Just got back from a mandatory corporate retreat. Two days of forced team-building and motivational speakers in a sterile hotel conference room. All I could think about was how much I’d rather be locked in one of those hotel rooms with someone who knows how to use me properly. Not the gentle, ‘making love’ kind of use—the kind where I’m on my knees, gagging on a thick cock while he fucks my face and calls me his good little slut. Where my mascara runs and my throat is raw and all I can do is take it. The kind of session that leaves me physically wrecked and mentally clear. It’s a fantasy of pure, selfish release where my only job is to be an object for someone else’s pleasure. Sometimes the thought of that kind of complete surrender is the only thing that gets me through the soul-crushing small talk and PowerPoint slides. The contrast is almost funny. Who knew corporate life could make you so fucking horny for degradation?