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.

Next he pushed the girl to the floor and did a cross tie on both ankles. When he started a reverse shrimp tie by connecting the girl’s ankles to her bound arms with no ropes supporting the girl’s legs, or her torso, Ronin almost stormed the stage. This guy didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and there was a real possibility the girl could get hurt.

“Ronin, baby, remember to breathe,” Amery murmured.

“Jesus, Amery, this is all fucking wrong.”

“I know. This place isn’t what I thought it was. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

That’s when he noticed the guy on stage, who should’ve been focused on his rope model’s frame of mind and physical state of being, was glaring at them.

Ronin glared back.

But Iggy couldn’t hack Ronin’s hard stare for more than five seconds before his gaze darted away.

That’s what I thought, you motherfucking worm, you’re a fraud.

The girl turned her head toward the audience. Her eyes were wide with fear, not glassy from blissed-out rope subspace. She was shaking her head, trying to remove the gag so she could speak. It was obvious she wanted to stop the scene, but Iggy wasn’t paying attention to her.

When her frightened eyes met Ronin’s, he was instantly on his feet, striding onto the stage, snapping, “Yamete!” He crouched and removed the girl’s gag. “You wish to end the scene?” he asked in Japanese.

She nodded.

Ronin stood and reached for the safety scissors next to another pile of ropes.

“What are you doing?” Iggy demanded. “Get off my stage.”

He ignored the man’s blustering and sliced through the gauntlet. Then he snipped the ankle ties and gently lowered her feet parallel to her body. Once the girl was free of ropes, she scurried into the shadows, followed by Iggy when another man strutted onto the stage.

The guy walked right up to Ronin and said, “Play along, Master Black,” and moved center stage to address the audience.

Who the hell was this guy? And how did he know his name?

“The type of bondage we showcase here at Go takes years of dedication, and hours of practice to learn . . . the ropes, so to speak.”

The audience laughed.

Ronin glanced at Amery; the conversation was totally lost on her.

“Sometimes a scene doesn’t proceed as planned. Luckily tonight we had an expert in the audience, and once he saw the potential problems with the scene, he stepped in to stop it.” He not so subtly pushed Ronin into the spotlight. “We are honored to have Master Black with us this evening. Master Black is an accomplished kinbaku and shibari rope master, a true bakushi. Not only has he studied with the great Master Yasuji for the past two decades, he’s been Japan’s record holder for the fastest hojojutsu tie for years. This man knows his way around ropes.”

The audience clapped and whistled.

“While we’re setting up the next demonstration, please stretch your legs, or visit the lounge. And a reminder there is no recording allowed in Go. Thank you.” He bowed to the audience and then faced Ronin.

“Master Black, you have my eternal gratitude for putting an end to that shameful demonstration.” He bowed again. “I’m Go-jen. Owner of Go. I would like a chance to speak with you in my office.”