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: