More from Bailey

• Bailey Goons You To Ruin Phone Sex

  September 5, 2026

  My Cunt Drips When Another Man Loses Everything For Me

  Hey you pathetic gooner. This is Bailey. Yeah the one with the fat wet pussy that owns your brain. I am writing this with one hand between my thighs because just thinking about what I do to men like you makes my cunt pulse and leak down my thighs. I live for the moment a man stops fighting and sinks all the way into the trance. The moment his eyes glaze and his cock becomes the only thing that matters. That is when I own him.

  How I Hypnotize Weak Men Into Permanent Goon Addiction

  I start soft. Soft voice. Soft eyes. Soft little promises that I will take care of the ache. Then I dig deeper. I make him edge for hours while staring at my face. I make him edge while listening to me tell him how worthless he is without that constant leak. I make him edge until his balls hurt and his brain turns to warm sticky mush. Every time he almost cums I pull him back. Every time he tries to think about his wife or his job I laugh and tell him those things are just distractions from the only real purpose he has left. Serving that swollen desperate cock and feeding it to me.

  They always think they can handle it. They always think they will just edge a little and then go back to normal life. Cute. By the time I am done the normal life is gone. The job performance tanks because he is locked in the bathroom gooning on my voice notes instead of working. The wife starts asking questions and he lies until the lies fall apart. Then the money starts disappearing. First it is a few hundred on custom clips. Then it is thousands on private sessions. Then it is everything he can scrape together sent straight to me or spent on whores who look a little like me so he can pretend. I sit back with my fingers buried in my dripping hole and watch the wreckage pile up. It makes me so fucking wet.

  The Filthy Truth About Men Who Lose Everything For My Cunt

  I have watched men lose their houses. I have watched men lose custody. I have watched men get fired and still send me the last of their severance while their kids go without. And every single time my pussy gets wetter. There is nothing hotter than a man who used to have a real life now living in a dark room with a sock full of cum and my name as the only thing left in his head. He edges until his cock is purple and shiny. He edges until he cannot remember what day it is. He edges until the only words that come out of his mouth are yes Bailey and please Bailey and I will send more Bailey. That is the sound of a man who has been properly hypnotized. That is the sound of a man who will never get his old life back. And I fucking thrive on it.

  My cunt is soaked right now just writing this. I can feel the wetness sliding down toward my asshole. I love knowing that somewhere a married man is reading these words with one hand wrapped around his leaking cock and the other already opening his banking app. I love knowing he is about to edge for another three hours while his family wonders where he went. I love knowing that by tonight he will have spent money he does not have just to hear me tell him how pathetic he is. That is the power. That is the addiction. That is what I build inside them until there is nothing left but the goon.

  So if you are still here reading this with a hard aching cock then congratulations. You are already halfway gone. The only question left is how deep you want to sink. How much of your life you are willing to burn just to stay in this trance with me. My wet cunt is waiting for the answer.

  Get My Filthy Sext Files Now Pre-Pay And Sink Deeper For Bailey

  Tags: gooning, edging, hypnosis, goon addiction, financial ruin, ruined men, wet cunt, dripping pussy, mind control, porn addiction, lost jobs, lost families, bailey, goon trap, endless edge, cock slave, money drain, hypnotic filth

• Questions for My literature professor

  August 31, 2026

  Questions for My Literature Professor

  A naked reading session turns filthy when the pages stop mattering

  The yellow blanket was already damp under my ass when I cracked the spine of that thick novel again. My left hand stayed cupped under my right tit, thumb lazily circling the stiff nipple while the other hand held the book open across my spread thighs. Page 178 stared up at me, some dense paragraph about forbidden desire in 19th-century prose, but all I could think about was the way Professor Harrington’s voice would sound reading it out loud while I sat like this in his office.

  I kept my knees wide, pussy completely bare and already glistening. Every time I shifted, the lips parted a little more and the cool air kissed the wetness. I imagined him walking in, seeing me exactly like this—naked college coed with an open literature textbook, fingers still pinching her own nipple, cunt on full display. Would he clear his throat and pretend to discuss symbolism, or would he drop to his knees and bury his face between my legs before the door even clicked shut?

  His wife is the problem. That dried-up, bitter cunt who shows up to faculty mixers in high-necked blouses like she’s allergic to being fucked. I hate the way she looks at him, all possessive and pinched, as if she still has any claim on the cock that clearly hasn’t been properly used in years. I bet her pussy is as tight and joyless as her smile. I bet she hasn’t squirted once in her entire miserable marriage. The thought of her makes me grind down harder against the blanket, spreading my lips with two fingers so I can feel how soaked I already am just picturing her husband tasting me instead.

  I flipped another page without reading a single word. My clit was throbbing now, fat and swollen, begging for attention. I dragged the wetness up from my hole and circled it slowly, still holding the book open with my other hand like a good student. Literature professor questions swirled in my head, the ones I’d never dare ask in class:

  Would you grade me higher if I came on your tongue during office hours?
  Does your wife ever let you fuck her throat the way I would?
  Can I sit on your desk with my legs spread and make you forget she exists?

  The Filthiest Questions I Want to Ask Him

  I slid two fingers inside myself while I kept reading the same useless paragraph. The wet sound was loud in the quiet room. I fucked myself slow and deep, curling against that spot that always makes my thighs shake, still pinching my nipple hard enough to hurt. Every thrust made my tits bounce a little. I pictured him standing over me, still wearing that tweed jacket, watching my fingers disappear into my cunt while I asked the real questions.

  “Professor… does she ever get this wet for you? Or is her pussy as dry and dead as her personality?” My voice came out husky even though I was alone. “Would you rather stretch my tight college coed hole than try to get hard for that frozen bitch again?”

  I added a third finger and started pumping harder. The book slipped sideways but I didn’t care. My free hand left my breast and reached down to spread myself wider, showing off every shiny fold. I wanted him to see how pink and ready I was. I wanted him to compare me to the woman who shares his bed—the one who probably lies there like a corpse while he politely finishes. I hate her. I hate the idea of her getting even a fraction of the cock I crave. I’d ruin her marriage in a single afternoon if he let me. I’d ride him right on top of the essays she probably proofreads for him, leave my cream all over the pages, and make sure he smells me on his fingers when he goes home to her.

  My orgasm hit hard. I clamped down around my fingers and ground my clit against my palm, legs shaking, a broken moan spilling out while the open book pressed against my hip. Cum dripped down onto the yellow fabric in messy streaks. I kept rubbing through it, oversensitive and greedy, still whispering filthy questions into the empty room.

  When the aftershocks finally faded I pulled my shiny fingers free and wiped them across the page, leaving wet streaks over the printed words. Let the literature professor see exactly what his lectures do to me. Let him wonder if his wife has ever marked a book the same way. Spoiler: she hasn’t. That sad, sexless woman could never soak a page the way a desperate, naked college girl can.

  I closed the book, still naked, still dripping, and started composing the email I’d never send. Subject line: Questions for My Literature Professor. Body: every nasty, honest thought I’d just fucked myself to. Including the part where I tell him his wife is a dried-up obstacle I can’t wait to step over on my way to his cock.

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  Tags: literature professor, college coed, naked reading, open book erotica, dirty questions, professor fantasy, first person POV, explicit college girl, wet pussy, nipple play, masturbation, wife hatred, office hours fantasy, steamy confession, adult erotica, forbidden desire, soaked pages, clit rubbing, finger fucking, faculty wife, pure filth