Fiona meets the binding master

“Fiona,” said Lady Evelyn, sweetly. “You appear to have taken employment as a sign.”

“This isn’t a job,” snapped Fiona, a little testily. She hung in an elaborate rope bondage harness from the underside of a wooden balcony, displayed in the street out the front of the little shop. It happened to be located in one of Yokohama’s most heavily trafficked tourist locations. “I’m not getting paid.”

“Oh? You do this kind of thing for fun?”

“I’ve been kidnapped. It is illegal.”

“This is Japan,” said Evelyn, shrugging. Fiona was attracting quite a crowd. She was nude, of course, her breasts bulging between the ropes, her arms behind her back, her legs splayed in an interestingly asymmetrical position that called a great deal of attention to her golden bush and pink pussy lips. “Who knows what’s illegal here? And what did you do to offend the great bondage master Hojo?”

“I didn’t offend him at all,” snapped Fiona, face hot, doing her best to ignore the giggling women in kimonos and workmen in wooden sandals that stood around Hojo’s storefront, admiring the newest sample of his masterful work. “He said I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he could not rest until he’d used me in his art. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“You? The most beautiful woman? Poppycock. Why,” said Evelyn, folding her arms under her breasts and issuing Fiona with her best contemptuous glare, while behind her the bondage master Hojo came walking towards his shop, carrying a bundle of rice cakes for his lunch, “Hojo must be a complete idiot. One of the stupidest men in the world, if you ask me. And bad at his job, too. Hojo no baka! There, I even said it in perfect Japanese.”