The Queen Bee and the honey pot

The Queen Bee applied lip liner to her top and bottom lips to make them look plumper and sexier before filling in the shape with a scarlet Dior glossy lipstick. Looking at herself in the Victorian mirror in her bedroom, she pursed her lips and smiled a knowing smile at herself. Yes, she knew what men needed and desired. After all she was the Queen Bee, the most coveted dominatrix in town.

Her new Greek black cat-all-in one shiny latex suit was décolleté showing her abundant cleavage and derrière. She put on her black onyx and silver drop hook earrings pinning a matching oval brooch in the central plunge line of her new acquisition.

The pin was sharp, perfect for pricking her slaves and drawing blood. How she loved the taste of blood! The colour red entranced her. Red, the colour of sex. Red the colour of passion and lust.  Black and red married well and was so ooh la la! She admired her long natural painted red claws, evidence she had no domestic life. She left that to her gay slaves called Romulus and Remus. Next on, her black shiny patent stilettos, nice and pointed for stamping on slaves' feet, their soles and souls. 

The Queen Bee eagerly awaited her first client of the day. £5,000 a session in cash! She offered, in addition to S & M and fantasy, conversation, counselling and companionship. She didn't want to get caught like Cynthia Payne or Leticia, who wrote her sexploits in a self published book which unfortunately was read by a local tax inspector who took her to court. Mind you, Leticia told me the judge was one of her regular clients so she got off no doubt with special dispensations!

The Queen Bee did not have a website, only a hot male address! She had invested wisely in properties in Cannes and Marbella where she organised wild parties during the film festival for the A list clientele with a E10,000 cash entrance fee per person naturally putting the cash in Swiss numbered accounts. Marbella of course was the Arab destination and so she organised lucrative personalised suitable stallion and mare parties for them. Sex did not come cheap in her world. The next morning after a debauched night, each male guest would be given a honey pot as a memento of her parties with her own Queen Bee label. Some men had begun a Queen Bee Club and collected honey pots as their trophies. A bit like getting a 'flying penis' trophy at the annual Sex Awards in London. However Bee Keeping was her passion, sweeter and longer lasting than sex and orgies anytime!

Written on 24.12.17 in St Benedict B & B, St Leonards.