By doing 'hard' labour.

You push Samantha off of you and smile as she squeals before hitting the ground with a satisfying THUD. "Hmmph. Don't forget that I'm the one that owns the house and everything in it. You don't even have roller skates, and I own the car. You've never worked a day in your life, and I built my company from nothing. You may be in charge in the bedroom." You step out of bed and 'accidentally' step on your bratty bimboi daughter. "Like I said, MAYBE you're in charge in the bedroom, maybe not, but I am 100% in charge everywhere else."

It is a good speech. Even you almost believe it. You want to, anyway. You want to tell yourself that what you did last night isn't the real you, even though you want nothing more than to do it all again...and then some. You push all of your desires deep down and clamp a heavy lid of responsibility and dignity and self respect, but even before you step one foot outside, you feel the rumbling. You focus on getting dressed and ignore the siren call begging you to dash yourself on waves of lust crashing against hard cocks.

Your old, sweat stained t-shirts and battered overalls swallow you up, but at least the bagginess keeps your new feminine figure hidden. You stuff your flowing locks of hair into a hard hat and hope you can keep to the shadows and mimic your formerly gruff, gravely voice. Samantha flinches when you growl, "You're staying home today. We'll talk when I get back. And if you're not here, then you won't be in any condition to talk when I'm done with you."

Her stifled whimper and fearful flinch is all the answer you need. You leave her behind and make your way to your pickup with an extra swagger in your step. You feel a horrible sense of hope as you make your way to the site. It is taunting you, teasing you like Lucy with the football, letting you think a 'normal' life is possible, but everytime you tell yourself you will find a way to assert control and take back your life, the stick shift begs you to stuff it up your ass...and it gets more persuasive with every mile.

You see the sign Jenkins Builders and you take a deep breath. It's a short walk from your parking spot to the trailer. From there you can direct everyone by walkie talkie. The project is so close to being completed. It's your masterpiece, and when it's finished, you'll never have to work a day in your life again. It will all be beaches and bitches, cocktails and cocks, sunsets and squirting shafts, and as you pull the pickup into your reserved spot, you know you can make it happen.