All day I’m in control—heels sharp, mind sharper. I close deals, give orders, and carry the world on my shoulders. But the moment I come home… everything changes. I strip off my power and slip into something far more honest. Under my suit, I’m already wearing the collar. The clamps. The proof that I don’t belong in charge—I belong on my knees. No hands. No words. Just obedience. I rub. I grind. I moan like a needy little pet. My muzzle jingles with every movement as I bark for attention—because that’s what good girls do when they’re desperate. And when I can’t take it anymore? I ride the machine, hips wild, breath messy, letting it use me the way I crave. This isn’t acting. This is me. After hours, I don’t dominate—I surrender.