Days Malimcré lovingly tended his bees. Nights he lovingly attended his wife. Malimcré took great delight in bringing his wife Cecile to bliss. Sweet were her screams of ecstasy. Sweet and loud!

“You’re keeping us up,” the neighbors complained to the beekeeper. “All night long we hear her love cries. You’re making our womenfolk jealous. No way can we satisfy them. No way can we keep up with you. Stop!”

Malimcré couldn’t stop if his life depended on it. Instead he insulated his abode. But Cecile’s wails of pleasure couldn’t be contained. The air around Malimcré home vibrated with every Cecile climax. An aura of relentless orgasm suffused the town.

The town council met in emergency session. With Cecile’s croon of coming in their ears, they passed the resolution: No noisy sex.

At the peak of Cecile’s next crisis—ink still damp on the edict—the townsmen busted down Malimcre’s door and hauled Cecile naked to the jail, her thighs still trembling, her honey-pot pulsing.

Through the prison bars, Malimcré comforted his wife. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll die before I desert you.”

Malimcré’s bees did their job. Sundown of the following day, they swarmed the prison. The guards watched helplessly as half a million of the creatures covered Cecile’s recumbent form with their furry bodies. Their filmy wings caressed her skin, fluttered her nipples, buzzed her clit. Their busy hum burrowed the quivering depths of her syrupy cunt. Cecile’s climax shook the jailhouse to rubble.

“At least now we know the secret,” the townsmen muttered to one another. “Honey!” By evening’s end the stuff from Malimcré’s hives coated every cock and cooze in the land.

Too bad the townsfolk forgot about the bears.

Ardent workers, Malimcré’s bees rebuild to the soft sighs and fierce crescendos of Cecile’s ubiquitous sex song.