The Bee Hive Master
patreon
Eat, Pray, Fuck
🕑 Added 2025-01-09 09:00:03 +0000 UTCA woman tried to find peace by escaping to Bali, away from all her worries. Soon enough, she would find that she never had to worry about returning to her old, problematic life...
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Heya! Back to a bit of a longer caption. I will be honest, this one I had been a bit confused on what to do with it. I just really like that picture and want to do something with it. Tell me if you think I need to do something else or how can I improve on the plot/general story of this one! Anyway, enjoy the story for now!
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Isabelle adjusted the silk scarf draped over her shoulders, squinting against the smoke rising from the earthen bowls scattered around the temple floor. The incense burned thick, sweet, and cloying, its tendrils snaking into her nostrils, making her head swim. She didn’t even know the name of this temple—some unmarked place a toothless old man had gestured toward when she asked for “ancient temples”. She was the only foreigner in the room, her blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb among the dark waves of the local worshippers.
Isabelle had spent the better part of her 34-year-old life in the cramped, sterile cubicles of New York. Sure, over time she had risen over the ranks into a marketing executive, but the stress and work does get to her. Bali was supposed to be her escape. The never-ending emails, the ringing phone, the constant demand to be perfect—All abandoned for this moment, as she stood barefoot on cold temple stones.
A young woman approached, gesturing for Isabelle to kneel. The businesswoman hesitated but sank down anyway, her linen dress clinging to her sweaty skin. Bow, she thought. Copy them. Blend in. But the woman had other plans, pressing a small cup of bitter liquid to Isabelle’s lips. She drank it without question, her lips curling at the acrid taste.
The chants grew louder, faster. Isabelle’s vision blurred, her head tilting back as her body felt like it was being pulled apart, ripped at the seams. A searing heat bloomed in her chest, spreading to her limbs, until—
Warmth surrounded her, soft and wet. Isabelle’s first sensation upon waking wasn’t confusion but fullness. Her lips felt stretched, moving on their own accord, sliding up and down something thick and rigid. The taste—salty, musky—registered at the same moment her consciousness snapped into focus. She blinked rapidly, her vision still hazy, her mind struggling to catch up.
“Kadek,” the man groaned above her, his voice thick with pleasure. His voice was somehow familiar, but Isabelle had no idea who he was.
The weight of what she was doing crashed into her like a thunderbolt as she realized her tongue was gliding over the rigid length of a man’s cock.
She panicked, pulling back suddenly, her lips releasing him with a wet pop. “What the fuck?!” she tried to say, but the words came out in a soft, lilting Balinese, her voice foreign yet achingly familiar. She scrambled backward, her hands flying to her mouth as if she could erase what had just happened.
The man in front of her sat up with a look of confusion. His golden skin glowed in the soft lamplight, muscles rippling as he leaned forward, his cock still standing proud, glistening with her spit. “Kadek,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “What’s gotten into you? You don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I... I’m not...” she stammered, her hands trembling as she took in her surroundings—and herself. Her gaze dropped to her hands, slender and delicate, the skin a pale golden hue that was undeniably not her own. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and as her eyes traveled lower, she froze.
Her body was stunning—slim yet curvaceous, her breasts round and impossibly full, straining against the loose folds of a thin kemben that barely covered her. Her nipples, a soft rosy hue, pressed visibly against the fabric, teasing the eye. She felt their weight, the sway of them as she moved, utterly foreign yet undeniably hers.
“I’m not Kadek!” she tried to say, but the words came out wrong, the language she never spoke before somehow spilling effortlessly from her lips. “Who... who are you?” she stammered, her voice trembling.
The man's eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange, but that’s no excuse,” he said, his voice growing harder. “You think you can tease me, leave me like this, and get away with it?” He gestured to his still-erect cock, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. “That’s not how this works.”
She shook her head, scrambling further back on the bed. The man raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you? It’s me, Arya.” His hand slid across the bed, tracing the curve of her hip. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to play hard to get now.”
Arya. Prince Arya. It came rushing back—except not her memories. Kadek’s memories. She wasn’t Isabelle anymore. She was Kadek, one of Arya’s concubines.
Her breathing quickened, panic rising in her chest. She scrambled to pull away, but Arya was faster, his strong hands gripping her waist. “Easy,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “You were so eager just a moment ago. What’s with the act?”
“I—I don’t...” she began, but the words died in her throat as his hands roamed lower, sliding over her curves with deliberate ease.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” he said, his lips curling into a wicked smile.
“Wait! Please!” she cried, her voice trembling. But even as panic swirled in her chest, her body betrayed her. Heat pooled low in her belly, her breath hitching as Arya’s hands slid up her thighs, pushing aside the thin folds of her kemben to reveal her slick, needy core.
“No... wait...” she whispered, but the moment he positioned himself at her slick entrance, her voice betrayed her, turning into a soft, needy whimper.
Arya thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. Her eyes widened as a cry tore from her lips, her body trembling as he stretched her to the limit. “Fuck,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he stilled inside her, his hands gripping her hips with bruising strength.
“You feel that?” he murmured, his tone low and dangerous. “That’s what happens when you tease me, Kadek.”
Isabelle’s mind reeled, torn between panic and the overwhelming sensation coursing through her. Yet her new body responded eagerly, her walls tightening around him, drawing him deeper.
When he began to move, slow and deliberate, a moan escaped her lips—soft at first, then louder as his pace quickened. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her cries growing more desperate with every slap of his hips against her ass.
“Look at you,” Arya growled, his hands gripping her hips firmly. “You act shy, but your body loves this.”
Her moans grew louder, raw and desperate, her voice trembling with each snap of his hips. “Ah—Arya, please... I can’t...”
“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice firm as he thrust deeper, his cock hitting a spot that made her scream. “You’ll take all of me, Kadek. Every inch.”
Her walls clenched around him, her body responding despite her swirling thoughts. “Yes! Fuck—don’t stop!” she cried, her voice breaking with need as she surrendered completely.
Arya’s pace quickened, his grip on her tightening as he chased his release. Her cries filled the room, her body trembling underneath him. His cock plunged deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made her vision blur. Her fingers dug into the sheets, her legs trembling as her body arched back into him.
“Fuck!” she cried, her voice hoarse, raw with need. “I... I’m going to—oh, God!”
“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice dark and demanding. “Take it all.”
With a guttural groan, Arya buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her. The heat of his release filled her, spreading warmth through her trembling body. She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like a tidal wave, her walls clenching hard around him.
They collapsed together, his chest against her back, his breath hot on her neck. The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their panting breaths and the erratic thud of her racing heart.
Her thoughts began to clear, the haze of pleasure lifting just enough for reality to sink its claws back into her. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t her body. She wasn’t Kadek—was she?
“I... I need to go back,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Arya stirred, his arms tightening around her. “Back? To where?”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Back to Manhattan? Back to spreadsheets and morning meetings and empty takeout containers? Her old life felt distant and so much hassle…
Arya chuckled, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’re not going anywhere, Kadek,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re mine.”
Her mind reeled. She was Kadek now—a concubine, a stranger in a strange body, caught in a life she didn’t understand. But as Arya’s hand slid over her hip, possessive and tender, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave—or if she’d already lost the will to try…
