the ropes over my wrists and arms. He was talking to the audience, explaining everything he did as he went, and I relaxed, knowing he wasn't really talking to me.
His voice was soft—not too loud or harsh and as smooth as butter. I closed my eyes and my whole world became his voice and the steady sure touch of his hands. I began to drift, surprised that I could be so relaxed up here on stage with so many watching. But somehow, I wasn't aware of them anymore. It was just the two of us in all of time and space, and he would occasionally murmur to me, asking if I was still okay, telling me I was doing so well...so perfect...just right...that's it...you’re beautiful... The words slid across my skin like silk.
“Just stay still for me like you're doing. Beautiful pet...”
I felt him give a tug on my arms and I blinked, aware that I had lost time. I felt as if I had gone to sleep with him murmuring in my ear. No, that wasn't right, because it wasn't sleep. It was more like I was dreaming while still awake. There was no way he called me beautiful, was there? That part had to be a dream. My arms were completely encased in rope and pulled well behind my back. Not painfully so, or at least not yet, but it was uncomfortable, and I had a feeling it would get worse before too long. I tried to move them, but I couldn't.
“Still with me?” he asked, loud enough for the audience to hear.
“Yes, Sir,” I said and was surprised to hear myself slurring my words, like I'd had too much to drink. The discomfort was there, but it couldn't touch me. Or it could, but I still wanted more of it, because if I could endure it for him, he would praise me and caress me with his voice again.
“In ancient Japan,” Logan said, continuing his lecture, the words drifting in the air around me like pretty birds, though I didn't really understand them. I would have to concentrate and that wasn’t possible just then. “…the dominant samurai class used rope to restrain prisoners of war in a martial art called Hojojutsu, a brutal practice that bears little resemblance to the Kinbaku of today. They used knots to torture and extort confessions from captives and to display their alleged criminals. Each public punishment specifically fit the crime, so the tie used to administer it created a legible symbol for crowds of onlookers that they might know what he'd done and never do it themselves lest they suffer the same fate.”
His voice was hypnotic. I existed for the rise and fall of it even though I barely understood the actual words he was saying.
“Open your mouth,” he said to me and I turned a dazed face toward him. My mouth? I knew the word, of course, but I was confused. What did he mean? He tapped my cheek—not quite a slap—and spoke softly in my ear.
“Pay attention. I want you to open your mouth. I'm just going to illustrate. You've done nothing wrong. This is a clean, brand-new rope. Now open your mouth for me.” I slowly opened, and he slipped the rope inside my mouth, looping it over my head like a gag. “If I were administering a correction to my sub, for example, because he'd not used the proper respect in speaking to me, or for something he said, or even because he talked too much, I might tie him like this.” He rubbed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Okay?” I nodded. I could taste the hemp of the rope, and it wasn't unpleasant exactly, just not something I wanted to try again. “You're doing fine.” He patted my head and to my horror, I leaned into his leg and rubbed against him like a cat. I glanced up at him and I was surprised to see him staring solemnly back down at me, not laughing at me at all. “Settle down, now,” he said in a voice meant just for me. “Not much longer, and you look perfect.”
Why did his praise mean so much to me? I basked in it. I closed my eyes and began to drift again. In a louder voice, he said, “I'm putting him on his back now to secure his legs.” I could hear him, and I was aware of what he was doing, but it was like