shudder passed through his body, and his manhood shifted at last. His sleeping wife's fingers dangled around his waist, her fingertips just inches from his firming shaft. He became fully erect, feeling his wife's fingernail against his tip, but he didn't dare move. Last night, he'd been free to touch himself, to stroke his wife's body, to roll over and make love to her.

Now he was alone, aching in the dark, forbidden from all of that.

---

[Next chapter: the first day of his new life as a 24/7 slave comes with a new set of challenges and one unexpected surprise.

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