I can imagine how it would be to dangle from seven ropes like so. To gently be left swaying to stare at the floor after some ministrations of urs. Pressure at all points, skin hot and cold from circulation rearranged. Things wet, things tight things burning. There is the pining creak of rope. the thunder of blood in my cheeks the sound of your footstep, the cool rustle of cotton. What would you say? Will I be able to be silent? Just quiet even.... What tool is next? I can take it, I can take it try me.