Free Bound by Tradition by Roxy Harte Page A

There is always room in your life for both if you take both in moderation—”
    I pushed my fingertips to his lips. “Do not call me grasshopper.”
    Chuckling, he took my hand and led me to the center of a platform. This seemed so impossible. I’d come to think of the rope itself as erotic, and I saw no way of him binding me without touching me intimately—in front of a roomful of strangers. He promised he wouldn’t make me orgasm on purpose. What does that mean?
    I stood before him, panting, not sure what to expect, only knowing that one of the couples in the front row were old enough to be my grandparents: her hair snow-white, his hair still brown, but his face wizened with deep wrinkles. That made me feel strange, almost undone with embarrassment. Did they suspect Shiro and I had already done this? In the privacy of our own space? That he tied me and fucked me, and that I screamed like a cat in heat?
    Another couple stood near the first, younger, but not by much, probably my dad’s age. Okay, this isn’t helping. I do not need to think about my dad right now.
    Shiro winked.
    Had he guessed my thoughts? Does he know I’m scared shitless?
    Of course not. I had my game face on. If eighteen years of perfect katas, perfect kumite matches hadn’t prepared me to face this crowd, nothing would have. I hid myself deeper in my mind. I stopped looking at the faces in front of the small stage. I lifted my chin a little higher and pretended I was wearing my hoodie and shades. I wished for my iPod and earbuds.
    I would not let anyone see my vulnerability. No one gets to see that, not even my father ever has. That’s a lie . Shiro has seen me vulnerable. He has seen me open. I worry he will bring that out of me tonight. Is that what he meant by opening the door of the gilded cage?
    With a look he asked if I was okay? Ready? Can anyone ever be ready for this? I think of the girls in his portfolio. They stood here. Some of them stood in this same spot completely naked.
    I’m no less brave than they were.
    I nodded, giving him permission to begin. He uncoiled the rope, letting it fall with a hiss. He started wrapping with a loop over my neck that knotted between my breasts. The rope seemed as textured as before, but different. I realized it was heavier, and then the thought came: to support my weight . My brain stalled on the thought. I knew he planned to suspend me, but somehow I hadn’t really thought it through. That seemed to be happening to me around Shiro a lot.
    “The harness I’m creating on my beautiful model, Stephanie, is called a diamond harness. I’m using an eight-millimeter rope, though you may be more comfortable using a six millimeter. Your partner will definitely be more comfortable if you avoid a four-millimeter rope.”
    He explained as he tied, “I’m going to start by tying a series of overhand knots directly between her breasts. This is a more time-consuming pattern than others I’ve shown you in the past. In the interest of time, and if you are very sure of your partner’s size, you could tie these first knots in advance.”
    He created a web around my torso that separated my breasts and would provide the main support structure for the suspension. He drew the rope between my legs, and when it pulled snug with a knot behind me, trapped my clit between bone and rope. This is such a bad idea and thank God for the unitard . I couldn’t imagine the rough rope against my naked flesh. But the minute I thought about not imagining it, that’s exactly what I was doing. I suddenly wanted the fiber against my flesh. It would hurt some. It would feel amazing. In that moment my need shot through the roof.
    Holy mother of God, how can I be turned on in front of a roomful of strangers?
    I imagined the rope indentations left around my wrists the day before everywhere rope had crossed bare skin. Crisscrossing my breasts. Around my waist. Over my shaved mons.
    My mind was completely in the gutter. I imagined myself