Enough of licking our dirty cold floor, Miss Lady Louisa and I deserve a delicious cigarette with a little light sadistic entertainment. Smoking was on this house bitch's silly little list of limits (I admired his naivety a little for even having presented such in the first place) so what better use than to make him our ashtray. Instructing him to tilt his head right back so his throat remains closed, allowing all of our spit and hot ashes to pool and collect in his slave mouth. Only when we give permission will we allow him to swallow the concoction we've given him, a privilege to come thi...

Enough of licking our dirty cold floor, Miss Lady Louisa and I deserve a delicious cigarette with a little light sadistic entertainment. Smoking was on this house bitch's silly little list of limits (I admired his naivety a little for even having presented such in the first place) so what better use than to make him our ashtray. Instructing him to tilt his head right back so his throat remains closed, allowing all of our spit and hot ashes to pool and collect in his slave mouth. Only when we give permission will we allow him to swallow the concoction we've given him, a privilege to come this close to tasting us. To breathe in our toxic smoke, to feel the heat of our ash crumbling on your tongue, the respite our warm saliva gives you from the burning torment. You so desperately want to swallow but it's certainly not worth the pain of disappointing your Mistress. So you suffer, silently.