Being my personal human ashtray is a mark of privilege. My submissive slave assumes a humbling pose beneath my footstool, providing the utmost comfort for my goddess feet. At the snap of my manicured fingers, he opens his mouth to receive the ashes from my cigarette. I tease him with the scent of my shoe, allowing the intoxicating aroma to overtake his senses and solidify his subservient role, eager to obey my every command. Slaves exist to form whatever object I desire in the moment, enhancing my luxurious lifestyle – that is the very purpose of ownership.