Playing Knotty Read Online Free PDF Page B

toward the camera; they had clearly given permission for photography. The positions ranged from rather tame—a woman with her hands bound in front of her, looking demurely up at the camera—to incredibly intricate, with a full weaving of ropes crisscrossing another woman’s body. Something inside Emma tightened in response, her fingers clenching on her mug out of reflex. God, what would that feel like? She scanned the other patrons of the restaurant, her face warm, before she pressed her shoulder more firmly into the corner and clicked on the next page.
    Page two seemed to be all one photo shoot. The female model was naked, lovely, with beautiful pale skin and sleek black hair that hung in a long braid down her back. Her back was tattooed with a pattern of flowers that wound up her spine, a flash of color against her pale skin and the smooth black ropes. In the first set, she knelt with her head bowed, her arms behind her in a reverse prayer position, knees apart. The next few pictures depicted this same pose from a variety of other photographic angles.
    In subsequent pictures, her breasts were bound, swollen and purplish, the nipples distended. Her head was pulled back, hair bound into the ropes, eyes closed and lips parted. Ropes between her legs bisected her sex and held her open for viewing. Emma felt her own body respond with a speed that surprised her, heartbeat quickening, breath catching as a thrill raced through her. Unable to look away from the lurid scene, she licked her lips and continued to scroll. In the final set on that page, the same woman was bound on her back with her knees bent to her chest, wrists tied to ankles, blindfolded. Emma couldn’t look away. She reached for her mocha, hand scrabbling across the table, nearly tipping the drink on her laptop as she continued to scroll.
    The next page was a different photo shoot with a different woman, curvy and soft like Emma, but with caramel-colored skin. The range of positions made Emma’s head swim. In several photos, the woman was bound facedown, faceup in others, kneeling, spread-eagled, her body bent backward like a bow, all combinations. Who knew there were so many ways to bind someone? And how were those women so flexible? Maybe her body would bend like that if coaxed, Ian’s hands warm against her skin, forcing her back to arch. She shivered, skin hot and tight. If only she were at home and not in the middle of Starbucks.
    The next page contained a set of photos on suspension bondage. Based on the backgrounds, these photos seemed to have been taken at various locations. Audience members were gathered around in several photos, studying the model as if at a museum or workshop.
    Oh, shit, was this what happened at these “events” in which he’d taken part? Emma studied the models in their elaborate suspension riggings, scrolling down the page. Both men and women were suspended in these pictures in various states of undress. What would it feel like to be bound like that, observed by everyone, just a body and a face and nothing more? A vehicle for displaying Ian’s handiwork?
    Shifting in her chair, Emma felt the slick slide of her arousal and pressed her legs tightly together. It was seriously fucked up that she was getting this turned on in Starbucks. She should close the computer. She should finish her scone and her coffee and leave. Under no circumstances should she click on the last page of the photo gallery.
    Even though she was already doing so.
    Of course people used bondage for sex. She wasn’t naive. Ian wasn’t teaching these workshops for theoretical applications. But when clicking through to that last page, she hadn’t expected to be confronted with it directly.
    The first picture on the page was a woman bound in midair, her legs impossibly spread, her entire body wrapped in intricate loops like a rope harness. A naked man stood between her legs, his hands holding her hips flush against him. The