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I know you are dying of desire of worshiping my heels. As I smoke my cigarette, I see despair and devotion slowly appear in your eyes. You, you see how much I love to feel you enslaved by my power. As this power grows over you, you fully surrender. I use you as my ashtray, and the burns of the ashes on your tongue feel softer than water... You are ********** by the smoke coming out of my shiny red lips, and when I order you to kiss my soles, again and again, you know being used is your only purpose, and purpose and desire are now the same feeling, a unique feeling led by true submission. Nothing else matters anymore than being a shoe worshiper and my ashtray, for my pleasure and my convenience.