Bottomtop does not exist. If it does, its court would be a glossy black, reflecting the light of candelatrixes bound in inescapable fetters, shivering in forbidden but inescapable pleasure as candle wax dripped on to paper-thin latex.
It would be a place where shockingly passionate coupling could happen in an instant in a rubbergarden grotto, to be hidden and forgotten and plotted over for decades.
But it doesn't exist.