{"sf1_id":1816429,"sf2_id":"Rm0rOg31","title":"  The Buzz (WEIRD Bee Hivemind TFTG)","author":"Nequ","words":6577,"posted_at":"2022-02-05T14:00:13.000Z","tags":["Adult Content","Aroused","Bee","Belly","Big Boobs","Big Tits","Bizarre","Boobs","Booty","Breast","Breasts","Bug","Cock","Corruption","Cum","Cumshot","Dick","Dildo","Ejaculation","Erection","Explicit","F/solo","Feeding","Female","Food","Food Play","Forcedshifting","Futa","Futanari","Gender Shifting","Girl","Goo","Herm/solo","Hermaphrodite","House","Human","Inflation","Inserting","Messy","Mind Control","Never Seen Sex Act","Office","Orgasm","Partial Strip","Penetration","Penis","Plumper","Predicament Bondage","Pussy","Real Life","Restrain","Satire","Semi NC","Sexy","Shemale","Slime","Spooge","Story Progression","Tail","Tail Sex","Tailhole","Third Person","Tits","Transformation","Transgender","Vagina","Vaginal","Vulva","honey","virus"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1816429-the-buzz-weird-bee-hivemind-tftg","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/Rm0rOg31","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/e2/c3/e2c3c90b-8a3f-4757-80b3-3f345525f59a","description":"Don't you hate it when your roommates steal your food?","content":"I am downloaded daily  \n I am part of a composite   \n And I'm upgraded daily   \n All my wires without traces   \n**-\"Machine\", Regina Spektor**\n\n \n* * *\n\n**WARNING:** This story contains weird, confusing pronouns. And not the Tumblr kind.\n\n \n\nIt also contains use of kitchen items and appliances that should not be imitated. By anyone. Ever. No matter how drunk you are.\n\n \n* * *\n\nMost people have filters.\n\n \n\nFor objects, for events, but mostly, for other people\n\n \n\nTake Jane. If you're like her, you may be focused as you go into the grocery store. Focused on the groceries, focused on the podcast in your ear, focused on reaching the checkout ahead of —\n\n \n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\n \n\n— ahead of the soccer mom—\n\n \n\n\"Ma'am?\"\n\n \n\n— angling for the same—\n\n \n\nJane stopped, looked to her right. There was a woman there, in gold sunglasses, behind a table. The banner said SING Natural Honey. The smile on the woman's face was almost sincere, like she actually liked her job.\n\n \n\nHer job giving out samples.\n\n \n\nWeird.\n\n \n\nThe smile, not the samples.\n\n \n\nJane tapped her earbud, and the podcast stopped. \"Hm?\"\n\n \n\n\"Ma'am, do you like honey?\"\n\n \n\n\"Not re-\"\n\n \n\n\"Good!\" Slick International™ Natural Goodness™ Natural Organic Honey™ is organic and natural and good for you! Iit has a million uses! Use it in baking! Use it in coffee! Use it on your pancakes! Use it in a beauty mask!\"\n\n \n\nJane did not roll her eyes. Barely. \"Does it do my taxes too?\"\n\n \n\n\"No, but our Natural Agave Nectar™ does.\"\n\n \n\nDespite herself, Jane showed weakness; she snorted. \"Thanks, but no thanks.\" And then she walked away.\n\n \n\nThe saleswoman's shoulders slumped.\n\n \n\nAnd then Jane came back. \"Did you say 'organic'? As in, non-GMO?\"\n\n \n\nA half second pause from the saleswoman. \"I can assure you that absolutely none of the bees we used to make our honey are genetically modified.\"\n\n \n\nJane reached down to the table and picked up the little hexagonal bottle. \"And these samples are free?\"\n\n \n\nThe saleswoman's smile widened. \"Limit two per customer.\"\n\n \n* * *\n\nJane was not much of a cook, and therefore did not have much use for the kitchen. The most involved thing she made on a regular basis was coffee, which involved putting in a pod and pressing a button.\n\n \n\nShe had tried instant coffee once.\n\n \n\nLuckily, her roommate came along before Jane caused enough damage to lose their deposit.\n\n \n\nBut now, now Jane had an idea. Organic stuff was trending. And a savvy influencer could ride that wave. She could look socially responsible, increase her followers, maybe even-\n\n \n\nHer heart leapt in her chest as she unpacked her shopping.\n\n \n\n-_maybe_ even get an endorsement deal!\n\n \n\nAnd then she'd get rid of the honey. It wasn't like she actually had to eat it. Just take a nice picture.\n\n \n\nSpeaking of which; _Where did I leave my light ring?_\n\n \n\nWhen she walked to her room to start penetrating the crust of dirty clothes and beauty products, she left the honey sitting on the counter. Normally she wouldn't, but she figured she would only be gone for a few seconds. Not long enough for Susan to take advantage of the opportunity.\n\n \n\nRoughly three seconds after Jane's door closed, Susan's door opened, and Susan stepped out. Hair neatly arranged in an updo, makeup done, and garbed in a fetching - and more importantly trending - peasant blouse/high denim shorts/sneakers/calf socks combo. She confirmed a rideshare, stuffed her phone back into her purse, and headed for the front door.\n\n \n\nWhich was, as it happened, right next to the kitchen.\n\n \n\nPeople, as previously mentioned, have filters. And those filters are especially alert to subtle changes in their environment. You never know if that shadow in the grass is a saber-toothed tiger, though it's slightly less likely these days.\n\n \n\nThis particular filter can often allow humans to instantly perceive things like, say, a small jar filled with amber-gold liquid, sitting on the kitchen counter.\n\n \n\nSusan, unlike her roommate, actually liked honey.\n\n \n\nShe paused with her hand on the doorknob.\n\n \n\nUnless there were some sort of honey fairies around, the jar had to belong to Jane.\n\n \n\n\"I shouldn't,\" Susan said.\n\n \n\nShe took her hand off the knob.\n\n \n\n\"I _really_ shouldn't,\" Susan said.\n\n \n\nShe walked closer.\n\n \n\n\"I _can't_,\" Susan said.\n\n \n\nShe picked up the jar, held it up to the light. Opened it, sniffed it.\n\n \n\nLowered her finger toward the surface.\n\n \n\n\"It's just a taste,\" Susan said. \"She won't notice.\"\n\n \n\nShe touched the surface just enough to get a few grams on her finger. Licked it carefully.\n\n \n\nAnd then something quite remarkable happened.\n\n \n\nFirst off, her pupils dilated. Then her mouth fell open and she began to pant. Something electric rolled across the back of her neck, and she shivered.\n\n \n\nMore.\n\n \n\nShe reached for the jar.\n\n \n\nShe needed more.\n\n \n\nThis time she went in with two fingers, took maybe a quarter of the tiny jar. Held it above her mouth and waited for gravity to do its work. Her eye fell on the jar.\n\n \n\n_Maybe Jane wasn't paying too much atten—_\n\n \n\nAnd the honey surrendered to gravity, fell through the air, and hit Susan's tongue.\n\n \n\nThis time it wasn't just a tingle. This time she didn't just shiver. This time she couldn't get her fingers into her mouth fast enough, couldn't suck the honey down hard enough.\n\n \n\nThis time sparks danced across her shoulders, down her spine, took a shortcut through her belly, and, so to speak, turned her shorts into hot pants.\n\n \n\nAs you might expect, the nature of the sensations coursing through Susan's body left her somewhat...preoccupied. She braced herself against the counter with her left hand, managed not to fall over.\n\n \n\nBarely. Just barely.\n\n \n\n_That was—_\n\n \n\n_It felt like—_\n\n \n\n_But it **couldn't** be!_\n\n \n\n_…Right?_\n\n \n\nWhat happened next was only partially her fault. Her head still spun. And the feverish heat in her chest - and other places - didn't make it easy to think straight. And she was not left handed.\n\n \n\nAnd that makes it easy to understand why her first concern could be politely called moisture leakage, and why she automatically reached down with her right hand.\n\n \n\nThe one that still had the traces of honey on it.\n\n \n\nAnd when she reached into her shorts, it was perfectly natural for her to miss the outside of her panties and accidentally slide her hand on the inside instead, before she even realized what she was doing.\n\n \n\nShe didn't find any wetness.\n\n \n\nUntil the honey on her fingers came into contact.\n\n \n\nThis time, the heat spread up, not down. And this particular fire burned hotter than before. Hot enough for Susan to jump, to stifle a curse, and for her finger to slip inside.\n\n \n\nAll of a sudden she had absolutely no problem standing up. You could've used her spine for a flagpole. She immediately yanked her hand free. Which, in another unlucky accident, came into contact with a certain area at the upper part of her womanhood.\n\n \n\nIt took for a minute or two of gasping to recover. She was also fairly certain, this time, that sensation _had_ been what it felt like. But the burning feeling didn't go away.\n\n \n\nBut Susan used her time productively. While she was gasping, she formulated a plan of action.\n\n \n\nStep one: wash off her right hand.\n\n \n\nStep two: wash off herself.\n\n \n\nStep three: head into her bedroom and change.\n\n \n\nStep four: go on her date.\n\n \n\nStep five: make a doctor's appointment.\n\n \n\nIt was a good plan. A solid plan.\n\n \n\nAnd it didn't survive contact with the enemy.\n\n \n\nNamely, Susan.\n\n \n\nThe first part went well. But when it came to the second part, Susan made an error. She unbuckled her shorts and pulled them down right there in the kitchen. And then she directed the nozzle from the sink's hose to her nether regions, heedless of what it would do to her clothing. Again, her cognitive faculties were still somewhat discombobulated.\n\n \n\nEven then Susan might have avoided disaster. If Jane, for example, had come in at that point. But Jane was busy responding to a Facebook message. If Susan's rideshare had arrived and sent her a notification. But it was still several minutes out, stuck behind a sustainable vegan artisan food truck.\n\n \n\nSo there was nothing, nothing at all that would keep her from the moment when the water hit. The moment when she froze up, and lightning tingled through her limbs. And the slow but inevitable process of guiding the nozzle closer.\n\n \n\nNothing, that is, besides the faint thoughts at the back of her head.\n\n \n\n_I really shouldn't._\n\n \n\nCloser and closer.\n\n \n\n_I can't._\n\n \n\nShe panted, hard and fast.\n\n \n\n_I wo—_\n\n \n\nContact.\n\n \n\nPressure.\n\n \n\nInsertion.\n\n \n\nThis was not as insane as it might appear, even up without the obvious concerns about the cleanliness of the sink. If applying the cool water to the outside provided unwanted stimuli which only worsened the problem, perhaps an internal application would do the trick.\n\n \n\nThis was not a conscious thought, of course. In fact, it was not a thought at all. It was, perhaps, something instinctive.\n\n \n\nAnd, perhaps, she didn't want to put the fire out.\n\n \n\nMaybe the honey made her do it.\n\n \n\nShe stood there for a long time (or it felt like a long time) swaying back and forth, head empty, crotch full. She might have stood there forever.\n\n \n\nExcept for the voices.\n\n \n* * *\n\nJane made herself drop the phone - on the pillow, of course - and stood up.\n\n \n\n\"...Now, where did I put that light ring?\"\n\n \n\nShe looked around. At the mess.\n\n \n\n\"Okay, maybe I _should've_ cleaned up a little.\"\n\n \n* * *\n\n(\"-ese ripped jeans are totally hashtag grunge! Great for a throwback night. And they're cheap t-\")\n\n \n\nSusan blinked, and touched her ear.\n\n \n\nHer hand was sticky. Why was her hand sticky?\n\n \n\n_Oh, right, I-_\n\n \n\nHer brain refused to take the next step.\n\n \n\n_I..._\n\n \n\nLike a train wheel, spinning without traction on an icy track.\n\n \n\n_I-!_\n\n \n\nShe couldn't look at herself. So she looked at the sink instead. Which meant she looked at the hose. Which meant she followed the hose to her-\n\n \n\n(-ere. That's the plaid overlay for my profile pic. Now everyone will know I suppo-)\n\n \n\nAnd why was she hearing voices? Was there some kind of radio around? Was something playing on her phone? No, no, that was in her bag, on the table, in the hall.\n\n \n\n(\"-naise? In _coffee_? _Really_?\")\n\n \n\nAnd another one! Where was it _coming_ from? Did Jane have the sound turned up in her room? Again?\n\n \n\n_Well, at least it's not that weird Liveleak vi-_\n\n \n\nSusan blinked.\n\n \n\n_Why does my butt feel funny?_\n\n \n\nBack in high school, someone had once sent her shock pictures of a prolapse. After a few sleepless nights, she forgot about it. Funny how memories can come flooding back when you think there's something dangling from your-\n\n \n\n_Don't even think about it!_\n\n \n\nShe tried to look over her shoulder, but ran up against the limits of human anatomy.\n\n \n\nShe couldn't see it, but she could _feel_ it. A hard round _thing_ between her cheeks. Like the ones you find when you wipe and realize you haven't been getting _nearly_ enough water and fiber.\n\n \n\nExcept this one was more of the size of a golf ball. And soft and squishy. But not squishy like…_that_. Squishy like a Gummy Bear.\n\n \n\nHer throat closed to the approximate diameter of a straw with an eating disorder.\n\n \n\n(\"Um, excuse me.\"\n\n \n\nMinor guilt for tearing the girl away from her phone. Irritation that we have to, that she didn't notice me coming.\n\n \n\n\"I'd like to buy these jeans.\"\n\n \n\nHappiness at her admiration of our taste. Attraction to the crooked smile, the piercing in her nose.\n\n \n\n\"That'll be 2.50.\"\n\n \n\n\"I'll pay with my card.\"\n\n \n\nInterest in the fact that the store is empty. It's just the two of us.\n\n \n\n\"Oh, and one other thing.\"\n\n \n\n\"Mmm?\"\n\n \n\n\"I think I saw a leak.\"\n\n \n\n\"What? Where?\"\n\n \n\n\"In the back, by the changing rooms.\"\n\n \n\nTrepidation that she might see through us. Relief at her sigh.\n\n \n\n\"OK, show me. But if this is some kind of pervert thing...\")\n\n \n\n_Oh, okay._ She started breathing faster. The hallucinations were getting worse. More detailed. Sound and feelings. Technicolor. And they were using plural pronouns, even though it was clearly an individual.\n\n \n\n_How do I know it's an individual?_\n\n \n\nShe knew she should find a paper bag and breathe into it, but she couldn't quite remember which drawer they were in. So she settled for bending over, putting her hands on her knees, and trying not to scream.\n\n \n\nThis may have been a tactical error. Because she could see the water and other stuff drip down the inside of her legs, to stain her socks. And that just made the panic worse.\n\n \n\nShe squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus. On something. Anything.\n\n \n\nSuch as, for instance, her purse. And her phone.\n\n \n\nHer eyes snapped open. There it was. Right in front of her, on the hall table. And on the other side of the wall-\n\n \n\n\"_J-Jane? Jane, I need help!_\"\n\n \n* * *\n\nJane paused the cute puppy video. _Did I hear something?_\n\n \n\nSilence.\n\n \n\nShe shrugged, looked down, and tapped her earbud again.\n\n \n* * *\n\nSusan grit her teeth, straightened up, and started walking.\n\n \n\nAnd stopped walking.\n\n \n\n_Oh, right._\n\n \n\nShe looked down, got a firm hold on the hose, pulled, and nearly fell over.\n\n \n\nIt was already strange enough to have a running hose in her. But the feeling she got when she pulled on it was hard to describe. There was something that was not exactly a tingle, running through her arms and legs and up her spine and directly into the brain stem.\n\n \n\nOr so she assumed.\n\n \n\nAs much as she was capable of assuming anything.\n\n \n\nAs much as she was capable of doing anything besides grabbing on the counter for support and not falling to the floor. That was basically her entire agenda for the next few minutes.\n\n \n\nAt some point, she managed to remove \"gritting my teeth\" and replace it with \"gasping for air\". Progress.\n\n \n\n( Satisfaction over a job well-done and the look of my new avatar. Anticipation for the kudos I'll get when people know I'm on the right side.\n\n \n\nAnticipation for the arguments I'll get into with people on the wrong side, and how I'll smack them down with a few well-chosen cutting remarks.\n\n \n\nCuriousity about what I'll do next.\n\n \n\nIndecisiveness over choosing between Netflix, Hulu, Youtube, maybe Skillshare, or...\n\n \n\nHappy anticipation.\n\n \n\nDesire for the video I'm pulling up.\n\n \n\nSurprise when my phone rings.)\n\n \n\nShe shook her head. It was like she kept disassociating. Or slipping into other people's lives. Like watching a vlog without the people pretending not to notice the camera.\n\n \n\nIf a vlog could be filmed with eyeballs, make you feel the way someone else felt.\n\n \n\nWas this botulism? Was this how botulism worked? And why did the people keep using 'we'? Was it a royal 'we'? Were they royalty?\n\n \n\nThe thing behind her kept growing and growing, and it didn't take a genius to link the sloshy feeling from the hose, the sloshy feeling in her insides, and the sloshy feeling behind her. So it wasn't long before she shook off the distraction, took the hose in her hands again, and pulled.\n\n \n\nIt was just as bad as the first time. But — a big but – she could've sworn she felt the hose move. And the thing behind her kept growing. And she kept pulling, and shuddering, and pulling again, and a feeling the hose slide more and more out of her.\n\n \n\nOne final pull-\n\n \n\nAnd the thing very reluctantly let go of the hose nozzle.\n\n \n\nDespite how sticky it was, Susan lost her grip on it. It swung out, sprayed all over the front of the cupboards in front of the sink and Susan's legs. She noticed, distantly, but most of her attention was focused on the thing coming out of her crotch.\n\n \n\nThe first thing she noticed was the tip.\n\n \n\nWhich was yellow.\n\n \n\nFollowed by black.\n\n \n\nFollowed by yellow.\n\n \n\nFollowed by black.\n\n \n\nAnd that was as far as she got, because the\n\n \n\n_(cock)_\n\n \n\nthing wasn't very big. Maybe three fingers long.\n\n \n\nSusan reached down.\n\n \n\nAnd decided it was best not to touch it. Even if she had an excuse.\n\n \n\nShe reached over and turned off the faucet, wondered why she hadn't done that in the first place. Looked over her shoulder.\n\n \n\nThe tail-thing was roughly the size of her torso. Gold and black rings, just like the one in front. Looked like it had some kind of liquid, just like the one in front.\n\n \n\n_Focus, girl!_\n\n \n\nShe stepped toward the hall.\n\n \n\nRight onto the mess of honey and water on the floor.\n\n \n\nJust when she had another-\n\n \n\n(\"Speaking of coffee, could you bring me a cup? Just to finish up here and get me home. Without driving off the side of I-55, I mean.\"\n\n \n\nMinor irritation at the request. Dawning realization that it presents an opportunity.\n\n \n\n\"Sure.\"\n\n \n\nPleasure at the late-afternoon sun slanting through the windows as I walk to the coffemaker.\n\n \n\nCaution. Satisfaction when I see there's nobody else in the office. Relief and anticipation as I open my pants, flex the right muscle, release my ovipositor.\n\n \n\nShivers as I add honey to the cup.\n\n \n\nMore shivers as I zip up, lick my fingers clean.\n\n \n\nImpatience as I wait for the coffeemaker.\n\n \n\nSatisfaction as it fills her cup, and mine. Smug irony at the fact that I don't actually need caffeine.\n\n \n\nSatisfaction at the smile on her face as I put her cup down.\n\n \n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\n \n\n\"No problem.\"\n\n \n\nImpatience as I return to my desk, get back to work, and wait for her cup to cool.\n\n \n\nSatisfaction at the sound of the slurp.\n\n \n\n\"Tastes different.\"\n\n \n\nPleasure. \"You like it?\"\n\n \n\n\"I...I think I do, yeah. What did you put in this?\"\n\n \n\nSmug. \"My secret ingredient.\")\n\n \n\nWhen the vision or hallucination or whatever-it-was ended, Susan was already falling through the air.\n\n \n\nShe had maybe a second to realize what happened and grab the counter. Maybe she wouldn't be able to stop the fall, but at least she'd be able to slow herself down.\n\n \n\nUnfortunately, that maybe-a-second was taken up with the now-usual disorientation, and she came down hard.\n\n \n\nAnd landed on her tail.\n\n \n\nWhich pushed liquid into her crotch.\n\n \n\nWhich promptly gained several inches and girth.\n\n \n\nAnd, perhaps most importantly, spurted honey all over the ceiling.\n\n \n\nStrangely enough, the abdomen didn't actually provide much cushioning. Given the location it was resting at, the impact with the ground pushed it up, much like someone hooking a finger in your cheek and pulling.\n\n \n\nExcept stickier.\n\n \n\nBetween the shock of the…stimulation, and the lesser shock of her impact on the ground, Susan was discombobulated for a few seconds.\n\n \n\nAnd then she looked up.\n\n \n\nAnd then she looked around.\n\n \n\nAnd then she looked down at her absolutely _ruined_ blouse.\n\n \n\n\"Jane's gonna _kill_ me.\"\n\n \n\nShe thought for a moment.\n\n \n\n\"And so is the landlord.\"\n\n \n* * *\n\nJane pulled her arm out from under her bed, and sat up with her light ring in hand.\n\n \n\n\"Gotcha!\"\n\n \n* * *\n\n\"OK,\" Susan said, even though nothing about the situation was OK. \"I can fix this.\"\n\n \n\nShe thought for a second.\n\n \n\n\"I can…_handle_ this?\"\n\n \n\nYeah, that seemed more plausible.\n\n \n\nShe managed to climb up, with the help of the counter, focused on her goal, grit her teeth, ignored the buzzing sound, and set out again.\n\n \n\nJust more carefully this ti-\n\n \n\nAnd the buzz got louder.\n\n \n\n_No!_\n\n \n\nSusan slammed her hands over her ears. Which wasn't exactly the best idea when the sound came from insi-\n\n \n\n(We slam the shopgirl's chest into the wall of the changing room.\n\n \n\nAnd she moans \"Please...\"\n\n \n\nWe pin her left hand to the wall. Curl our fingers over her dark-painted nails.\n\n \n\n\"Please, no–\"\n\n \n\nWe were in a small room together for an entire minute. Plenty of time to...work our pheromone charms.\n\n \n\n\"Not—\"\n\n \n\nWe slide our right hand across her skirt, up her shirt, up her chest, under her bra. Her stomach is hot against our arm. She has her nipple pierced. We jiggle it a little. She arches her back like a cat.\n\n \n\n\"–not with the front _door_ unlocked!\"\n\n \n\nWe pause. Something we didn't consider.\n\n \n\nSomething that makes us - makes the _situation_ - even hotter.\n\n \n\nWe let our right hand fall off her tit, trail it to her stomach. Swirl it around her belly button - it's pierced too - and she giggles, slides her hips left to right, right to left against our crotch.\n\n \n\nWe go \"You want this?\"\n\n \n\n\"I'm not screaming, am I?\" She stops bracing her right arm against the wall, brings it down, reaches behind her. For the back of her cute little plaid skirt.\n\n \n\n\"Help me with this?\"\n\n \n\nGladly.\n\n \n\nIt takes us both hands to undo the button. And the zipper catches. And then -\n\n \n\n\"Huh?\"\n\n \n\nWe look up, see her looking at us in the mirror. \"What - your eyes–\"\n\n \n\nAnd that's when we yank down her panties, and drive in -\n\n \n\nThat distracts her pretty effectively.\n\n \n\nThis probably isn't the messiest thing these changing rooms have seen.\n\n \n\nIt doesn't take long to build up enough friction. For some of our honey to leak out. Not traditional lube, but it'll work.\n\n \n\nAnd she notices.\n\n \n\n\"What? Already? Hold on, let me get a condom-\"\n\n \n\nWe don't listen.\n\n \n\n\"No, seriously-\"\n\n \n\nThere's a moment when we - all of us, not just the one cell in the changing room - reach her. When she freezes, shakes.\n\n \n\nThe brief, infinite moment of resistance. The surrender.\n\n \n\nAnd she becomes we. She connects. To all of us.\n\n \n\nAs the joining makes our mouth open in a moan, as our body shakes under us. As we start dripping down our legs. As we fill us with spurt after spurt–\n\n \n\nIt takes a while.\n\n \n\nWe both lean against the wall for a few seconds. We reach down from behind, run a finger up our thighs, bring it to our lips. We suck it off our fingers, taste the sweat underneath.\n\n \n\nWe whisper \"_Think we found—_\"\n\n \n\nAnd we finish, as a smile spreads over our face \"_—that leak._\")\n\n \n\n\"Stop,\" Susan whispered.\n\n \n\n(We recognize the name on our phone. But we haven't heard it or seen it in a while.\n\n \n\nTwo jobs ago.\n\n \n\n\"Hello?\"\n\n \n\n\"Hi! It's me!\"\n\n \n\n\"Wow, I haven't heard from you in a minute! How you been!\"\n\n \n\nWe make small talk until she gets to the point.\n\n \n\n\"We have a little...thing coming up. At a coffee shop.\"\n\n \n\n\"Very Enlightenment of you.\"\n\n \n\n\"...Yes. Yes it is. We just want to meet up, and talk, and maybe-\"\n\n \n\nLonging in the voice, barely disguised.\n\n \n\n\"-maybe we could go someplace afterward?\"\n\n \n\n\"Are you asking me out on a date?\"\n\n \n\nEmbarrassed silence. \"No, no, this is stupid, I'm stupid, never mind, I shouldn't've called-\"\n\n \n\n\"Wait, wait, I didn't say _no_! I just...wanted to be sure, that's all.\"\n\n \n\n\"Oh.\" Beat. \"Well, now I feel even stupider.\"\n\n \n\n\"I'll come to the meeting. And from there...well, we'll see.\"\n\n \n\n\"You will! Oh, great! I'll send you the deets! Bye!\" _Boop!_\n\n \n\nFunny thing about these sorts of meetings. Very good for making connections, and meeting new people. Who we can have private chats with later.\n\n \n\nWe get back to that video we were about to watch. Our free hand lets ourself out of our pants and underwear.\n\n \n\nA smile spreads across our face.\n\n \n\nIt's nice to make new friends.)\n\n \n\n\"Stop!\" Susan said.\n\n \n\n( The coffee doesn't make her more alert. Kind of the opposite. She blinks more and more, keeps shifting in her chair. Eventually starts looking at us. We pretend not to notice, until she calls our name.\n\n \n\n\"Yeah?\"\n\n \n\n\"I'm not feeling too good.\"\n\n \n\nWe get up, walk over. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n \n\n\"I don't know. I just...feel hot. Everywhere.\"\n\n \n\n\"Really?\"\n\n \n\nWe reach down, unzip our pants, let ourselves out. \"How about now?\"\n\n \n\nShe doesn't lunge away. Even when we tangle our hand in her hair. She just looks confused.\n\n \n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n \n\n\"What do you _think_ it is?\"\n\n \n\nShe sways toward it, like she's falling asleep. Opens her mouth, closes it.\n\n \n\n\"I...I shouldn't. I should leave, go home. Call someone?\"\n\n \n\nShe pushes down on the chair's armrests, leans forward.\n\n \n\n\"Why do you need to call anyone?\"\n\n \n\n\"To...to handle the situation.\"\n\n \n\nWe tilt our head. \"Okay.\"\n\n \n\nWe let go of her hair. She flinches, looks back at us. Like a puppy. Then she looks down.\n\n \n\nBites her lip.\n\n \n\nHer nostrils flare.\n\n \n\n\"I don't...\" She squeezes her eyes shut. Tears leak from the corners. \"I _want_ to, but I _don't_...\"\n\n \n\nWe run our fingers through her hair again. She leans toward us, even though we didn't actually do anything. Her mouth drifts open again. Her nostrils flare.\n\n \n\n\"Don't worry,\" we say. \"We can handle that.\" )\n\n \n\n_Stop!_ Susan cried.\n\n \n\nAnd the buzzing stopped.\n\n \n\nIt took a few seconds for her to realize. To look around, realize her hands were near her\n\n \n\n_(cock)_\n\n \n\ncrotch.\n\n \n\n_Was I gonna rip it off?_\n\n \n\nSilence. She had even-\n\n \n\nShe checked.\n\n \n\n-she had even stopped dripping.\n\n \n\n_It's over? I'm free?_\n\n \n\nA smile crept across her face. _I'm free!_\n\n \n\nOkay.\n\n \n\nShe leant on the counter, waited for her heart to calm down. And enjoyed the silence.\n\n \n\nAll she had to do was get to her phone. And call for help. And this time - _this_ time - she was pretty sure she'd make it.\n\n \n\nJust a few steps away.\n\n \n\nAfter her first step she paused.\n\n \n\nNothing.\n\n \n\nNo traps, no tricks, no sting in the tail. Yeah, the stinger felt...funny, bouncing around back there, and do did its friend in front, but Susan had endured worse.\n\n \n\nShe just couldn't remember where, exactly.\n\n \n\nAnother step. Two more and she'd be at the doorway, and then she could reach out and grab her purse.\n\n \n\nHoney dripped down from the ceiling. She waited for it to hit the floor, stepped over the puddle.\n\n \n\nOne more step to go.\n\n \n\n_And then what?_\n\n \n\nShe paused.\n\n \n\nWhatever was happening to her, it was obviously very drastic. If she was just hallucinating from botulism or whatever, then she could just take some pills.\n\n \n\nBut if she wasn't hallucinating-\n\n \n\nShe looked down at her\n\n \n\n_(cock)_\n\n \n\ncrotch.\n\n \n\n-if all this was _real_, then she could never go back to normal. She had never paid much attention in biology class, but she was pretty sure anyone whose back door connected directly to the front door clearly had their plumbing _seriously_ rearranged.\n\n \n\nAnd then there was—\n\n \n\nShe tapped it, and shivered.\n\n \n\n–the rewiring.\n\n \n\nEven if the doctors managed to fix her, they would never _fix_ her, fix her.\n\n \n\nNo matter what, she would always be strange.\n\n \n\nA freak.\n\n \n\nAnd part of her thought that might not be so bad.\n\n \n\nAs long as she wasn't alone.\n\n \n\nAll of a sudden, she realized what she had missed, while the other voices bounced around her head.\n\n \n\nThe fact that there was something missing.\n\n \n\nAll of them. All of the \"we\"s - she wasn't even sure who they were, what they looked like, even their gender - seemed _happy_.\n\n \n\nShe stood there for a long time. Or at least it felt like a long time. Then she swallowed, took a deep breath, and softly said _Bring it..._\n\n \n\nShe stopped, scrunched up her eyes and mouth for a moment.\n\n \n\n\"Bring it back,\" she whispered.\n\n \n\nShe reached for the jar. Dug in with three fingers, shoved the gooey mess directly into her mouth.\n\n \n\n_Please...I'm sorry?_\n\n \n\nSilence.\n\n \n\nShe looked down. At her hand, at her\n\n \n\n_(say it)_\n\n \n\nat her cock. Flexed her sticky fingers.\n\n \n\n_Well, that's my nails ruined._\n\n \n\nA faint smile. A giggle threatened to escape. She let it.\n\n \n\nShe could've reached into the drawer, pulled out a kitchen knife, and done a little amateur surgery. Get her _127 Hours_ on. But even messier.\n\n \n\nShe imagined bringing the knife down, into the cock, watching the honey gush out. Maybe the abdomen would deflate too. Maybe the flow went both ways.\n\n \n\nThen she got on her knees, backed into the corner. Reached up, grabbed a potato masher off the counter. And a meat thermometer.\n\n \n\nThe masher handle went into the drippy tip of her tail...stinger...thing. She used her legs to push it back into the corner. Let the natural springiness of the gold and black rings push her out. Shivered.\n\n \n\nSomewhere, some small part of her knew how to fix the problem. It knew she just had to flex the right muscle, or think the right thoughts.\n\n \n\nShe shoved the thermometer into her cock. All the way down, until the dial hit her head. Waited a few moments, enjoyed the sensation. Squeezed, near the tip, until she could feel the hard shaft inside her shaft.\n\n \n\nShe grasped the thermometer by the dial. Drew the long spike halfway out. Noted the contrast between the gold and black, and the silver, streaked with honey.\n\n \n\nHer dick felt like some kind of squishy gel toy. If she looked close, she could see the meat thermometer inside of her. Her breath quickened.\n\n \n\nAs she shoved the thermometer in and pulled it out, she squeezed with her other hand, pushed her stinger against the wall with her legs, her bodyweight. And it\n\n \n\n_Yessss..._\n\n \n\nfelt good. It felt _real_ good.\n\n \n\nThe hallway was right there. Jane could walk in at any time. And Susan couldn't quite make herself care. Not like a normal person.\n\n \n\nYes, it would be embarrassing. It would be shameful. It would be degrading.\n\n \n\nAnd that's what made it _fun_.\n\n \n\nAnything to get back—\n\n \n\nThere was a fly in the kitchen.\n\n \n\nSusan twitched her head.\n\n \n\nShe couldn't _see_ the fly, but she could hear the buzz–\n\n \n\nOh.\n\n \n\nA smile spread across her honey-smeared lips.\n\n \n\nThe buzz was a hivemind, a gigantic gestalt, a chatroom with one topic. Depending on which philosopher you asked, the biggest sentient organism on Earth.\n\n \n\nBut as the buzz built and built, Susan could clearly see what she had missed earlier. The undertone.\n\n \n\nShe didn't matter.\n\n \n\nNone of them mattered.\n\n \n\nThe buzz approved.\n\n \n\nShe shifted her legs to get better leverage. She was close.\n\n \n\nAs long as you joined, you didn't matter.\n\n \n\n(She gets off the hood. \"I've never been this close to a supercar before!\"\n\n \n\nWe're busy checking the photos on our phone. \"Really? Pretty model like you?\"\n\n \n\nShe nods. \"What's the inside like?\")\n\n \n\nIt didn't really care about who you were, where you came from, or what you did.\n\n \n\n(\"And even if you can't donate, you can still help #TeamBees. Just like and share this post!\")\n\n \n\nBecause you, as an individual, didn't matter.\n\n \n\n(She buckles in, runs a hand over the leather paneling in a suggestive way, and bats her eyes at me. \"Is that...new car smell?\"\n\n \n\nWe shift into first, get a good grip on the wheel, and get ready to increase her breathing rate. And then increase other things.\n\n \n\nAnd to get the rental back before 4:30.\n\n \n\n\"Yeah. Something like that.\")\n\n \n\nAs long as you _(built/grew/served)_.\n\n \n\n(We surprise the the janitor, and he surprises us.\n\n \n\nBut not long enough for him to get away.)\n\n \n\nAs long as you spread.\n\n \n\n(\"The changing rooms are right over there, sir. Let me know if you need any...assistance.\")\n\n \n\nAnd as Susan's muscles tensed one final time, and released her honey all over the kitchen - she realized that she was absolutely fine with that.\n\n \n* * *\n\nJane left her room with her phone in one hand, her light ring in the other, and a sudden, concerning thought in her head.\n\n \n\nShe had left her honey unsecured, in an apartment with a roommate who was rather prone to opening her eyes wide and going \"oh, you left it on the _counter_, so I thought it was for _everyone_!\"\n\n \n\nAnd so, she was not precisely surprised to find the little jar of honey open on the counter, and a significant portion missing.\n\n \n\nShe swore anyway.\n\n \n\nNot only was the jar open, but some of it had slopped down the side. And onto the counter. And...on the floor?\n\n \n\nThat...that was a _really_ big puddle for a jar that _might_ hold a golf ball. If the golf ball was six months into intermittent fasting. And cutting carbs.\n\n \n\nSo where did the all that honey _come_ from?\n\n \n\nAnd what was that _smell_?\n\n \n\nAnd why was the room so hot?\n\n \n\nSomething creaked behind Jane.\n\n \n\nWhen Jane entered the kitchen, she had gone straight for her honey. She hadn't checked the other side of the room.\n\n \n\nNow she turned around, slowly, very slowly.\n\n \n\nAnd dropped her phone.\n\n \n\nSusan sat on the oven door. And _in_ the oven. There was this big...yellow...black..._thing_ coming out of her...her...\n\n \n\nJane didn't _want_ to know where it was coming out of.\n\n \n\nWith the stove light on, Jane could see _into_ the thing. It was transparent or translucent or whatever let you see the liquid sloshing inside of it, dripping out the far end, sizzling on the hot floor of the oven.\n\n \n\nAnd with the kitchen lights on, Jane saw her roommate's sneakers and socks and pulled-down pants among the oven racks. Saw her long legs-\n\n \n\n_Were they always that long?_\n\n \n- and the hand around something coming out of Susan's crotch. And the hand was covered in something that was coming out of the thing coming out of Susan's crotch.\n\nSomething bitter rose up in Jane's throat.\n\n \n\nSusan's abs tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. Her other hand clutched her bare right breast. Like the thing\n\n \n\n_the cock_\n\n \n\nin her crotch, it leaked amber between and over her fingers.\n\n \n\nSusan's eyes were half-closed, her mouth was open, her lips looked full and-\n\n \n\n_Don't._\n\n \n\n-bee-stung, and when she licked her lips her tongue seemed glossy.\n\n \n\nJane swallowed. Hard. Her head spun.\n\n \n\nSusan pumped her beedick, and squeezed her tit, and pumped her-\n\n \n\nThorax? Abdomen?\n\n \n\n-stinger or whatever against the oven. An up-down motion. Plus the heat.\n\n \n\nThat explained the creak.\n\n \n\nSusan's clothes were covered, stained with honey, especially over the chest, over the one boob that was still covered. The honey covered her abs, her face, her legs, the floor-\n\n \n\nOh.\n\n \n\nOn the floor, the phone buzzed. Jane looked down. A new comment on her last Tiktok. Jane looked up.\n\n \n\nAnd saw Susan looking up.\n\n \n\nThey stared at each other.\n\n \n\nAnd Susan smiled.\n\n \n\n\"Jane! _Hiii!_\"\n\n \n\nAnd then the oven door snapped. The hinges gave up the ghost, and the handle hit the floor. The glass shattered under Susan.\n\n \n\nJane nearly jumped clear through the ceiling.\n\n \n\nSusan looked down. \"Whoops?\" She giggled, looked around the room. \"We're..._probably_ not gonna get the deposit back.\"\n\n \n\nShe levered herself up, pulled her bee-butt out of the oven, stood up. Reached back and turned the knob to OFF.\n\n \n\nThe abdomen bounced as she stood, and so did her cock and boobs.\n\n \n\n_Her boobs are bigger, right?_\n\n \n\nJane couldn't think of anything to say. But her mouth went \"You ate my honey.\"\n\n \n\nSusan blinked. Something was _wrong_ with her eyes.\n\n \n\n\"Yes,\" she said. \"Yes, we did.\"\n\n \n\n_We?_ Jane looked around. They were all alone in the kitchen, in the apartment. And normally, that wouldn't be a concern.\n\n \n\nSusan took a step forward, and the thing behind her, in her\n\n \n\n_Don't think about it_.\n\n \n\n_in_ her bobbed and bounced. The liquid sloshed around. Jane was pretty sure honey wasn't supposed to do that. But she wasn't sure how she even _knew_ it was honey.\n\n \n\nA little honey dribbled out the end, into the air, fell to the floor. More exited the smaller one in front, dribbled down the underside.\n\n \n\nSusan took another step forward.\n\n \n\nJane took a step back.\n\n \n\nThen another. Then another. And then nearly fell over. She reached out, her hand hit something hard, landed in something wet, steadied herself.\n\n \n\nThe fall was precisely what you _didn't_ want if you already felt dizzy.\n\n \n\n_What the-_\n\n \n\nShe couldn't move her feet. They were...in the honey on the floor. She had knocked the jar of honey across the counter, and now her _hand_ was in the honey too.\n\n \n\nAnd the honey held on tight.\n\n \n\nSomething was close.\n\n \n\nShe looked back.\n\n \n\nSusan loomed over Jane, now, blocked the flourescents on the ceiling. Stood in front of her roommate, less than an arm's length away. Her cock kept twitching. From this angle, this close, Jane could see the\n\n \n\n_honeycum_\n\n \n\nhoney drip down the inside of Susan's thighs, smell her-\n\n \n\nWell, _her_.\n\n \n\nThose thighs were much thicker, curvier than they had been before. She really _was_ taller.\n\n \n\nHer eyes! They were _compound_, like a bug, like a bee. Black middle, gold hexagons around it.\n\n \n\nAnd she smiled even wider.\n\n \n\n\"Let us make it up to you.\"\n\n \n\nENDFILE\n\n \n# #theBuzz\n \n\n2021 Eulalie \"Nequ\" Quentin Creative Commons BY-SA-NC\n\n \n### Fanart/stories welcome. Just let me know if you do.\n \n* * *\n\n**Alternate titles:**\"The Royal We\", \"Enjoy the Silence\".\n\n \n\n**Alternate opening themes:**\"We Belong\" by Pat Benetar, \"The Royal We\" by Silversun Pickups, \"Imma Be\" by the Black Eyed Peas, and \"Wonderwall\" by Oasis.\n\n \n\nYou're probably thinking \"Gee, Nequ, this story sure seems to be using the porn hivemind as a thinly-disguised metaphor for the Skinner-Boxing dopamine hit people get from social media, and as a subtle critique of toxic groupthink, parasocial relationships, and the pitfalls of subsuming your identity to a collective.\"\n\n \n\nAnd I'd have to say that you're...absolutely correct, and I'm about as subtle as a first year English major. Like _Black Mirror_, with less Charlie Brooker and more bee dickgirls.\n\n \n\nUnlike certain social media cliques, the buzz will never harass you if you have an opinion they don't like. Well, unless you count hundreds - maybe thousands - of people trying to convince you that you're wrong with a direct 24/7 connection to your brain.\n\n \n\nSo, slightly less toxic than Twitter.\n\n \n\nThis is actually my second shot at the idea. The first one was, frankly, terrible, even as a sketch. That was...two years ago, according to gDocs.\n\n \n\nI'm pretty sure I had the idea to use 'sink-hose inflation' for even longer, but I never found a good concept. Until now.\n\n \n* * *\n\nConsidering how I dislike smutty stories that are just thinly disguised vehicles for the writer's personal politics (especially topical ones), this story may be a bit hypocritical. In my defense (from myself) I tried to write story that would be good even if you didn't get or agree with the metaphor.\n\n \n\nA lot of the stories I roll my eyes at forget to do that.\n\n \n\nIt also seems a tad odd to complain about a story genre that's heavily self-indulgence, by definition. Well, yes, but if you're putting it out there, you're also writing for the readers. To be fair, those stories I complain about were probably just writing for readers _who aren't me_, people who like that sort of thing.\n\n \n\nAnd I tried to go with the universally-applicable core message of \"giving up your self-identity to trends and group identities can be dangerous\".\n\n \n\nHopefully that'll still get through to readers when they find the story on some underground server that survived the apocalypse in the year 20XX.\n\n \n* * *\n\nDiscarded cutaway ideas (because I lost the note until I was done):\n\n \n- Cute dog backflip video\n- Celebrity cancellation \n- Runner's High\n- Landscape selfie\n- Hipster Artisinal Condiment\n\n* * *\n\nI am possibly the first person on Earth to type \"honeycum\", and I will probably be the last.\n\n \n\nBut I'm not willing to check."}