You came to me holding a mass of silk rope in your hand.
You hand it to me and ask that I create something beautiful. I hold the rope between my fingers and caress it from one end to the other. I let my mind go with the many thoughts of what it will be like to hold you captive by the same rope that often kept me at your side, at your heel.
I let my mind drift...
Your shirt comes off first. The body I so idolize before me. My mouth waters. I kiss the rope between my fingers. As if acting on instinct I start braiding three pieces into a hook. My hands working the length of the rope, the contour of your body... My fingers weave and wrap... untill...
Turning and turning the wheel...before me...
My chrysallys hangs from a rack...
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My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care? A poor fool is s/he who adopts a manner of thinking for others!
~Marquis de Sade