UNFINISHED AFFAIRS 03 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 04: UNFINISHED AFFAIRS BY BOB WILLIAMS ASSISTED BY MEGUMI, CHIYOKO, HANAKO, SAMMY, HIROKO, NATSUKO, SACHI, MAKI, YUKI AND AYAKO PART 03 CHAPTER III After the Party And of course I took her home with me. And when she had slipped off her coat and was nude again I took her straight to my private locked and sound-proofed room ... The nine slim black lashes of the cat decorated her pretty bottom again and again. I could see by the clock on the wall that I had been whipping her for forty minutes now. I was enjoying it: the regular exercise was agreeable and I found much aesthetic pleasure in the random patterns of the lashes on her pale gold skin, now blushing slightly pink from the stimulation I was giving her. And of course it was, as always, a special joy to be introducing a sweet young girl to one of the greatest delights sex has to offer. She was more than ready for it: the look in her eyes when she first saw the equipment waiting for her in the specially fitted-out room, and her longing to be tied to it at once, had told me that. I made her wait a while nevertheless, taking her over to the table where I displayed the instruments and showing them to her, so that she knew something of what she had to look forward to. Now she was bound to the metal bars, and her naked body squirmed and quivered under the lashes. Her wrists were firmly fixed to the chains hidden in the vertical bars, and I had pulled them so high that only the very tips of the toes of her gold high-heeled sandals were in touch with the floor. I had tied her ankles only loosely, so that she could dance prettily for me as her body swayed under the strokes of the cat. In later sessions we would add further refinements. She would learn how even her pretty figure could be enhanced by a tightly laced corset, and appreciate the sexual excitement of slight breathlessness; her young breasts, still firm and not yet fully grown, would enjoy the luscious bite of cruel nipple-clamps; and one day she would be introduced to the thrill of the rope and the feathery drops of burning wax falling on her helpless flesh as she learned the subtle delights of the candle-wax torture. I had warned her I would not stop until I had made her scream. She was tossing her head from side to side, her long hair streaming damply down her back and blending with the tangled pattern of the lashes caressing her bottom. She was bravely keeping her lips tightly closed, moaning wordlessly but still letting out no sound that could be described as a scream. I love it when girls pit their courage against my strength. I win in the end but admire and respect them for making it difficult for me. To begin with she had sobbed and implored me to stop - not to hurt her: but I had paid no attention and I knew enough to guess she was now grateful to me. I never give my girls safe words or any of that egalitarian nonsense. When a girl voluntarily enters my secret room, her submission must be total. It is my job to decide if she is in real trouble, or is just begging me to stop because she has not yet learnt how to use the pain as a trigger for intense pleasure - or is trying to stimulate me by pretending to want me to stop when in fact she is loving every moment of what I am doing to her. Of course this delightful uncertainty is wonderfully arousing - as I guessed she knew very well, the pretty little flirt! Swish ... swish ... I was whipping her harder than ever. Anyone walking in unexpectedly would have thought that I was the dominant partner. But in fact, with her pretty whimpering and wriggling she was controlling and directing me. She could not stop herself responding to each stroke of the cat by leaning into it, welcoming it and begging for more. I adore it when girls take over like that, and make me just an instrument of their desire. Where was she now? Was she already floating in that other-worldly paradise which experienced girls can find through the whip, the longing for which drags them back to their lovers again and again begging for ever more painful punishment? Or was she secretly still trying to come to terms with a new and paradoxical source of orgasm? I knew it was all fresh to her because she had told me so. As we lay together on our host's lawn, petting each other and talking over the beautiful sex we had just enjoyed, her face and breasts still prettily decorated with streaks of my cum, she agreed readily enough to leave the party with me and spend the night at my apartment - apparently she and her school-friends had set up a network to provide alibis if their mothers rang to ask where they were. And then I asked her, very gently and tentatively, if she had ever experienced the sexual pleasures of the whip. She looked at me with wide-eyed astonishment and my heart began to beat fast as she admitted she was still in that respect a virgin. I asked about her school experiences. Yes, she said, there had been a physical education master about two years earlier who had often walloped the girls on the dark blue knickers of their gym uniforms when he wasn't satisfied they were trying hard enough. Once she and a few others had been ordered to take their knickers right down and lean over the horse as he whipped their naked bottoms in turn with a long plaited rope. She had been so indignant at the injustice - she knew she had been trying her very best to do what he told her - that she had hardly felt the pain; and afterwards had been surprised to find that her bottom and thighs and pussy were tingling in an exciting way she had never known before. Stroking herself in bed that night - she had already learnt to do that, exchanging masturbation tips with her best friends - and recalling what had been done to her, she had suddenly been overwhelmed with pleasure. She had given herself orgasms in bed before, but never dreaming of a real partner and a real experience. She had been looking forward so much to her next gym class, wondering how best to ensure that he whipped her again, but he suddenly left the school. She supposed some of the girls - perhaps a few had been jealous at not being chosen for the whipping - had told their parents about his sadistic tastes. I began to understand how very, very lucky I was. A girl whose first real orgasm is brought about by the experience of pain is from that moment onwards helplessly addicted to the whip whether she knows it or not. She will of course enjoy other forms of sex too. But the link between pain and the most intense pleasure has been made and the only question is how long she can go on ignoring it, or denying it. Chiyoko, I thought, was now on the brink of recognising the truth about her sexuality, and of inviting me to reinforce it. It made me humble to think of the happiness it was my job to give her - and of all the joy she would give her future lovers, begging them on her knees to grant her endless delicious torment. "Wouldn't you like to have those lovely feelings again?" I asked her gently. "Yes - oh, _yes_, please!" she said at once; and then, "but you won't hurt me, will you?" "Well, I'll have to hurt you a bit," I said carefully, "but only to begin with. You'll be brave, won't you? - because once that's over you'll enjoy it so much." I would start gently, of course; but before long I would be taking her to the heights of exquisite agony while she implored me to hurt her more and more. "You mean, it will be like the first time I had real sex?" "Yes, rather like that." "Then, yes, I'd love that. If _you_ do it to me. Please." I held her deliciously naked body. To my surprise, she was shivering despite the warmth of the evening. "You're not cold, are you?" "Oh, no. It's just that I'm trembling a bit at the thought of what you're going to do to me." "Are you sure you want me to do it?" "Oh _yes_! Don't _you_ want to do it?" "I'm longing to. I adore whipping girls. Especially when I find a girl like you, ready for her first time. Teaching her to adore it too." She snuggled against me. My hands could feel the sensitive skin of her bottom still quivering with excitement. She was ready. She had been ready ever since that gym class years before. Tonight I would show her all she had been missing since then. And then she would implore me to help her make up for lost time and recover all the happiness she had lost. I kissed her softly. "Ready, darling?" "Oh, _yes_. Please." We stood up. She looked at me seriously, the cum decorating her face glistening in the garden lights. "I _want_ you to do it to me - whatever it is," she said. "I mean it. If later I change my mind and tell you not to ... or ask you to stop ... will you please pay no attention? Promise?" I promised. I found my clothes, she wiped her face and breasts and slipped a short coat over her nakedness, and we left. That had been over an hour ago. As I increased the intensity of the whipping, bringing the cat's lashes down onto her deliciously pink bottom with all my strength, I began to fantasise about Chiyoko, imagining what it would be like to be married to her. In fact I had no intention of marrying anyone: why should I, when Japan was full of sweet teenaged girls eager to do everything I wanted? But one day I might end up married nonetheless, just so as to experience the pleasures of a Japanese honeymoon. I imagined a young girl on her knees on our first night, wearing only the veil, shoes and lacy gloves of her wedding-dress, promising to be my slave for ever and imploring me to use her for my pleasure, the crueller and more perverted the better. I saw her shyly producing from her trousseau the whips she had secretly bought for our mutual delight, knowing that the stiff, creaking leather would be pitilessly broken in on her soft flesh over the weeks to come. In the old days a Japanese girl brought her virginity and innocence, and perhaps a dowry, to her husband. Now her gift to him was experience in every area of sex: not presented blatantly as a Western girl would do, but disguised as innocence, a delicate challenge to him to try her out and explore her sexuality to its limits. Chiyoko would make a lovely bride for someone when I had finished with her. My arm was getting tired now, and I would soon be in need of sexual relief. I stopped whipping her and walked over to the table to find something stronger which might precipitate her crisis. She began to whimper at my neglect, begging me to continue: I guessed that she had indeed begun to learn how to fly, the whip keeping her spinning like a top. I chose a shiny plaited bull-whip and returned to my work, taking care not to let her see it. The long lash reached out and lovingly embraced her hips. Her first reaction was stunned silence, standing rigid in her bonds. Then, as her body adapted to the fierce new sensation, she began to moan at a higher pitch than I had yet heard from her. It got louder and higher with each stroke of the whip, till at last it was the sound I love to hear: a girl screaming with mingled agony and joy under my attentions. The long whip whistled round her as I began to lash her with all my strength. After another twenty strokes or so, as hard as I could make them, I dropped the whip, stood in front of her to undo her bonds, and let her fall into my arms. I carried her over to the narrow couch which stood in one corner of the chamber. She protested a little as I placed her on her back, the rough sheet inflaming the delicate skin of her bottom, so I quickly turned her onto her front, pushing her knees up under her chest. Her bottom was an enchanting petunia colour, and had my lust for her been less overwhelming I would have started whipping her again. That was what she wanted too, I am sure; but we had the rest of the night and all the next day for that. I thought with pleasure of the other instruments of torture waiting patiently to be introduced to her eager body, and the more sophisticated forms of whipping to be explored together. My ideal is a girl not only addicted to pain, but addicted specifically to the way I administer it. I climbed onto the couch behind her and without preliminaries thrust my erection into her soaking cunt. A few strokes in and out left my cock well coated with her bubbling juice. I pulled out, ignoring her protests; and, my hands holding her hot buttocks apart, began to push my way into her tiny arsehole. Her anus gripped me tightly: she already knew that was the way to please her lovers and keep them coming back for more. But they had never experienced the heavenly feeling of plunging their cocks into the fiery heat of her arse after an hour of expert whipping. I was the first to do that. I had never felt such mingled love and lust for a girl's anus. At last she was in my arms again, lasciviously rubbing her bottom against the sheet. "Please hurt me more," she said softly. "Much more?" "Much, _much_ more. I am your prisoner. Your slave. Your helpless victim. Whip me - oh, whip me hard, _hard_, as hard as you can! Oh, _please_! Tie me up and never let me go. Do whatever you want to me, but never, never stop hurting me - loving me, I mean." "Sure?" "Sure. I belong here, in your torture-chamber. For ever and ever. That's what I am for. Now I know. Thank you. Thank you so much for teaching me." She stood up, took my hands and pulled me up to join her. "Now do it to me again. More." [Next in Part 04: Chapter IV: Chiyoko: The Show: A Dream of the Future] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams