mortalvyses
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April 2020 Short Story: Why She Went Fishing
🕑 Added 2020-04-29 10:01:01 +0000 UTCThe Winning Prompt for April was: I have no idea why she asked me to bring a dildo and a whip to the park tonight
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to persons or organizations real or fictional is entirely coincidental. This is fiction.
Content Warning for death and self-harm.
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I didn't know what it was about, at first. But it was something I needed.
I never wanted to hurt others, that I wanted to help people. Those were values my dad instilled in me from an early age, in-between 12-hour shifts as an electrical worker. He taught me how to treat others, to put them before myself, and how to do work around the house. Now, I work in the demolition business. That means I mainly take apart old, decaying buildings so they don't hurt others.
It's a stressful job. There's lot of loud noise and heavy lifting. And also, for all the safety precautions we take, people still get hurt. I still have a long scar on my right hand from a time when I lacerated it on a window. Fortunately, my job has generous insurance that covers any sort of work accident.
I had had to lie about that scar to my boss, because it hadn't been an accident. My dad had always been a great source of support and a real role model. One morning in February, I got a call from a hospital telling me my father had passed away. I said okay and gave them the information they needed. I had been pacing during the call and was near an old, cracked window when I hung up.
I don't remember much after that. I woke up in an ambulance with my right arm bleeding and numb. After a week in the hospital, I spent two weeks at home recovering. Some coworkers called me, and we talked for a bit, but it was mostly me, my alcohol-free recovery diet, and the old video website. After a few dozen hours on there, I started to see a different kind of video. Pretty women who wanted things, said they deserved nice things. They wouldn't thank you for them, but you were welcome to give, and they would mention it or show it off. I spent longer looking into this than most people probably would have - I had time.
Eventually, I found her. Princess Hacynthe. I don't know why she chose the name, but for all the nasty stuff she was saying, I found her voice, her speech somehow mesmerizing. I watched eleven of her videos before going on one of her wishlists and purchasing a jeweled bracelet for her. The feeling I got was pleasure I had never before experienced.
Even after I went back to work, I kept following her. At the end of a draining 10-hour shift, my one relieve was the idea that I could give to Princess Hacynthe. I never told anybody else about it, but she was becoming a bigger part of my thoughts, day after day. When she invited me to a private chatroom with some other slaves (I guess I was one), I was happy to join. When she asked for my blood type, I happily told her I was a B+. She asked for a headshot, and I felt honored to share. The more I shared, the more she mocked me, but she also gave permission to cum. And, increasingly, it felt like I needed her permission.
This had gone on for one year. Occasionally she would send me humiliating DMs, which I would thank her for. That's pretty much how I expected that April 2nd chat to go, but,
H: You're not allowed to give me anything for the next month.
It was like there was this big, gaping hole inside me. Losing something so important, so fast, was too much. I bit my lip and immediately started to cry. 60 seconds later, my smartphone dinged.
H: Princess orders you to save your money for a month. At least as much as you usually give. When you have done so, you will buy the following items and have them delivered to your home. You will also buy a bus ticket and book a hotel. Which bus and hotel is up to you, but I expect you to be at this bench in Maramora Park in C city at 1AM exactly on Sunday, May 3rd.
I was confused, almost in shock. But there was only one answer.
M: Your slave obeys, Princess.
...Two minutes later.
H: Good.
H: Oh, and you're allowed to cream your little piggy shorts tonight while thinking of me. After that, Princess forbids you to come for a month. Save it, and save your money. If you're a good slave, I'll take them both.
M: Yes, Princess. This slave is honored to serve.
I exercised like a maniac for the rest of the month. Crunches, push-ups, and running were the only things that helped me keep my raging boner under control. The days ticked by slowly, but time was moving forward. I drove up to a hotel in the city where we were supposed to meet on Friday, spent most of the next day touring the city and trying not to think of her. Didn't do too well at either of those things. At 12:30AM, I took the only suit I owned out of my suitcase and hailed a cab to the park...
...
......
.........
Money has always been a reason. It used to be the only one.
I was always interested in nice things. Chic sweaters, jewelry, brand-new brand-name boots. I spent a lot of time window shopping, but my family could never afford anything that hadn't been owned by somebody else. I made do, joining the drama club in high school and learning how to make outfits for school plays, but nothing I made ever came out the way I had it in my head. Someday, though, I was gonna have money and wear the best damn clothes in town.
After a long time studying, I finally made it into college, a local school. I earned myself a scholarship. Great! I still couldn't afford most of the stuff I wanted, but it felt like, after 4 years studying engineering, I would finally be able to have my own solo closet - and to fill it with some of the more expensive natural fabric stuff I had always admired.
Then my scholarship program got cut.
It happened so fast. The state program that I had been on took one too many budget cuts, and all of a sudden I was going to have to take out another loan just to pay for my tuition. And food/housing? That was a whole other story.
I was pretty worn down when a long binge of luxury brand videos on the internet teed off some algorithm that led me to one particular term. "Findom". Making people on the internet give you money? No strings attached? And they get off on it? Fuck, sign me up! (You have to understand where I was emotionally at the time.)
I took one of my nicer outfits, put together a cheap mask, set up an account, and started recording videos of me saying mean things. They went up once a week. Half of it was usually just me venting, but I wanted that damn money and I made that much clear. As much as I had hoped, I hadn't expected to see three zeroes on my monthly balance three months after starting. I started asking for some of the cheaper things I had always dreamed of wearing. Nicer stockings, sweaters, the like. I got more than a few of them in the mail. The things started getting more expensive. Jeweled bangles, pearl necklaces, a real silk stole. I started wearing them on camera, showing them off, and mocking these peeps because I guess they're into that? I didn't mind, gave me a good outlet for the nastier side of my emotions.
The comments on my videos gave me a rough idea of how things were working. I started to get curious about how far I could take it. I found five users, I mean regular, polite givers, and made a private chatroom. Gave them a little extra blurb worth of mockery. Also made a second wish list. Not just clothes, but other life stuff I needed. A table, tampons, and a 10-pack of mousetraps, once. It felt... interesting. Like I had support in a way I'd never had before. My parents were nice, but you could never ask them for money, not without feeling real guilty.
And I kept pushing on. I asked for blood types. Got all five of them to answer. I asked for birthdays. Four of them answered. One month later, I asked for headshots, for full-body nudes. Two men and one older lady answered. I kicked the other two out, to make an example. Good slaves obey their princess, and a little fear helps keep them loyal. When I got the nudes for the first time, I spent a long while looking at them. These people had laid themselves bare. They would do anything for me, I could tell.
I started making new rules. A slave of mine is expected to be 10 minutes early. A slave of mine will send a daily message of devotion. I still wondered, I wanted to know. I asked for and got addresses, jobs, all sorts of personal info. What made me most curious was this one guy, Malthus, he had abs. Like, chiseled, sculped, eight batteries in a pack capital-A Abs. Those could probably take a *lot* of punishment...
This all coincided with one of the best academic streaks of my entire life. I had always been a booky type of girl, so I knew how to study, but I guess all that financial anxiety had been tethering me down, and now it just wasn't. I aced this test, that test, this project, that project, and before I knew it I was one month away from graduation. I started thinking about what to do to celebrate. Sure, I had family stuff planned, but, well, okay. I hadn't run a successful findom life for two years without studying a lot about fetish stuff in general. A lot of it was just stuff I didn't get (Balloons? Go for it, hon.), but something about whips and dildos seemed neat. Breaking toys. The toys don't break down. They break other things. Power trip toys. Power toys for a powerful Princess. I deserved a little personal playtime. I thought about that one eight-pack. And the fact that his address was only really two cities away...
I logged into chat on April 2nd and of course he was there. My wishlist, the one with the whip and dildo, was cued up in a text file ready to copy/paste in. I stretched out my fingers, opened up a private channel, and started to type.
H: You're not allowed to give me anything for the next month.
I counted to sixty inside my head. Oh, to make him wait...
H: Princess orders you to save your money for a month. At least as much as you usually give. When you have done so, you will buy the following items and have them delivered to your home. You will also buy a bus ticket and book a hotel. Which bus and hotel is up to you, but I expect you to be at this bench in Maramora Park at 1AM exactly on Sunday, May 3rd.
M: Your slave obeys, Princess.
His answer was typed out in about five seconds flat. I waited another two minutes.
H: Good.
H: Oh, and you're allowed to cream your little piggy shorts tonight. While thinking of me. After that, Princess forbids you to come for a month. Save it, and save your money. If you're a good slave, I'll take them both.
M: Yes, Princess. This slave is honored to serve.
I fingered myself for an hour that night. And the next night. It was a hell of a thrill to anticipate. I want to see blood and tears on that body. I want him to wear scars that won't ever disappear. I want him to feel pain for *me*.
On 11PM of the scheduled night, I downed a glass of white and a bottle of water, pregaming with that high-res picture of him, imagining how I would hurt him. I hailed a ride down to the park just before midnight, and hid in the trees at around 12:40AM to wait...
...
......
.........
At 1:05 AM, Malthus rose off the bench at the sound of approaching footsteps - boots on brick. He turned around to see a woman wearing a fancy overcoat, earrings he remembered purchasing once upon a time, and a mask he was very familiar with. "I've seen enough men in suits that I've got an eye for anyone who seems that out of place wearing one."
Princess Hacynthe held out her hand. He wordlessly offered her the bag. She accepted it, opening it up and taking a look inside. She didn't smile, but didn't frown, either. Her expression seemed to be frozen. She gestured, and he followed her to a secluded grove nearby.
She pulled out the whip, leaving the bag by a nearby tree. "You did obey my orders, as expected. It should come as no surprise that I've been watching you. You arrived," The whip made a *swishing* sound as it cut through the air, "at 12:58 AM. A slave of mine is expected to be 10 minutes early."
Now she did frown, "It seems I'll have to use this, after all. Hands out!"
Malthus did as she said and presented my hands out to her, palms down. He averted his eyes - the scar on his right was clearly visible.
"It seems you already have a scar. I've no idea how you got it. I also don't care." She shrugged her shoulders, "It won't matter to me or you soon enough. I'll be leaving my own marks, you see."
*Smack*. The tip of her whip bounced off the back of his hand. It barely stung.
"So, swine, I think I'm going to play a game. I've decided to strike your hands five times. If you make so much as a sound, the game is over. If not, well, then I might take the game to a bonus stage. If I feel like it."
He nodded quietly.
*Smack* "One. I own you."
*Smack* "Two. This body is mine for the taking."
*SMACK* "Three! Suffer for me!" Her voice was getting louder.
*SMACK* "Four! Don't you DARE utter a word!" She was panting a little, but it was hard to tell from what.
*SMACK* "Five!! AHAHAHAHAH!!!" Her laughter was less venomous and more... something else.
The sum total of Hacynthe's efforts had left a tiny red welt above his pinkie knuckle. She ran a hand across her face, wiping off a few flecks of drool before he could see it. "Well?"
Malthus nodded under her expectant gaze, "Thank you, Princess."
"Ohhh yes~. *ahem* You're going to turn around now. Don't look back until I say so."
Malthus couldn't see much in the night anyway, but he could hear. The sound of Princess rustling around the bag. Some watery noises, like a puddle being stepped in. Moaning, soft at first and then louder, more passionate. These sounds lasted about ten minutes before she *snapped* her fingers. "Turn around now, slave."
He turned to see she was holding the dildo in her hand. It glistened in the moonlight, wet with something.
"I think even your one-track brain can put together what I just did. That's right, I had some fun. And since this is a little bonus game, you even get to play." She stretched up to appear as tall as possible, meeting his eyes though her mask, "I'll let you choose, swine. You can have a taste. With your ass, or with your mouth. And just so we're clear, no double dipping in this honey pot."
Malthus was the one who had to wipe drool from his mouth. He fell to his knees, begging, "Please, Princess Hacynthe. Permit your lowly slave to taste your sweet nectar with his filthy lips."
"Haha, you really are pathetic. I'm going to count down from fifty. Was going to make it one hundred but I really doubt you could last that long. I expect you to come when I say 'zero', and not one second sooner. Oh, and unzip your pants."
His response was a warbly but firm, "Yes, Princess." He unzipped his pants. She handed over the dildo, and he brought it up to his mouth.
"Fifty. Forty-nine..."
He gripped his cock, and slowly began to rub it.
"Forty-one. Forty..."
Malthus gently caressed the dildo with his tongue. He licked one section at a time, savoring each frothy wisp of juice.
"Thirty-three. Thirty-two..."
He stroked up and down. Up and down.
"Twenty-four. Twenty-three..."
The dildo was in his mouth now. He was sucking it like a popsicle.
"Fifteen. Fourteen..."
He was stroking furiously. Not long now.
"Eight. Seven..."
Not long now...
"Five. ..."
The count had been going at a regular pace, but it stopped there, replaced by chirping crickets in the night. She tilted her head to one side. He groaned with tortured frustration.
"Goodness. Now where was I?" The mirth in her voice was impossible to conceal. "Hmm..."
"Ah yes. Ten."
"Thank you, Princess." It had been well within her rights to cut off the count there, especially since he had let out that dissatisfied groan. With a heart full of gratitude, he stroked furiously.
"Nine. Eight. Seven."
His cheeks were concave as he ravenously fellated the dildo, desperate to take in every trace of her essence.
"Six. Five. Four."
He stroked himself rapidly, stoking a fire around his cockhead.
"Three. Two. One..."
He moaned, on the cusp of a burst of pleasure, "I'm gonna cumMMM!!!"
"Zero."
Malthus climaxed, spraying white fluid out onto the grass of the park. He sat there, panting for a moment.
Princess Hacynthe leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"What? I...wha...?" He blinked, very much confused. It was a surprise that was hard to process.
She straightened up, back to serious mode. She gestured to the dildo in his hand, "That thing is dirty now, find the nearest wastebin and dispose of it. You will not keep it for yourself." She rubbed her thighs together. "And make it quick. There's one more job for you tonight."
Malthus hid the dildo in his pants pocket and dashed away. He was back in two minutes, after throwing it into a wastebin as instructed. Fortunately, there had been nobody anywhere near it.
"Took you long enough." She yawned, "Now get down on the ground. Eyes open, mouth closed."
Malthus laid down, opening his eyes and closing his mouth.
"!" Hacynthe's eyes opened wide inside the mask. "Uh, eyes closed! Mouth open!"
"B, but..." He stammered.
*SMACK* "Do what I say! The last order is always the most important! NOW!" She rubbed her legs together a little harder this time.
He flinched, then closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
"That's right. Open wide. Here I go..."
*POURrrrrr*...
A torrent of pungent liquid splashed against his face.
"Keep it open, swine."
*Pourrrr*...
It smelled like alcohol, but not the beer he was used to drinking. "You're allowed to drink. In fact, why aren't you drinking?!"
*Gulp*, *glug*. Malthus' throat worked to take down what he could hold. It helped that his throat was dry from all the nervous sweat.
*Tinkletinkle*...
The pressure began to ease off. He could handle most of it now.
...
Princess Hacynthe sighed as the stream finally dried up. She pulled up her panties, then turned up and away from her slave, concealing a very lewd smile. She coughed, and kept her voice level, "Get this area cleaned up as best you can. Including your face. I'll be taking your other gift, and you will leave this park and return to your hotel as soon as you've cleaned up."
She paused, not turning around, "I expect you to continue to serve me."
His response was the same as it ever was. "Yes, Princess."
~END~
