A master in leather, whip in hand, commands the room. His eyes lock onto the mirror, a glint of sadistic pleasure within. He spits, the saliva hitting the glass, dripping down like a perverse teardrop. He slips on a leather glove, his powerful hand now a weapon of humiliation. He rubs the spit into the mirror, each stroke a testament to his dominance, each spit a declaration of his mastery over the inanimate object. His uniform-clad body tenses, ready to assert his dominance further.