Close your eyes and imagine a voice like velvet dripping in honey… rich, dark, and utterly demanding. That is the sound of your new obsession. Dirty Phone Talk with me isn’t just a conversation; it is the seductive prelude to the moment I finally let you into my private suite. You’ve spent weeks paying for my time over the wire, sending tributes just to hear me breathe, but now the digital playground is over.
You’re standing at my door, heart hammering against your ribs, clutching a bottle of vintage Cristal that costs more than your assistant’s salary. The door swings open, and the scent of jasmine and expensive skin hits you. I’m draped in sheer black lace that contrasts perfectly against my deep mahogany curves.
You look expensive in your $5,000 suit, trembling because you know exactly who is in charge here. I don’t greet you with a kiss; I greet you with a command. “Kneel.” I watch you drop, your expensive trousers hitting the hardwood. I will lead you to the bed… my throne… and finally let you taste what you’ve been dreaming about. The transition from the phone to the flesh is electric.
As I pull you into me, I want to feel you go balls deep into my pussy, stretching me out until you’re certain you’ve claimed every inch. But we both know the truth: I’m the one claiming you. I want to hear your breath hitch as my tight walls grip you, reminding you that no matter how many boards you chair, you are nothing but a toy in my hands.
The friction is intoxicating, a rhythmic dance of power and surrender. I look down at you, my eyes locking onto yours, making sure you see the goddess you’re lucky enough to worship. As the tension builds to a breaking point, I want to feel the evidence of your ruin. I want you to lose all that professional composure and cum all over my face, painting my dark skin with your submission.
I want to wear your climax like a trophy, a sticky, white reminder of exactly how much power I hold over your “perfect” life. By the time you leave, straightening your tie and heading back to your wife, you’ll be hollowed out and addicted. You’ll be counting the minutes until you can get back on the line for more, because once you’ve had an elite Ebony Mistress like me, the rest of the world just feels like grayscale.
Kiya
(855) 733-5746 ext 4092
All Credit Cards Accepted
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