Look at you, sitting there, knowing exactly what’s coming. My leather wraps me like power itself, and every breath of smoke I take reminds you of your place. I’ll use you, my perfect ashtray, to catch every flick of ash until I’m ready to move to more—my heels, my boots, all that you worship. By the time I’m done, you’ll know your role beneath me, where you belong: under my feet.
