Blackmail — even the word sounds dirty, secret, shameful.
You know I already have more than enough “personal information” about you to blackmail you, right?
From the moment you start contact, from that first call or IM or email, your femdom phone tap and bank account drain has already been set into motion. There’s no use in trying to stop the wheels of fate from turning . . . it’s going to be much easier (and more fun, at least for me! ha ha) when you realize your utter powerlessness and just go with the flow. Got it, loser? Good.
Oh, and then there’s the information you’ve been so “bashfully” volunteering. Like your girlfriend’s phone number you gave me the other week. Yeah, I wrote it down. Don’t believe me? I’ll remind you I’m not bluffing when you least expect it.
Honestly, this humiliationship will be a much smoother ride if you don’t try to understand the control I’m going to (and already do) have over you in all its nuanced complexity. You’re kind of an unimaginative, pathetic jerk off, as we both know. Literal jerk off, actually — considering you can’t keep your hands off your dick for longer than one lunch hour. That’s fine . . . because I’ll be enjoying keeping my hands in your wallet! Oh, and I guess when I say “flow,” I mean a reverse flow . . . well, for you, anyway!
Consider your financial domination drowning a mercy killing. You don’t really deserve that money, anyway . . . and isn’t it priceless to (temporarily) rest assured I (probably) won’t tell your wife about what a panty-sniffing freak you are? To know that, for now at least, your boss won’t know what you’ve been printing out of the company’s copy machine? The blackmail money you pay me seems like a drop in the bucket compared to the toll me completely ruining your life would take, doesn’t it?
Ready to be-cum my blackmail bitch? You know what to do . . . call me!
