We_Always_Do_It_For_Real.05 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 01: WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL BY MEGUMI KATO AND BOB WILLIAMS PART 05 CHAPTER IV Dinner, and Afterwards We ate at a restaurant near Bob's apartment block in Akasaka. I remember the place, but not what we ate: I was too excited to pay attention to the food. A couple of glasses of wine steadied my nerves and gave me a warm feeling of pleasure to come - that I do remember. Bob tactfully did not talk about the pleasures we had shared and were both looking forward to enjoying again. He asked me about my career as an actress with Marucho: when I had decided on that as a profession, what sort of training I had been given, what videos I had appeared in. I decided not to tell him I'd remembered to bring my videos, his present from the company. He could have them later. Tonight and tomorrow I wanted him to pay attention to the real me. After I'd gone it would be fun to imagine him trying to remember me with the help of my videos, and jerking off in front of the TV in his apartment, all alone - unless of course he called up one of his regular girl-friends and fucked her in memory of me. Or to forget me. Or something. I was so preoccupied with what was to come after dinner that I answered his questions pretty much at random. He was stroking my thigh under the table. The hem of my tiny tight skirt was just millimetres below my crotch. I was holding my thighs slightly open for him, wishing his fingers would slide that tiny bit higher ... Bob was saying, "You know Megumi-san, it would really help me in my writing if you would tell me more about your career, what you do, how you started." I said I'd be glad to, one day, when I was calmer. Then I abandoned the attempt to talk generally. I told him how excited I was, and why. I tried to describe what it felt like to have his insatiable cock firmly lodged in my gasping cunt, or half-way down my throat. As I spoke, my tongue loosened by the wine, he kept tickling my thigh through the tights, very gently, high up on the inside, but alas never quite high enough ... Then he said: "I've never wanted a girl as much as I want you. Let's go and do all those things we've been dreaming about, shall we?" It was just a few minutes to his apartment block, and after the day's wind and rain it had turned into a fine though cool evening. I thought the fresh air would steady me so we walked the short distance up-hill. I was surprised to find that Bob rented the two top floors of the small block. He explained that it was shaped a bit like a pyramid, so the two floors together were not much bigger than one floor lower down, but even so it seemed luxurious for a writer. And much, much bigger than my little apartment of course. We went into the lobby and called the elevator. He was carrying my bag (that's another thing I like about going with _gaijin_) but in the elevator cage he unbuttoned my coat, slipped his free hand inside and held me. "What's the first thing you are going to do when we get there?" he asked. "The first thing I'm going to do," I said carefully, trying but failing to regain a little control over the situation, "is take off all my clothes." "That sounds like a good idea. What's the second thing?" "The second thing I'm going to do," I said, "is take a shower." "That sounds like another good idea. Can I join you?" "No, you can't. There are times when a girl needs privacy." "Oh. Pity. What's the third thing?" "When I've had my shower," I said, "I shall of course get dressed again." The elevator stopped and we got out. He let go of me as he felt for his key. "That strikes me as a bad idea," he said. "But you don't know what I'm planning to wear," I said and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Neither did I, yet - or indeed if I would be wearing anything. We entered the apartment along a short corridor leading to the large main room built into the sloping walls of the block. There was a small kitchen off the corridor, and an open-tread staircase at one side of the main room leading to the floor above. The actress in me was already planning possible entrances down that staircase. A sophisticated nude with my hair up and in nothing but high heels? A sexy bar-girl in just a tiny gold g-string and little gloves? Innocently naked under a wide skirt my audience could look up while I pretended not to know? It all depended on what else Matsumoto-san had provided. Bob put down my bag and helped me out of my coat, dropping it on one of the sofas. He held me very close, one hand stroking the back of my neck, the other feeling the shape of my arse outlined by the thin cloth of the tight miniskirt. "Bedroom upstairs?" I murmured after a long moment. "And bathroom?" He guided me to the stairs, taking my bag again. I went first, he followed, and I could sense his eyes enjoying the close view of my bottom and thighs moving just above him at face level, tingling with desire under the thin layers of tight material. The upper floor had a master bedroom with a bathroom, a spare bedroom, a second bathroom and (as I later came to know very well) a large storeroom with no windows or outside wall. Bob put my bag down on the big double bed and stood waiting. I looked a question at him. "You said the first thing you were going to do was take off all your clothes." "I did," I replied, "but I didn't say you would be allowed to watch. Wait downstairs and I'll join you when I'm ready for you." "It had better be worth the wait." "It will be, darling, I promise. Trust me." Alone, I peeled off the black mini-dress and found somewhere in the closet to hang it up. I removed the high-heeled silver sandals, my tights and my panties. I wasn't wearing a bra of course. I went into the bathroom and took a long shower. I thought pleasurably of my lover waiting for my slow entrance down the stairs, ready in my own good time to make him free again of my fresh, clean body. When I returned to the bedroom I saw that he had been there to remove his own clothes, but had respected my wish to be alone in the shower. I was grateful to him for that. I sat naked in front of the fitted dressing-table and repaired my make-up with the emergency kit Matsumoto-san had sent me. Then I sorted through the bag to decide what to wear - not that I expected to be allowed to keep it on for long. Black had been a success at dinner, so I started with a tight black corset in a smooth satin material, designed to leave my breasts free while providing a little discreet support. Criss-crossing the laces tightly enough down the double row of hooks at the back was not easy on my own. I began to fantasise about his strong hands pulling harder and harder on each cross of the laces from hook to hook, I begging him to be merciless in constricting my waist as cruelly as he could, while in contrast my breasts and buttocks jutted out ever more proudly, the lips of my moist pussy pouting prettily, longing to be kissed, stroked, entered ... I told myself to stop daydreaming. I got the corset done somehow, tight enough at least to give me a pleasurably painful feeling of breathlessness and imprisonment. I planned to leave my breasts uncovered but wear a very short, wide skirt of the same black satin as the corset. It fitted snugly round my now temptingly slender waist, then stood out from my hips supported by a mass of short, stiff petticoats already sewn into place. I wore no tights or panties of course, but slipped on a pair of shiny black pumps. For a moment I almost lost my balance on the high, narrow heels, one of them, I now realised, a touch longer than the other - a trick often used by our costume department to increase the sexiness of a girl's walk. The heels would oblige me to take only little steps, and what with them and the exquisitely tight corset I would be my lover's prisoner tonight: I could never escape even if I wanted to.[2] (Maybe I could _try_ to escape, just for fun, so that he could have the pleasure of catching me and I the joy of being caught?) I felt my throat go dry and my heart beat faster at the thought of presenting myself to him like that: enticingly vulnerable and helpless, a toy designed specially to tickle his lust. He was waiting, but I didn’t think he would be going anywhere. I stood in front of the long mirror and examined myself carefully. I did a little pirouette and enjoyed the sexy rustling of the petticoats as they swished round my naked bottom and crotch. I liked the look of the girl in the mirror, tossing back her long black hair so that it poured down the ivory skin of her back, her tiny waist setting off her firm breasts and erect nipples pointing forward eager to meet her lover's questing hands, her long, slender legs emerging from the froth of the petticoats and enhanced by the dainty femininity of the extremely high heels. Somehow she needed a little more. I hunted again through the bag and found her a pair of long black sleeves - like gloves but ending in a loop round the middle finger, leaving the hands free - and a black silken ribbon to fit snugly round her slender neck. Now she was a fitting gift for her lover. He had waited for her long enough. Practising little steps in my slender high heels, I walked quietly to the top of the stairs. I could see Bob standing in the living-room below, dressed in a _yukata_, the long cotton Japanese bathrobe, an _obi_ sash knotted round his hips to hold it together. I wondered if he were wearing anything underneath. I rather guessed not. "Here I am!" I called gaily. I didn't want him to miss anything of the effect I hoped my entrance would make. I came slowly down the stairs, occasionally fluffing up my petticoats like a ballet-dancer with her tutu. The open staircase meant he could not help seeing how naked I was underneath and I coyly made the most of it. I could see from his reaction that I had guessed right about his own nakedness under his _yukata_. I struck a pose on the last steps, came towards him, demonstrated my pirouette and a deep curtsey, and was then in his arms. "Please, darling," I said, when I could speak again, "tighten my corset for me. I did my best, but I know you can do it better." I pulled away and turned my back to him. "You like it really tight?" he asked, a little anxiously. "Yes, really, _really_ tight. I love that. And I'm sure you'd like to see me that way, wouldn't you?" I added teasingly. Already I could feel his strong fingers pulling the cruel laces round their hooks and through their strongly reinforced holes. I was now so constricted I could hardly breathe, and I could feel the sexy rush of slight oxygen starvation blending with the sensuous pleasure of pain. It might have been my imagination but as my waist shrank to the tiniest possible size I could feel my breasts and bottom swelling and firming in compensation; my pussy and arsehole seemed to be pouting and panting with desire. Before falling back into my lover's arms I tightened my little skirt, moulding it to my new waist and pointing up even more the contrast with the swell of my bottom and breasts. After what seemed a long, long time during which he showed me, rather than told me, how well I pleased him, I managed to pull away and insisted on making an inspection tour of the living-room. I bent low over the objects displayed on the side tables and carefully examined them, unaware of course of how this disarranged my skirt and petticoats and pulled them up towards my waist. He caught me at last from the back, his hands fiercely grasping my bare breasts and pinching my nipples. One hand left me and I felt him undo his sash and shrug off his _yukata_. His hands were now round my waist while he told me incoherently how amazed he was at my newly sculpted figure. Then he was on his knees behind me, pulling my arse and thighs hard towards his mouth, while I fell forward onto the sofa, supporting myself against the cushions on my hands. As he pulled aside my petticoats his tongue urgently thrust forward between my legs, roughly licking the outer lips of my already dripping pussy. He pulled my legs apart: for a moment I staggered on the high heels but I held firm, my legs straight and the muscles of my thighs and calves taut, still leaning onto the sofa cushions so that my uncovered arse was the highest point of my body. The tip of Bob's questing tongue reached as far forward as my erect clitoris. I was shuddering with the pleasure and excitement. The shallow panting that was all my constricting corset would allow seemed to force the gathering liquid in spasms from my eager cunt onto his relentless, greedy tongue. I heard him groaning with delight as he slurped the musky juices from my pussy and begged for more. Suddenly he seemed to bring his passion under control. He slid his hands down my legs as far as my knees, and withdrew his tongue gently. I felt the tenderest of touches in the area just below my pussy. Then his tongue hardened to a point, and resumed the delicate but inescapable probing of my arsehole which he had started hours ago on the bed in the disused studio. Gradually he wore down my resistance, and his tongue could enter my hole quite some way until a muscular spasm on my part squeezed it out, only to feel it begin its gentle but insistent demands again. Of course quite a few lovers had taken me in the arse, and I had learnt with practice to relax my sphincter muscles and help them in, but I had never managed to open up the way some girls did so that a cock could enter me at a stroke. My rosebud was still shy and almost virginal, despite all the pleasure it had given and received. And leaning forward onto the sofa as I was, with my rump in the air, was not the most comfortable position from which to offer my new lover entry into the one hole he had not yet claimed for his own. It was no doubt my own fault for keeping my legs in that position, but I did not want to deprive him of the pleasure I sensed he was getting from their straight, shapely length between my long, slender high heels and the hem of my tiny, frothy skirt. FOOTNOTE [2] A Western lover once showed me a book called _The Kimono Mind_ by Bernard Rudofsky (Charles E Tuttle, Tokyo, 1971) and helped me read parts of it. Explaining the traditional attraction of a Japanese girl tightly bound into a kimono, which he describes as "a combination of straightjacket and hobble skirt," he says: "Men derive infinite pleasure from watching hobbled women. They never tire of inventing and perfecting new harnesses for them, putting new obstacles to their gait, all the more as women do not protest against their sartorial captivity. They are happy in their assurance that the bonds imposed on them help to fan a man's desire." And then, in a discussion on traditional Japanese footwear: "The effect of absurdly impractical shoes ... is as intoxicating as a love potion. The girl child who puts on a pair of high-heeled shoes is magically propelled into womanhood." (pp. 44-50.) Now _there's_ a man who _really_ understands! But he doesn't allow for the fact that it's we girls, and not just you men, who love inventing new ways of being bound and helpless. To wear the most constricting possible corset, the highest and slenderest possible heels, to be restricted in my movements by the tightest and shortest possible skirt, is as exquisitely erotic for me to experience as it is for you to look at. [Next in Part 06: Chapter IV concluded and Chapter V: Breakfast for Two]