Spank or Treat Read Online Free PDF

was secure and not too tight. She loved the feel of the ropes sliding over her flesh, temporarily becoming part of her.
    Maybe it was wifely pride on her part, but other than Kel, there were few riggers she’d watched who could tie as well as her husband. Yes, some of their friends were really good, but many of them didn’t do suspensions. Anyone could learn to tie a beautiful, decorative chest harness.
    It took a skilled craftsman to safely tie a suspension rig, much less a gorgeous one.
    It was kind of her fault Scrye got into it in the first place. He’d watched her teaching their girls macramé for a Girl Scout project, and she’d witnessed the moment his eyes lit up.
    That night, he’d scarfed her spools of macramé yarn and played with her in bed once the girls were asleep.
    And then the fun really started from there.
    He threw himself into learning macramé and the art of tying both decorative and functional knots on the pretense of wanting to help the girls with their scouting projects.
    But he took everything he learned into the bedroom and honed, refined it there.
    Once they had a computer with Internet at the house, he really expanded his skills upon learning not only were there other people out there who liked to tie people up with decorative knots, but there were names for it—shibari and kinbaku.
    Then he found out not only could you tie people up, you could suspend them at the same time.
    Challenge accepted.
    Scrye’s hands roamed her body as he wove a suspension harness around her. Yes, she was more flexible and lighter in build than the average bunny, things that worked to Scrye’s advantage when he planned his ties.
    But she loved the time with him, his full, undivided attention on her while he tied her, a silent connection they shared while she was caught in his ropes.
    It felt like the world dropped away, nothing existing inside the bubble but the two of them.
    That, more than anything—more than the play, more than the orgasms—was what she enjoyed. The energy exchange, the power exchange.
    She was aware of their friends talking, of people laughing and the barbecue grill going at the other end of the lanai. Of people playing inside the house, the sounds of a female voice pitching up in the unmistakable sounds of an orgasm.
    It didn’t matter. It was like muffled cotton, faded, distant. All she focused on was the feel of Scrye’s hands, the feel of the rope, the sound of his breathing and muttering as he talked to himself while tying her.
    She’d learned long ago not to ask him what he was saying. Half the time, he didn’t even know, the idle muttering a way he talked himself through his rigging. He’d spent countless hours practicing, years ago starting with tying up some of the girls’ largest stuffed animals in suspension rigs, working his way up to rolled up and weighted sleeping bags, and then to using June as his bunny.
    The feeling of being bound by the rope was indescribable to her. Even better than simply being tied down and helpless in bed, this was artistic, energetic, kinetic. She participated even as she was immobilized, not just passively being made to orgasm, or having her ass smacked.
    Both activities she definitely loved and enjoyed, but being Scrye’s rope bunny allowed her to spend time with the man most of the world never got to see, her husband’s inner sadist, the rope artisan.
    He finally reached the moment of truth. Hooking an arm around her waist, he lifted her so she could grab the ring the ropes were now wrapped through. Belaying her off the ground was easy for him since he could man-handle her. And her own strength meant she could help him.
    Once he had the slack taken out, he supported her back with one hand. “Okay, let go.”
    She did, arching her back as she spun, face-up, in a lazy circle, eyes closed.
    He gave her a gentle shove, making her swing.
    More fun for her, the freedom of flying in the ropes.
    After a couple of moments, he grabbed her left leg