First off, thank you for reading my story. I have over 500. Around 400 which will be published on various sites in a quick and whirlwind fashion. Please like, comment, or share my stories wherever you want. Anything is better than nothing. But do follow if you like my writing. There is so much more to come! Second, I do commissions and this is like 4 years of backlog. They are not edited, they have shit for blurb, no book cover, no REAL title, and the tags are shit. If you are interested in doing any of these things so that I can put it into a main file and distribute the blurb, better tags, or book covers and stuff, please reach out, or put it into the comments section. If I present better, I will have more clients in a segregated category and thus will be able to write more of these unique individualized kinks. Equally so, editor needed. Now, I know what your thinking--- WHY am I not doing this myself? Well, good dear reader, Rough guestimation, I have over 5k pages to tinker around with. I’ve not shared my backlog because of want for perfection. Would you rather my words not perfect, or not have my work at all period? Backlog of 4 years. And if I don’t push it out, I never will. I also run two businesses to keep me afloat. Unlike that one song, time, my friend, is not on my side. 
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It was another day in the hut. Charles was doing what Charles did best – thinking, contemplating, and devising. His mind elsewhere, lazily sitting in his chair in the front room. Out the window he spied something whizzing past, then a few somethings. 
Bees. He wasn’t focused at first, aimlessly watching emptily, but the streak of black and yellow and that distinct buzzing sound, it could be nothing else but bees. His attention shifted and narrowed as the distinctly bee like sounds buzzed more --- he then settled on two, no three before they disappeared into the surrounding forest. Their fat little asses with their sharp little stinger jutting swam from his sight. 
Now, when Charles thought, he often found himself thinking of odd thoughts, but all thoughts needed something tasty to help spur them on. Contemplation requires energy. And what better way to stimulate such thoughts than with a healthy dollop of honey? 
For where there were bees, specifically honeybees, there was of course honey – if it were not the case, it literally wouldn’t be in the name itself. 
And Charles did love honey. He hummed and hum and stood from his chair, pleased as a peach, adventure deep in his eyes. Life was always so boring without a little honey-dripping dash of adventure and excitement and that was exactly what he set out to do. He hastily put on his pants, neglecting a belt, and opted for a bare and brief wife beater. 
Out of his house, deep into the woods, his hazel eyes narrowed, keenly set on movement, his ears unfolded and jutted upward, flanked by his ivory horns that protruded from his head, listening for that sound, that buzzing sound. It was music to his ears, a promise of his self-gratification. His joy melted away as he spotted the trio of bees merrily buzzing around a tree. A tall tree, gigantic. Up and up and up they went until they disappeared into a hole. Far up there. 
But Charles was a dragon, and dragons were not deterred by anything, ever. Dragons were smart, unrivaled by any other characteristic trait besides, perhaps, questionable encounters that others might be wise enough to stay away from – he also had a usual penchant for what might otherwise be consider trouble. This might not too attributed to his dragon qualities and might be a personal peccadillo. Be that as it may, bees and heights were not going to deter him from the object of his desire. 
With strong muscular arms and a ripped core, the definition of which easily seen through his tight shirt, he took hold of a branch and heaved himself upward. Another branch and another lead him all the way to the destination. He hummed and sang a little ditty as he did so but at the top, he was met with, well, one might lightly put it resistance of the most aggressive sort. His hide was thick but bees swarmed him oppressively, clouding his vision. When he went to reposition himself to be better able to scoop up some of the honey from the tree, he found only air… then he found himself free falling, that weird sensation lulling up in his stomach of weightlessness. His ass broke a slender branch before knocking on the ones below it until eventually he ended up on the ground. Dazed and rather offended by his treatment, he set to considering another avenue of infiltration. Usually, he would just snatch a hive and take it for himself, feasting on it without a care in the world, but given the peculiar set up, he was at a severe disadvantage. He could fly up, but the reason he didn’t originally was he didn’t want to be attacked on the onset of his siege. When falling, he couldn’t fly because all he had time to see and experience was blistering bright stars in his eyes, a cornucopia of rainbow dots with black backdrop. 
There was mud around him and he opted that his best way was to arrive concealed. He wouldn’t be a dragon; he wouldn’t even be an invader. 
He was going to be a raincloud. 
After covering himself in mud, all of his features dripping in darkness, Charles felt confident in his plan, more confident now that he’d enacted the first steps. 
Now, how to get up there without appearing to be, well, a dragon. A black raincloud was still, at base, a cloud. And as far as Charles knew, clouds didn’t have wings and they definitely didn’t fly. No, clouds did something entirely different. They floated. They all floated. They all floated down here. And up there. So, how oh how was he going to manage that? A balloon? Perhaps, but a balloon would be done in with just one of those sharp little stingers and that would be the end of that, and he had no real intentions of duplicating his previous failure. He was pretty sure that he was sporting three horns now, one of those horns, a unicorn horn, was a swollen little lump compliments of gravity and a tree branch. 
Face planting from such a fall wasn’t that welcomed either. 
What to do, what to do, he pondered, looking up, down, around, at his sagging pants until he finally snapped his fingers, claws sparking from the pressure, force, and trajectory. A maniacal glint glazed his eyes. The idea had rushed to him fully formed. Of course, this plan had been influenced by his own predilection for a certain desire. If, oh if, his balls were as big as balloons, he could float up. He’d never puffed them up before, not himself, and he’d never obtained such a diameter of his swollen balls to float either. 
The idea had merit. 
He just needed hot air. 
He’d been told, repeatedly, that he was filled with hot air, and in this context, he could use that to his advantage. Before he knew it, his pants were around his ankles. He kicked them off, sharp talons shredding them to pieces. He liked the pants but honestly, he was a dragon on a mission. He looked at his massive overgrown and quite satisfyingly massive cock. He was a big fan of his cock. Loved it dearly. It was also quite on the colorful size, a peacock would be put to shame because of it. His body was toned and masculine, especially when he shed his wife beater off like a snake would his skin. He was universally orange, a crisp and yet dull orange from head to toe, besides his abdomen, forearms and lower legs, they were a pale orange that seamlessly lightened to almost pale the color with little to no trace of orange entirely. 
His cock however was another story. The base was bright and startling yellow, so vibrant that he if he walked around at night, he would stick out in the pitchest of blackest nights like a neon sign. Because frankly, that is what his cock was. A sign. The turgid limp flaccid, flaccid and dangling, was nearing the impressive length of several inches, breaking with ease double digits. The yellow on his phallus extended only from base to the middle of it, where it darkened to charcoal black. 
But that was merely his cock. 
His cock was double digits in the inch department, but his foreskin seemed to rival even that. It hung from the tip of the cock, so plentiful and vast that even when he was hard, the crown of his cock remained concealed, so heavy that even when hard the weight of the excess, thick, leathery flesh pulled the cock downward directly to the ground. 
Both hands cradled under the cock and he lifted it up, planting it against his stomach, the length stretching like an obelisk through the narrow valley of his abdominal muscles. He tilted his head down to see if he could reach it. He could not. 
Which was fine. Because he had much more flesh to work with then just the mere length of the cock. His hands gently glided against the underbelly of his cock, rolling his foreskin upward, stretching it. It was endlessly elastic and periodically bunched in rolls the way excess skin might on a fat little doggy. He collected an endless supply of the flesh between his nails, opting to relinquish the cock as a holder and instead pincered the foreskin, letting the cock weight downward, stretching before him but the foreskin was the perfect sling to keep gravity and weight at bay. 
His fingers pulled the foreskin wide open, widening a dark hole like a blackhole in the center of the galaxy and uncoiled the foreskin the way a fireman would a hose. That was good for another solid many inches, inches enough to bring the direct line to his cock right to his mouth. He didn’t even have to crane his neck or anything. And he blew. 
While he blew, he forced the wrinkled flesh sealed against his lips so all his breath would be accepted, not just a portion. He inhaled from his nostrils and emptied the air out from his mouth into the slung slinging foreskin. 
No noticeable change at first but he knew he was making progress because where else would the air go? The foreskin was locked against her maw. He repeated this until he felt that toe curling sensation of air wheezing into his cock, the foreskin already bloated like a balloon at a circus. His balls resembled flames, appropriate from his species. It started out yellow, bleeding to orange, finally turning ruby red. The very familiar sensation of expansion caused him nothing but blissful joy, almost so much that he had forgotten the objective as to by he was standing in the middle of the woods, completely naked, with foreskin sealed to his lips, huffing air into the tunnel of black foreskin to swell not only his yellow cock but his vibrantly multicolored ball sack. 
He got a little dizzy but he took his time. He needed to least his cock start hardening from such a pleasant experience. Making the sling of his cock more pronounced, like housing a banana in a little baggy. In through his flared nostrils, out his mouth, the air gushed airily into the foreskin, and with more of a blow, it entered his cock and balls entirely, swelling and expanding them. He needed to blow the air in then push with his cheeks puffing out like round little oranges. 
The balls continued their growth and expansion, he felt his balls suspended in empty space before dangling in the newest freedom and liberation, knocking and rocking in the ball sack that was growing and growing. It was quite the feeling to have air funneled into his balls, his balls themselves dancing to the gust of wind. It tickled him pink, almost literally, given the light blushing brush of crimson blooming on his cheeks, due in part from sensual, sexual gratification as well as the force of his continually breathing. 
And away they go. His balls unwrinkled from the excess flesh, mostly due to his foreskin. The ruffled, wrinkled, bunched and bundled foreskin wasn’t just a ton appendage thing, it stretched throughout all of his groin, balls included, making everything from top down just that much more susceptible to puffing and bloating up like a balloon. 
His foggy head, hardened cock, and sensations of pressure mounting and mounting in his empty ball sack continued until he felt he was at that point, not the point where he couldn’t blow them up anymore, though he would near that soon enough, but he had reached the point where he might actually be able to float. How did he know this? Because his talons on his naked feet were digging into the dirt, latching onto them like he was a predator hawk snatching prey. He was feeling the lift, he was feeling the freedom overcome him. 
Just a few more breaths and he could be done with it. 
A few more breaths later, he settled on just a few more. Just to be safe. 
And after he decided to count himself down to limit any more… he settled on 10 counts. On the tenth, he made sure the eleventh and final blow was the biggest and best. He remained still, looking down at his ballooned balls, his cock also quite expansive given the foreskin. He was looking down the blackened tube of his cock, his balls spilling over onto each other. They were plump beyond belief, large and perfectly spherical. Even though it was just a bunch of hot air in them, and even though they provided the air to give him the lift he needed to scale the tree, they were immensely heavy. He felt their weight in everything he did, even though it this particular type of weight didn’t anchor him to the ground in any way shape or form. 
His balls rivaled that of beach balls in two different ways, first, their size, which was outlandish, and next, their color – they made a gay pride parade submit in extravagant defeat. That was good enough. That worked. And it worked in a way that tickled his fancy. Both of her hands clasped on the foreskin linked to his mouth and he tightened around the tubes, shutting them down into just flesh without the excess air. The air squeezed down his cock expanded his balls even further past that point of being delightfully uncomfortable. 
Now. How to keep the air where it was, to keep his swollen individual balls just like balloons, festive balloons at that, from deflating? Well. They were balloons now. They looked like balloons. They felt like balloons, or so he imagined by the sensation of his ball sack expanding against his thighs and heavily pressing against his knees. They were, for all intents and purposes, they were balloons. So, then why not tie it off like a balloon? Even with his cock, swollen from air, balls filled to the brim with breath, he could still manage to tie of the flap of his foreskin. Tightly he crushed the air away from the tippy top of his foreskin and while holding the very, very edge, his other white-knuckled gripping hand slid down the elongated flesh to smooth the air out and down into the abyss of his ball sack. He was left with two good-sized hand lengths of straightened flattened skin.  The sensation of the air rushing into him, having not breathed it, yet still pumping inside, caused his maw to slacken in delightful despair. 
And his dexterous hands went to tying himself off. The flesh wrapped around than inside before neatly bowing out like a wrapped present. His claws lessened and loosened and relinquished the ground and he gently began floating up slowly. His ascent was uniformed and slow, allowing his arms to weave a path through the branches, many of which had been cracked or outright snapped entirely from his original failed attempt number one. 
All this work, all this everything with the single solitary effort to stay concealed. He wanted to be a thief in the night, to take honey without acquiring the err of the honeybees. And yet with all that…
Despite his secrecy, he did still manage to let the world know his intentions, far too excited and joyful to care. And to do that, he sang, with a lulling melody that could put a baby to sleep, “I'm a little black rain cloud. I'm just a little black rain cloud hovering under a honey tree. I'm only just a little black rain cloud pay no attention to little ole me.  who everyone knows that a---” He continued until finally he was face to face with his objective. 
The tree had a wide hole, like someone put a stick of dynamite in a tiny little hole and blew it wide open, more akin to a crater from an asteroid hitting the earth than any type of natural design by a tree’s growth. 
He took the flight with his balls firmly affixed between his legs, like he was riding the balloon like a hover board. Though this didn’t quite work out as he had planned and decided to angle himself upside down where he hung from the ballooned balls. The weight of his body stretching his poor balls, giving them an acute tear drop formation. Which his balls floated, his body did not. As he ascended yet again, he snatched a heathy amount of his stretched ball sack to give a little ease from the opposite tension he had constructed. It was, otherwise, without him lifting himself and connecting himself to his wildly distorted shaped balls, incredibly painful in the most wonderful way. His cock was beginning to show signs of arousal and hardening which only seemed to complicate the matters. 
The moment his hanging form from his balloon balls brought him eye to eye with the tree, his hand shoved into the tree opening, the entrance to the domain of the Bee. He tried to fish out honey but stopped short as the solo buzzing of a bee curiously investigated his presence. It buzzed right by his ear, then his nose. His lips pressed and puckered and he blew, trying to gust the bee away from him so as to maintain his covert not so convert approach.
This was it. He’d arrived. No bees here to greet him either. Not like a big bold dragon like him, top of the food chain, would worry about bees. But Charlie, well, he was acutely aware that sometimes, sometimes, he found himself in some choice situations that, at base, didn’t look like they would be troublesome, but, well, fate conspires against him in these little circumstances. Best not to provoke bees. 
 The bee wasn’t leaving and so the show must go on. His yellow hand disappeared up to his elbow into the hole, producing a bee-saturated handful of bright creamy honey. Without looking at what resulted from his efforts, he put it all in his mouth. 
Mercy, Momma Mia! That was honey alright. 
And a little bit of texture. Texture in the way of bees. Many bees. Upset that their hive had changed from honeycombs, honey, to the inside of a mouth. The mouth of a dragon no less. He felt as much as heard the ringing buzzing in his mouth. They’d stirred, awakened, and were not so pleased by the change of venue. He spat a group of them out. Then a few more, until finally, they were small individuals left that he spat like seeds – one by deliberate one. These bees were coated in honey, and all the better when they left his mouth in such a way that all the honey on their body had to go past his lips. He washed them clean thoroughly pinned by his lips as they exited his mouth. 
The group of infuriated bees gathered outside his mouth and surrounded his head. They were unsure what to make of, well, this entire situation. But Charlies did. He kept enjoying that rich flavor succulent and juicy, draining down his gullet like molasses. While, of course, spitting the bees out. 
The one bee, which he considered to be Buzzy the bee, grew more furious and impatient with the invader. The collection of bees he had rejected from his mouth actually shot out like bullets and collided with this one lone soldier. Buzzy went down into the pit of mud. It was like a little raindrop, right into the mud. It escaped the area and was a Bee on a mission. It buzzed up the tree to where all the action was. 
Charlie had spat out freshly cleaned bees enough to be a regiment of soldiers. Little warriors. Buzzy was the self-appointed general. General Buzzy did not waste any time whatsoever. He hurled himself through the air and his proud and mighty, yet tiny stinger, went straight into Charlie’s ass with such force that Charlie twirled around in midair rather comically. Charlie careened in the sky, hefty swollen expansive blown-up testicles making his awkward tumbling movements all the more haphazard. Up, down, around, turn, spin. 
Thump. 
Charlie was dazed and mightily confused for a moment. His eyes adjusted and he felt himself stuck! In the tree! By his balls. His balls knotted in the tree… His cock, tightly tied off like the balloon it was hanging and angled downward like a bent almost snapped banana poling down into the tree itself. Charlie placed his claws on either side of the tree and tried to liberate himself, but like all knots of animals of the canine variety, only a certain particular circumstance would allow freedom, and strength had no say so in the matter. But he tried. Hard. Harder and harder, leaving five claw marks on either side of the tree, ten in all, as he desperately attempted to wrench himself free. 
Still nothing. His balls, swollen, thick, and expansive beyond belief, completely dominated the tree beehive, invading their home. 
General Buzzy, who had been shoved into the hole from his vicious onslaught, found light completely deleted from the hive. There was no escape for him or the rest of his minions. This incurred the wrath of not just those on the outside, but those on the inside as well. 
Charlie felt little, tiny pushes against his balls and cock, like ants, crawling and shoving against his lower anatomy. The buzzing on the inside of the tree, and the outside, became an explosive roar. He wasn’t too keen on a few bees, but an entire armed force? Well, that wasn’t the best outcome either. And he was stuck. Very stuck. Try as he might, he couldn’t get free, leaving him rather defenseless as the bees on either side, inside and outside of the tree, to address the situation as they saw fit. 
Poke. Poke. Poke. Push. Shove. Slam. Each bee inside the tree worked individually to hastily free themselves, and thus in turn, free Charlie. 
But as mentioned, countless times, Charlie was a dragon. He was a big dragon alright, especially in the groin area, but with his balls swollen to the size of beach balls, he was just big enough to get himself into this mess, but too big to get himself out. 
The bees, furious, continued to annoy him, buzzing around his face. They attacked him and he swatted them away, blowing air at them to usher them a distance. Not like he could manage much of a breath given he’d used a lot of huffing and puffing power to swell his balls to the point that he could float with them. 
But it was the bee’s unseen that were the most problematic. They were doing their damned damnest to get him free, which Charlie might have been very, very appreciative on this front, had it not been for the fact that he literally couldn’t see what was happening. He could feel it though, and it didn’t feel all that good and it was continuing to bridge the gap from uncomfortable to very distressing. The most distressing portion of this was that Charlie was a biological creature – he had hopes, he had dreams, he wanted a bigger horde of gold, all that goodie goody gumdrop stuff – but he was also a creature that had hormones. He could be aroused, and right now, he was getting mighty aroused. 
The unwarranted execution of several hundred bees stampeding his balls, and even his bloated with air cock was an experience that he’d never felt before. He was aware of many, many sensual sexual stimulating sensations, but he’d never experienced anything remotely like this. It was like having his balls and cock massaged by thousands of little, tiny hands, nothing to say of which about their little fat thin wings flapping repeatedly and rapidly against his balls to tickle him silly. 
His cock was raging hard now, filled to burst because of the blood rushing into his oversized cock. While he was quite proud of the immensity of his cock, it also left a lot of room for, well, situations almost exactly like this. Not exactly, but in spirit, the same thing. 
Originally, he was stuck, but now he was getting stuck fast as his cock continued to grow, the massaging bees only edging him. His mouth lulled open and huffed as they continued to battering ram him out of their home. A stray bee, still in his mouth, puffed out and circled around to stick its tongue out at Charlie. Charlie could only do one thing, moan. Moan and squirm and struggle against the sensation. His flesh crawled with goosebumps as the erratic and desperate bees continued to collide like little mini planes against his swollen ball sack. The pressure stirred and rumbled his balls, crushing them to be more oval than circular. 
If they were stronger, the balls would be pancakes, but that was out of their ability. 
Buzzy and bee realized rather quickly that working without cohesion was getting them nowhere. The frantic buzzing slowed down and all Charlie could hear behind him was the uniform buzzing of bees in the tree and yet no more pressure. It was rather disheartening, especially because he was growing to like the minuscule and inferior pressure of the bees molesting his air-filled balls. 
His body straightened out and he howled in utter shock. His mind was coming down, frantic desperation now peeking out from the thick cloud of desire, and his balls, overstimulated, were lulled into a false sense of security until all the bees, all at once, they all came at his balls like a swift and continual punch of a mob. His balls crushed against the inside of the hollow tree… Forcing the air out of his balls to swell into his already rather cock hard cock. But there was no escape for him. They were just redistributing where the air was – cock or balls, all amounted to the same thing. He was just simply too big to be forced out.
But that didn’t stop the poor little worker bees from pushing and pushing and pushing for what felt like an eternity. This sent lightning groaning from his balls to his spine and straight into his short-circuited brain, frazzling his wiring, melting him. The worst part was when he felt he was close to being free, he really wasn’t. 
In actuality, their shoving only encouraged his cock to grow, and the angle of the cock became a jack, scraping on the interior bark and heaving him inward the hole even more. 
Buzzy the Bee stopped his onslaught and watched in disbelief as the swarm swarmed the balls in a series of pounding charges. What Buzzy saw in his observation was that the balls shrank when they were beaten against, but the air filled that massive cock, inflated and deflating according to the pressure… But air never left the prison of the balls for long. It always returned.
The straining foreskin, however, was sheet white as it struggled to remain tied, for it was excessively tied like double knotted laces. Charlie had never tries his foreskin like this before, so when he did, he tied it good and proper and doubly so just to be on the safe side. This meant that while the foreskin, stretched like a lace, looped around two times properly for a sufficient and adequate knot, he continued tying for good measure, making the knot stout and snug. 
Buzzy navigated his armed force to the foreskin and they soon addressed the heart of the matter. The knotted foreskin. The tingling sensation was beyond Charlie's description. He was huffing and puffing, his body limply hanging angled downward to where all he could see was the long fall down below. Branches, branches, and finally the ground. He couldn’t move because of the rush of delirious arousal overwhelming him. 
But he would move. And Buzzy and his Bee cohorts would make sure of it. They wobbled their bodies around on the tightly tied foreskin, trying to figure out how to untie it. They were less coordinated than a humanoid, but they also weren’t entirely that bright either. Gathering in cohesion to blast against the ball sack was the extent of their limited intelligence. They had also suffered, all, minor concussions from being mobile battering rams. Much of the effort to untie the foreskin was rather unproductive, even counterproductive. But give a thousand monkeys a typewriter… They didn’t entirely untie the foreskin, but they did stretch it so paper thin, so flat, that the color of the emboldened black was now stark ivory white, and when they released it, the skin unthreaded without a hitch. 
It didn’t take too much effort on their part after that. Actually, after the foreskin started to churn, twist, and unscrew frantically and sporadically, the bees hovered a distance away, watching in fascination as the firehose flailed until it was untied…. And air gushed out of it so hard that the inside of the tree, their home, was in ruins. The cock spun around like a whipping cord, a snake struggling for survival. 
The air, or rather, the propulsion, executed Charlie's escape with absoluteness. His balls shrank to a manageable size so that even the dragon could squirm his way out, but he didn’t have much chance of that as he was trying to navigate the sordid sensation of pure bliss of the exhaling of his cock. 
With head lulled, eyes shuttered in ecstasy, he heard the warning of cracking of the tree hole, the outer edges peeling away before snapping. Before he could turn to investigate, though it was hard to manage curiosity in the face of such supernatural feeling, he jettisoned out and flew through the air. His wings caught the wind and aided in the wild flight through the air, and not in the good way either. Before he managed to flap them or make himself aerodynamic, he had gone through so many loops that he might as well have been the world's most dangerous, at least the most nauseating, rollercoaster ride.  
Without having any real control over his descent, ascent, twirl-scent, Charlie found himself as a bulldozer, knocking down tree branches, scaring the fuck out of some squirrels, pretty sure a bird nest was part of the casualty list, hurling through the air like a homosexual cannonball that just didn’t know which way to go. 
Until he did. 
Right into the ground. Plop! 
The bees, well, the bees were having the time of their life. They weren’t as fast as him, but even if they were, they’d never try to fly alongside him, their roaring laughter made flight almost impossible. They all hovered up there by the tree, eyes ping-ponging up and down to follow the rapidly deflating Charlie. 
But his journey ended. And they collectively huffed and sighed. The show was over. And they didn’t get to see what they really wanted to see. At first, they really did confuse him for a balloon, even during their little fencing match to deter the invader of their homeland, they considered him a balloon-like humanoid. 
And all bees knew, every single one, that balloons, well, they popped. But Charlie? He just deflated into, well, that miserable lump of flesh dizzy and confused at the bottom of the forest of trees. He did not pop. 
Buzzy and his little mafia of black striped, yellow bodies goons were none too pleased. But as they looked at his deflated figure with astonishment and ruined anticipation, they all seemed to universally see something… perhaps because they were just so honey minded. On that dick, slathered against it, dripping slow and thickly from his blown out and gasping foreskin was honey. Perhaps from the cock twirling like a wrecking ball inside their now defunct home. 
Buzzy stood in front of his troops and hovered left and right, his little cute black hand making quite the imploring flourishes. He was also buzzing loudly and undulating to small whispers. It was a speech. A speech for BATTLE! A war cry! The crowd stirred, the crowd was up in arms now and they all brushed into the empty shattered remains of their precious home and spat out the forcefully widened hole with honey in their little cut hands and they went directly to Charlie. 
Charlie was dazed. Out of it. Confused. But he certainly wasn’t deaf. The sound of buzzing harmonious enough to shatter glass was a rather telltale sign that something Not Good was going to happen – and given the events, logic dictated that this Not Good thing was directly directed to him. 
The bees came down at him like fighter jets, like little flying blimps saturated with honey as well as piles of the stuff in their little itty-bitty hands. Not a lot, but enough, enough to feed an art perhaps, but a thousand little hands and a thousand little busy bee bodies with one goal in mind, it amounted to a massive amount. Charlie was on his butt, watching in shock as the sky, and the treetops, were shadowed, covered, and disappeared under an ocean of yellow blackness. Drips and drops of honey showered him as they made way to his crotch. His hands frantically waved through the air, trying to protect himself. Trying to protect himself from the inevitable. The bees were not deterred and simply maneuvers gracefully, more gracefully than their stout little bloated bums led others to believe possible and continued their trajectory. They landed in the foreskin, swollen and folded in a spoon like manner. The little lily pad of flesh collected gobs and gobs of honey, heavily weighing the flesh to spill it over onto his lap. Buzzy and another team, after having deposited their load, folded the flap of flesh over the head of the cock and let it drain downward into the sheathed cock. 
It was rather quick, but the honey pooled the crown of the head before drowning it until finally it sunk into the penis hole itself. Bubbling and drooling as it did so. The honey, like the air that Charlie breathed into his cock to give it a balloon life, emptied into the ball sack. 
There wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. Unlike the air, the honey had a different sensation. It felt like a thousand tongues lapping against his most erogenous zone. Those balls were drowning in a sea of molten creamy nectar. There was more substance, more character, more sensation to the honey than air; warm, hot, or cold, could ever manage.
And before Charlie could blink an eye, the damage was done. It was done everywhere all at once. His flesh tingled, goose bumped, his eyes rolling upward slightly, showing shamelessly the whites of his eyes, and his balls, by God, his balls. 
His clawed hands cradled his balls and heaved them upward, hoping to spill some of the honey outward, almost like he was trying to squeeze out toothpaste – right up the tube of his cock and out from where it came from. But the buzzing army returned, the attack renewed, and it was dauntless. It was two more of these honey rushes before he realized that while his testicles weren’t that big, they were heavy. Very heavy. 
The bees weren’t stopping either. They were tireless and relentless and he had had enough. Charlie tried to stand up but through all the excitement of his wild hijinks, he wasn’t in any shape to stand, it didn’t help that his balls were wrung out and dilapidated like overused deflated balloons. The weight of the honey locked his junk to the ground and he was, for most of his attempt, stopped in place. 
But here they came again, this time Charlie knew exactly how to protect himself. Both of his sharp clawed hands went to his cock and protectively cradled it. But through each finger they slid inside, this time tickling him greatly as they buzzed wildly right on down his urethra and into his ball sack entirely. They dropped the honey and went out. There was a swarm, expansive canal housing at least four lanes of bees as they went in and out of him. 
His balls were growing now, his sack tethered to the ground from honey weight and gravity and everything seemed rather, well, grim. Of course, it also felt like nothing else he had ever felt before. He was in complete heaven yet mentally he was terrified because these bees, they weren’t here for his satisfaction, and boy was he ever getting satisfaction. 
No, they were flying into his narrow hole to his monstrously sized ball sack to leave their gift of honey for some rather sordid nefarious purposes. Purposes he couldn’t quite understand, but that was because thinking was just so hard. His mind full of the honey sweet scent, taste, and feel of passionate lusty delight. 
But he tried. He tried and tried and yet to no avail. 
His balls continued to stretch downward as the weight was added, joining into the stewing pot, the cauldron of his testicles. It was too much. He was standing but like metal balls like he was a prisoner, his own balls dragged against the ground. They rushed him again, and again. They were laughing louder now. 
Harder to hear them laugh at his agonizing delight, especially because he was swooning and moaning and laughing himself. But they were having the time of their life. And he, while he might be --- he was aware, all to aware, that this had not a good end for him. 
He had to protectively clasp his urethra to prevent the bees from entering, but this also meant that he was a willing participant in this whole charade because while he could keep them out, he was also keeping the honey in, which also made it so that he just couldn’t move, not really. He could drag his heavy honeyed balls against the dusty dirty woods floor, but he wasn’t ever going to escape. 
He hooked his tightly squeezed foreskin and angled it to dip downward, hoping honey would spew out from it. And it did, at least, until the army showed up again with another massive helping of honey. 
Bigger and bigger he got until he collapsed against a tree, huffing and puffing from his desperate escape which resulted in no real results at all. The bees were still doing bee things and he was doing, well, nothing at all. The odd trembling of honey stirred in his testicle pop only increased his cock, making him raging horny, horny enough to where he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Not to mention, with such a flared crown of a cock and it wildly open and exposed foreskin, defense was not a thing he could manage. 
His claws went to his balls, bloated and swollen as they were, and he sunk his digits into the blanket of flesh, trying to encourage the frothing honey out from him. But for ever bit he drained, more came with vengeance. 
He collapsed on the ground, groaning and squirming until he saw Buzzy right before his eyes. He looked at the bee as it went down his form. He could see his muscular pecs, his hardened stomach, his pole of a cock, and balls. Massive balls. Balls as far as the eye could see. He couldn’t see any trees ‘below’ him, nor could he see his feet. What he did see, however, was Buzzy swirling around his balls… and his stinger posed upward, gleaming in the sunlight – or perhaps it was the honey that rained on him, a sweet spring shower. Or perhaps the stinger itself had been laced with honey. The subject of his offense. A fitting punishment, a fitting weapon. 
Charlie’s eyes widened and he shook his head no, no, no, please, please no! 
And Buzzy smiled. For a pregnant moment there was no movement, not even Buzzy’s wings. They were frozen in time. 
And Buzzy nodded that yes. 
Oh yes. 
Yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, this was happening. Yes, exactly like this. 
And the stinger jammed into the sack and it EXPLODED. Honey drenched everywhere. 
Poor Charlie indeed got his fill of honey. But at what cost?