Bread and Honey

This is a femdom story centred around the themes of financial domination, hypnosis and mind control.

If those aren't your fetishes, don't vote this story down, please hit the back button instead!

I wrote this story back in 2015, which is the year the action was set. I posted it here under another title and username, then deleted it. I'm posting it here again, unchanged.

Like most authors here I like to write stuff that gets me hot. But to be honest, this story can't really qualify as erotica. And yet, weirdo that I am, it turns me on reading it, which is all I can go on.

As is usual with my writing (and my real life), this story is very light on the explicit sex, heavy on the mind games, and may contain nuts.

Certain events in this story are implied but not described. You know what I'm talking about: The stuff that can destroy lives, the events that can take a happy child, and turn them into strange, walking ghosts, who bravely don the guise of normality, but when you look a little deeper into their eyes, you see that they carry inside them a tiny photo, a frozen image taken at the moment of a terrible crime. And they sometimes get confused by that photo, thinking sometimes that they're not the victim, but the murderer.

Happy reading Loyal Workers!

"IF YOU WANT TO WORK HERE, YOU'VE GOT TO BEE-HIVE AT ALL TIMES!"

-- Printed Tee-Shirt, on sale at The Hive Gift Shop, Totnes, Devon.

Somewhere in Devon, UK

Sallow in the amber light of his hexagonal cell, D3 gazed at the stained-glass walls above him, unsure whether he was hallucinating.

There She was, sixfold: in her translucent gown, hands on hips, her serene smile taunting him. The six identical images of The Queen watched him with calm disdain. They crowded him in a hexagonal throng. In his head he heard their united chorus: Obey and serve. There is no other life but to serve your Queen.

He lost consciousness.

D3 awoke to the sounds of a leaf-blower humming far away, and the twittering of songbirds. He became conscious of a blindfold over his eyes. He twitched his face muscles to try and loosen it, to no effect. He tried to think straight: Where was he? He felt the fresh country breeze through an open window and caught the faint sickly scent of honeysuckle." I'm still in The Hive. In one of the guest rooms, probably."

He was lying on a firm cot. His tongue probed his sore mouth. He was missing a tooth. His arms and legs were bound. But mind was now clear on what had happened to him: They'd try to reprogram him, and when that had failed, they'd resorted to violence.

He heard a door open and people entering. Two? Three?

"Ok. Sit up. Here. We're going to help you." He recognised D6's voice: Well-spoken. Educated. And implacably, infuriatingly calm.

Strong hands grabbed his ankles firmly and swung his legs over the side of the cot. Another pair of hands, more gentle, took his shoulders and set him seated upright.

The gentle hands undid his blindfold. He blinked in dazzling autumn sunlight. He'd guessed right: He was in one of Hive's guest rooms. D6 was standing before him and watching him. He saw two others in the room: Workers, in uniform. A man, and a woman. He recognised the man as one of his assailants in the cell. He was tall and heavy-set. He was leaning on the door, guarding the exit, his face expressionless.

The woman was shy-looking, in her early thirties. Hers must have been the hands that had sat him up. He'd not seen her before. She was oriental: Chinese, or Korean, he guessed. Big Manga eyes. Her smooth forehead showed the tattoo of her Hive Number: W406. She seemed to have some medical background, because she asked him a lot of questions, and checked his eyes and pulse.

"So guys," D3 said brightly, looking in turn at the three of them." What's the crack, as the Irish would say?"

No answer. Fucking zombies. W406 avoided his gaze.

He repeated it, slowly, baiting them: "I said: What's - the - fucking - crack?"

The male sprung from the door.

"Shut up, you fucking bumble, or I'll --"

But D6 intercepted him and motioned him back.

D3 smiled grimly. The more they intimidated and strong-armed him, the more they showed their own fear. He turned his defiant face towards W406. Indeed there was fear in her eyes. But the fear was not for herself, but for the Hive.

"Please, don't... Please don't," she murmured.

He taunted her: "'Please don't?' Please don't what exactly? Please don't be bloody and beat up, because it reminds you how fucked up this place is? Please don't -- oh what's the fucking use of talking to you."

His shoulders slumped.

The four of them remained there for some minutes in silence, until they heard quick, staccato footsteps approaching; the hair on D3's arms stood on end and his heart raced with anticipation and fear; the two Workers shifted uneasily. D6 held the door open, head bowed.

The Queen entered. She smiled indulgently when she saw D3, as though she'd found her errant child. D3 didn't smile back. He stared sullenly at her for a second, and then looked away. She knew he was struggling to resist her. She knew him better than he knew himself. His nerve faltered.

Her rich silky voice commanded the others: "You can leave. Thank you. Yes all three of you."

He noticed she was holding a notebook. It was his. So that's how they had found him out: He hadn't hidden it well enough.

Without a word, the Queen walked to a sink in the corner of the room and poured a glass of water. The tap, tap of her heels drew his gaze down, to her ankles. Always in her presence his eyes were downcast. She returned and sat down on the cot beside him, her thigh barely in contact with his. Gently she fed the cool water into his mouth. His dick stiffened, and he felt a sudden urge to grovel with gratitude at this small gesture. But it turned almost instantly to self-disgust as he realised how easily his steadfastness crumbled at her mere presence.

With supreme effort, he spoke, attempting irony." So can I leave too, my Queen?" Fear, pain and exhaustion rendered his voice harsh and slurred.

"No. You, a drone, abused your trust and broke the rules, which as you know carries a punishment."

"Punishment?? I've had the crap kicked out of me, and been locked in a reprogramming cell for God knows how many days. What was that then, a fucking reward?"

D3 writhed against the ropes. It hurt. But it fed his anger and cleared her poison from his mind.

"Shh. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have let them do that. I didn't know they'd be so violent. But it looks to them like you weren't just threatening to leave, but were actually intent on destroying the Hive."

Yes. He had been: If they hadn't let him leave, he would have brought the Hive down around him.

The Queen scrutinised him in silence for an agonizing minute. He tried again to return her gaze, but then screwed his eyes tight shut.

"You see that, don't you? That's what upset them. And it saddens me. That you have so much destructiveness in you. Please, open your eyes."

She was so calm and reasonable. He opened his eyes. He started to feel wretched and stupid.

She touched his knee lightly with her fingertips. He trembled, as though she was pumping electric current into him." You know, you're still one of the very few people I trust. And I do still trust you, even now, Richard."

Richard. Yes, that was his name, once.

She sat quietly, letting the silence weaken him. Although he knew her technique better than almost anyone, he was completely powerless against its effect: Wait, let the words sink in deep down.

"My Workers would do anything for this. To be so close to me, here, on the same bed, as you are."

Pause.

"Yes, they would do anything for this. Some would even kill for this." The menace in the remark was not lost on D3, and it had the effect of breaking her spell. Quickly she saw her mistake: Threats were no use. She changed tack:

"Do I have to remind you, of all people, of the Creed?"

She intoned: 'The cycle of Want and Gratification can be broken. Only by surrendering Need can we end the Endless Suffering.'"

Once again she paused. Outside a songthrush sang sweetly.

"'Only in service...' - say it with me, Richard...'"

In unison they recited the Creed:

"'Only in service can we be free. Only by giving up everything we want can we obtain anything we desire.'"

D3 continued, alone, as The Queen watched him:

"'The Hive keeps us, and we keep the Hive. The Queen serves us, and we serve the Queen'".

Los Angeles, Two years earlier

The bar was getting full, but Rich Brunner had seen his target and was seated next to her. He pushed away oyster shells.

"Hi, I'm Rich."

The hooker's eyes widened; she barely contained her laugh.

"Nice to meet you, Rich."

"And you are?" What the fuck does it matter what her name is.

"Bella".

Rich began to sing. Thiiis is the night, it's a BEA-U-TIFUL night, and they call it Bella Notte..."

"Yeah, like that." Bella eyed him and quickly figured him out, to a T: Late forties, spends time at the gym. Watches his diet. A Leg Man, definitely. And he has money. Works in TV or movies, but on the business side. Plays golf on Saturdays.

"So: 'Bella'. Is that a stage name? Are you an actress?"

She knew he was trying to be cute, and that he knew full well what she was.

"No, I'm a sex worker."

"Excuse me?"

"A sex worker. I have sex with guys for money."

"Really? A sex worker..." Rich nodded appreciatively." Are you on your break?" That did it: She broke a laugh.

"You tell me."

"So how much does a sex worker get paid, for, say, a whole night?"

Bella was getting bored with this joker's banter: Get the fuck on with it or fuck off.

"It depends on..."

"I know, I know, it depends, it depends..."

"...On in-call or out-call, and what, if any, your kink is, Rich. If it helps you decide, my place is here, in this Hotel. That will save you taxi fare. What is your kink, Rich? Is this what you like?" Bella pulled aside her long dress, which had a slit running all the way up, revealing a long shapely leg. She pulled further, right up to her hip. Rich gawped; his cock stiffened. Deal.

They rode the elevator to her sixth floor suite. A couple from out of town joined them on the second floor. The four of them stood in that crowded space, embarrassed, avoiding each other's gaze. Rich broke the silence, asking Bella loudly:

"So, who does your taxes?"

She unlocked her door with a card key and led him in. He looked around her big, well-appointed suite; she was doing all right. His dick was rock-hard with anticipation -- and the Cialis he had taken earlier had kicked in.

Bella held out a hand." Well?"

"Oh yes. Here..." Rich pulled out a billfold and slowly peeled off $100 bills. He purposely gave her $500 more than they had agreed. He wanted to see her reaction.

"Count it."

"I trust you."

"I may have made a mistake."

"You told me you're an accountant."

"You're going to trust an accountant?"

"I am."

"Count it. It turns me on."

"Oh, you're into that? Financial stuff? You should have told me you had a fetish. Fetishes cost extra. Cough up."

"Count it."

"Not until you cough up."

"But if you count it --"

"Okay. But there better be at least $500 extra."

She counted the money." Good boy."

"Sucker! You could have doubled that."

"Sure, sure. Like taking candy from a baby. I know how it works, Rich. I have a client who pays me five G's, just to watch me use his Amex card. But today I really need..." - she leaned close to him - "...A good fucking."

She undressed, down to her underwear. Her Louboutins she kept on. Her exquisite curves took his eyes for a roller-coaster ride; down from the nape of her long neck, around her smooth shoulders, between perfect breasts squeezed gently but firmly together by her black lace brassiere, across her flat belly and down, down. She pulled her panties up tight, turning them into a thong cleaving her pussy lips.

He undressed quickly and fell to his knees before her. He grabbed her firm round ass and breathed in her exotic perfume deeply, burying his face in her belly. He took the top of her lace panties in his teeth and tugged gently down. And on each side of her, down over her hips. She finished the job for him: She let them drop, stepped daintily out of them. She sat at the foot of the bed and lifted them delicately from the carpet using the point of her shoe. She straightened her leg, pointing her shoe towards him, and letting her panties dangle before his face.

"Oh yes. You're a leg man alright. Sniff my panties, Rich."

He inhaled. That perfume... She stood, scooped her panties from the carpet and fed them into his greedy drooling mouth.

"That'll shut your yap. Now get up off the floor and fuck me. Fuck me, you fucking loser."

Dirty talk. She knew what he wanted.

"C'mon, stand up. Fuck me. C'mon you perverted little fuck. Fuck my wet pussy."

She took his hand and guided it onto her pussy." Feel those hot, wet lips. All for you."

He held his fingers over his nose, inhaling. He licked them. He approached her, eyes ravenous. She backed away in mock fear, until her calves were pressed at the foot of the bed. He pressed himself against her until she fell back onto it, with him on top of her.

"Ow, you're too heavy, you fat fuck." She wrapped her legs around his and rolled them over until she was on top. She pushed her hands onto his hairy chest until she was sat upright, straddling him.

"That's right. You lie there on your Jew back."

He burst out laughing, which made him choke. He pulled her panties from his mouth." Sorry, did I just hear you say my 'Jew back'?"

But she was not going to be side-tracked by his humour.

"Put my panties back in your filthy Jew mouth and shuddup."

He did as he was told, and lay back, ready to burst. She shuffled back until she straddled him at the knees. She let a long bead of drool trickle from her lower lip onto his dick, which convulsed at its sudden touch. She ran her cool hands up and down his glistening shaft. She filled her mouth with more saliva and spat onto his belly, until there was a shallow glistening pool on his navel. With a middle finger she pressed his dick down into the pool and rolled it around in it until it was lubricated. She squeezed his shaft tightly in her fist and scratched his pee-hole with a fingernail.

"That tickles..." She dug the nail hard until he winced.

"Lie still. I'll tickle you alright, fucker. I'm gonna make you cum like you've never cum before. I'm gonna give you a coronary. And that don't kill ya, then I'm gonna make you lick all your cum out of my pussy till it's cleaned out. Until there's not a single one of your little Jewish tadpoles left inside my Catholic pussy." He burst out laughing again, and this time, even she had to join in, in spite of herself.

"Then after that, you're gonna lick my asshole with your forked Kike tongue and clean that out too. You're gonna get that tongue deep in my asshole and clean it good."

"That's right. But first I'm going to shove that fat, ugly Jew cock of yours inside me. Right now. Oh yeah. Oh yeah..." She shuffled up and squashed his dick under her mons. She squeezed her thighs on his hips rhythmically. He started to cum. He couldn't stop himself...

He felt his hot juice spurt over his face, his chest.

"Fuck...."

"That's right fucker. That's it. Cum till you're dry, fucking Jew."

He lay there, as the ecstasy of his orgasm faded.

"Wow. That's the best sex I've ever had with an anti-Semite."

Bella laughed." You know it was just a game. I'm not really an anti-Semite."

"Oh, don't spoil it for me, darling".

"Ok. And about eating my pussy. You know I don't actually allow that."

"It's okay, I had dinner earlier."

On his way home in the taxi, he felt unbearably horny again." Jesus Fucking Christ, when will it end?"

The Uber driver eyed him in the mirror, but said nothing.

"Stop here. Yes just here". The driver parked outside a strip club." Have a nice evening sir. Good place. Ukrainian. Like me. Beautiful Ukrainian girls".

"Yes. Beautiful Ukrainian hookers. Thank you."

Rich arrived home at 4 AM. He kicked off his shoes and opened his laptop. And hit cams.com. He fell asleep after spending a frustrating hour or so trying to find a model who wasn't playing cheesy Russian pop songs for background music.

He was woken the following day by his mobile phone ringing. He looked wildly around for it, then realised it was still in his pocket of his jacket, which he was still wearing. He fumbled for the phone.

"So? You coming, buddy?"

It was Paul. Fuck, this was Saturday; he'd forgotten that he'd booked a round of golf with him.

"Yeah. Yeah. Three PM, right?"

"No, you schmuck, Two PM. Which is in an hour. Fuck, You sound like shit. Rich you gotta fucking see someone about this. I mean it."

On the third hole, Paul resumed his advice before teeing off.

"You know, it's ironic. It's really ironic."

"Ok, it's ironic. Play your shot, already."

"I mean, two guys, wealthy, successful, both spend every waking hour horny and frustrated. But in my case it's because I'm married and don't get any, and in your case it's because you're single and never fucking stop. I mean you never fucking stop. What time did you get in last night?"

"I know. I should see someone."

"You should. You should see someone."

On the fifth hole:

"I dunno, Rich. Maybe you just need a vacation."

"What vacation? My whole damn life is a vacation. I need a not vacation."

"A not vacation?"

"Yeah, like a work camp."

"Yeah, Rich, maybe a concentration camp. You know, Arbeit Macht Frei. Yeah that's what you fucking need. A fucking concentration camp. That'll fucking cure ya. I'll look into it if you like. Richard. You stupid fuck: You need to see someone. You're an addict. Okay?"

"Ok."

"Look, I know someone. Not personally, but she's highly recommended. I mean, this woman is the fucking best. Almost impossible to see."

"Go on."

"Yeah. Jack Weiss saw her."

Rich snorted." Jack Weiss? You mean for his cocaine habit? Look I'm not ..."

"An addiction is an addiction. And trust me, this lady knows addiction."

"'Lady'? Is she hot, this lady? Is she a, a what, is she some kind of a..."

"Shuttup, asshole. She's a nice English lady. She has a place, a retreat in England, she works out of London, but she has an office here in LA too. She deals with the top people, Rich. The top people. Politicians, movie stars. Royalty. She's expensive. Reassuringly expensive."

"Yeah, but a fucking retreat? I don't need rehab, for Christ's sake."

"Maybe you don't, maybe you do." Paul put a hairy hand on Rich's shoulder." Just call her. Okay? Please."

Rich sighed." Aight. Ok. I'll call Mrs Twiddlepussy."

Tea and Scones

Rich jogged along Santa Monica beach, trying to keep up with the athletic young woman ahead of him. Her ponytail bounced in tantalising rhythm with her steps. She was wearing Nike black leggings, adorned with the words "JUST DO IT" leading up from the side of her knees, over her firm thighs, to her hips.

He was hypnotised by her ass. The sound of his breathing, locked in time with her footsteps, started to become a repeating command: "Just do it... just do it... just do it..."

He felt the uncontrollable horniness growing within him, and gained on his prey. Now he was less than two yards behind her...

Suddenly he stopped, panting. He reached for his phone.

"Yes, yes, Mr Brunner, she has read your email, and as we said, she will get back to you. I'm sure you can understand that Ms Sanders is very much in demand, and won't be available to see you until April at the earliest."