ALL I EVER WANTED 01 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 02: ALL I EVER WANTED BY MEGUMI KATO AND SAMANTHA WEST CHAPTER I Megumi at Work "You're new here, aren't you?" said a strong, masculine voice close behind me, as I stood on a tall stool, reaching to dust the ornaments on the high chimneypiece in the mansion's big hall. Startled, I lowered my arms, quickly adjusted my skirt which my efforts had caused to ride up slightly, and turned, swaying a little as I balanced on the top of the stool. Before me was a vigorous man of thirty-five or so, who could only be my employer, Mr Anson. Somehow I had the feeling that he had been watching me for a while before he chose to speak. The little white, lacy apron I wore as part of my maid's uniform was now level with his face. Standing where he did, he could not have helped seeing just a little of my bottom ... The thought made me blush, while at the same time a strange tingling began to spread through me. I reminded myself it was not my place to speculate about my master's movements. I stood respectfully before him, eyes modestly lowered, arms now at my sides. Despite my correct posture, I felt a bit self-conscious, and wished I had taken the opportunity to climb down off the stool when he addressed me. "What's your name?" "Megumi, sir." "Megumi, eh? Sounds Japanese." "Yes, sir, I am from Japan." "And what's a Japanese girl doing working as a housemaid in America?" he asked. "Well, sir, I was ... am a student," I explained confusedly, "but somehow my family seem not to be able to send me money at present, and so I thought ... I should try to support myself ... and Mrs Anson was so kind ..." "Uh-huh. How old are you?" "Eighteen, sir. Almost nineteen." "Looking after you all right, are they?" "Yes, sir, thank you sir," I replied. "Please get down from the stool," he said. "You don't look very comfortable up there." I gratefully scrambled down to floor level, and then stood once again modestly before him, thanking him for his thoughtfulness with a respectful little curtsey. The day I started work Mrs Anson had told me I would be expected to curtsey to the master rather than bow in the Japanese fashion, and had taught me how. She was good enough to praise the way I did it: I find it easier than many Japanese girls to do gracefully because I am a bit taller than the average and have quite long legs. As I stood submissively waiting for my master to continue our conversation, or dismiss me to get on with my work, he looked me over with what I hoped was approval. I always like to wear pretty clothes which make the most of my nice slim figure and good legs, and I was delighted when I found that the uniform the housemaids were expected to wear in the Anson establishment was not, as I had feared, dowdy or old-fashioned. My approved outfit was based on the traditional housemaid's dress, of course, in black satin with a white lace trim, but it was smart and stylish. The dress had a modestly high neck, short puffy sleeves leaving my arms bare apart from the matching little black satin gloves. The lines of the dress were emphasised by the touches of frilly white lace on all the edges, but its most remarkable feature was the extremely short skirt, the black satin made to stand out from my upper thighs by many layers of stiff white petticoats which swished and frothed deliciously round my bottom as I moved. It was a lovely effect and I enjoyed the nice feeling it constantly gave me. With the uniform I wore the little white apron I have already described, tied in a big starched bow at the back. I liked the way the broad band emphasised my slim waist and took pride in tying it as tightly as I could manage. On my legs I had black stockings in an elegant fishnet design, kept up by a suspender-belt - which I also wore snug and tight round my waist. And on my little feet I wore shiny black pumps: the heels were frankly too high and slim for housework, but they made my legs prettier. Under the little skirt and rustling petticoats I wore (for my own pleasure, since no one else would see it) the sweetest little black g-string imaginable: just a tiny vee nestling light as a feather between my legs and neatly covering the corresponding black vee of trim curls, and held up by a little bow on each side. It covered nothing else, and left the sensitive skin of my bottom completely bare and exposed to the endless delightful tickling and stimulation of the petticoats. I suppose it was not the most practical or hard-wearing uniform for a housemaid, but I loved it all the same. Whenever I caught sight of myself in one of the many mirrors in the Anson mansion, I could not help thinking how pretty I looked. Mr Anson had finished his examination of my appearance, and he too seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. It occurred to me for the first time that my new master might have had something to do with the design of his housemaids' uniform. How nice, I thought, to be working for a man with such good taste, and so concerned that his employees should be able to take pride in their appearance! "Have they shown you my study?" he asked. "No, sir. I was told never to go there unless instructed." "Well, Megumi, let me show you what you will be required to do there. Come with me - oh, you don't need that for now." I put the feather-duster down on one of the hall tables. Moving closer, he took my bare upper arm in his right hand and guided me towards a door off the hallway which I had not seen opened before. As his left hand turned the knob, his right slipped across my back till his arm was round my slim waist, ushering me into the room. I was startled for a moment, then reminded myself again that it was not my place to question his actions. It was a nice study for a gentleman with time for pleasure as well as work: there were a big desk and smaller tables covered with papers but also comfortable armchairs and sofas. The walls were lined with bookshelves and showcases. There was an agreeable smell of leather, tobacco, book-dust and expensive red wine, mingled with what I had come to feel was the typical, rather gamey aroma of the well-fed, meat-eating, heterosexual Western man. Mr Anson still had his arm round my waist. I did not think it right to resist. In any case, it felt too good for me to want to argue about it. "This place needs dusting and cleaning when I'm not here," he was saying. "Including the books. But don't you dare ever move my papers. Or put the books back on the shelves in the wrong order." He guided me towards one of the sets of bookshelves, and stood slightly behind me. Suddenly I felt his right hand slide down my hip, then up under my multiple petticoats, and begin to probe gently between my legs as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. I let out a little gasp of surprise, and for a moment began to pull away from him; then could not resist moving even closer to his side, leaving my legs slightly open to assist his delicious exploring. My sexuality had already been aroused by his nearness, and the petals of my cunt were already damp with my juice. It had been quite a while since a man had touched me as skilfully and tenderly as that. So I just said "Yes, sir. I understand, sir," as his fingers gently pulled apart the bows of my g-string. I felt the tiny scrap of damp cloth flutter to the floor between my feet. "Oh!" I said, startled. "Anything the matter?" asked my master. "Oh _no_, sir," I said. After all, the g-string was not part of my official uniform, and perhaps I should not have been wearing it. The fingers of his right hand were now buried in the cleft between my legs, and began to enter my pussy. It was already well lubricated by the sudden flow of cunt-juice which his touch had released. I began to bend my knees very slightly, pressing my hips discreetly down onto his fingers, encouraging them, feeding them into me as I would a lover's cock. He looked down at the floor, where my little g-string lay abandoned between my feet. "Is that what you usually wear under your uniform?" he asked. "Yes, sir. I hope you don’t mind, sir?" "Very pretty. It must feel almost like wearing nothing at all, I should think." "Yes, sir." "Wouldn't you prefer that? Really wearing nothing at all, I mean?" "Oh, _yes_, sir! If those are your instructions ..." So I had been right! Those _were_ my master's wishes. He smiled and nodded. He let go of me and stood aside, watching me. I stooped, modestly bending my knees rather than leaning over and letting my skirt ride up my bottom, and picked up the little g-string. There was a big waste-basket near the desk. I walked over to it with little steps in my high heels, dropped the panty in with a dainty gesture of rejection, returned to my master and curtsied, smiling and waiting for further instructions. We moved slowly towards one of the showcases. As we stopped, he again began exploring my secret nakedness, using both hands now. "That's nicer, isn't it?" "Oh, _yes_, sir! And more ... convenient ..." I meant, "for you, when you want to do these nice things to me," but was too shy to say it. "Can you see what those are in there?" he asked, nodding towards the showcase. What I had thought were trophies of some kind were, I could now see, an extensive collection of whips, canes, nipple-clamps, hand-cuffs and other tools of sexual stimulation. "Yes, sir," I replied almost soundlessly, my throat too dry for speech. "You understand, I think, that if you behave badly and make mistakes, it will be my pleasure to punish you with these instruments." Some of them looked wonderfully exciting. There were knotted whips among the collection, and even a cat-o'-nine-tails with dainty little metal points glittering deliciously among the sweet lashes. Oh, how I longed to be beaten with that: only someone who really understood what a girl liked could have designed anything so enchanting. Almost since I began to have my first sexual feelings as a schoolgirl, I have been fascinated by the strange pleasure that instruments of punishment can give if they are applied skilfully. Among my master's trophies were other things too: I noticed a lovely matching pair of dildos, fixed to a strap and belt which could be locked by a dainty pair of padlocks. If he so instructed me, I could wear that under my little skirt as a wonderfully tormenting punishment, I thought, and no one would know ... except the man who kept the keys ... Mr Anson's fingers were now dabbling noisily in my soaking pussy. "Do you understand?" he repeated. "Yes, sir. Please, sir." "And what does 'Yes, sir. Please, sir' mean exactly?" "I mean, sir," I replied, pressing my bottom closely against him and wriggling his wonderfully teasing fingers ever deeper into my cunt, "that if I do not give you satisfaction - if I displease you - I _beg_ you ... oh, I beg you ... to please punish me as you think I deserve. Under your instruction and discipline I am sure I would improve - if you would take the trouble to whip me, sir ... long and _very_ hard ..." My eyes were fixed on the showcase, gleaming with excitement as I imagined the pleasures in store for me. What would Mr Anson regard as bad behaviour - bad enough to deserve many hours of such delicious punishment? "Cut!" said the Director. == We both looked towards him enquiringly. Harrison, the American actor playing the part of Mr Anson, pulled his fingers reluctantly out of my cunt - well, I was reluctant, anyway, and I hoped he was too - and stood aside as the Director addressed me in Japanese. "Megumi-san, don't you remember we discussed all this at a script conference and it was _your_ idea to change this scene?" He switched to heavily accented English so that Harrison could follow as well. "We thought it would be better if Megumi did not want to be punished. The first story was that she would deliberately make you angry. Then you punish her, and she enjoys it. We changed that. In this story she will be completely innocent when you punish her. And you give her a hard time. At first she begs you to stop. But then she will discover that she loves what you do to her after all. And loves it more because she loves you. We thought the audience would find that more -" he searched for the word "- interesting." "Yes," said Harrison. I felt very guilty at my carelessness, and bowed deeply in apology to the Director, blushing at my mistake. As I straightened up, I realised that the movement must have pulled up my short, wide skirt and given Harrison an attractive view of everything he had just been fondling so nicely. I hoped it would help him to perform with sincerity during the retake. "Again, from where he shows you the whips," said the Director. We moved back into position, Harrison's fingers sliding easily back into my wet pussy. The Director glanced at the camera and lighting teams, and when they gave no sign of having any problems, called: "Action!" We moved slowly towards one of the showcases. "Can you see what those are in there?" asked Mr Anson. What I had thought were trophies of some kind were, I could now see, a horrifying collection of whips, canes, nipple-clamps and other instruments of the most frightful torture. What on earth did a gentleman like Mr Anson want with _them_? "Yes, sir," I replied almost soundlessly, my throat too dry for speech. "You understand, I think, that if you behave badly and make mistakes, it will be my duty to punish you with these instruments." Some of them looked terrifyingly painful. There were knotted whips among the collection, and even a cat-o'-nine-tails with cruel little metal points glittering horribly among the fierce lashes. Oh, how frightened I was of that: only someone who really understood how to hurt a girl could have designed anything so dreadful. When I was just beginning to have my first sexual feelings as a schoolgirl, I was wrongly accused of misbehaviour at school and beaten, and the mere reminder of it scared me. Among my master's trophies were other things too: plastic phalluses and fingers which could be pushed into a girl's cunt and bottom, and held there by padlocks. How awful it would be to be forced to wear them as a cruel punishment under my little skirt, I thought, with no one to rescue me ... except the man who kept the keys ... Mr Anson's fingers were now dabbling noisily in my soaking pussy. "Do you understand?" he repeated. "Yes, sir. Please, sir." "And what does 'Yes, sir. Please, sir' mean exactly?" "I mean, sir," I replied, pressing closely against him and wriggling his wonderfully teasing fingers ever deeper into my cunt, "that it is my duty to please you and do everything you wish - and I hope ... oh, I do hope ... I will always give you complete satisfaction so that you will never have to punish me so ... so dreadfully, sir." My eyes were fixed on the showcase, gleaming with horror as I imagined the torments in store for me should I displease Mr Anson. What would he regard as bad behaviour - bad enough to deserve such unbearable punishment? I suddenly turned my head away and, forgetting my position for a moment, let it fall on his shoulder as I sobbed for a while. Then I quickly straightened up and apologised for my unseemly behaviour. "Don't worry, Megumi," said Mr Anson. "I'm sure you will never need to be punished. And always remember, if you have any troubles, I am your friend." I looked up at him, blushing gratefully, not sure what to make of his continued stimulation of my wet pussy, but enjoying it wonderfully. "Thank you, sir. You are very good to me," I said. "Please teach me how to please you." "Yes, Megumi, I shall do what I can to help you." "Thank you, sir," I said again. "And don't forget that we have agreed on a change to your uniform in future." "Oh, _yes_, sir! Thank you sir. I shall not forget." "Cut!" said the Director again. "Megumi, that was good. Take sixty minutes now. Then I want you both back on set for close-ups." The camera and lighting teams relaxed, turned off their heavy equipment and lowered it to the floor with obvious relief. I smiled shyly at Torao-san, the head cameraman. "Well done, Megumi-san," he said. "And don't worry about the retake. We may be able to use the other version too one day." Torao-san was well known in the company for his refusal to waste any material, however unpromising: one day, somehow, it would turn up, edited into a quite different production. In a way, we girls found it rather touching that he believed so sincerely that we never altered nor got older, and that any shot taken of us could be made to match plausibly with any other, regardless of the time difference. "Thank you," I said simply. "And don't forget our appointment tomorrow afternoon," he added quietly as I turned away. "No, of course not!" Matsumoto-san, my close friend and head of the costume department at the Marucho Film Company, bustled forward, rescued my abandoned g-string from the waste-basket, and took me off to the temporary wardrobe room which had been set up in one of the unused bedrooms of the great house. "You were lovely, dearie - both times!" she said as she stripped me out of my costume, flung the housemaid's dress across the ironing-board for later attention and urged me into the shower. Drying myself a few minutes later, refreshed and with my frustrated sexual arousal somewhat appeased by the stinging of the cold spray, I asked, as persuasively as I knew how, "Dear Matsumoto-san, won't you _please_ tell me what you are going to dress me in for my date tonight?" "It's no use you asking me, Megumi: you will find out when I'm ready to show you and not before! Now, get along with you, can't you see what the time is?" A moment later I was hurrying in a wrap and slippers down the service staircase to the canteen which had been set up in the modern extension at the back of the old house. I needed to hurry because I now had less than fifty of the sixty minutes allowed by the Director to grab some lunch, get into costume again, repair my make-up, and appear on set ready for a busy afternoon. We - Harrison as Mr Anson and I, that is - would be working with the Director and Torao-san the head cameraman to get onto tape a whole series of reaction shots and close-ups, some of which would eventually be edited into the scene we had filmed that morning. The morning's work would not enable the audience to see in close-up how Mr Anson looked at me, exactly what he was looking at, how I reacted to his interest in me, how he touched me under my miniskirted uniform, how his touch aroused me ... all the details people hiring or buying the finished product would insist on seeing, and would run and run again on their VCRs in slow-motion or single-shot. So if this morning's camera had not recorded what was going on under my skirt, why - you may ask - were Harrison and I acting it so thoroughly? Well, you see, I work for a Japanese fuck film company called Marucho. Pornographic videos are big business in Japan, and we have lots of competitors, but Marucho has made a very special reputation in the business with its slogan, "We Always Do It For Real". Our customers know that whatever they see is being done genuinely. And the same goes for what they _don't_ see: no one would necessarily know whether Harrison, as Mr Anson, really put his fingers into my cunt during the scene we had filmed together this morning, but _I_ would know, and it certainly improved my acting when he did it properly! I liked to think that it also helped the men I acted with to know they were working with a girl who was honestly aroused by all the nice things they were doing to her. Sometimes I had to beg them to continue, even after the Director had called "Cut!", and bring me to a full climax. I knew - though I wasn't supposed to know - that my nickname in the company was "Ikaru-chan". It's not easy to translate, but when I am really carried away by sexual excitement I sometimes cry out "Ikaru hoshii!" - "Please make me come!" I suppose it's not very ladylike, but I can't help myself. I didn't believe it at first, until I heard myself doing it on a video taken at a private party. I think it is a sweet nickname anyway, and I am secretly rather proud of it. I love my job as a sex actress. I cannot imagine how any girl, if she is good-looking and fuckable enough for the work, could possibly want to do anything else. Time was getting on. I hurried into the canteen and helped myself from the buffet to a tuna salad. It had nothing to do with either tuna or salad as they were understood in Japan, but it was food and it was quick. I joined the table where other cast members were already sitting: there was one chair free which put me next to Suzy, a rather tired-looking American blonde who played one of the other housemaids. She and I had a lesbian scene together yet to come in this production, and she seemed to be looking forward to it more than I thought appropriate. She put her hand eagerly on my arm. "Hello, Megumi! I heard you and Harrison were great this morning." "Thank you," I replied with suitable modesty. She took her hand away, then grabbed me even harder. "Hey, I hear you've got a really heavy date tonight!" She was right, of course. This afternoon's work had to be done well and quickly, because as soon as it was over I had to get myself ready for the evening. And tomorrow I was to have a day off. Normally I would never dream of inconveniencing my colleagues by taking a holiday while they were still working - no Japanese would do that - but there were special reasons in this case. My date tonight was with Mr Otani, who was among other things the Producer of the video we were making, and therefore responsible for raising the money. He was half American and half Japanese, and had his own company based here in California which distributed the Marucho Company's products in the Western United States. I owed him a lot. It was mainly because he happened to meet me in Marucho's studio on that special day, my eighteenth birthday, when I was taking my screen-test, that the company gave me my first contract. Apart from a few stars, they normally preferred to hire freelance actresses as required for each production. And it was his idea to try to expand Marucho's activities in the US. Japanese pornography was already selling quite well there, and we knew from market research that the heroines of Japanese fuck videos, sweet, submissive and sexually enthusiastic, were popular masturbation fantasies for American men. But Mr Otani's idea was to put such a girl into a genuinely American environment, where she could be shown being sexually enjoyed by _gaijin_, or Westerners. He thought American audiences would like to see people of their own race acting out their fantasies for them with an Oriental star. And he hoped such scenes would go over well in Japan too, where the myth of Chocho-san, Madama Butterfly, the innocent Japanese girl used and betrayed by the lusty American, is still very strong. So _Josei Ryugakusei no Sekkusu Boken_ or _The Sexual Adventures of a Girl Student Abroad_ was my first full-length feature. Another debt I owed to Mr Otani was that he had insisted on my being cast as the heroine. Until then all I had done was a series of 30-minute shorts. In videos like that, plot and acting only got in the way of the main objective, which was simply to get the heroine out of her clothes and show her being fucked as many ways as could be managed in the time available. The video was to be shot in English, and even though a Japanese accent was appropriate in my case I was sent off to improve my knowledge of the language - which fortunately had been my best subject at school. Lots of Japanese companies pay for their senior employees to have English lessons - though the Gods only know if they think they get value for money - but Marucho could not afford to pay the going rate. Fortunately one of my occasional lovers advised me to contact the American Embassy, and in due course I found myself sitting across a table three hours a week from a feeble-looking young American, whose reason for being in Japan was that he was the "dependent spouse" of a female American diplomat rather older, rather more dynamic, and considerably better paid than he was. He soon made it clear that I could supplement the meagre amount I could pay for my lessons by performing other services. I did so willingly enough until one day the dynamic young American diplomat came home earlier than expected. My English lessons then came to an abrupt end, but in the double-bed considered appropriate by the State Department for the use of married Second Secretaries I had already learnt far more English vocabulary relevant to my profession than I was ever likely to do from the textbooks spread out on the Second-Secretarial State Department eight-seater dining table. So then Marucho had hired this grand mansion in San Francisco for the September location filming. The price still seemed absurdly high to me, even after being converted into yen - and even after allowing for the discount granted by the owner in return for the right to take part as an actor in the orgy scene and to fuck me on camera. Judging by our private rehearsals, _that_ was likely to be an absurd encounter: I had warned Torao-san that, for all his skill, I wondered how the geniuses in the editing department back home in Tokyo would manage to make his footage look as if our landlord had risen to the occasion! He told me not to worry: his private collection of stock shots would rescue the situation once again. Mr Otani visited Tokyo on business every couple of months, and since our first meeting he had made it a rule to invite me on one evening of each trip to spend some happy hours with him over dinner and then in his hotel suite. Tonight was to be one of those evenings, for the first time on his own territory. Of course the Director hadn't liked letting me go so close to the end of the location filming, when he might want me suddenly for any number of things, but he could hardly refuse Mr Otani. In fact he had made things worse by exerting his authority and insisting that I took tomorrow off as well, so that before I appeared on set again there would be time for my skin to lose the marks caused by all the lovely things Mr Otani would probably want to do to me. I thought the Director was being childish and silly, and so did Torao-san. We agreed the fresh marks left by Mr Otani's whips and (if I was lucky) canes would look really rather pretty on my smooth ivory skin; and since only a few hours later they would still be tingling and throbbing nicely I would not be able - would not want - to hide my pleasure and excitement. Tastefully photographed, and edited into this or some future production, the results of Mr Otani's loving attentions ought to have a powerfully erotic effect on my fans - or at least on those who appreciated my BDSM [1] scenes. I had been amused, and touched, to discover that I had a group of specialist fans who called themselves the "We Want to Whip Megumi" Association and wrote me passionate joint love-letters whenever my videos included whipping scenes - as they sometimes did. So Torao-san and I had agreed to meet privately tomorrow afternoon and take a series of detailed shots of how my naked body looked after my love-making session with Mr Otani. Before long the Director would be calling for close-ups to support the punishment scene. That was to be an important part of this video, and would show Mr Anson and his friends whipping and torturing poor me at the climax of the story. Torao-san would take quiet satisfaction in being able to produce exquisitely detailed and arousing material from stock. What the Director did not use would, in Torao-san's usual economical way, find its way into other videos. Whatever happened, no one could pretend they hadn't been Done For Real! Mr Otani would see to that. FOOTNOTE [1] Bondage, Discipline and Sado-Masochism. I _adore_ BDSM, both on camera and in private, and I hope you do too! Remember, "We Always Do It For Real"! [Next in Part 02: Chapter II: A Night of Love] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams