2  Sa’afia had put her wrists together behind her back. I’d told her to. She liked obeying very easy orders. I’d wrapped two old silk ties – nice fabric, but unfashionable cut, so they were only good for low-budget bondage – round both wrists, then round each wrist, with a non-slip knot. I took the long ends and slipped them down between her buttocks, then between her thighs, pulling them tight against her cunt.

Sa’afia had pressed and rubbed the silk, breathing hard, until the ties disappeared between plump lips. I’d smacked her bottom as a kind of reward, and told her to get her ass up. While she complied, making a rounded tripod of her chest and her parted knees, with her ass at the apex, I’d run the ties under her.

It wasn’t quite like this. She was prone, not sitting. But the emotion is right, and it’s a pretty picture anyway.

The moment at which this memory still is centred is when her fingers felt for mine while I tied the silken ends together.

The silk, where it re-appeared below her cunt, was already wet. She smelled of arousal, and cocoanut oil and soap and spices, a red spice I couldn’t name. She had turned her head so her eyes were on me. I amused her, I think, just then, but she didn’t smile.