Bee is hornee, not much left to say

abuse me . make me truly depend on you — i want you to feed my delusions until i can't tell them apart from reality . get me erratic & unstable , manipulate me . kick me until im covered in purple bruises . fuck me up . ruin me . i want to hurt . im your loyal mutt , after all .

Or, alternately, if you're not showing them the feed you could just say "oh man, someone just asked me to___" and then make up literally anything. How will they know you're full of it?

Other things you could do:

Make the bottom thank the camera (i.e. the chat) for donations or comments or complements.

Make the bottom beg the camera (i.e. the chat) for mercy.

Say a poll is about to happen, set a timer, and have them try to convince the chat to vote one way or another.

The problem is that while my claws are hardened to peirce the heavens, the rest of me isn’t so durable. Demonic flesh burns at the touch of the host of heaven. I want inside her so badly, but it’d incinerate me to fuck her raw. I need something between us.

Alison Gerheart is a piano tutor to pay the bills who dreams one day of having one of her compositions performed on stage. She’s near to realizing her dream, thanks to the aid of a guardian angel who I am so close to properly violating. She’s charming, kind, and humble; these are the things that drew angelic grace to her. From my point of view her best feature is her rack.

I can physically feel her dreams shatter as I rip her soul out with my teeth, taste the despair and pain so sweet on my tongue. Her body falls limp, and the angel screams. Not her, shouts heavenly song in discordant key. This isn’t about her. The complaints grow silent, however, as I impale the thrashing screaming soul onto my cock. The angel watches the woman she has spent so much time and love on reduced to a condom, watches memories of repairing her relationship with her sister melt down and turn to lubrication between us, and the horror is tempered by a realization that I can finally give her what she wants.

I plunge into her, hundreds of metres deep in multiple spatial dimensions, piercing her core with lust and delight. Halos grip my length, tightening down in harsh response that makes me growl with pleasure. Drool drips Alison’s mouth, thoughtlessly, a hand moves between her legs at the touch of her guardians cunt. Inside her, parts of her she never knew enough metaphysics to know existed are breaking. This is what heaven feels like.

The angel squirms, tearing its wings around my claws, while moaning in symphonic chords that purge the lead from the water in the pipes. At the same time, my bestial lust resonates in those nearby. A timid woman, filled with the feeling in me, beats her husband to death with his prized golf clubs and livestreams her masturbation on his corpse to her family. As I get close to finishing, my glee ignites wiring in a nearby community center, killing six volunteers.

I pull out when I’m done, leaking hellfire and exhaustion in equal measure. The angel, not having climaxed herself, begs for more. I pull Alison off my cock; the soul is thin, burnt, flooded with demonic seed. Her memory is fully gone, her personality perforated, not even enough of her left to properly torture in hell. I throw what’s left of the soul on the angels face and spit on it. Cum and spit sizzle as their unholy essence is destroyed by divine glory.

“More,” The angel whines. I pull a talon out of her, and press it raw against what passes for an angels head.

“I’ll be back.” I promise. “And next time, I won’t be so gentle.” The angel has no self control left. No longer pinned, she begins pleasuring itself, a wheel turning inverted inside another in an interlocking mobius strip of divine debasement. She licks at the soul that used to be Alison, desperate for the taste of me.

“Did- did I do something wrong?” She asks, eyes wide. So eager to please.

“You’re treating this like you’re a person being helpful. You’re not a person. You’re here to give me everything I want, and then I’m going to dispose of you.” She nods, a hint of fear in her eyes.

“Yes ma’am.” Her voice is soft, weak. I hit her again. Harder.

“Why?” She squeals, eyes watering. She’s trying so hard to do a good job, and I’m just not going to let her get that validation.

“You’re wearing clothes. Clothes are for people. Off.” She swallows, horrified by the obvious unfairness. She wants to complain, but she knows that will only make it worse. I hit her again. She sobs.

“I don’t have all day.” The clothes come off. Her body is petite, frail. She knows better than to resist, but if she tried, it wouldn’t get her anywhere. I squeeze one of her breasts, and though she’s crying, she manages a smile.

I hit her again. The tears start flowing openly. She has no idea why this is happening to her. She thinks she’s doing everything right. She is. I’m just going to hurt her anyways.

At first, not much changes, her hair grows wilder, sure, but its nothing too out of the ordinary.

Then her teeth start growing sharper, her ears getting pointier, her nose elongating into something of a snout...

She gets stronger, stronger than she's ever been. Her nails begin to sharpen into claws, her entire body grows larger and larger until she's towering over everyone around her.

She has cravings for violence and food and sex that only grow stronger with the moon cycle, you can feel her eyeing you up. you feel like prey to her.

She pins you down under her, showing off her huge girlcock, larger than you ever dreamed of taking, with a frighteningly large knot at the base, and you can't really say no to her at this point. She's larger than you and stronger than you, and has decided to take whatever she wants, and she wants YOU.

She's surprisingly gentle. More gentle than you expected, but as "gentle" as she is capable of is more than plenty rough, pinning you down, stuffing you full, even clamping her jaws down on your shoulder so you don't get any funny ideas like trying to run~

She gives way to instinct, getting faster, getting rougher, growling if you do anything she dislikes, pounding away at your tight hole until-

Pop!

She crams her knot into place making sure you take what she's giving you. She floods your insides with wave after wave of girlspunk, making sure you'll be nice and knocked up and then some~

You aren't pulled off her knot of course, what a silly thing to think. She goes about the rest of her day with you hanging off her, occasionally pumping out a few more loads into you just in case the gallons of seed in you weren't enough~

You start to think "at least it can't get worse..." but then she reveals something... She's not even that far into her transition and she's far from done growing~ The fat knot that feels like it's threatening to split you open? It's not even at its full potential~

i need her to threaten to leave me all alone, abandoned and destitute, with the tone of kindness that one uses when talking to a pet.

i need her to hurt me while saying she does it because she loves me.

i need her to kill me while making me feel so special and beautiful for bleeding out for her, or how pretty my entrails look when she guts me, or the cute way my eyes go dark and glaze over when she chokes me.

rub my pretty clit as you encourage me to slide the knife deeper into my throat, sitting in front of the mirror, curled up in your lap. forcing my head to look deep into my own eyes as i slowly begin to cut across my neck.

"such a pretty puppy! look at how much you're leaking!"

I want to see you reach. Awkwardly. Urgently. Your voice cracking as you ask who, what, whether. I might smile as if to answer, then withhold. I’m not concerned with anyone else; I’m concerned with the disturbance I create within you. Your unraveling is proof: a clear shift in attachment. Your hands clutching me are not just need, they are evidence. Evidence that my commands have overridden the internal protest; you have moved from deliberation to compulsion. That movement is the data point I want.

When I do finally soothe you, it isn't contradiction. It's protocol. I'll withhold until the behavior I want is confirmed. This sequence is important.

1. I'll pause. Hold the provocation in place long enough to see the full effect. I won't rescue you. I rather watch you drown.

2. Reward. Offer a small, unmistakable concession: a warm hand on the jaw, an offered shoulder, a low, steady phrase. I'll keep the gesture calibrated and generous enough to feel like rescue, restrained enough to remind you that I decide when rescue arrives.

3. Most damning evidence is when my concession makes it worse. Tears of joy, greedy hands pulling at me. This is when I'll re-anchor you. Use touch and tone to reconstitute safety. steady breathing against yours, a pressed kiss, an anchored arm. I'll repeat a grounding phrase and make it short, authoritative and soft. "You're here. I'm here, baby. I'm here."

4. Then I'll consolidate. Let you recover. I'll withdraw, only a little, once the effects of your distress recede. This is enough proof for me. Proximity is proof of possession.

Go from "I've been thinking about someone else lately" to "You're with me now. Breathe into me. I'm here. I'm not leaving. I could never leave you, I love you."

I want to squeeze your hand gently and tell you that you’re not alone. That id never abandon you. That you belong to me and I’d never do something like let you suffer through this alone.

I’d caress your cheeks, your lips. And listen to you vent your fears, I’d wipe your tears away. Reassure you that you are safe. I am here to protect you.

I’ll tell you that the dead we chose for you won’t be painful. You’ll just fall asleep and never wake up, that your low blood pressure and fast beating heart might seen intimidating but that you are not experiencing this alone.

I’ll tell you you’ll be remembered as someone important. Someone loved. That it’s okay to let go. It’s safe to relax. I’m here for you up until the end.

I’ll listen to your panicked breathing with arousal but I’d still gently whisper that you’re doing so well. You’re doing such a good job at dying. You’re so good at surrender, you always were. Telling you if you cramp up and fear you’ll make your last moments miserable and I wouldn’t want that for you.

I’d kiss you gently as you’d be about to lose consciousness, joking that ive kissed you so much it must’ve made you light headed.

I tell you how proud of you I am. How peaceful you’re now. Breath no longer panicked.

Even after you’re unconscious I’ll stay there, holding your hand gently in my grasp. Making sure your body has the primal safety of knowing you’re not alone.

Finally once the clock tells me you should be close to dead, I’d whisper in your ear “I give you permission to die. You’ve done so well. I’m proud of you, Angel.”

"Ugh, you fucking animal, unhand me you beast - AHHH!"