So why do I like blackmail phone sex, you ask? Here we go…I smirked as I twirled my phone between my fingers. I could almost hear him squirm over the phone. It was delicious.  “You sound nervous, honey,” I purr, so he knows I’m enjoying this. His throat tightens, and he is starting to understand what is happening. I have been collecting significant compromising information about him, information that could undeniably blow his life apart. And he knows I am just the bitch to do it. “Relax,” I coo, “I’m not cruel. I won’t send this to anyone—if you do as you are told.” His jaw clenches, hands gripping the table like he’s trying to stay grounded, but I can feel his apprehension and anxiety. This is my time to shine. And you know he likes this, even if he won’t admit it.

I tilt my head, tracing my nail over the rim of my glass. “You trust me, don’t you?” My voice is all honey and velvet, and when he exhales, it’s shaky. I bite my lip as he unravels. “Good boy,” I whisper, enjoying how his breath hitches. “Now, be a dear and send me some cash, gift cards, and presents. So knock yourself out. You know I hate reaching for my wallet.” His eyes darken, jaw tightening—oh, he’s seething, but there’s something else there, something addictive. “You’re impossible,” he mutters as he starts making good on his responsibilities, and I grin victoriously. “And yet, you’d do anything to keep me happy. We’re going to have so much fun on our blackmail phone sex calls.”

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