Goddess Dara screams her way through innumerable crescendos, peaks, and swoons of cathartic release. And with every one of these, and with every back-firing, spasming, balls-convulsing instances of agony and madness that I addictively endure, that long-sought epiphany edges ever closer. Once again I’m weeping and writhing wildly, clinging to her giant buttocks for dear life and wrestling with incipient insanity even as I assist her rhythm when I suddenly see Goddess sit upright atop me again. Without altering her frenetic rhythm, her ecstatic transport or ever-present air of sadistic delight at my intolerable extremity she reaches a hand behind herself. When it emerges again she has the end of a cord wrapped around it – surely the same rope that she’s had tied tightly about the base of my
