Lochai and Isis Love

Lochai works Isis Love like a problem he already solved. Rope bites at her skin. She lies on her stomach, wrists pulled to her ankles, hips lifted in a neat hogtie that leaves nothing hidden. The ball gag forces her jaw open, and every breath drags spit over her lower lip. She tests the knot once, twice, then settles because the rope has no give. Her dark hair sticks to her damp cheek. The camera lingers on the pressure lines already forming across her shoulders. Lochai steps back, checks the tension with two fingers, and leaves her there, alone with the ache and the slow burn of immobility.