Goddess Aria Zahara!

Look who I finally managed to lure in. You tried to resist falling into my l*ttle bl*ckmail-fantasy web long enough. But now I have a stroke game that you can't possible resist. Do not touch that c*ck, not until I say, not until I give you explicit directions on what's expected of you today. Just sit there and let it throb. You just love looking at my hot body in this tiny dress, a l*ttle peek at the garter belt underneath. And knowing your f*cking life is on the line makes you so hard, doesn't it? So here's what you're going to do..

You're going to open up an email and you're going to address it to me. And make the title, 'Goddess Aria's Bl*ckmail-fantasy B*tch.' And as you're typing that out, you can touch your c*ck. Here's the deal, so long as you're sending me information, you can stroke. But the second you're done typing, your hand comes off of that c*ck, do you understand? So once you're done typing that in your hand better be off of your c*ck. But you want to touch it, don't you? You wanna stroke it for me, you wanna give me everything, don't you? Say it, say, 'I wanna give you everything Goddess Aria. I wanna give you all of my information'. Good boy.

So go ahead and wrap that hand around your c*ck and type in your first name. Pump as you type and then hands off. That's all you get. That must be so frustrating for you. Do you want more? Are you willing to give me more? Good then pump for me and type your last name. I know it's so scary but you have to do it if you want to stroke. Type it in and hands off. Look at the email, look at your full name, does that make you throb? And it was so easy for me to extract that information from you, wasn't it? Do you wanna pump to my perfect *ss? Well then you're going to have to beg me to send more.

I want you to get a good edge in on this one so you're going to type out your full address. Type it out with one hand on your keyboard and one hand on your c*ck as your pump to my divine *ss. It feels to good to stroke as you tell me exactly where you live. Now hand off. You're getting so horny, you just want to pump. Your c*ck is demanding that you give me more, isn't it? Good, then I want you to confess something humiliating to me or a secret, or some fact about your secret p*rvert life that no one knows. Type it up and as you type I want you to stroke. Stroke and tell me a dirty l*ttle secret of yours. Stroke to my sexy body, my dangerous curves that so easily coax out information you've never told anyone.

Good boy, pump and confess. Get one good edge in on that c*ck and then hands off. You're so desperate, you want to stroke and c*m, don't you? You've never gotten this far in a bl*ckmail-fantasy game, have you? You've revealed so much. But in order to make it viable for real bl*ckmail-fantasy material, you're gonna have to give me some more information. I need a name of someone close to you, someone who doesn't know about this part of you, and a means of contacting them. Stroke and type their name, stroke and tell me who they are to you, stroke and give me their phone number or email address. I know this is getting really f*cking crazy, isn't it? It's getting really f*cking real. Even just typing it out before you've even sent it has your head spinning. And then as soon as you have that typed out, hands off.

Now I'm going to need something connecting this all back to you. I want you to attach an incriminating photo. Pump as you search for the right picture, face included. Good boy. And once you have it, keep pumping, attach it to the email, keep pumping. And then hover your hand over that mouse. And when you h*t send, all of that information is coming to me. I'm going to see you. I'm going to know your name, I'm going to know who's most important to you in your life, I'm going to know your face, I'm going to know your address. And I'm going to hold all of that over you. Keep pumping, hand over your mouse. I'm going to count you down and when I get to one, you're going to h*t send and I'm going to allow you to c*m. Pump. 3, 2, 1.. H*t send, hand off of your c*ck. No, you don't get to c*m. You just sent me all of that bl*ckmail-fantasy material and you didn't even get to get off. Sucker. Now I want you to go binge on my bl*ckmail-fantasy clips because you don't want that information getting out, do you? Plus I did you a favor by not letting you c*m because now you have no post nut clarity and you're still horny and excited and not scared and full of regret.

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One Hand On Your Keyboard, One Hand On Your C*ck