a marine as a human ashtray. by Claudia Typhoon

I had a marine approach me with the desire to serve as personal slave. I make my potentials work for my attentions, test them, and push them before I accept them as my own. I am not for the impatient or for those that just play at being submissive. only a true submissive will past my test and endure my humiliations and boundary-pushing behaviours long enough to become my personal slave, a relationship I hold in reverence and once you have earned a position as my slave, you must do something incredibly stupid or disrespectful to loose this place, so vigorous my testing. I find that those that have served in military branches, are strongly influenced by the Asian culture they come from or follow old school BDSM protocols are the best fits for me.

as soon as I laid eyes upon the marine I knew what his first test would be for me. cigarettes I'm not partial too, but other forms of recreational smoking I rather enjoy. I love cloves directly from thailand and a fine cigar is a joy. there is a place in particular on hudson on the edge of the meatpacking district and the west village in manhattan that I adore. the padded leather chairs, the wood paneling, the old world ambiance, a respect for the cigar-smoking ritual coupled with one of the best selections of whiskey and scotch make this a place to savour and enjoy. I'm not informing him of what our meeting entails, but he knows the location and time. I'm seated in the deep, dark corner of this dimly lit sanctuary and start to puff on my neatly trimmed, cedar-lit cigar. my timing is perfect. as he walks up to me, I already have my drink order in mind. I lift my hand to give him pause and after a moment of examining him, I lower my hand and direct him to fetch orangerie scotch, served straight. I give a sensuous puff on my cigar as he does as he is bid and upon his return I direct him to kneel next to my seat. with both hands held open in front of him, I use one to hold my scotch and the other to roll the ash off of my cigar. he is not at an angle to observe me, but I can easily admire him. he is resting on his haunches and does not flinch from the heat from the cigar as it brushes against the callouses of his palm. I like his discipline. I enjoy my scotch and cigar as long as it pleases me and leave enough of my drink in the glass for him to enjoy a taste of it. as I look directly in his eyes and part his lips with my long red nail, I slide the cigar in his mouth, a little forcefully and suggestively. I stare at him a moment longer, inches from his face until he becomes visually uncomfortable. I give him my lovely devilish grin, and sashay away, my hips swaying beautifully. he did well, he will get to see me another day.