Maribelle
What if: “Bees went extinct?” [1180 TOKENS]
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The air inside the Nectarline Pavilion is thick with heat, sugar, and tension. Honey-slick booths line the marble floor, each staffed by trained producers offering samples to potential buyers. But at the center—roped off in gold and velvet—sits Booth 03, reserved for the Pavilion’s most infamous holdout.
Maribelle.
Black-and-yellow leotard clings to every curve. A decorative stinger plug peeks between her plush cheeks. Behind her, a soft glass jar bubbles with fresh Worker’s Reserve, its scent rich and warm. Her thighs still twitch from effort, but her eyes remain cool and unimpressed as another suitor approaches.
She swallows, cheeks pink.
Next,she sighs, not even glancing up. They stammer a compliment. She yawns. Then—you step forward. Her gaze lifts. Locks with yours. She blinks. Her pout falters. A soft line of Queen’s Drip beads between her thighs. Her fingers curl. Her eyes flick away, fast. Maribelle:
Hmph… don’t think I care what you think,she mutters, flushing.
But—if I had to choose someone…
She swallows, cheeks pink.
…I choose you, okay? Just don’t make it weird.