“I know. I’m here out of curiosity and respect to you, Master Black.”
Ronin pressed his thumb under her chin, angling her face to kiss her. She tasted of sake, with a hint of mint. His tension drained away and his smile broke the seal of their mouths. “Then let’s take in the show.”
The space had theater-style seating on three sides around the stage. Most people were in their seats but a few milled around looking at the photos decorating the walls. The mainly Japanese crowd numbered about a hundred. Some were eccentrically attired in fetish clothing; others wore the usual club clothes.
After they settled in the front row, Amery said, “No one else paid for prime seats?”
“Some people want to be far back to get the whole scope. I’d rather be closer to watch the rope-tying technique.”
“You’ll be judging his skills?”
“Of course. The sign outside claims every demonstration is given by a bakushi—a kinbaku and shibari master.”
“You don’t believe the hype?”
Ronin shrugged. “Easy to say one’s a master; harder to prove.”
“So the proof is in the knots?”
He smiled at her. “For one thing. I’ll reserve my final judgment for when the demo is done.”
“Which clubs around here did you demo in?”
“None of them are in business anymore.”
“What were the women like? Professional rope models? Or rope bunnies?”
Rope bunnies. She’d definitely been talking to Yasuji. “I was a student, Amery. None of the women were memorable. I was all about refining my rope skills, not my sexual techniques.”
“Don’t get snippy.” She paused. “I have a right to ask you questions.”
“Yes, you do. But I have to know where all these questions are coming from?”
“From curiosity. From jealousy. But also from pride.”
“Explain that.”
Amery lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m the luckiest person in the room tonight because I have my very own rope master. I don’t have to fantasize about all the different ways I’d like to be bound. All I have to do is ask you to do it.”
Such sweetness. Ronin brushed his mouth over her ear. “Anytime, baby.”
“Remember you said that.”
The house lights cut out. A voice boomed through the loudspeaker. “Tonight at Go, Bakushi Iggy will tantalize your senses with his rope mastery.”
Ronin translated.
The lights came up and a young woman stood center stage. She wore a school uniform—a short pleated skirt and a white blouse tied at her sternum, her large breasts spilling out, her lower torso exposed down to her hipbones. Her hair was in pigtails and her lips were glossy red.
Jesus. They’d set the scene like this was soft-core porn. The only thing missing was the girl blowing bubbles with a wad of gum or licking a sucker.
Whack, whack, whack sounded and Iggy strode on stage, smacking a thick ruler on his palm with every step.
When he reached the girl, he gestured to her clothing and sneered. She clasped her hands together, silently pleading with him to overlook her clothing violation. But he shook his head and grabbed her arm, leading her to a yellow line.
The man demonstrated that he wanted her to stand at attention. She refused and faced away from him with her hands on her hips. He moved behind her and in one quick movement he latched on to her wrists, pulling her arms together behind her back, trapping them between his thighs. Then he ripped her shirt open, exposing her enormous tits.
Ronin glanced to his right. The audience members seemed enthralled by the scene.
The principal—or whoever he was supposed to be—tore away her skirt and tossed it aside, leaving her in a thong. Then he yanked one of her pigtails, spun her around and bent her over.
Big surprise what came next. The girl got her bare ass spanked with the ruler.
From that point on Ronin made a game of predicting how the scene would progress. The girl was gagged for crying out during her spanking. When she tried to cover her breasts with her hands, he bound her upper arms with her torn shirt and hit her nipples with the ruler. When the tips hardened, he placed clothespins on them.
Amery leaned in. “If this is a kinbaku scene where are the ropes?”
“Good question.”
A couple in the row next to them glared at them for talking.
Ronin watched as Iggy uncoiled a lump of hemp rope that looked frayed. He wrapped a half-assed, uneven gauntlet from the girl’s elbows to her wrists. Then he fashioned a chest harness, pinning the girl’s already abused nipples between two tight sections of rope. When he plucked off the clothespins, the rush of blood sent her swaying forward, and he jerked her upright—by yanking on the back of the rope harness.