We Always Do It For Real 31 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 01: WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL BY MEGUMI KATO AND BOB WILLIAMS PART 31 CHAPTER XX Megumi Transfigured So I sent Bob Williams this account of my early life and career, as he had asked. But it was a month at least before he and I were able to see each other again. I was kept busy at the studio, and I was seeing a lot of the new friend I had made after Miss Takahashi's departure from her wedding reception. As I had hoped, he had a large repertoire of ingenious things he enjoyed doing to girls, some of them wonderfully kinky and perverted,[15] and of course I insisted on having them all done to me as often as possible. So what with our sessions together, work before the camera and occasional multiple non-stop fucking at a sex-party, I was walking around in a sort of glow of sexual delight. Then I was taken out of Tokyo for some location filming. Another company had produced a fairly harmless, sentimental full-length feature starring a couple of young actors quite well-known for appearing on television quiz shows. Their names and faces would sell the result in Japan, but the overseas distributors were telling the producer it hadn't a hope elsewhere unless it was spiced up a bit. The young girl who starred in the film refused to do sex scenes, though the young man was keen, and, as quite often happened, Marucho had been asked to make some which could plausibly be edited in. Someone in the studio thought my face, and - more important - my body, were near enough to those of the girl star to make me the choice for her stand-in. So off we all went for a couple of weeks to a deserted beach on the Japan Sea coast, which someone who'd never been there thought could double for a beach in Hawaii where the hero and heroine first got close to each other, to film some scenes of their getting even closer. It was quite good fun: my first experience of work in the "legitimate" cinema. It meant days of lying around on the beach waiting for something to happen, working on my all-over tan while the two companies' directors argued about how the two productions could be made to match and the crew shovelled a lot of smelly seaweed and dead jellyfish off the bit of sand which was to star jointly with me and the young male hopeful. It then turned out that he was too nervous to achieve an erection most of the time, and that when he could the result was laughably small. So we all had to wait while a male actor with plausible looks was summoned from Marucho, after which the pair of us dispatched the business in an hour. I heard later that the overseas distributors thought the whole thing looked so contrived that it was never used anyway. When I got back to the studio, I found messages from Bob. He wanted to discuss my manuscript, and "other things". I hoped the other things were what I wanted too. My new lover was away from Tokyo - no doubt subjecting other delighted girls to his special techniques, but I didn't grudge him that, or them - so I badly needed someone to fuck me. I had some days off saved up as a result of the hard work of the last few weeks, so Bob and I arranged to meet that evening. I arrived at his apartment wearing a simple dress with nothing underneath, but carrying a transparent plastic umbrella and a large bag which I had carefully packed with a selection of my favourites from Matsumoto-san's costume department. I hoped they would become his favourites too. Right on top was the costume I had worn for the opening scene of my most recent fuck video - not yet released, or even edited so far as I knew. It was a short plastic raincoat, completely transparent apart from silver strips along the edges. I thought Bob deserved a special treat for his patience over the past few weeks. There was nobody around in the corridor outside his front door, so I stripped off my dress, hoping he was not listening out for the sound of the elevator, and standing there nude stowed it in the bag. Then I covered my naked body with the transparent raincoat, put up the umbrella and rang the bell. "Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you," I said in a coy, girlish voice, "but it's raining so hard, can I come in for a moment while I wait for a taxi?" It was my opening line from the video. "Of course you can," he replied, getting the next line right. (Well, it wasn't that difficult to invent.) I dropped my bag near the door then walked into the living-room, still apologising and flirting with the open umbrella. The camera - I mean Bob - was getting a close-up of my bottom wiggling under the clear plastic, helped by a pair of Matsumoto-san's special uneven high-heeled shoes. He urged me to take my coat off and be comfortable. I giggled nervously, closed my umbrella, said "Oh no, I shall only stay a few moments," undid the front of the coat and sat down at one end of the sofa, crossing my legs provocatively and spreading the skirts of the coat around me. Well, he kept up an attempt at the film-script for a few more lines of dialogue, and then things progressed very satisfactorily. At his request I gave him a special fashion parade in the coat, but it didn't stay on me long. His beautiful cock visited all three of my holes, finishing with my mouth. When I judged he was close to his climax, I finished him off with a hand-job and made him come copiously all over my breasts. Most men enjoy that; and of course I was able to scoop up his lovely cum with my fingers and transfer most of it to my mouth. "Mm'mm, that was a lovely hors d'oeuvre," I said when I had finally tasted and swallowed as much of it as I could. "I enjoyed mine, too," he replied. It was dinner-time and he said he was getting hungry. I was too excited at the thought of all the things we were going to do to each other to have any appetite for food, and neither of us wanted the bother of getting dressed up respectably and going out. We had something delivered; I received it at the door, dressed in a French maid's outfit I had brought with me, and served him at his dining-table, reacting coquettishly whenever his fingers found their way up the uniform's tiny skirt as I stood beside his chair. Finally I got him settled comfortably in his armchair with a drink, stood before him and curtsied. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" "Since you ask, yes, there is." Submissively, but excitedly wondering what it would be, I waited for my orders. "I have been reading your account of how you started at Marucho." I said nothing. I just waited for what was to come. "One thing surprised me. You never told me about your specialism." "You mean -" "I mean that when you and your lover Ken were making your video for the studio, you included a scene in which he bound you and whipped you. You didn't tell me about that." "No, sir," I whispered, my head bowed and my hands folded in front of my crotch. "Do you not think you should be punished for hiding that from me?" My heart was pounding. Had I guessed right? Could I dare to hope that this was what he had reserved for my special pleasure this evening? Panic-stricken, I remembered that I had not thought to bring the right clothes or equipment. But all I said was, "If you think so, sir." "No, Megumi, it is not what I think that matters, it is whether you genuinely wish to be punished for your deceitfulness. Think carefully before you reply, because if you ask me to punish you I shall do it very severely." My mouth was so dry with excitement I could hardly speak, but I managed to say, "I am very sorry that I did not tell you, sir. Please punish me for my mistake." "You must beg me to do it, and you must beg me to do it severely." I knelt in front of him. "I am my master's slave to use as he wishes. My only delight is to give pleasure to my master. If I am to have the joy of receiving punishment at my master's hands, then I beg him to punish me with the utmost cruelty and severity." "Very well, that will do," he replied. "Go upstairs and on the bed you will find the costume you will wear for your punishment." My excitement was almost unbearable. I could tell that the little g-string I was wearing as part of the French maid's outfit was already soaked in my cunt-juice. I ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. Yes, he had prepared for this properly. On the bed was - or rather _stood_ - the most exciting bondage corset I had ever seen, even in Matsumoto-san's wardrobe. It had an outer shell of shining metal, hinged at the back, and an inner lining of soft white leather which would feel wonderful against my skin. I longed to feel its cruel embrace. I quickly got out of my maid's costume and, naked except for my shoes, held the corset loosely around myself in the mirror. It lifted my breasts without covering them. I almost fainted with excitement when I realised how cruelly perfect was the shape of the steel shell. How tiny my waist would be once the two halves were tightly closed, and how deliciously the hard shining metal would contrast with the smooth soft curves of my bottom and my breasts! Oh, I longed for the pain and the beauty the lovely, cruel instrument would grant me once I was helplessly locked into it. How wonderful it must be, I thought, to be the man about to enjoy a girl as exquisitely bound and offered as I would be. How was I to get the thing on properly? It would need more than my strength to fasten it fully. But there were strips of silver cloth tucked through flat D-rings along the open edges, and I recalled how, last time I had worn a constricting corset for Bob, on the evening he took my arse for the first time, I had fantasised about his hands pulling it tightly, ever more tightly, around me. Perhaps this time the fantasy could be turned into reality. He had not, after all, ordered me to wear the costume, only to go and find it. Also on the bed were wrist cuffs in shiny silver metal to match the corset, a broad metal collar for my neck, and silver high-heeled shoes fitted with slender steel bands across the instep. I tried the shoes first. They were not quite as extreme as the fetish shoes I had worn for my first ever whipping by Ken all those months ago, but the heels were among the highest I had ever worn. Nonetheless the shoes fitted snugly and were surprisingly comfortable, even though the metal fittings made them heavy and the long pointed heels allowed me to take only tiny steps. I walked up and down the room a few times to get used to them. They had stainless steel chains round the ankles. I liked that. A woman never looks so feminine as when she is wearing chains somewhere on her body, a hint as subtle as good perfume that with the right partner she would like nothing better than to be bound and submissive. I put on the cuffs, which clicked shut (I hoped Bob had not lost the keys!) and snapped the metal collar closed round my neck. It was shaped so as to force me to hold my head up high and look straight ahead. I posed provocatively for myself in the mirror. Then, otherwise naked and carrying the beautiful steel corset over one arm, I went slowly downstairs to subject myself to whatever my master had in store for me. "The slave begs her master to bind her," I said, "as tightly as it may please him." And as tightly as it may please _her_, I added silently. I held out the corset. He said nothing. He stood, took the steel corset and closed it loosely round my body. It was surprisingly light, and my skin tingled at the touch of the soft leather lining. I felt his hands buckle the silver straps across the front of my body. He began with the one in the middle round my waist, then moved upwards, then down again. He then returned to where he had started and tightened each buckle in turn little by little. Step by step the pressure and the constriction increased as I stood bracing myself against the back of his chair, determined not to cry out either in pain or in delight as his loving hands remodelled me. "He is turning me into an ideal fucking-machine," I thought happily. It is strange that the idea of a machine should have entered my mind then, in view of the delights Bob had in store for me. At last the corset was done as well as it could be, the edges of the steel shell still a little way apart at the front but the soft leather now part of me, my waist tortured into the tiniest possible link between my eager breasts and my panting cunt and arse. I released the chair and stood in a submissive posture, breathing fast in the short, shallow breaths which were all I was now permitted, as I awaited my master's orders. "You will now go upstairs," he said. "You will walk straight ahead without touching the banisters or other support. You may spend a short time in the bedroom: you may examine yourself in the mirror and appreciate the new beauty I am creating out of you. You may adjust your hair and make-up. But then you will go to the room on the left of the staircase, take up position for punishment and await my pleasure." "Thank you, master," I whispered. "Your slave will be awaiting your pleasure. And her own," I added daringly - out loud, this time. I turned towards the stairs, then looked back for a moment. "Please come soon," I said, tears of love making my eyes sparkle, "and please whip me very _very_ hard. I am longing for you, and for that, so much." I could hardly breathe with the constriction, and with the excitement of knowing I had committed myself to endless, indescribable, joyous torment. We had of course made no arrangement for secret signs telling him I had had enough: it thrilled me to know that, even if I later wanted him to stop, there would be no way I could say so. I walked up the stairs as instructed, the metal collar, corset and shoes combining to enforce a slow, steady, teetering, unsupported gait. In the bedroom I caught my breath at the sight of the beauty in the mirror, her head held proudly up but her eyes full of modesty and submission, utterly serene in her total vulnerability. How could I ever thank my master enough for the imagination and skill he had devoted to creating this ideal of femininity from such poor materials? Only, I knew, by complete submission, proud to accept at his hands the most excruciating pleasures he could devise for me, recognising that whatever he did to me his slave would have the aim of creating even greater beauty. I knew that before long he would somehow bring it to perfection by closing my steel shell completely. I yearned to submit to the delicious pain that beauty would cost. All those months ago, a young girl pleasuring herself secretly in bed at home with fantasies about being sold on a slave-market, I had wondered why I involuntarily longed for the pleasure of being whipped by my owner. I now had the answer. I brushed out my long hair and lightly painted my lips, eyes and nipples as if a lover were waiting for me before the cameras in the studio. I walked in my newly acquired tall grace with little teetering steps along the corridor to whatever awaited me. I remembered the room as little more than a walk-in closet, full only of suitcases and discarded boxes. Flipping on the light, I gasped in amazement at the transformation. The glaring overhead circular tube light had been replaced by small lighting towers in each corner, concentrating different coloured spots on the middle of the square, windowless room. In the exact centre was a round platform, about one metre in diameter, just above floor level, looking like one of those revolving table centre-pieces in Chinese restaurants. Clearly I was the delicacy to be displayed on that platform. There were three items of furniture in the room, all covered in black: a comfortable armchair facing the platform, a narrow bed in one corner and a table in another. I knew I should take up position on the platform to await my master's pleasure and instructions, but I could not resist looking first at the things on the table. There were whips and canes of various sizes and an adjustable metal bar, silver like my corset, which I assumed to be a spreader for my legs. On the floor beside the table was a piece of machinery about the size of a vacuum cleaner, but where the cleaning attachments would be were thick metal bars to which were fixed a phallus, a model of a man's middle finger, made out of a firm but flexible plastic, and a small metal plate studded with short projections. Gradually the realisation of the sadistic tortures in store for me began to mesh with my own masochistic fantasies, and I felt my arse begin to gasp with excitement and my cunt drip juice down my thighs. FOOTNOTE [15] I don't really know why I say "kinky and perverted", except that it makes the sex seem even more fun. No sexual activity is perverted, however original and unusual; and if a man can, for example, do enchanting things to me with a string of metal anal beads, an extra strong clitoris clamp and a battery, while suspending me from the ceiling and swinging me gently to and fro as my lips and tongue helplessly caress his beautiful cock - well, it seems entirely natural for me to want him to do it to me and never to stop! [Next in Part 32: Chapter XX Continued] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams