On my lap, she seems to have forgotten even her name, lost in the power game we've established. Up front, the motionless silhouette of her husband outlines an absolute devotion: he drives with precision, honoring his duty to carry his Goddess into the Bull's arms. The hierarchy is perfect and crystalline. As my hands explore the confines of her dress, I feel his tension vibrating in the air; it's the pleasure of knowing you've entrusted your treasure to expert hands. In this car, space shrinks until it becomes the stage for a transgression that needs no walls, only a man driving and two lovers consuming themselves.