We are enjoying our cigarette on the terrace with our slave in the middle. He is going to be our human ashtray, nothing more than an object to fill with our hot, dirty ashes. His mouth a hole to put our smoking remains in, our spit. His body covered in ashes as well. Nothing human remains, he must think, act and be the ashtray. Our burning cigarettes close to his nipples and lips…he best not drop that ashtray lid from his head or he will be punished. He must be the ashtray at all costs.
