ALL I EVER WANTED 02 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 02: ALL I EVER WANTED BY MEGUMI KATO AND SAMANTHA WEST CHAPTER II A Night of Love I finished my lunch quickly, murmured excuses to my colleagues, and fled back to Matsumoto-san's temporary costume department. After some quick repairs to my appearance, and another fruitless attempt to discover how she was planning to dress me for Mr Otani's pleasure that evening, I was back on set. There I obediently offered myself to the coolly appraising eye of the camera, showing myself off, and encouraging Harrison's exploring hands, in every way possible. Even the most determined, and affronted, Director, and even the most perfectionist cameraman, are satisfied in the end, and at last I was free to get out of costume and prepare for what the evening had to offer. In the shower I pulled the hand unit off its hook, twisted the setting to the sharpest needle spray it could manage, and directed it against my over-stimulated but deeply frustrated cunt. But before it could bring me the relief I longed for I remembered that I had promised myself something even better that evening. I switched the shower off, and clung for long moments to the plumbing while I got myself under control. Normally I take my pleasures where I find them, as the wise Frenchman advised. They are like money in the bank. No one can take an orgasm away from you when you have enjoyed it: and, personally, I am always ready for the next at once. But tonight I was reserving myself strictly for Mr Otani; and, whatever it cost me, I was determined to build up my desire to the highest possible level of frustration. I wanted to greet him with my mind and body consumed with limitless lust. That would be my perfect gift to him, my contribution to an evening of endless mutual pleasure. It suddenly occurred to me, as I stood in the shower struggling to resist the temptation to masturbate, that I was behaving like a girl I had known at high school who kept on saying she wanted to preserve her virginity for her husband to take on her wedding-night. Well, that wasn't quite the way she put it, and she was one of Japan's tiny minority of Christians, so she was peculiar anyway. My friends and I used to agree, as we left her behind and went off for an evening's fun, that chastity must be the most unnatural of all sexual perversions. And of course, I now suddenly realised, there is no point in a sexual perversion if you don't enjoy it. Well, I could find pleasure in the perversion of sexual restraint, knowing I would be rewarded a few hours later, when I had the joy of presenting myself to Mr Otani wild with desire for anything his hands, whips, cock and mouth could do to me. Clean, fresh, lightly perfumed, nude and profoundly unsatisfied, I stood before Matsumoto-san while she dressed me for my lover's pleasure. As usual, she started with the shoes: silver sandals with very high heels which stressed the pretty curve of my feet and the length of my slim, shapely legs. Sexy shoes like these had always been a success with Mr Otani. For my dress, she recommended a two-piece outfit: above, a black satin bustier, which just covered and discreetly uplifted my breasts, while giving me an exciting feeling of breathlessness as it tightly squeezed my little waist; and below a wrap-round skirt in a soft, flirty, dark-red material, the colour emphasising the pale ivory of my smooth skin. The skirt was well above my knees, even if still a little longer down my thighs than I usually liked to wear; and the slit on the right, where the two frilly edges met and parted, met again and parted again as I moved, offered exciting glimpses of my nakedness below the waist. Nonetheless I was not entirely happy with it. "It's lovely, Matsumoto-san," I said, "but did you really mean the slit to be on my right thigh? Surely that means, if he wants to fondle me under the table, he'll have to use his _left_ hand? I don’t think he'll like that ..." "Honestly, dearie, do use your head," said Matsumoto-san. "He's likely to want to dance with you, isn't he? That's when you’ll need the slit up your right thigh." I thought it through for a moment, imagining his right hand holding me firmly against him, his left free to roam ... She was right of course. Experience had taught me that Mr Otani, like many men, had a special fetish about gloves, so I added a long tight pair, in shiny silver to match my shoes. Soon I would, I hoped, be standing before him wearing nothing else. The colour co-ordination of gloves and shoes should please him - and stimulate his imagination. But as I thought how I would display myself, I realised one thing was still missing. "You must give me a pair of panties," I said firmly. "Don't be silly, dearie, this is the _last_ occasion a girl wants to wear any underwear." "But don't you _remember_, Matsumoto-san," I begged, "I told you how we _always_ play a little game together - about my first sexual experience ..." "Oh, with your _sensei_, yes, of course ..." "Remembering how my school-teacher spanked me when I was twelve, and I thought that was what the older girls meant by sex, and had my first orgasm ..." "So he wants to look at you showing off your virgin arse in a naughty little pair of panties, does he, while he takes careful aim with his cane? Let me see, now ..." From one of her closets she passed me an outrageously provocative little scrap of silvery, almost transparent material. It would have to do. I folded it into my purse, along with essential make-up items and something else which went everywhere with me. It was a little red velvet wallet on the front of which I had embroidered my roman-script initials, MK, containing a pair of silver metal discs only two or three centimetres across. They had been Mr Otani's special gift to me the morning after our first long night together. Side by side in the velvet case, they could have been taken for an old-fashioned powder compact. But apart, ohh, they fitted so beautifully onto my erect nipples, and then when I twisted the clamps tighter, and tighter, and tighter ... the delicious agony of their bite on my eager young breasts - I could lie for hours, masturbating my cunt and clitoris, the pain and the pleasure coming together like a completed electric circuit, while I dreamt of his loving hands pleasuring and tormenting my yearning body ... But tonight, until I could offer myself to my lover and submit to whatever he had planned for me, I was determined to give myself no artificial aids to satisfaction and relief, neither the caressing tickle of the hand-shower nor the loving bite of the nipple-clamps. I wanted him to receive me frantic with desire. I kissed Matsumoto-san good-bye, and promised to visit her the next morning with an unexpurgated account of the evening's activity. Sexually aroused and frustrated, both almost beyond endurance, my hands firmly by my sides, I waited for my lover's chauffeur-driven car to carry me off to a night of fulfilment. Marucho's PR department had decided that the producer and star of their new video having dinner together in a fashionable San Francisco restaurant was an opportunity too good to miss. There were photographers present to record our arrival, and again as we took possession of our table. I recognised one of them as a Marucho employee. Our PR girl was also busily explaining to other customers who we were and why we mattered so much. Then at last we were alone together, disturbed only by a waiter telling us, with all the sincerity he had learnt at drama school, how he could really, _really_ recommend tonight's special of fillet steak with mangosteen and macadamia nut sauce. As I slid along the bench seat behind our table I contrived to make my skirt fall open so that Mr Otani could stroke me if he wished. My skin quivered with excitement as I remembered our first encounter almost a year ago on my eighteenth birthday: how his hand had caressed me, had crept up between my delightedly open thighs, up even beyond the hem of the provocatively tiny skirt I was wearing, till at last his fingertips could brush the dew from the petals of my eager young cunt. To my disappointment he was more restrained this evening, though I felt his hand on me as he discussed my scenes in the video. I still had two big ones to do: the orgy which would be filmed in the San Francisco mansion the day after tomorrow, and the punishment scene for which we would use the usual torture-chamber set which could be erected in Marucho's Tokyo studio. I cannot remember what I ate: something light and easy to digest, no doubt, as I normally did when I expected a sexually active evening. We spoke of more personal things. How long had it been since we had last met, he asked - a couple of months? "Seven weeks and four days," I replied at once. "You are exact!" he said with a laugh. "Anyone would think you'd been locked in a nunnery all that time." "Well, it's true I get plenty of good fucking even when you've not around. And whipping too, of course. But you know how I long for our sessions together." "Really?" He smiled down at me, teasing me, teasing himself as he glanced down the front of my dress. "And when I miss you badly, I play with your present - and remember." "Have you got them on now? I can't quite see." It was typical of him not to pretend he did not know what I meant. I leant forward a little, trying to make it seem innocent, so he could have a better view of my breasts. "No, for two reasons. First, because I have already been aroused beyond endurance by what I've been put through today on set." "And the second reason?" "Because I'm about to get the real thing. Hours and hours of it, I hope. From the man who knows how to do it best. How to hurt me the way I love ..." He slid his hand higher up my thigh, almost to my crotch - but not quite. He signalled to the waiter with dramatic ambitions. "Well, if you don't insist on having coffee, shall we go back to the hotel now?" Mr Otani paid the check, and gave the budding actor a larger tip than his performance deserved. I was too excited to feel regret that he had for once not chosen a restaurant where we could dance. He put his arm lightly round my waist as other diners looked appreciatively at me on our way out. "I've just bought a new whip," he murmured in my ear. "I'm so looking forward to trying it out on you." I blushed and looked up at him adoringly. Those watching us probably thought he was telling me how much he loved me. In a way, he was. His driver had the car outside the entrance the moment we emerged. He took me in his arms as soon as we were safely inside the drawing-room of his penthouse suite in the hotel where I was also, but less glamorously, accommodated. Our tongues fought with each other until, as usual, I gave way and let him explore the inside of my mouth, his hands gently stroking my back and bottom. At last I pulled my head away and pressed my body hard against his, clearly aware of his erection through his trousers. "Hold me tight," I said. "I need it so much." At last he let me go, tore off his jacket and shirt, and kicked off his shoes. He was now bare-chested, wearing only slacks. He watched me as, with less haste, I pulled apart my wrap-round skirt and let it fall to the floor. Now I was naked below the waist, but my breasts were still imprisoned by the tight black bustier. I slowly turned away from him, then looked longingly back over my shoulder. "Please make me naked," I said. Step by step his hands slowly unhooked the top part of my dress, tossing it aside at last to join the rest of our clothing. I was now the way I knew he liked me best, nude apart from my long silver gloves, my tall, slender high-heels forcing me onto tiptoes and emphasising my willing submission. Quickly I pinned up my long black hair. For a moment which seemed to last for ever he looked at me, his erection becoming more and more obvious. "Shall we begin with the cat?" "Oh, please!" I whispered, barely able to speak. The cat-o'-nine-tails is not as painful as the other instruments I was looking forward to feeling on my body that evening, nor does it leave serious marks - at least not as used on me by Mr Otani. He prefers a simple cat with slender, soft leather lashes, and without knots. But as any girl who has tried it knows, the joy of the cat is its randomness: no man, however expert at whipping, can control exactly where its nine claws will strike. Mr Otani fetched the instrument from a drawer and I took up my favourite position for receiving the whip: feet apart, hands behind my head to keep my arms out of the way, completely unrestrained - unbound, ungagged, eyes open and my submission to my master's cruelty willing, eager and voluntary. I heard a sexy rustling sound as Mr Otani shook out the leather lashes of the cat before starting. At first he just flicked the whip lazily over my body, tickling and teasing me. But then I heard him take a deep breath, and he began to send the long strands of leather whistling fiercely round my hips. I soon picked up the rhythm of the strokes, and unconsciously began to push my arse back into the tumbling lashes, longing for their loving touch. Even with my experience, and all my passion for the whip, it takes a few strokes each time until I begin to perceive the pain as pleasure. It is an introductory moment I have come to look forward to, now that I have trained myself to enjoy pure pain for its own sake, not just as a trigger for sexual joy. Sometimes I ask my lover to stop for a few moments, to spin out the preliminaries, to let me relish the pain before it inevitably turns to pleasure. But today I had been so thoroughly worked up already that the pleasure and relief came almost at once. As the cat's nine stinging lashes danced deliciously round my delighted body, I could feel the long-delayed orgasm begin to build. Too soon! "Stop, please! Oh, stop!" I begged. "Megumi, I never heard you say that before. Is anything wrong?" "Oh, take me! Take me now - in my cunt! Please! I can't wait any longer! I beg you! You can do anything to me you like afterwards. But I must have my cunt fucked first!" Mr Otani threw the cat aside, unfastened his belt and kicked off his trousers, and carried me into the bedroom. The big bed had already been stripped for action, and he dropped me onto it, still in my high-heels and gloves. As he lay over me I felt his strong arms lift me from the sheet, taking our combined weight on his knees and elbows. I could feel my body melting into his. My cunt was so soaked with my own lust he hardly needed lubrication, and he sensed anyway that in my present mood I yearned to be violated. As his splendidly hard cock began to tear into me, my orgasm came at last. He rode me hard for several minutes while I screamed and sobbed my satisfaction and relief, my gloved fingers digging into his strong back and arse, pulling him into me as deeply as I could. At last it was over, and I lay on the bed exhausted and - for the moment - fulfilled. I must have drifted into a doze for a few seconds because when I opened my eyes again I was alone, conscious at once that the thick blend of his creamy cum and the nectar of my own cunt was beginning to drip onto the sheet. I ran to the bathroom. When, cleaned and refreshed, I returned to drawing-room I found Mr Otani there, still naked, a long flexible whip of plaited leather held curled in his hands. I put my arms round his waist from behind. "Is that the new one?" I asked. "Yes, my dear," he said, "I think the cat will hardly satisfy you tonight, and you might like something a little stronger now." "Oh, yes ... yes please," I whispered, my throat dry with excitement, "it's beautiful. May I touch it?" He gave it to me to hold, and I enjoyed its flexibility, the wicked creak of the plaited thongs as I bent them, and the sensuous smell of new leather. I yearned to feel it whistling round me with all Mr Otani's strength. I passed the beautiful length of it between my legs, and made the polished leather kiss my clitoris and pussy. It was a demeaning thing to make the cruel proud lash do, but it would soon have its revenge. How we both longed for it, my beautiful whip and I! You will think it sentimental of me, but for me every instrument that has pleasured me has a life and personality of its own; and I knew this type very well. When my first real lover had shown me a Marucho video of their lead star, Mie Takahashi, being whipped we had immediately gone out together and bought just such a whip so that I could learn for myself what it felt like, snaking wickedly round my trembling eager body. It had been my favourite companion for months. Every evening my lover had delighted me with it; every night I had dreamt of its embrace ... "But please, sir," I added, "forgive me for stopping you just now. You know I adore being whipped by you. And the cat is so good. But I needed a fuck so desperately ..." "Don't worry, Megumi. So did I. I've never known you so aroused." "Thank you, sir. You are so good to me. Now please punish me. Show me no mercy. I am your helpless victim. Torment me till I beg you to stop." "Ah, no, Megumi," he laughed, "I'm not falling for that trick again! I know you are insatiable. You'll still be as fresh as a morning rose, calling for more when I'm just an exhausted heap on the floor." "Surely, sir, you are much stronger than I am." "Your strength, darling Megumi, is your endurance. That is why I love you so much. Your endurance puts you in control. It makes me do what you want. And you could wear out a dozen men whipping you, and then wear them out again in bed, and then still be unsatisfied." I thought about what he had said. It was rather complicated; but the one thing that emerged was that he had said he loved me. I stored that away to think over later. Then I turned to more immediate pleasures. The sight of the beautiful new whip had reminded me of a wonderful night when I had known something like a mystical, out-of-body experience while a _gaijin_ lover, Bob Williams, had tortured me endlessly and sadistically with another whip of the same type. The occasion had been even more ecstatic because he had first bound me helplessly. "If you don't mind, sir," I said, "I think I would like to be bound for this whipping." As soon as I had said it, I feared I was only making difficulties. The suite, obviously, contained no whipping post and none of the fixed shackles to which a Marucho heroine - often I - would be tied, struggling desperately, as she was prepared for her first experience of sadistic torture before the coolly appraising eye of the camera and for the later pleasure of her admirers. But the hotel designer, clearly a post-Modernist, had arranged two classical floor-to-ceiling pillars in front of the main window of the suite's drawing-room. The kit with which Mr Otani travelled included wrist- and ankle-cuffs and some ropes, so it would be easy enough to spread-eagle me between the pillars. "Just a moment," he said, as he was adjusting the cuffs to fit comfortably, "have you brought your clamps?" "Of course!" I said, as I skipped over to where I had left my purse. "I told you I never go anywhere without them." I showed him the little embroidered wallet of red velvet which I had made to hold them. I slid the silver discs out of their container and kissed them before handing them to him. He took them, laid them aside for the moment, checked my cuffs and tied me firmly to the pillars. I was stretched tautly, facing the curtained window, legs wide apart, arms almost horizontal. "May I?" Mr Otani said. I felt his loving hands stroke and twist my already aroused nipples to their maximum possible erection, then slip the silver discs over them. At first they pinched just enough to keep in position; then I felt his fingers gently increase the pressure, one by one, step by step, till I was gasping at the pain of the clamps' maximum bite. It was as if my sexuality was being renewed from the very start: the day's frustration had been washed away by his splendid fucking of my cunt and I felt like a fresh young girl, being introduced for the first time to the delight and agony of sex by an expert lover. I heard him pick up the whip. "Shall we begin, my darling?" he asked. "May we ... may I have the curtains open?" I asked submissively. "Of course! What a lovely idea!" It was unlikely that any other resident of San Francisco would be attracted by the light from this room at the top of one of the city's highest hotel buildings to be spectator of the sadistic scene we were about to enact, but it added to my pleasure to be able to imagine that, just possibly, someone might. "As I told you," Mr Otani was saying, "it's a new whip. The leather is stiff and hasn't been broken in yet. I shall enjoy using it for the first time on you. And I think you will enjoy the extra pain." At last my naked body shuddered under the first bite of the plaited leather lash as it curled round me, its tip agonisingly flicking my lower stomach just above the springy, neatly trimmed curls of pubic hair. Again. And again. I tried to recall what it had felt like the first time I had experienced this miracle. The warm tide of lust began to rise in me as it had then, and so many times since. I moaned and, almost soundlessly, begged Mr Otani to whip me yet harder ... between my legs ... round my prettily decorated breasts ... I felt the juice gather in my gasping cunt and, unharvested, begin to drip thickly down my inner thighs. He was right, of course. I could never tell him I had had enough of this wonderful torment. Whish. Whish. Round my arse; round my waist; round my thighs, breaking the slow, tickling flow of cunt-juice; occasionally achieving the ultimate pleasure as the tip cracked viciously against my clitoris. "Harder, sir, please harder ... oh my darling, hurt me more - much, _much_ more than that ... ohh, it's so good ... harder still ... oh, let it last for ever ..." By now my lover, my God was putting his full strength into the whipping, the lash crackling round me, dragging its adoring victim with it to Paradise. Firmly tied to the pillars, I could not now lean eagerly into the blows, as I had done when he used the cat: at best I could tremble like a fly caught in a spider's web. Oh, I did so hope people outside the window over San Francisco were, somehow, watching me in my agony, and enjoying it as much as I was! For a few moments I began to experience the sensation of seeing myself as they could, submissively hanging in my ropes, head held proudly high, worshipping my divine lover and his fierce caresses. This was what it must be like to be loved by a God: to be consumed in the fire of his passion. If only it would never end! But Mr Otani was right again that it could not last for ever. All too soon, despite my anguished pleas, I heard him throw aside the lovely lash and declare himself defeated by my insatiable endurance. "Now, Megumi love, it's _your_ turn to torment _me_," he said as he freed me from the ropes, unlocked the cuffs from my wrists and ankles and - despite my protests - removed my pretty silver clamps. I massaged my nipples gently, enjoying the tingle as their sensation returned to normal. I had to think carefully what he might mean by what he had just said. In our earlier sessions he had meant only that he wanted me to suck his cock with agonising slowness, postponing his orgasm for as long as I knew how. But recently I had, just once, persuaded him to let me give him a taste of the whip himself, so that even under my inexpert hands he could feel something of the ecstasy I received from these lovely, supple instruments of torment. Hesitatingly, I picked up the cat-o'-nine-tails from where he had dropped it and ran the lashes slowly through my fingers, leaving it to him to take the hint or, if he chose, assume I was just reliving my earlier experience. Suddenly he grabbed me by my free hand and pulled me into the bedroom. "I need a mirror for this!" he said, as he positioned himself as I had done earlier, hands out of the way behind his head, feet apart, watching himself in the long mirror by the closet as he waited for me to whip him, to return something of all that he had done for me. Of course with my little strength I could hardly do more than tickle his body with the cat-o'-nine-tails, and I feared I would only irritate him. But as I applied the lashes as best I could to his arse and back, I could see in the mirror how his cock was coming erect, jerking outwards bit by bit with each blow. Yes, he was enjoying this! He stood a while longer, eyes shut, his erection now straining towards his double in the big mirror. Suddenly he broke away from me and threw himself backwards onto the bed, his legs dangling over the edge. I knew what he wanted now. Dropping the cat, I knelt on the carpet before him and prepared to take his beautiful erection into my mouth. He had made me work for it, and I was determined to make it last. I started on the head, holding it firmly between my lips as I flicked round the sensitive underside and played with the tip, pretending to want to enter the little hole with the very end of my tongue. In my own time, I let him enter my mouth more deeply, one silver-gloved hand weighing and tickling his heavy balls while two fingers of the other lightly held his cock at the root, ready to squeeze if ever he seemed about to come before I was ready for him. At last I opened my throat and swallowed him whole, my throat muscles increasing his pleasure, gripping his shaft in unpredictable spasms - just as my arse muscles would later flirt coquettishly with him, pretending to refuse while actually drawing him deep into my tight passage. He begged me incoherently to let him come, but I was not ready yet, holding his passion back repeatedly with my fingers. In and out of my throat he had to thrust, my flickering tongue and firm lips driving him to mad frustration, before I took pity on him and received his cargo of creamy, salty cum deep into my throat. When at last the spasms of ejaculation were over, I sucked him dry, and finally released him as he began to shrink and soften. I scrambled up onto the bed and we lay in each other’s arms, as he told me how wonderful I was and I licked my lips and swallowed the last taste of his cum. I had dozed off when I was suddenly recalled to reality by his voice calling to me. At first I wasn't sure where I was: then the stern tone told me that we were entering the final phase of our session together, in which I was permitted to re-enact with him the formative moment of my sexual awakening. "Yes, _sensei_," I replied. "Come here immediately, Megumi. I want to see you." "Yes, _sensei_, at once. I am coming," I called submissively, and ran quickly into the drawing-room. I had to get ready fast, or I would displease him further. Where was my purse? I stripped off the long silver gloves, and hunted for the panties with which Matsumoto-san had equipped me. They were absurdly provocative: the merest whisper of transparent material just fitting over my neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair, held in place by almost invisible silken threads tied round my waist and buried deep in the crack of my arse. Twelve years old again, I stood before my idol, eyes respectfully lowered, face red with shame and excitement. He told me to turn round slowly. When I was facing him again, he said: "Megumi, you are not wearing official school knickers." "I know, _sensei_. I am very sorry." "Why have you disobeyed me again?" "I am sorry, _sensei_. I am a bad girl." "What do you deserve for your disobedience?" "I deserve to be severely beaten, _sensei_." "Come over here, then." Obediently I followed him, my heart pounding, to the desk at which I was accustomed to be punished. To my surprise, instead of instructing me to lean over it, rump in the air, my naked bottom neatly presented to him, a virgin canvas on which he would draw line after delicious line with his cane - instead of that, my _sensei_ picked me up by the waist and sat me on the edge of the desk, facing him. "Why do you constantly disobey me, Megumi?" "I don't know, _sensei_." Very daring, I added: "I try hard to please you." "And you think you please me by coming to my class dressed like that?" I gazed at him and nodded, my face on fire. The edge of the cheap wooden school desk was cutting sharply into my naked arse, but I endured it, knowing that something much, much more painful - and more wonderful - was to come. "Even though I have forbidden it?" I nodded again. There was a pause. "You think, then, that I forbid the things I most want?" There were only two possible answers to that. "Yes, _sensei_,” I chose at random. "Oh, my God, Megumi ..." Daring again, I asked shyly, "Will you not cane me now, _sensei_?" "No, Megumi, not this time." "But you always cane my poor bottom when I am disobedient, _sensei_." "And you enjoy it? Is that why you disobey me? To provoke me?" The honest answer was "yes". But that would lead to the question "why?", which was too complicated for a twelve-year-old to understand, let alone explain. So I said nothing. After waiting a while, my teacher said: "The prohibition, and the caning, were just tests. To see if you could guess what really pleased me. You passed the tests." Suddenly my adored teacher had his hands on my waist again, but this time to undo the ties of my tiny panties, so that the front fell and fully revealed my pussy. I lifted my arse from the desk just enough to allow him to pull the whole garment free and throw it to one side, leaving me completely naked apart from my shoes. In a strangled voice I had never heard him use before, he said, "Oh, Megumi, how pretty you are! And how I want you!" Then he was on his knees in front of me, kissing and licking the private places between my legs. With the bit of myself which was still the sexually experienced, grown-up Megumi only two months short of nineteen, I was impressed that a man whose splendid orgasm I had sucked from his balls only minutes ago could be aroused again so quickly. The rest of me was on a time-trip to more than six years ago, and was overwhelmed at the way my idolised _sensei_ had so suddenly given way to desire for my pubescent body. I was conscious of the suppressed giggles of my school-friends watching, wide-eyed, through the crack of the door they had deliberately left ajar, marvelling as _sensei_’s tongue licked and probed around my hairless baby cunt, a wonder they would have to wait years to know themselves. I had only recently learned to explore there with my fingers, sending myself off to sleep with feelings I adored but could not understand. I knew, though, that the hole his tongue seemed determined to explore was far too small: sealed somehow against his entry. Already his tongue was hurting me: granting me pain which was somehow mingled with new and thrilling pleasure. _Sensei_ stopped kissing me and stood up. Between his legs I saw something both frightening and wonderful. I knew, in principle and from occasional stolen glances, that boys were different "down there" from us girls, but I had never guessed that they were as different as that! _Sensei_ suddenly seized me round the upper body and thrust the thing which stood between his legs violently into the tiny, saliva-covered hole between mine. I was conscious of a dreadful feeling of tearing, combined with a wonderful sensation such as my own nightly explorings had only dimly hinted at. My life, I knew, would never be the same again. Before I realised fully what was happening to me, he pulled out of my cunt and reached for a handful of tissues with which to wipe his cock. "Did you enjoy that, Megumi?" "Oh, yes, _sensei_. It hurt a bit. But I enjoyed it." "Would you like me to do it to you again? It won't hurt so much the next time." "Oh, yes, _sensei_. Please _sensei_." He said nothing, so, very daring, I continued: "Next time, will you beat me too, please, _sensei_?" "Would you enjoy that, Megumi?" "Oh, yes, _sensei_! If ... only if you would enjoy it too, of course." "Oh, Megumi," he cried, "you are a little witch. How did you guess I enjoyed it?" I gazed at him in astonishment. I had no idea what he meant. Then he made a big effort and changed the subject. "Those pretty panties you've been wearing, Megumi. Where do you find them?" "In my mother's drawer, _sensei_,” I replied eagerly. "She's got lots." "Does she know you've borrowed them?" "I don't think so, _sensei_. She only wears them when she has a date." I glanced at him, then looked away, blushing. "That's what gave me the idea of wearing them for you," I added with what I hoped was a provocative glance. "D'you like them?" "Yes, Megumi. I like them. Come and see me again after class tomorrow, and if you're wearing pretty enough panties for me, perhaps we'll do these nice things together again." "And will you beat me too, please, _sensei_? I'd really like that." He lifted me down off the desk. "Run along now, Megumi. Don't tell anyone what we did together. Just keep it a lovely little secret between the two of us. And you'd better go to the lavatory and wash yourself before you go home." [Next in Part 03: Chapter III: Taking Stock] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams