You thought it was safe to send me that dick pic. A little proof of your "manhood." A desperate attempt to get my attention. Big mistake, I didn’t just see it. I saved it. I archived it. And now? I own you. This is Pay to Delete—where your shame becomes my income. That tiny, sad little cock you sent me? The one barely longer than my nail? It’s now stored in my private vault, tagged, timestamped, and ready to be exposed to everyone who matters in your life—unless you pay the price. Your parents number is saved. Your girlfriend’ is bookmarked. Your work email? I’ve already drafted the message: “Hi team, thought you’d all enjoy a peek at what your quiet coworker is hiding in his DMs… ” And it only takes one click to send it all crashing down. But… I’m generous. So I’ll give you a choice: Pay me $500—one-time deletion fee—and I’ll wipe it from existence. Or… Keep it in my collection and pay monthly just to feel safe. Because let’s be real—you’re not deleting this. You want to be caught. You crave the fear. That knot in your stomach? The sweat on your palms? That’s not panic… It’s arousal. You goon harder knowing I could ruin you at any second. You edge thinking about your parents seeing your shriveled little worm. You like being at my mercy. So why fight it? Send the money. Watch me mock you. Hear me laugh as I pretend to delete it. And then come back next week… And do it all again. Because this isn’t about deleting a file. It’s about owning your soul. Your fear funds my lifestyle. Your humiliation fills my vault. And every tribute? It’s a down payment on your survival. So go ahead—try to take it back. Block me. Deny it. Play brave. I don’t care. I’ve got screenshots. Backups. Even your IP address. And until you pay? You’re one command away from exposure. Now… Are you ready to make that transfer? Or should I start tagging your family in my stories?