Jack Brooks stood alone in the small, sterile bathroom, holding a scrap of black fabric up to the ceiling light. The fluorescent bulb flickered, casting a stark glow on the delicate lace.
He rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger, his brow furrowed in deep, philosophical concentration.
"The fabric is incredibly smooth... like water or high-quality silk," Jack muttered to himself. "But it is so thin. It's practically nonexistent. Wearing this... wouldn't it be uncomfortable? It seems like it would cut right in."
He turned the tiny garment over. It was a masterpiece of minimalist engineering, a thong that offered zero coverage and maximum provocation. The embroidery was exquisite, tiny roses stitched into the mesh, but functionally, it baffled him.
To Jack Brooks, a man who
