She knows what she wants. The raging of her head as she stands in her gloom finally picks a flavour. And a scent. And a texture that she needs. Has to...have.His rope was messy. In stark contrasts to the smooth outline of the sublime, architectural curves of her body, the lines pressing her into that shape are crude. Functional. Different kinds of rope. Some cotton. Some acrylic. Some jute. Immaterial materials. Her wrists bound to the table legs at one end, and long, long loops passing around. “Your six pack,” she added leaning forward and patting my stomach. I was in such a state of anxiety that I was sweating and my T-shirt had stuck to my ribs exposing a bit of my stomach. I covered her hand with mine and gently raised it to my lips and kissed the back of her hand. “Thank you for the compliment but I would still like to lose about five kilos.” I placed her hand back on my knee and raised my T-shirt as I spoke. “See, still a bit wobbly,” I laughed. “What?” She was astonished to. More

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