Page 110 of The Dragon 1
She wasn’t struggling.
She was glowing.
My pulse throbbed behind my knees, inside my wrists. I shifted slightly in my seat, thighs tightening, again, of their own accord.
I couldn’t look away.
I didn’t want to.
And when she made a full rotation—back to facing me again—her eyes opened.
Only for a moment.
But they locked on mine.
And in that single second, it felt like she saw everything.
My desire.
My envy.
My awe.
She smiled—just faintly.
Then she turned away again, spinning once more into the night.
The rope creaked softly.
The cello sang low.
I sat there, anchored in my body, yet drifting.
Caught between wonder and want.
Between safety and surrender.
Between watching her and wanting to become her.
Kenji’s deep voice filled the air, “what do you think of this performance?”
“It’s hard to even. . .think or truly try to. . .explain what I’m seeing. But it’s enchanting.”
He nodded, sipping his own sake as he watched the woman spin gently in the moonlight. “This is Shibari. It's an ancient Japanese art form that combines bondage, performance, and spirituality.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Shibari is about connection and trust. The rope is the medium of communication between thenawashi—the rope artist—and his muse. This performance is a conversation about dominance and submission.”
His words sank into me.
My heart throbbed in rhythm with the strings of the cello.
The woman was still spinning slowly, her body swaying gently with every turn. I could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply.
Her face was a picture of pure bliss.
The man in black—the nawashi—stepped in again, reaching for another coil of rope and began to weave more around her body.
