a little info about me, but first and foremost if you are not 18+ you are not welcome on my page in any way shape or form! blank blogs will be blocked happily :) this is a very nsfw blog so if you are uncomfortable with that please click on away!
to those of you who are not the above, hi y’all and welcome to my page!! you can call me Bee🐝:) i’m just a horny little slavegirl sharing my thoughts and fantasies and things🥰
some of my favorite things🥰: being a horny little slavegirl😊, master/slave, hypno, mind break/control, being called a good girl, ddlg, cnc, humping, edging, and you’ll find out more if you take a scroll through my blog and/or get to know me;)
feel more than free to message me, i’ll try to respond whenever i can, but i cum on here at random times so i’m sorry if i respond late!! if you don’t have your age/name anywhere on your blog i will not be responding! (also please do not send me pictures of your face!)
everything except a few text posts here and there does not belong to me! all credit to the creators🥰 backup account is @biyil3 !
Pleasure subs <33 subs who love going down on their dom at any given opportunity, who need to make themselves available at any given time for them :(( subs that whine and beg to let them make you feel good. How fun it must be for their dom to tease them Tie them up in front of them while the dom pleasures their self, watching the sub getting turned on just by looking at them while they beg to let them do their job :(( punishing them for maybe being a bit too eager while they were busy? Making them apologize with the sub’s face still between their legs. Watching the stupid thing become nothing but a free use pet who wants nothing but their master’s body at all times :(( hxhgj i just <33
omggg the thought of being in a training school and having yo bounce on a dildo in class as the teachers get fucked to show us how to take cock ♡♡♡ mmmm just thinking about getting gangbanged by all the teachers while thry tell me im a good slut and taking all their bug cocks ( ˶>˶˶<˶)
I love how like embarrassing it is to get turned on by being degraded. Like yes please call me a dumb whore. I'll cum. Be as mean as you want. Slap me and spit on me while you use me. Tell me how useless I am for taking what you're forcing me to take.
U know im fucked cuz this does not register to me as degradation. Like… being called a dumb whore and used “like” a toy is one of the best compliments you can get!
Want to be forced to hump someone’s boots, like I’ve already had however many forced orgasms and my pussy is so so sore and sensitive that I just can’t bring myself to move no matter how annoyed you are at me, so I just kneel there, clutching your leg, shaking, barely able to keep myself up to avoid the rough contact on my private’s, when suddenly there’s hands on my hips forcing my pussy down and grinding me against your leather and laces much much harsher than it would have been if I had just listened and done it myself
playing with a smart sub is so much fun, dumbing their sweet brain down until they’re a babbling mess in front of you, laughing as you ask them where all their intelligence went off to & bullying them for being so easy to make stupid
“Happy International Women’s Day,” you say to me, presenting your three blank, brainwashed friends, proud of how you took every piece of knowledge from your training and applied it to others.
“Happy International Women’s Day,” I say to you, as you record their mindless obedience as they strip, suck, and serve, making each of them the prettiest porn.
“Mmfy mmmmmffpph…” they trail off, as their mouths are too full of cunt and cock and their minds are too empty of thoughts to complete thr phrase.
The celebration is done all too soon, but as they leave, remembering a nice afternoon of wine and cheer and forgetting a nicer afternoon of programming and service, we all agree we should do this more often.
Our Entertainment. The dining room buzzes with chatter and the clink of wine glasses as you step inside. Your eyes snag on it immediately... your seat. It’s parked at the head of the table, a sleek, sturdy thing with a matte black finish, and jutting up from the chair is a thick, glossy dildo, shameless and impossible to ignore. My friends are already here, interspersed around the table, half drunk and grinning, their curiosity pinging between me and that obscene piece of furniture.
"What’s with the setup?" one of them asks, jerking his chin toward the chair. His smirk says he’s already got a guess.
I don’t dodge it. "It’s for her," I say, locking eyes with you. "Keeps her cunt busy while we drink. She’s the night’s entertainment."
Their laughter ripples through the room, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck. You’re still standing there, frozen for a second, but I nod towards it. "Go on. Sit."
You hesitate, but the pull’s too strong — my voice, their stares, the promise of what's waiting for you. You ease yourself down, and the dildo slides in slow, stretching you open with a dull, insistent pressure. A ragged little sound slips out of you, and someone across the table snickers. I work quickly, looping rope around your wrists and ankles, tethering you to the chair’s frame. Your arms flex, testing the give, but there’s none. Your legs are splayed, locked wide, and that dildo’s buried deep now, pinning you in place.
"Can’t have you pawing at yourself," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That'd ruin the fun.”
I step back, letting them see you. All of you. Your thighs twitch, muscles jumping under your skin as you adjust to the fullness. I dip my fingers between your legs, brushing the edge of where the dildo’s sunk into you, and pull them back glistening. "Look at that," I say, holding up the evidence. "Soaked already!"
They lean in, eyes glinting, and the questions start flying at you. "Does it feel good?" one asks, teasing. "You like being stuck like that?" Another chimes in, as if he's just discussing the weather.
You try to answer, but your words come out fragmented, sliced up by the shudders rolling through you. "It’s... mmphhh... it’s a lot," you manage, and then your breath gets caught as the first orgasm slams into you, yet another uninvited guest. Your head tips back, lips parting, and a moan spills out, raw and loud. The table erupts with laughter, a few claps, someone muttering, "Wow, that fast?"
I don’t let you settle. I circle behind you, resting my hands on your shoulders, and nod at the man closest. "Go ahead. Touch her." He doesn’t need telling twice. His fingers graze your chest, finding a nipple and tugging hard. You yelp, a high, desperate sound, and your body jerks against the ropes. Another hand joins in — someone’s pressing two fingers into your mouth, sliding them along your tongue. You choke a little, drool pooling at the corners, and they laugh at you, delighted.
"She’s a mess," they say, impressed. "You trained her well."
"She’s a good fuck doll," I agree, casual as anything. "Watch this." I remove their fingers, grip your jaw, tilting your head back, and shove my cock into your mouth. You whimper; eyes glassy. "See? She’ll take whatever you give her."
You’re fighting the restraints now, hips shifting, chasing friction that isn’t there. The initial entrance pushed you to orgasm, but now that you’ve settled in, it’s not enough. The dildo is filling you up but not moving, not giving you what you need. It’s maddening, and I can tell. I see your breath turn shallow, the way your fingers curl into fists. I love it. They love it. The whole room is feeding off your desperation.
Another hand snakes out, latching onto one of your nipples, pinching it tight and rolling it slow between their fingertips. Your moan comes out choked, garbled around my thick cock shoved deep in your mouth. "She’s loud," one says, grinning at me. "Is that the only way you can shut her up?"
"Pretty much," I say back, voice flat and smug. "Only keeps quiet when I’ve got her throat stuffed" That earns a burst of rowdy yells, glasses clinking in approval. "Don’t be shy now, I’m the only one that can fuck her, but you all can touch!"
And just like that, they swarm you. Hands everywhere, a frenzy of grabbing, stroking, yanking at your skin. Fingers are digging into your thighs, palms smacking your chest, someone raking nails down your side. It’s a flood of sensation, too much to track, hitting you like a shockwave that leaves you squirming, ropes creaking as you strain against them.
You’re trembling now, sweat beading on your forehead, and I can see the strain in your arms as you pull against the ropes. Another orgasm is building. Your thighs clenching, the little gasps you can’t hold back. Even more of the tells that I've learned to track. "Go on," I mutter. "Show them how greedy you are." It hits you hard, your whole body locking up as you cum again, a strangled cry breaking free. The table’s a chaos of noise. More cheers, filthy comments, a fist on the table. You’re panting, chest heaving, and I slide a hand down between your legs, stopping just short of where you want it. "Good girl," I say, voice carrying over the racket. "Keeping us entertained."
So next time you catch yourself pretending to know what you’re doing, or even just hoping that no one will find about that dumb thing you just did, just giggle and let everyone know what a ditzy bimbo you truly are instead 🫧✨
i am a dumb pathetic cunt and i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i am a dumb pathetic cunt and i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i am a dumb pathetic cunt and i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i am a dumb pathetic cunt and i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms. i don’t deserve to cum. i don’t deserve orgasms.
Good girls don’t cum. Good girls don’t think. Good girls serve Men.
I strive to be a good girl for Men. And yes I also am a pathetic cut. And I don’t deserve to cum. Only Men have that right. Why else would I have 3 holes if they weren’t meant to be filled with a Man’s cock and cum? I just love being a good girl for Men. It’s so much fun when they pick me to be useful and such a compliment to! Men could pick any girl He wants to use and if He chooses you just remember Be a good girl. I promise He will like you more if you give what He wants!
You stare at the symbols on the page, but all you see is a mess of x’s and y’s. Your brain is overheating the longer you look. You’re just not getting it.
"You’re lost again?"
You don’t look up. You can’t. The heat crawling up your neck is already unbearable. You just nod, your hair falling over your face.
"It’s the chain rule. We’ve gone over this three times." His voice is sharp. "Are you even listening or is your head just full of air?"
Your thighs press together under the table. This is the problem. Not the math problem, but the problem. The reason you keep flunking calc and scheduling these tutoring sessions.
He taps an impatient finger on the textbook. "The derivative of the outside function, times the derivative of the inside function. That’s it. Why is that so hard? Being a dumb little girl isn’t an excuse."
Dumb little girl.
Your brain stops working every time you hear that annoyed edge in his voice. The numbers blur. All you can think about is the wetness pooling between your legs. Your panties were dry an hour ago; now they’re sticking to you. Soaked.
"I… I don’t know," you manage to get out. Your voice is a pathetic little squeak.
"I don’t know." He repeats it, mocking you. "Of course you don’t know. You can barely stay focused."
His shadow falls over you as he leans forward. He’s so close. His scent makes your head swim.
"Look at me."
You lift your head slowly. His eyes are dark, narrowed with frustration. You think he might just grab you and shake you.
"Are you even trying? Or are you just wasting my time?"
"I’m trying," you whisper, and it’s true. You are. You’re trying not to squirm in your seat. You’re trying not to let him see how his disappointment makes you drip.
He runs a hand through his hair. "I’m starting to think this is pointless. You’re just not getting it."
The words land like little stones, and with each one, you leak a little more. It’s too much. If this goes on any longer it’s going to be impossible to hide the wet patch forming on the plastic of the library chair. You have to get out of here. You have to fix yourself.
"I need to… I need the bathroom." You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly on the floor.
He waves a dismissive hand, already looking back at the textbook as if you’re not even there anymore. The humiliation of it is a fresh thrill. You practically run from the room.
In the bathroom, you splash water on your burning face. You lean against the sink, breathing hard. You’re a mess. Hopeless. You press a wad of toilet paper between your legs, trying to soak up the evidence of just how pathetic you are for him. After a few minutes, feeling a little less likely to fall apart, you head back.
When you walk in, he’s not looking at the book anymore. He’s staring at your empty chair.
"What the fuck is that?"
You follow his gaze. On the smooth, beige plastic of the seat is a dark, damp patch. A perfect little outline of where you were sitting. Your heart stops. Your blood runs cold, then hot.
He looks from the chair, to your face, then back to the chair.
"Did you get so scared of a little math problem that you wet yourself?"
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. This is so much worse than him thinking you’re stupid.
He stands up, walks around the table, and stops in front of the chair. He crouches down, inspecting the wet spot like a detective at a crime scene.
"No," He looks up at you, "you like being humiliated. I bully you a little, and you get this wet."
You can only stand there, exposed, barely able to breathe.
"Well, the least you can do is clean up your own mess."
You stare at him, confused. "I… I can get a paper towel…"
"No" He shakes his head. "You clearly need some discipline. Lap it up with your tongue, slut."
The words don’t compute at first. He can’t be serious.
"Lick it clean."
His hand shoots out and grabs the back of your neck, his fingers digging in. He forces you down to your knees in front of the chair.
"Don’t waste my time."
Your face is inches from the plastic seat. You can see the damp sheen of your own arousal. The scent is faint, but it’s there. Humiliating. You hesitate for a second too long, and his grip tightens, pushing your head forward until your nose bumps against the chair.
There’s no use fighting it. You give in.
You stick out your tongue and give a tentative lick. He grunts, the first sound of approval you’ve heard today. You close your eyes and start licking in earnest, trying to erase the spot, your tongue swiping back and forth, back and forth.
His hand slides down your back. It rests on your ass for a moment, then hooks into the waistband of your shorts. With a single, sharp tug, he yanks them down to your knees, taking your wet panties with it.
Before you can even react, two fingers shove right inside you.
You gasp, your mouth falling open against the chair. You’re so, so wet. He doesn’t need any prep. You’re a fucking fountain for him. His fingers are brutal, plunging in and out, ramming against you.
"You’re so fucking pathetic," his voice is rough, right against your ear "Leaking all over the goddamn library furniture like a stupid bitch in heat."
Every thrust of his fingers is a spark. Your hips start to buck against his hand, a mindless, needy motion. You’re on your knees, your face pressed to the chair, lapping up your own mess while he paws at your cunt. It’s the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to you.
And you’re about to cum.
"Sir I'm—I’m…" you whimper, barely even processing what’s happening.
"Get it over with." He drives his fingers in deeper, harder.
You can’t form words. Your brain just… shorts out. The pleasure is too sharp, too laced with humiliation. It builds and builds until your whole body locks up. You collapse against the chair, twitching, your inner muscles clenching violently around his fingers. He holds you there until the last aftershock fades, and then pulls his fingers out with a wet schlick.
"Get up."
You stumble to your feet, not even having the sense to pull up your shorts. You see him, already back at his side of the table, unzipping his jeans. He pulls out his cock. It’s thick and hard, jutting out from his pants. It’s everything you’ve been imagining and more.
"Sit down," he says, pointing not at your chair, but at his lap. "We’re not done until you understand the problem."
Your legs move on their own. You go to him, turn around, and slowly, carefully, lower yourself onto his cock. You gasp as he slides inside you. It’s a tight fit, stretching you, filling you up. He reaches around you, his arms caging you in, and grabs the textbook.
He holds it in front of your face. "Now. The derivative of x-squared plus one, all to the power of three. Fucking do it."
You stare at the symbols again. They’re still just squiggles. You can’t think. You can only feel him, thick and hot inside your ruined pussy.
"I… uh… three times…" you start, your voice trembling.
"Three times what? Use your words."
"Three times… x… squared…?"
"Wrong."
He slams his hips up, driving his cock deep into you. "No, you stupid slut!" he snarls, and the force of the thrust makes you cry out. "Derivative of the outside first! Three times the whole goddamn function to the power of two! How many times do I have to say it?"
You sob, a tear rolling down your cheek. "I’m sorry…"
"Don’t be sorry. Be right." He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at the page. "Now the derivative of the inside. What’s the derivative of x-squared plus one?"
You’re shaking. Every time you breathe, you can feel the head of his cock rubbing against your cervix. "Two… two-x?"
"Finally." He rewards you with a slow, grinding rotation of his hips. A moan escapes your lips. "See? You’re not completely useless."
He walks you through the rest of the problem like that. Every correct step earns you a slow, teasing grind. Every mistake, every hesitation, earns you a brutal slam of his hips and another venomous insult. He calls you dumb, a whore, a worthless cunt who’s only good for one thing. And with every insult, every punishing thrust, you get closer and closer — to the right answer — and also to cumming again. It’s a cruel form of reinforcement learning spurred on by his cock and the hateful words in your ear. "Now write the final answer," he commands.
You can’t. Your hands are gripping his arms like a vice, the pressure building and building to an unbearable peak. You’re about to cum again, just from the friction and the filth. You shake your head.
His grip tightens on your waist. "Write it."
Somehow, you obey. Your hand is trembling so badly you can barely hold the pencil. You reach over, your whole body stretched taut over his cock, and scrawl the final, correct equation on the page.
He looks down at your shaky handwriting. At the right answer.
"Good girl."
He slams his hips up into you one final time. That’s all it takes.
Your whole body rattles. You come apart, an endless orgasm that leaves you completely undone, twitching and whimpering against him. He lets you ride out the aftershocks, then he floods you, his hot cum shooting ropes deep inside.
He pulls out. Abruptly. You feel suddenly empty, hollowed out. A thick, creamy white trail drips from between your legs, running in a messy line down your inner thigh.
He pushes you off his lap and you stumble, barely catching yourself on the edge of the table. Then he glances down at the textbook, at the perfectly correct answer you wrote in your final, desperate moment.
"Looks like you’re finally getting it."
He stares back at you, a mess of sweat and cum and tears.
"But we’ll have to make sure we reinforce today’s lesson. Same time tomorrow."
You confessed it to me late at night, couldn't even look at me, and when you finally got the words out, I understood why.
You want a shock collar. For your brain.
You want it to hurt when you think the wrong things. When your mind wanders somewhere I haven't approved. When you have an opinion or a preference or a single thought that didn't originate with me. You want the wrongness burned out of you until the only safe place in your head is the space I've carved out.
That's dark, even for us.
I watched your face while you explained it. The shame. The need. That you want to be so owned, so conditioned that independent thought registers as pain.
I guess if you really want it, I'll consider it.
I'm imagining you flinching every time a thought surfaces that I didn't plant there. Watching you learn, slowly, which paths are safe and which are lined with barbed wire. Watching the resistance drain out of you because resistance hurts and compliance feels like relief.
You'd be so empty. So simple. A compliant toy only carrying around the thoughts I gave you. I'd be so deep inside your head that your own mind would punish you for straying.
I should say no. I should tell you this crosses a line. That there are limits to how thoroughly one person should own another.
But you're looking at me like that. So hopeful. Wet just from asking.
We'll try it.
But don't say I didn't warn you.
When I'm the only thing that doesn't hurt to think about, there'll be no way out.
she/her 🐝 21 nsfw blog @biyil2 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
