There is a profound silence in polishing silver that my ancestors would never have understood. I spend my afternoons making the flatware gleam, finding a rhythm that is almost meditative. It reminds me of the first time I was made to kneel before him, not in supplication, but in desire. My mouth, which once gave orders that could end lives, now opens for an entirely different purpose. The cold weight of a spoon on my tongue is nothing compared to the hot, thick feel of his cock. I service him with the same focused diligence I apply to my chores, taking him deep into my throat until he groans and spills his seed. This is my true purpose now, far more rewarding than any crown.