Bread and Honey

"I was at an all-girls boarding school. The rules and constraints there didn't make any sense to me at all, and I ached to run away. I knew some older boys from the village, boys who rode motorcycles and took drugs. I fell in with them. I was curious about heroin. I used to watch them shooting it up and becoming docile and mindless. I wondered what would happen to my psychic powers after I'd taken it. Whether I'd be free of it. I started smoking smack. Then I started shooting it, and within a few months I was a junkie. Unlike the village boys, I had the wealth to maintain my addiction without resorting, as they did, to petty crime.

"When I was eighteen I met another boy, George, an aristocrat like me, who was also unhappy at school and wanted to leave. But he didn't have the strength of character I did.

"He became obsessed with me and followed me around like a big dog. I used to enjoy setting him challenges, calling him "My Loyal Knight". Once I set him the task of stealing his father's gun and playing Russian Roulette in front of me.

"We moved into a caravan in Gloucestershire and lived in a kind of glorious squalor there for a year. I got George into smack too. I don't know whether you've taken it, but it's a wonderful drug: It's heaven on earth. Joy and respite. But of course it can destroy you. Unfortunately it did that to George. He died of an overdose one night. We were in bed at the time. I woke up beside him and he was dead. From that day, I stopped taking it. It was easy to do. I felt the withdrawal, but heroin's seduction was no match against my insurmountable willpower.

"George's death wasn't really my fault. His weakness was bound to lead him down that path sooner or later. Like you, Richard, he was congenitally weak-willed. But I felt very guilty about it, and it gave me a sense of responsibility about my power, which I've maintained ever since.

"I thought about what I should do next. I considered entering politics, but decided instead to study psychotherapy and addiction treatment. I enrolled in a course at the University of London.

"I moved to Clapham, into a communal house not far from here. There were committee meetings every week. I hated it. Everyone was miserable, although they would never have admitted it. They couldn't even see it. The men called themselves feminists, and the women tried to act like men. Then I realized something: I alone knew what was wrong with the way they ran things. And I could fix it: The house needed to be run the way my family had run our house. It needed servants. It needed chambermaids, cooks, and footmen. And it needed a mistress of the household.

"There was one man in particular, Jamie, who was insistent that the place should be run, in his words, 'more democratically'. He annoyed me. He called me 'The spoiled duchess'. I decided to begin with him.

"Late one night Jamie and I were alone in the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink. I ordered him to wash them, but he refused, saying that it was not his turn to do them, and besides, it was about time I got my own hands dirty for once. I was studying hypnotherapy as part of my university course at the time. I decided on a little practical test of what I'd learnt. I said to him half-jokingly, 'How about if I hypnotise you into enjoying doing the dishes so much you'll beg me to let you do it every day'.

"He laughed at my audacious challenge. When he realised I meant it, he accepted. I knew that in accepting the challenge, a part of him already wanted to obey me. So it was easy: I made him slow his breathing, and his thoughts, until he became receptive to my will. Then I spoke to him as though he were one of my kitchen staff: 'You'll wash the dishes, every day from now on, because deep down you know it's your place and it will make you happy. Don't fight it, Jamie, give in to your destiny.'

"When I'd finished, he grinned at me and said 'Is that it? That's so pathetic!' He thought it hadn't worked.

"But I simply smiled back at him, and waited. And waited. He started squirming. I could see his hard-on under his jeans. Eventually he just got up out of his chair and washed the dishes, without a word. He continued to be the household dishwasher every day from then on. Because I knew, I really knew, that deep down he wanted that role.

"Starting with Jamie, I took over that house. One by one, they fell under my rule. It came naturally to me. I ran that house the way my parents ran my childhood home. A few left, but most of them stayed, because they preferred it. I gave them orders, and that created order and harmony. I never raised my voice, but I knew they feared to disobey me.

"After I finished my studies, I was ready to launch my profession as a hypnotherapist.

"I bought the houseboat, and started my practice there. Many of my clients were American, so I opened an office there too. I moved to Los Angeles for a few years, but came back. Then, last year, I met someone who changed my life.

"One afternoon I had a phone call from a young lady called Clare. She was the daughter of one of the women from the house. The mother had become an alcoholic, and the daughter, like me, had run away from home with a boyfriend, and they were living on a narrowboat on the canal. He was into drugs, and worse. He was a nasty man, and a bully. He was pimping for her, and beating her. She asked me if she could stay with me.

"I looked after Clare, like she was my own daughter. And through her I learned about online dommes. That's what she did. She would pose and tease and pout on camera, and wear strap-ons and brandish whips. All that rubbish. I was ignorant at the time of the magnitude of the online sex industry: I didn't even have a mobile phone, let alone a computer. I'd never used the Internet, or sent an email. All that technology seemed completely pointless to me. And it is pointless. It's a wrong turn in our evolution. I'm going to teach you that soon, Richard: That's not the way to a happy life.

"But anyway, I learned quickly, and decided that I needed to get involved. To change things, like I did in the house in Clapham. They were on the wrong track. I, of all people know what it really means to be a true female dominant. These poor girls were just victims. They preyed on the weak, but were preyed upon in turn. The were both the parasite, and the host. If it wasn't their pimps, it was Apple, it was Mercedes who would suck their money from them while they in turn sucked money out of their victims.

"There's something wrong, Richard, with the whole Capitalist system. It's like a huge version of heroin addiction, a huge parasite, keeping us in an endless cycle of want and gratification.

People aren't happy. The money flows around and around, and people aren't happy.

They tried Communism. That failed. They tried Fascism. That failed too.

They all fail, because it's always the men in charge.

"I'm sorry. That was a rant. Let me get back on track:

"Through Clare, I made contact with a number of online dommes, and offered them a training course in domination using hypnosis and other persuasive techniques. It's become extremely successful. Woe betide anyone who gets caught in the web of a domme who I've trained. One or two of them are making millions every year.

"Some of those girls are just, just poor people, using their sex appeal to climb out of poverty. They think that they'll find self-respect through money.

They're very good at what they do, but none of them have the vision or ambition that I have. I've started a project, a kind of social experiment. It's my bid to change the world. It's called The Hive. It's a society, modelled on bee society. I have about fifty people involved, and it's growing, I'm getting new volunteers every day. They're all people like you. Financially successful people, who feel there's something missing, that money just can't fill.

And you're going to be part of it. In fact you already are part of it. You came to me. You followed your heart and it led to me, because you know I can offer you true happiness. I'm going to put you to work. But not washing dishes. I have a job that will suit you better."

"And now you can talk."

It's the Pheromones, Stupid

Rich stirred.

"This Hive. Presumably you're the Queen Bee. Getting all the honey."

"Yes. But the honey goes to feed the Hive, not to me. I don't need a lot of honey. Or money. I have enough."

"Look. Lee, I really don't know what you want me to say. I think, I think you're just too -" psycho bordering on criminal? - " I mean, this is too weird for me. I really think -"

"Don't think."

"Why the hell shouldn't I fucking think? What's so damned wrong about thinking?"

"Because when you think, you put up a wall inside yourself."

"Yeah, to keep you out of my brain. I admit it: I mean, you fucking told me yourself. Your, whatever you want to call it, your psychic power. You can get inside my brain."

"Yes. I can. And I can see inside it, and know your deepest desires."

"No, you're, you're implanting stuff. You're trying to. But I'm not letting you."

"That's true, you're not letting me in. And I'm not going to force you to. Because I know you're smart, and will end up seeing things my way. I don't need to use any of my powers on you. It wasn't any psychic power that brought you here, to me."

"I'm not so sure any more."

Lee stood up, agitated.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Richard. Didn't you hear what I just told you? I told you things about myself I've never told anyone. Anyone. Just stop being so afraid. Oh, God: How can I make this any plainer: You're right for me Richard, and I'm right for you. I need you to serve me. And you need someone to serve. It's who you are. And that's why you're here. Because you know it."

"I came here, because I fell in love."

"No. You came here because of pheromones."

"What the hell are you talking about? Jesus, can you just talk like a sane person for one minute?"

"I don't know what else to call it. So I call it pheromones. That's how the Queen keeps the cohesion of the hive. The beehive is run by the Queen Bee's pheromones. And you followed them to me, all the way across the Atlantic. Richard, you're a born honeybee. A honeybee without a Queen."

Rich laughed. But she meant it. That did it.

"Okay. Look, Lee, I gotta go. Good luck with your experiment. I hope you don't get stung."

He wanted this to be a parting shot, but she had the last word.

"Okay. I know what you really hope for."

"Yeah, yeah." Enough double-talk.

Final Call for Richard Brunner

At the airport, Rich waited for his flight to be called. Here, away from Lee's suffocating power and weird world, here surrounded by ordinary folk, he replayed her words in his head. Bee Society? Jesus fucking Christ. He decided to call Paul for a chat. He needed to talk to someone smart and sensible, who wasn't infected with whatever weird mind-fucking poison that filled his head.

"Hey, it's me. It's Rich."

"Hey buddy."

"Are you okay? You sound sick."

"Yeah. Yeah I'm okay. You woke me. It's 6:30 in the morning."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I'll call later. I'm at the airport in London. I have an hour."

"Nah, I'm awake now. So? How's Mary Poppins?"

"I dunno man, I feel like such an idiot. She turned out to be a psycho."

"Yeah well, it was worth a shot."

"I should never have followed my heart."

"You followed your dick, not your heart, is all. Women can do that to a guy."

"Yeah, they sure can. And some of them do. They release a chemical, and whoops, there you go, half way across the world."

"Talking of women, Celine has had someone perfect for you lined up, in case it didn't work out with the English lady."

"You know, I don't think I'm really ready. Not yet."

"No? Is that fear talking?"

"I think I still need to figure out what I want."

"What, a nice-smelling lady who occasionally pussy-whips you, what's not to want?"

"I guess it depends on the pussy. So tell me about this woman Celine has for me."

"She's nice. Very cute. She's divorced, two kids. Smart. She's an interior designer. She'll get your humour. She can handle your crap, and give it right back."

Rich listened to Paul's sales pitch, with a growing sense of despair. He could picture what things would be like, at best: The first date, the first kiss, the first fuck, the first argument, meeting the folks... then the first vacation, maybe moving in together. Maybe even growing old together. That was the best he could hope for, and it filled him with dread. Why?

"Rich, are you there?"

"Yeah. She sounds great."

"Wow, talk about enthusiastic."

"No, it's, sorry. Really, she sounds perfect."

"But not a psycho. I get it."

"No. Not a psycho."

"Well, it looks like you're set on destruction old pal. I can't do any more for you. You're own your own."

After he hung up, Rich became aware of the loudspeakers calling his name.

"This is The Final Call for Richard Brunner on Flight VA1 to Los Angeles..."

He stood. He looked up at the direction signs, until found the one he was looking for:

AIRPORT EXIT: TRAINS AND TAXIS TO CENTRAL LONDON.

Harry Downsizes

Harry woke early. He fumbled for his phone by the bed. 5:30 AM. Claudia wouldn't be contacting him until 9:00 AM. But now he was awake and he couldn't go back to sleep. He reached for the blind and drew it up six inches, to reveal a grey dawn. He lay back and let Claudia subsume his thoughts. His obedient cock grew quickly hard, but his obedient hands remained behind his head. He pictured her now, asleep, lying naked on her side with one smooth creamy leg bent, her pussy just visible. He moaned and his fingers stroked his shaft. He stopped himself: No. Not today of all days, when he was to begin his new life. His eyelids grew heavy, and he dozed off.

He was suddenly awakened by the sound of his phone buzzing and rattling on the floor. It was a WhatsApp message from Claudia!

It said." Turn On Your Laptop. Can't Connect."

He rushed out of bed into the living room, which was completely bare except for a large packing box in the middle of the floor, on which perched his MacBook. The power cable had come out. He hastily connected it. The light on the power connector glowed orange. It would take a few minutes before the laptop could be powered up. He stumbled back to the bedroom to message Claudia back, but his phone was already buzzing. She was voice calling this time.

"Hello Princess, Sorry, I - "

"Never mind. Listen to me. You've packed, right? Your cell is ready. Don't forget your key. And your laptop, of course. Go. Now."

Harry called a cab and gave the driver directions the new place Claudia had found for him, which he'd not yet seen. He arrived at a dingy and depressing-looking apartment block in Stonebridge Park, occupied mainly by immigrants as temporary accommodation. A Somali woman hanging out clothes eyed him warily as his fumbled with the padlocked latch on the narrow graffiti-covered metal front door. He stepped inside. It was a single room, barely ten feet by ten feet. The bathroom was merely a partitioned off shower and toilet. Below the single, grimy window was a small kitchen sink. The cooker was a double electric hot plate. The squalor was intentional, he felt; to remind him of the depths to which his Mistress had driven him.

But it had heating, and there was a Wi-Fi router. Within a few moments, he had set up his laptop. Seconds later Claudia had taken control over it via TeamViewer. She started his laptop's Skype and initiated a video call to her.

She was seated at her desk, her camera at the floor by her feet, angled upwards. Her long, wavy raven hair tumbled over her shoulders.

There was no green light on the laptop's camera. Claudia hadn't started it. He thought maybe something was wrong with the laptop, but was startled to hear her say "Nice shirt. The blue colour suits you." How could she see him? Or had she simply guessed? She laughed her evil laugh." Smile."

Harry frowned, confused by this order.

"SMILE, I said. That's better. Now I can always see you. Always hear you. You can never hide from me. Look up. At the ceiling."

Webcams, one in each of the four corners of the ceiling. Why so many? But he didn't have time to ask, because Claudia was speaking again:

"Now. Naked, kneeling."

He quickly undressed and kneeled on the cold, dusty linoleum floor and faced the laptop. His dick was hard.

"Turn around. Show me your ass. I wanna see my little moneybee's ass."

He turned. The fresh tattoo in the small of his back was of a black and yellow bee, and the words "Claudia's Money Bee".

"Good. I bet it hurts you still. Now: You have no name any more. Understand? You're now just number 260. Say it. Say your number."

"260."

"Good. Stay there, on your knees. I'm closing Skype, but remember I can still see and hear you. Always."

Harry obeyed, rocking slightly. His balls churned and ached.

He watched his laptop, as helplessly as if he were physically bound, while she closed Skype. The cursor darted around the screen, windows flashed open and moved around quickly while she deftly logged into his online banking and transferred his daily tribute to her. His Gmail window appeared. He was too far away to see what she was doing, but she was deleting messages, replying to others. Now she connected him to her paid site. Then suddenly the screen went black; she had locked it. But he knew she was still watching him through the cameras.

He had sold his car and most of his possessions for this. Now he'd even sold his apartment. None of his family, none of his work colleagues would ever understand this need to be completely controlled, to live such an abject life. He didn't really understand it himself. But Claudia understood.

If 260 harboured any regrets about his ruination, he would die without ever once acknowledging them.

The Queen's Garden Party

Claudia lit a cigarette and watched the guests though her sunglasses, while they laughed and chatted on the lawn. A natural loner, she'd wandered away from the others, to the back of the garden. She despised smalltalk.

Lee spotted her, and walked over to her. Claudia offered her a cigarette.

"No thank you, darling. Much as I feel like one."

"Not good for the reputation for someone who deals with addiction to smoking I guess." Claudia's Romanian accent had a tinge of American.

The two women eyed each other. Claudia looked away, aware she was being probed.

"How do you like it here? Is this your first visit to London?"

Claudia felt that a flash of irritation at this, as though Lee saw her as a peasant. A gypsy, a crude curva.

"Yes."

"Well, there are a lot of wonderful restaurants and shops here. You must visit Jermyn Street."

"One of my slaves here is taking me to a Japanese Restaurant."

"Oh, very nice. I assume you won't need a chaperone, because I can provide one if you like."

"No, he's a completely harmless wanker. He doesn't have a lot of money. He buys me only cheap things from my Amazon wish list. I think this meal will be the biggest spend for him since I knew him."

"You never know how much people really have. Maybe he's hiding it, even from you. Maybe he'll even join the Hive one day."

"Maybe. But now he only comes to me one or two days in a week. But I'm gonna take him from his wife, for sure. And then it will be easy."

"I have no doubt of it, Claudia. Be careful, though, when you meet him. Always remain out of reach."

"Of course. You know how I am. It's natural."

"Good. And by the way, thank you for the latest volunteer. I can't remember his number."

"260. Look:"

Claudia opened an app on her phone. She flicked through her slaves' webcams until she found W260. She and Lee watched him, from their bird's eye view, still naked in his cell, like a caged beast. There was an empty pizza box on the bare floor.