A moment of solitude and relaxation is in order, accompanied by my inanimate slaves, transformed into mere objects at the service of their Mistress. One is on all fours, positioned as a footrest for me to rest my legs upon, while the other remains by my side with his neck held straight by a medieval device – a heretic’s fork – a timeless piece in my dungeon. His role is that of an ashtray, as I smoke a cigarette through my mouthpiece, letting the ash accumulate in his mouth, and eventually extinguishing it on his tongue.