Tell Me What You Want Ch. 07

"Then you should have gone in the garden, Bea replied.

"I did. Now I need to go again."

Bea frowned at him and then beckoned him over. She unscrewed the ring on the end of his plastic cage, uncorking his hole.

"You're forbidden from using the toilets."

"I know, I'll go on the grass."

He didn't wait for a response, going through the back of the house and walking into the middle of the lawn. It was a warm summer's night, the kind of night that he'd perhaps have opened a bottle of wine himself and persuaded Lotte outdoors into the reclining chairs so they could sit and sip their drinks and look up at the stars. Instead, he was collared and naked, squatting down so he didn't spray piss through the tiny hole in the tip of his cock cage all down his legs while Bea was comfortable on her couch and his wife was enjoying a meal in her tight black dress in a nice restaurant with work colleagues. Each sounded like a good Saturday night, and here he was, excluded from either.

He finished his business and returned to Bea.

"Want to watch?" she offered.

Hector found himself contemplating the idea of sitting with Bea, watching a show. Even naked and without wine, it would be a nice change from the trials of the day.

"You can kneel here, by my feet, slave."

The desire evaporated, and instead he replied, "Actually, may I be permitted to go to the garage? I could just crash."

"Now?" Bea asked, still watching the screen.

"I was hoping."

"Okay, let's go," Bea replied, getting up quickly, "Come on."

Hector followed Bea through into the garage. She picked up the coil of chain from the shelf, padlocking one end to the steel shelving. She worked quickly, attaching the other end to the D-ring in the front of his collar with the second padlock.

"There, how's that?"

"I have enough slack to be able to lie down. I'm happy with that."

Hector tried to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice, but it didn't matter because Bea didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with missing her show.

"Okay, you've got the camping mattress, you've got the beeper in case you need anything, you've been to the toilet, right?"

"Yes, I'm all set."

"Cool. Okay, good night."

Bea hurried to the door, flicking off the light switch as she went though, anxious to get back to whatever she'd been watching. Hector was left standing in the pitch black. He felt around with his foot until he located the edge of the mat and then settled himself down onto it, the only sound being the jangling of the chain that bound him to the shelving.

The day had been gruelling. Parts of it had been awful, other parts had been mind-blowing, and the end felt like an anticlimax. Hector hadn't expected Bea to take him upstairs to her bedroom and order him to service her, but a release from his penile imprisonment might have been nice. At least she hadn't screwed the bolt back in; he'd have hated to try sleeping with his cock penetrated by a steel intrusion all night.

With a long sigh, he laid on his back in the quiet of the garage, his thoughts drifting to how good his wife had looked on the video call and the fun she'd be having now. Hector's cock stirred half-heartedly in its prison at the memory. He closed his eyes gratefully; it was a singular luxury to be just permitted to lie down on the floor. His thoughts began to slow and drift.

Hector was called into Claire's office. He knocked and then opened the door, but the interior was dimmed, the window blinds drawn. Everything was arranged as usual: the big desk, the high-backed desk chair, another chair opposite, but there was something different. The desk chair rotated slowly to face him, and he found himself staring at his wife.

She was dressed impeccably in a business suit, her long, straight dark hair coiled around itself into a tight bun.

"Good. I only have a few minutes before the cab arrives, I just need to deal with this first."

Hector nodded silently. Lotte had removed his ability to speak. She hadn't forbidden him, she had done something to him, one of a number of changes she had made to his body for her convenience. The power of speech was simply not required anymore so she had done away with it. He watched apprehensively as she rose from her seat and came around the big desk towards him.

Lotte tutted impatiently and tugged at his shirt, pulling it off his body. She grasped his belt buckle and pulled again, this time taking his trousers. The clothing went into the wastebasket by the desk.

"You won't be needing them."

Hector flushed, feeling an acute sense of humiliation standing in Claire's office at work, with all his workmates only metres away on the other side of the door, stripped naked by his wife. She reached down and took his manhood in her hand, pumping him unceremoniously until his erection swelled. He stared in disbelief as she kept pumping him, each stroke inflating him further, enlarging his girth, lengthening him, making him as rigid as an iron bar. The feeling was exquisite, bringing him to the edge, slicking her fingers with precum as he throbbed and pulsed under her touch.

"That's unsanitary. We can't have that."

She withdrew her hand, leaving his angry, purple tip dancing in the air, and then she tapped it with a fingernail. He watched helplessly as a plastic sheen extended outwards from the point of contact, rippling down his shaft, over his balls, pulling them in tighter and tighter until they were no longer in evidence. Lotte waited a few more seconds for the transformation to be complete and then gave his manhood a playful swipe. His cock had been transformed into a featureless plastic dildo.

"That's a lot more useful."

Hector stared up at his wife in horror, but she was checking her watch.

"Onto the desk, come on. My cab will be here in two minutes."

Hector obeyed, sliding himself onto the desk and stretching out his naked body over the smooth surface. Lotte gave him a perfunctory pat on the thigh and then spread her hand across his sternum. She began to push, and Hector felt himself slipping into the surface, down into the fabric of the desk. He realised what Lotte wanted to do to him and he began to struggle, but his arms and legs were already part of the surface, as if melting away and becoming incorporated into it.

"Ssh, don't struggle. It's what you want."

The last part of his body to be pushed down was his head, merging with the desk, but somehow still able to see. His wife stepped back, admiring her handiwork with an expression of smug satisfaction on her face.

"I have to go, can you take it from here, Bea?"

"Don't worry, I'll take good care," Bea replied, stepping into Hector's field of view.

Lotte left and Bea approached, rolling up her skirt to reveal toned thighs and a little patch of light fuzz between her legs. Her pussy gleamed wetly. Hector was powerless, trapped in position, part of the desk now, unable to resist as she climbed up on top of the smooth flat surface that he'd become. It was perfectly smooth except for one feature: the prominent dildo that had been his cock, sticking up from the surface. Bea lowered herself down onto it and began to grind. Hector's body, whatever Lotte had left of it, began to throb and ache with the glorious friction of Bea's inner walls enveloping and massaging him.

"Like this, for always," Bea rasped, her cheeks flushing as she built up to climax, "Serving your betters forever."

She began to plunge down onto him ferociously, driving herself to orgasm.

Something roused him. He blinked in the dark, struggling to pull his thoughts together. It was really dark now, an impenetrable inky blackness that signified that there was no light coming in from the little strip windows over the shelving at all. He had the feeling that it was late.

There was a noise again, a hammering. He sat up, his body protesting the movement. The last vestiges of the dream still clung to the edges of his consciousness, the feeling of being rendered powerless by his wife and turned into nothing more than a piece of furniture that could be fucked when required. His cock was filling its little plastic shell completely, still tingling with the afterimage of Bea's bare crotch hammering down onto the rigid pink erection, the last visible trace of him that his wife had left behind.

He heard the front door open and then voices. The dream left him instantly, his senses sharpening in the gloom. Bea was talking to someone, but he couldn't make out the words, just the timbre of her voice. There was a laugh: a man's laugh.

Hector froze, willing himself to perfect stillness, holding his breath, straining to detect the words being spoken in the hallway next to the place where he had been stored. His mind began to race through the permutations, settling on the most obvious sequence of events. Of course, Hector thought to himself with bitterness, it made sense. He ground his teeth in silence as a grim dread seized him. There was a single doorway between himself, lying chained up and naked, impotent in his slave collar and cock cage, and Bea's ex-husband, Brent.

So, she'd called him back after all. She'd probably flopped back on the couch after putting Hector away for the night and felt that itch. Hector recalled how she'd looked in her tiny little cut-off denim shorts in the garden, flaunting herself to torment him, her own slickness tucked away behind the blue denim.

All she would have had to do was ask Hector to take care of her little problem, having him lapping away between her legs, gently bringing her up to climax just like he knew Lotte liked. It wouldn't have been an imposition, in fact it would have felt like a reward, allowing Hector to kneel and worship the petite blonde woman who had taken ownership of him for the weekend.

But instead, she'd called her ex. Despite her distress after the previous call in the afternoon, and her confession that he was still coming around to assuage his needs occasionally, treating her like sex on tap, she'd reverted to habit.

The words became clearer: they must have moved down the hallway now, standing right outside the door to the garage, their voices travelling clearer through the thickness of the wood. It was a conversation dominated by a male voice and then gaps that were punctuated by a female counterpoint. He couldn't follow the conversation, but it seemed as if Brent was making his case to his ex-wife.

Hector turned to face in the direction of where he guessed the door to be in the blackness; the chain tinkled loudly. Hector sucked in a breath as the metallic sound echoed in his ears like church bells, holding himself rigidly in position, hearing silence now on the other side of the door. His heart thudded dully in his ears, counting the seconds, willing them to continue their conversation, but they didn't.

Hector's mind raced, picturing the thick-set features of Bea's ex-husband creasing into a frown, his hand settling on the doorknob, gripping, turning, opening. Hector stared in the darkness, waiting for the crack of light to appear around the opening door, a shaft of illumination to spill out across the bare concrete to where he cowered on the mattress, chained and naked, with nowhere to hide.

This was not like the humiliation of seeing Bea walk into his kitchen to witness his slave contract, or the degradation from the pretty, diminutive blonde who was had turned from his best friend to his controller, telling him to drink his own piss. Instead of someone he could trust, this was a man he detested, who had treated Bea like a doormat, whose arrogant smirk he could picture with absolute clarity on the other side of the door. If Brent saw him like this, it would be the end of the everything.

He counted the seconds, listening to his heartbeat, unable to breathe. He had literally no means of escape. Then he heard Bea speak.

She was talking in a low, calm voice, a continuous stream of words flowing from her mouth. Brent interrupted, his voice low too, but with a hard edge to it. It was unintelligible, muffled through the door, but he could detect menace there. Bea interjected, but he rumbled on. She spoke again, but it didn't stop him. Each time her pitch became higher.

The discussion began to resolve itself, not through its words but through the tone of each participant: Brent began to growl as Bea became more insistent. There was a shift of movement in the hall.

"Fuck."

It was Bea's voice, loud and clear, breaking through the muffling, followed by rapid-fire dialogue that seemed to be cut off mid-sentence. Hector realised that whatever the conversation had started with at Bea's front door, it had now become something much worse.

Hector grimaced, feeling useless, trying to reconcile the contradicting thoughts circling in his head. One the one hand, she'd chained him up in the garage and called Brent up for sex, so she was getting what she asked for now on the other side of the door, but not in the way she wanted. On the other hand, his best friend sounded like she was in distress at the hands of the man who had walked out of her life and seemed fine treating her like an occasional carnal convenience.

"Brent," she called out.

There was no answer from the man in the hallway. She said his name again, this time ramping up into a squeal. Hector balled his fists, clamping his jaws together. It sounded like it was rough. Maybe that's what they did though, maybe his diminutive, pretty friend liked it rough. Maybe this was some twisted kind of foreplay for them both.

"Stop."

It was a single word, high-pitched, ringing out clearly, like a bell, calling out to him.

Hector was on his feet. The chain rattled noisily in the dark, and he swatted it away from his neck as he reached out into the void. His hands made contact with the cold steel of the shelving, tracing his way along and then leaning forward into the space, swinging his arm in a wide arc.

It struck the toolbox and he sprang into action, flipping up the lid, scrabbling thought the contents, trying to visualise the items he remembered seeing inside and reconciling them to the information his fingers were relaying to him. He closed his hand on a thick wooden shaft. Good: the hammer. He reached in again, feeling smooth, cold steel, thin, tapering down to a point. There were several, all clipped together, but he found the heaviest and tugged: a screwdriver.

There was a mewling sound coming from the other side of the door, but he excluded it from his thoughts, trying to picture the tools in his hand and the chain dangling from his collar. He jabbed the screwdriver through a link, feeling it catch, grinning maniacally to himself. He inserted the claw of the hammer into the adjoining link, tugging to make sure of it, then twisted each tool in opposite directions.

The chain broke easily, falling away from his throat and crashing noisily against the metal shelving, splitting the quiet darkness like the sound of the world ending. Hector advanced on the door, dropping the screwdriver and holding his hand out to feel his way. The fingers of his other hand curled around the shaft of the hammer.

His fingertips skimmed over the wall, hitting the edge of the doorframe abruptly, tracing across and down to find the handle. He felt the cold metal of the handle in his palm and hesitated.

If he went through the door, Brent would see him. The smug prick would take one look and know exactly what Hector was, what he'd been reduced to. He would grin, his eyes lighting up in triumph at finally being able to get one over on his ex-wife's closest male friend, relishing being delivered the leverage he'd been looking for after all these years. Opening the door and exposing his dark secret would be the end of him, Hector knew.

He twisted the handle and did it anyway.

Bea was backed up against the wall, her eyes wide and moist, her arms spread. Brent was standing over her, his hands cupping her modest breasts through her pyjama top, both of them frozen in the act. Slowly, as if time was dilating, Brent turned his head towards the disturbance. Bea's eyes shifted to Hector, horrified, as Hector stepped naked into the hallway, the hammer in his hand.

"What the fuck?" Brent gasped in astonishment.

He stepped back, releasing Bea, facing off.

"Heck, you twisted fuck," he hissed, "What the fuck is this?"

Bea wrapped her arms tightly over her breasts.

"I told you I was busy," she snapped, the fear transmuting into rage.

Brent did the worst thing he could possibly do: his mouth split open into his trademark shit-eating grin.

"Busy being a fucking pervert," he shot back, shifting his attention from Hector to his ex-wife and then back again.

"Bea, you sick fucking little puppy. Is this what you get up to now?"

His eyes went back to Hector, taking a long moment to look him up and down, noting the collar, the ankle and wrist cuffs, settling at last on the plastic that trapped and encased Hector's cock.

"Hector," he laughed, "I wouldn't have thought it. What the fuck are you?"

"Leave him alone," Bea growled, "Get out."

Brent's eyes went to the hammer in Hector's hand.

"Or what? Your gimp here gonna brain me with a hammer? Gonna finish me off, is he? Look at what you've done to him, he can't even fucking get it up without your say-so."

Brent put his hands on his hips, taking in the sight, recovering from the shock of the confrontation. He fixed Hector with a mocking glare.

"What kind of man lets a woman take away his dick? Fuck, keeps him collared like a dog."

Brent's eyes widened in astonishment, and he laughed.

"Fuck. She keeps you in the garage, does she, all chained up? What kind of man lets a woman do that to him? Not a real one."

Brent shook his head.

"Got the hammer there, gimp boy? Gonna use it? Or do you need my ex to tell you what to do? I bet you can't even take a shit without her say-so. Still able to make any decisions for yourself, or did she take that too, along with your balls?"

Hector didn't move. He'd lost the initiative, slamming face-first into Brent's derision, each word showering down on him like glass shards, cutting him to the quick. Yes, he conceded, Brent was right. What kind of man lets this be done to him? The rage that he felt as he came through the door turned to unbearable humiliation. He could only manage to glare back at Brent in silence.

"Get out," Bea growled, then she launched herself at him, pushing him away, screaming at him now. "Get out, you fucking bastard, get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out of my life."

Brent backed up a couple of steps beneath her onslaught, then stopped, staring down at the woman he'd married and discarded. He grinned at her too.

"You kinky little perverted slut. Yeah, you know what? I think we're done."

He held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing to himself.

"We are so fucking done here. This is so fucked in the head. I'm just gonna leave you twisted perverts to it."

With that, he headed back down the hall. He opened the door but before he stepped outside, he turned back to face them, smiling.

"I'm so gonna enjoy this. What a fucking story. You, your little gimp here, and that stuck up bitch he had the misfortune to marry, it's gonna be great."

The smile vanished and he went quiet, staring at her. When he broke the silence, his voice was trembling with bitterness.

"I'm gonna fucking tell everyone, bitch, and I'm gonna laugh while I'm doing it. Good luck with your life after that."

He glowered down the hallway at them. The hammer in Hector's hands thudded to the floor, slipping through slack fingers as he stared back in horror at the man who was going to ruin his life. Naked, powerless, degraded, he couldn't move, couldn't respond, thinking over and over that he should have just stayed on the mattress in the garage. He should have cowered in the dark like the wimp Brent saw him to be and let it all play out. He should have just let Bea take whatever Brent had to dish out.