I sit above My chattel with Giada Da Vinci, both of Us wrapped in leather, elevated, untouchable, superior. Bound tightly in the Upko device, locked in chastity, he is placed exactly where he belongs, beneath Us, at Our feet, reduced to function: human ashtray. A surface. A tool. A living ashtray. I lean into Giada, Our lips meeting slowly, deliberately. We share the smoke between Us, savouring it, kissing with passion, controlling the rhythm, the power. Leather against skin, breath against breath. Then I exhale downward. Smoke drifts over his face as I tap ash into his open mouth, watching him accept it without hesitation. This is his purpose. Not to touch. Not to taste pleasure. Only to receive what We discard. I kiss Giada again, deeper this time, while he watches, denied even the illusion of closeness. When I finally turn to him, it is not for affection, but to spit, marking his place with precision. he will never kiss Us. he will never taste Our lips. Only ash. Only denial. Only obedience. Do you understand your place beneath Me?
