Author: Bob Williams Title: Haruka's Education Part: Chapter 5 of 20 Universe: The Megumi Stories Summary: A young girl is prepared for a career as a Japanese sex artist Keywords: MF, bd, tort, Japan ===== HARUKA'S EDUCATION 05 By Bob Williams and Haruka Sekine CHAPTER V Fumie Fumie was an Office Lady or OL in the Tokyo Headquarters of a big electronics company. I cannot now recall why I went to visit one of the managers there, but I certainly do remember Fumie, in her smart miniskirted office uniform, collecting me from the Reception and ushering me out of the building again when my interview was over. On the principle of "Try - she can only say no" I asked her for a date, and after some pretty hesitation she accepted. It was very much a standard first date: we met at a coffee shop for a light meal, and then went to some show or concert I had suggested to her over the phone when making the arrangements. Apart from taking her arm occasionally I was careful not to touch her, but from the start I was conscious of a sort of shimmering sexuality radiating from her. Of course I asked her back to my apartment in Akasaka "for coffee"; she accepted readily and the sexual aura turned into highly satisfying sexual action within minutes of our entrance. Fumie was a fairly straightforward Japanese girl in her early twenties. She made love enthusiastically and generously. I don't know if she had a naturally giving nature or had early learned the lesson that in sex the more pleasure you give the more you receive: something of both, no doubt. She was perceptive as well as generous and knew how to tickle a lover's fetishes. She appeared for our first date wearing a short skirt held up by an elaborate chain-belt; as she undressed she gave me a teasing little smile, and then removed the belt from its loops and buckled it snugly round her waist. She had guessed without being told how nudity decorated with chains always stirred my lust. Then she asked very sweetly, "Would you prefer me to keep my heels on?" Of course I said yes. She kissed me lightly. "I'm so glad," she said with a blush. "Somehow I thought you were the kind of man who would enjoy making love to a girl in high-heels. I like it best that way too." Soon after that our mouths were busy with more enjoyable things than talking. Fumie had plenty to give. Her legs were long and elegant, and she was taller than average, even more of course in her high-heels. She wore her hair long, hanging more than half-way down her back when it was loose. Her breasts were nothing special, but she had a pretty slim waist which she liked to show off with tight belts. She no longer shaved her cunt-hair - no doubt there had once been a time when she stimulated her lovers by posing as a precocious schoolgirl tart - but she kept it neatly trimmed the way I like it. Above all she had the peachiest arse I have ever seen: large and with two perfectly shaped and matching halves. There were no tan-lines to spoil the pale gold tint: if she sunbathed at all she obviously did so in the nude. Nor was her bottom marred by panty-lines. The resilience of its firm flesh was such that within minutes of removing her office uniform panties and tights it was as immaculate as if she had been nude for hours. I could hardly keep my eyes, or hands, off it. My adoration of it made her giggle like a teenager. Adding to its perfection were two lovely sacral dimples which it was my great pleasure to kiss and tickle before sliding the tip of my tongue down the split between the two halves of the peach to indulge in another session of arse-worship. We soon gave up any pretence of formal dating. On our agreed evenings she would come to my apartment for a prolonged sex session immediately after work. Sometimes we would go out for a meal or a movie between bouts; more often we would stay naked and lie in each other's arms watching a video from my collection. Usually we watched porn: she had hardly ever seen such videos before and it was a treat to see the naive pleasure they gave her. She had a charming trick of covering her face with her hands when the camera closed in on the fucking - though of course looking between her fingers and then begging me to do to her exactly what she had seen being done to the girl on screen. For all that our fucking was somewhat straightforward and, as they say, plain vanilla. Given the extraordinary beauty and desirability of her arse it was surprising that she did not hint at any interest in being whipped. Surely some lover would have taught her by now to enjoy that, I thought. When I was taking her from behind I would spank her a little, and she seemed to like it, but she never showed any sign of wanting me to go further. It worried me that there seemed to be something lacking in her sexuality. When a girl is introduced to masochism at puberty, at the time when her imagination is on fire with so many wonderful discoveries of what her body can do to delight her, she will possess a source of endless joy to be treasured for ever by herself and by her lovers. But if a young woman has been unlucky, and either never learned about the overwhelming happiness the whip can give her or was introduced to it clumsily, repairing the damage to her sexuality is a delicate business. So I was right to be cautious - but caution, I decided, can be taken too far. One evening when she was due to visit I left a whip neatly coiled on the bed: just a simple cat of long leather lashes with no knots or sophisticated special features. I was helping her out of her clothes and she turned to drop her office blouse and bra on the bed - and then she saw it. "What's this?" she asked, picking it up and running the lashes through her fingers. "Oh, I ... er, that is ... I didn't mean to ..." I stammered. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she responded to my carefully acted embarrassment. "Do you use this on your girls?" she asked coquettishly. "Well, that is, if they, you know, enjoy it ..." "Do you think I will enjoy it?" "I ... er ..." She let the whip fall out of its coils, the long lashes rustling erotically as they tumbled to the floor. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed me. "Well, there's only one way to find out," she said in a practical tone. She turned away, dropped the whip in a tangle of lashes on the bed, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and pulled them and her panties off together. Without any guidance from me she spread herself out on the bed, lying on her front with her legs wide apart. She pulled the pillows together and buried her head in them, turning her face to one side. Finally she lifted her long hair, gathered it together and tossed it down her back. "Mm'mm ... please ..." she murmured contentedly. I could hardly resist an invitation like that, especially not from a girl whose arse I had been lusting after for weeks. I picked up the whip from where she had left it and raised it high, letting the tips of the lashes tickle her bottom. Then, after several teasing false starts, I brought them down moderately hard on that luscious golden peach. There was a slight murmur of - protest? encouragement? - and she wriggled her hips a little, burying them more deeply into the bed. I raised the whip and brought the lashes down again, a little harder this time. And again, and again. After the sixth or seventh stroke she suddenly raised herself on the bed, then tucked her knees up under her tummy so that her creamy arse was fully displayed as the highest point of her body. I was overwhelmed by its beauty, but the problem was one of too much choice: should I caress it, fuck it or go on whipping it? There was no doubt about what she wanted so I renewed my efforts, giving her another twenty or so slow strokes with all my strength. The peach was ripening now, the pale gold blending gradually into a beautiful pink blush. I could resist its loveliness no longer, tossed the whip aside and, seizing the fruit in both hands, thrust my tongue into the luscious crack between the halves. I paid a friendly visit to her cute little arsehole with the tip of my tongue, then moved on down to the gasping mouth from which the peach nectar was dripping. As I feasted she made another of her rapid movements and twisted round onto her back, legs wide apart and knees up. I had her by the slim waist now, my lips firmly clamped over her lower mouth as my tongue dug deep into her cunt in search of yet more heavenly juice. Then suddenly her long legs were over my shoulders and her ankles locked behind my neck, holding me tight as her happy prisoner, her pointed heels scratching my shoulders. I kissed her pretty cunt-lips and found I was murmuring foolishly to them, "Oh, you are so beautiful! Oh, you are so beautiful!" Then my tongue was deep in her lower throat harvesting her honeyed love-juice. She was close to coming now, I thought, but she released me and swung round till we were lying together in an untidy sixty-nine position. Now her hands and upper mouth = she was always, as I said, a generous lover - were caressing my erection and I too was close to climax. We came together, worshipping each other's bodies as we feasted greedily on the passionate mutual flow of liquid lust. "Oh, that was wonderful!" she said at last, once we were lying in each other's arms again and had shared our juices in long, deep kisses. "Please do it to me again!" "Which part of it?" I asked teasingly. "All of it! But especially the whipping." "You liked that?" "I loved it," she said; and then softly, after a little pause, "I know now." "I'm surprised," I said more seriously, "that you didn't already know. Your arse is so beautiful ... surely I can't be the first lover to have wanted to whip it?" "Well, I have been whipped before. I had lovers who wanted to do that to me. But I never enjoyed it much. No one ever did it the way you do! More, please!" She began to look around the bed in search of the whip. The moment had come. "I have a special place," I said carefully, "where I whip my girls." She looked at me, wide-eyed, not sure what I meant. I sat up and held out my hands to her. "Would you like to see?" She nodded silently. We climbed off the bed together. "Why don't you go and wash ... you know, tidy up a bit, and then I'll show you." She kissed me, then disappeared into the bathroom. As she went she stepped neatly out of her shoes. I picked them up, smelt them and even I think kissed them. How arousing girls' shoes are, especially when you can still feel their aroma and warmth in the curved indentations their pretty little feet have pressed into them! But for Fumie's first torture-session I can find something even better, I thought. In one of my closets I have a little stock of clothes for sexy girls - items bought for former partners which they never took away. My youngest girls, for instance, those still subject to the supervision of parents and schoolteachers, usually have to keep their sexual fantasy clothing at my apartment where it cannot be discovered and their possession of it investigated, which largely explains the contents of my closet! I soon found what I was looking for: a pair of fetish shoes with absurdly high heels to force a girl onto her highest tiptoes and with long silver cords to bind her feet to the curved soles. I love to see my girls, especially when we have established a master-slave relationship, in the highest, slimmest heels they can possibly manage. Apart from the pretty teetering walk and posture and the elegant reshaping of calves and thighs, they add to the fantasy of helpless captivity which a girl soon learns to enjoy as much as I do. Fumie emerged from the bathroom looking as fresh and wholesome as an OL arriving at her office. Apart from her lack of clothes, of course. She at once spotted the shoes waiting for her, but said nothing and waited submissively for instructions. "There are two rules for girls entering my special room," I said firmly. "The first: all clothing is strictly forbidden. The second: except for fetish items specified by me - and that almost always includes high-heels like these. So put them on, please." She hastened to obey and I knelt on the carpet to help her slide her feet - still fresh and slightly damp from the shower - into each shoe in turn. I tied the cords for her across her insteps and round her ankles. The shoes were just a little tight, I thought, but so much the prettier and she made no complaint: perhaps she could already feel the prickling in her constricted feet which would form a tingling background to all the strong new sensations she was about to experience. How delicious her feet looked forced into something close to a ballet-dancer's stance and bound into the elegant curve of the silver soles! I was strongly tempted to prostrate myself before them, kiss them, suck her little toes, anoint them with my cum ... I once took part in a simple party game in which the group first decided which of the girls had the tiniest feet, after which we men masturbated all over them and then enjoyed the sight of the other girls competing to lick them clean and slurp up all the translucent blobs and streaks of cum while the first girl giggled helplessly and came in her excitement ... There is no doubt that a girl's feet are a highly erogenous zone, especially when your tongue is working over the ticklish gaps between her toes, and can stimulate your lust delightfully. They should never be neglected in any variety of sex but especially not in bondage and sado-masochism sessions ... I'm so sorry, where was I? Oh yes, lying on the carpet worshipping Fumie's feet. They would have to wait, I decided reluctantly. We had other more fundamental lusts to enjoy together first. I stood up and took her by the hand. "Ready?" "Ready." "No going back?" I felt her shiver in what I hoped was a mixture of fear and anticipation. She shook her head and smiled bravely. I slipped my arm round her waist and conducted her out of the bedroom and along the corridor. She tried to walk at a steady pace taking tiny steps in her fetish shoes but her legs were trembling and I could feel her shivering, which I like a girl to do when she is about to enter my torture-chamber for the first time. (The second time, of course, she cannot get there fast enough!) I activated the push-button combination lock, opened the door and switched on the main lights. She gazed round with astonishment, gradually taking in the room's contents and their implications for her as the door swung irrevocably shut behind her. At that first session I introduced her step by step to the instruments and equipment in my torture-chamber, ready at any moment to withdraw if I sensed resistance or dislike. But having made a start, Fumie was a fast learner. She soon let me know what she liked best to have done to her, though with her usual generosity she encouraged me to do the things she sensed I liked best as well. She preferred to be whipped while chained to the red metal St Andrew's Cross. I have already explained that I like a girl to be helpless within the main whipping-frame so that I and my instruments have access to every part of her; but given my obsession with Fumie's exquisite bottom I was happy enough to whip her with just her back exposed to me. She also developed a pretty taste for being suspended from a ceiling hook and whipped at random as she swayed to and fro. She would tiptoe over to the instrument table in her tight fetish shoes, scoop up a pair of steel handcuffs and hold them out to me with an irresistible expression of pleading on her sweet face. So I would kneel in front of her adorable little feet and chain her ankles together with the cuffs. Then I would pull her to the floor and attach another set of handcuffs to one wrist, loop the chain through the one binding her ankles, and fix the other cuff to her free wrist. That turned her into a backward-leaning crescent, ankles and wrists locked together. Another pair of cuffs would pinion her upper arms above the elbows, pulling her shoulders painfully back and forcing her breasts to stand out proudly. Ignoring her convincing but insincere protests I would lower a hook from the ceiling and loop the wrist- and ankle-cuffs over it. Soon she was just a bundle of ecstatic agony hanging on her chain and screaming while I vigorously plied one of my multiple whips with thick braided leather tails, down onto her bottom and then with a back-handed flick up onto her breasts and tummy as she swayed to and fro. We had such fun together! You know, when one spends much of one's time whipping and fucking very young girls, with their vivid but unruly sexual imaginations, it is easy to forget the pleasure of making love to a beautiful grown-up woman who understands exactly what she wants you to do to her and knows how to ask for it. But at last I would judge we had both been stimulated enough and free her. Then for our final game she would beg me to rape her. I would carry her back along the corridor to the bedroom, throw her down onto the bed and take her, while she clung passionately to me and begged me unconvincingly to spare her. At last the inevitable happened: when I called her to discuss the next date she told me it would have to be our last. She was getting married, she said: the company thought it was time she moved on so that they could employ a younger and cheaper OL in her place, and had introduced her to a rising young "salaryman" with good prospects in the company. I expressed a polite mixture of regret and congratulations. We made arrangements for our last meeting to include all the activities we most enjoyed, including a carefully planned sequence of whipping and caning. When she called the following day to thank me, she paid me the compliment of saying she was still having trouble sitting down. As at last we prepared to part that evening I gave her the wedding-present I had ready for her. It was a beautiful whip of many strands in white leather, perfect for a bride. It was left over from a relationship I had once had with a charming girl with a vivid dramatic imagination, who liked to play the part of an innocent, virginal bride who discovered on her wedding-night that the respectful young man she was marrying was an insatiable sadist of exceptional cruelty. I found her demands for play-acting and her realistic screams of "Why are you so cruel to me?" enjoyable but exhausting, and after a while we drifted apart. I learnt later that she had in the end married just such a man and both of them lived, I hope, happily ever after. On my insistence Fumie opened her present at once. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she said, running the long, knotted and decorated lashes longingly through her fingers. "Shall we ... shall we just ...?" "No, no," I said, "that's for your husband to do." She giggled. "I'll take it on my honeymoon," she said. "I can't wait to see his face when I lay it out on our bed beside my nightdress." "Will you take a nightdress on your honeymoon?" I asked, pretending to be surprised. "Of course. I need something to take off, don't I?" She kissed me, and was gone. I had almost forgotten her when she called me six weeks or so later. "Bob, I have to see you. I have a problem." "Of course ... but what is it?" "I'll tell you when we meet. When can I come? I must have some time with you alone." The following evening she came straight from the office, still in her OL uniform. "It's about my fiance," she said almost as soon as she had arrived. Well, I had guessed that of course. "Is it all off or something?" I asked. "Well, it may have to be. The trouble is ... I know this sounds strange ..." "Go on. Nothing surprises me." "The fact is ... he won't ... well, he won't whip me." Having at last got it out, she burst into tears. I sat beside her, took her in my arms and comforted her. "But why on earth not?" I asked when at last she had quietened down. "I don't know!" she said, almost in tears again. "There's nothing wrong with me, is there?" "Nothing at all! I can say that, of all people. You are wonderful. You are a joy to whip. You love it, and you show that you love it, and you thank me beautifully. Or you did when we were together." "Then there must be something wrong with him." "Sounds like it." "We make love, of course. We go on dates. He's very nice to me. But when I suggest that he do the one thing I love most, he won't. He won't even talk about it. He seems to think it's somehow ... I don't know ... wrong, disgusting of me even to mention it." "How very odd. I can't imagine any man refusing to make love to you like that. You have the most desirable arse of any girl I've ever known ..." "But what use is a husband who won't whip me?" She started crying again. I soothed her as best as I could. Suddenly she pulled herself together. "Bob, do something for me. Whip me. I'm desperate. I haven't had it for ages. Do it to me the way you used to. After all, it was you who taught me to want it so much! Then I'll feel better. I'll be able to think about it properly. Decide what to do." "Of course," I said. "I'd love to. I've missed that bottom of yours more than I can possibly tell you." She smiled bravely and kissed me. "Let's go upstairs now," she said. "Sure. But remember the rules. No girl enters my torture-chamber ..." "... with clothes on!" she completed happily. She jumped up, danced round the room and performed a rapid but very arousing striptease. Then she was in my arms again, and I was helping her up the stairs. "And there was a second rule, remember?" I said as we went. "Except any fetish gear you choose to instruct her to wear!" she said with a giggle. "Fetish shoes?" "You bet fetish shoes!" We went first to the bedroom and I quickly pulled the shoes out of the closet where I kept them. I helped her squeeze her feet into them, and tied the cords as tightly as I could while she supported herself with her hands on the top of my head. "Oh, yes!" she breathed. "I'd forgotten how good they feel! So beautifully tight! Such a lovely feeling of tingling and shivering!" "And so pretty!" I added. She pirouetted round the bedroom, forced onto the tips of her toes, while I stood ready to catch her if she overbalanced. She came to a halt in my arms. "And now ... the torture-chamber! Oh, the happy times I've had there! Please whip me really, really well!" As soon as I had unlocked the door she went straight to the St Andrew's Cross against the wall and stood there ready with her feet apart and her arms above her head. The leather cuffs and chains were hanging ready from the four points of the cross and it took me only a few moments to pinion her to the frame. She let out a deep sigh of happiness. "It's been so long!" she whispered. "And I've wanted it so much! Don't keep me waiting ..." For our earlier sessions in this room I had enjoyed planning a sequence of pleasures for her - including whips of various kinds, building up different levels of pain and normally ending with the sharp-edged leather-sheathed birch cane. There had been no time for that on this occasion. I just grabbed the first long-lashed cat I found on the instrument table. It happened to be one with hard knots in some lashes and tiny prickling metal adornments buried in others. I began to caress her with it, slowly and gently at first but then more strongly and lovingly. Young and enthusiastic girls had passed through my hands and my torture-chamber since Fumie and I had said good-bye, but I had not forgotten the beauty of her perfect arse. Soon the pale gold was again ripening to a pretty blush marked at random with darker specks from the whip's decorations, as she breathed deeply and encouraged me with gasps of pleasure and pleas for even harder strokes. It was more than an hour by the clock when I threw down the whip at last, released her wrists and ankles and held her as she fell back into my arms. "Oh, that was so good!" she murmured. "And I needed it so badly! Thank you ... thank you ..." "What would you like now?" I already knew the answer. "Take me ... please take me hard, the way you used to ... Rape me, force me ..." I half carried, half supported her back along the corridor to the bedroom, threw her down and secured her wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed with the chains which were always hanging discreetly there. She wriggled luxuriously and whimpered as her tender bottom was stimulated by the sheet. "I know what you want," I said, "a little extra ..." From the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet I produced a square of rough fibre such as is used for old-fashioned doormats. "Up a moment ..." I raised her hips and slid the matting underneath before letting her bottom fall back onto it. She squealed and squirmed as the mass of sharp points in the rough material stimulated her delicate tormented flesh. "Oh, oh ... _yes_!" she cried. "Ah, that's _lovely_! Now take me ..." I pulled off my shirt and slacks. I was more than ready and fell on her, taking her remorselessly in the way I knew she loved. I somehow managed to make it last as she clung passionately to me and begged me to force her more roughly. When it was over we lay panting in each other's arms. "I have an idea," I said, when at last our hearts and breathing had returned to something like normality. "About your fiance." "Tell me." "Don't you think," I said carefully, "that if he could see you as I've just seen you ... helpless and bound so beautifully, being whipped, loving every moment of it ... don't you think he would understand at last?" "Understand?" "Understand that you adore it, being whipped I mean, and want it all the time? And then see how cruel he's being, denying it to you? Would that work?" "Well, I suppose it might," she said dubiously. "You see, I can think of only two explanations. Either he's being deliberately unkind to you, not letting you have what you want, in which case the sooner you get rid of him the better ..." "Break it off, you mean?" "Yes. How could you marry a man like that? You'll give him everything he wants, won't you? Let him do anything to you that pleases him? Do everything to him that he most enjoys?" "Of course!" "And of course he should do to you the things you love best. But it may be that he just doesn't understand how much you love being whipped. Need it. Must have it. Perhaps he's been brought up to think that a girl couldn't possibly enjoy something like that, and imagines you're just being self-sacrificing in offering to let him whip you." She giggled. "Are there such men?" "Well, there might be, and he might be one of them. But when he sees you enjoying it, and perhaps begins to whip you himself, and finds that he enjoys doing it to you ..." "The way every sensible man does ..." "Do you think it would work?" "It might." "Could you persuade him to come here, meet you here?" "I'll manage somehow." "Then you get here half-an-hour earlier and when he arrives you're in the middle of a whipping session. And making it obvious how much you're loving it." "All right. At least that way I get whipped again. By you." "So that's settled?" "Yes." "What do you want me to do to you now?" She stretched out luxuriously on the bed, taking care to wriggle her bottom against the tormenting square of stiff matting. "Turn me over," she said at last, "and fuck my arse. I haven't had that for _ages_." "It's so lovely and hot," I said some minutes later. "Mm'mm. Well, you made it hot. With your lovely whips. Ahhh, that's good ... deeper, please. If you can ..." "Of course I can. I'm not hurting you, am I?" "Yes you are. It's lovely. Don't stop!" Well, I wasn't going to of course. It was almost a week before Fumie called me again. "I've persuaded him," she said. "He's agreed to come with me to visit a _sensei_ who can help couples with problems of sexual compatibility." She giggled. "That's you. But there's only one possible time, he can get free on Saturday morning for once, so I hope you can make it available for us." "Well, it's not easy," I said. "I have a pupil here then." "Can't you put her off?" "Not really. She lives here, you see." "Lucky you. You have a live-in slave now, do you?" "Well, yes. In a way. She has a lot of talent and I'm training her. I sometimes think I'm the slave. She makes me work very hard!" "How old is she?" "Sixteen." "Aren't you afraid you'll get caught one day, corrupting minors, and be deported?" "_She_ won't report me. She's having the loveliest time she's ever had in her entire life. But come anyway. I'll make it right with her. She won't be in the way. And I think I can see a way of using her to help solve your problem." "That's kind of you. Thank you." "You get here half-an-hour early so we can set things up. Will your young man be on time?" "He's always punctual." [Next in Part 06: Chapter VI: Fumie and her Fiance] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams Comments welcome at bobwilliams1@tiscali.co.uk