Oh, you poor deluded thing. You strut around the world like you wear the trousers, don’t you? But we *both* know the truth—your knees go weak at the thought of my voice tearing you apart. This clip is for the *frauds*, the *pitiful posers* who beg for humiliation in the shadows while pretending to be in charge by day. You don’t get to hide from me. I’ll peel back your fragile ego layer by layer, mocking your desperate attempts at dominance until you’re squirming, blushing, and *finally* admitting what you are: my plaything. **Sensual domination** at its cruelest—where every word drips with contempt and every laugh reminds you of your place. So come here, *pretender*. Let’s see how long your act lasts when I’m the one holding the mirror.