I love my job.
I spend all day making men kneel, drip, and say thank you. I am good at it. I like being good at it.
Then I come home.
The second the door shuts, the dominatrix clock punches out. What’s left is his wife — still in the head, still buzzing from work, and starving for the one cock she doesn’t have to earn.
I go to him and I ask. Not as a scene. Not as a negotiation. I ask him to fuck me until my legs are jello. He doesn’t make me wait. I follow him into the bedroom and I finally get to drop it — the voice, the control, the performance — and just take it.
This is the part nobody books.
The working dom who still wants to be ruined by her husband.
