Mistress Frida, a vision in latex, draws her servant closer, his chastity belt a visible reminder of his devotion. She takes a long drag of her cigarette, the end glowing like a tiny ember in the dimly lit room. She trails the hot ash onto his skin, marking him like a brand. He worships her, his body trembling with desire and fear. She uses him as an ashtray, her boots clicking on the hardwood floor as she walks around him, inspecting her property. The room is filled with the scent of latex, smoke, and the musk of his arousal, a heady mix that only serves to heighten Frida's pleasure.