We Always Do It For Real 32 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 01: WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL BY MEGUMI KATO AND BOB WILLIAMS PART 32 [CHAPTER XX CONTINUED] "Looking at our little toys, are we?" I heard Bob say. "There will be plenty of time to get to know them intimately. Hours and hours of torment, I promise you, when you will know them better than your own body. Get up there on the platform as I instructed you." I hastily scrambled into position. He pressed a button on a remote control and, from either side of where the ceiling light used to be, two slim chains with hooks at the end silently descended. "Attach the hooks to the eyelets on your wrist-cuffs," he said. I did so and the hooks rose again, until my hands were suspended at about the level of my shoulders. "Stand with your feet apart," he ordered as he began to attach the spreader bar to my ankles. "Are you comfortable?" he asked. "I do want you to be comfortable, you will be here for a long time." The great height of my narrow heels meant that standing with my feet apart made me turn my ankles inwards more than was agreeable: I submissively asked him to reduce the spread and he at once agreed. "Is that better now?" he asked. "Yes," I murmured, "thank you, master." "I think you already guess what this is?" he asked, wheeling the strange machine along the floor, lifting it onto the round platform and positioning it carefully between my feet. He showed me the three strange bars with their attachments, as he wiped copious amounts of lubricating jelly onto the finger and a little onto the phallus. Without waiting for my answer he pressed another button on his remote control and after a few moments I felt a relentless probing at my cunt and arse. "Accept them!" he commanded as the phallus and finger first stopped their upward movement, then resumed it very slowly while I pleasurably worked them into their preordained holes. Only when the first two attachments were snugly inside me did the movement stop, and I felt the metal spikes of the third begin to press against me and stimulate my clitoris. Another touch of a button and the three began to vibrate, the phallus and finger also wriggling and moving smoothly into and out of my cunt and arse. Suddenly my body was convulsed by the tingling of a minor electric shock in all three places at once. Downstairs I had confusedly thought of myself as converted by Bob into a fucking-machine. Now I knew that I was a machine designed to be fucked, while the equipment at my feet was a machine designed to fuck me, torment me, delight me ... Together we were a fucking-machine, each half perfectly fitting the other. There was no reason why it should ever stop working. The pleasure and excitement made me gasp more deeply than the constricting corset normally allowed, and for a moment I almost choked. When I had recovered, he said: "Clearly you can guess what this equipment will do to you. That was just a test. You should know that, once it is switched on for real, and set for a certain period of time, there is no off-switch. Nor can I alter the intensity or frequency of the movement or of the electric shocks. The machine's programming has a mind of its own, you might say, and that mind can be remarkably cruel and ingenious in its sadism. Once you have asked me to set it in motion, there is nothing you or I can do to control it. I hope that idea pleases you. Now, while you are thinking about that, we will stretch you tighter." The chains overhead began to rise again and stopped only when my hands were so far above my head that my heels, tall as they were, were beginning to be pulled off the floor leaving me standing only on tiptoes. Bob examined the position of my feet and adjusted the chains millimetre by millimetre until I was stretched as taut as I could be while still able to take up a firm stance. Then he adjusted the height of the fucking-machine's attachments with similar care, but despite my pleas left them switched off. "Now you may choose the whip I shall use," he said, and brought me the whips and crops from the black-covered table, draping them across his arm for me to see as if tempting me with accessories in a shop. "No, master," I said, "it is for you to decide. It is your pleasure to torture me, and my delight to be tortured. But," I whispered, my throat dry, "I beg you to choose the cruellest." So he chose a long, slim plaited leather whip with a short handle, similar to that Shimizu-san had recommended to Ken and me all those months ago. He invited me to share his pleasure in its elegance and flexibility, my heart beating faster as I imagined its smooth length hissing viciously round my body measuring out pain and pleasure with each wonderful stroke. He draped it round my shoulders, then looped it a few times loosely round my neck so that the tip dangled down onto my right breast. "Kiss it!" he commanded as he raised the end to my mouth. I did so, wetly, my lips open and tongue between them. "You will have many, many hours to get to know our friend here," he said, "hours when it will become a part of you." "Thank you, master," I said, almost soundlessly. He let go of the end of the whip and it stung my breast as it fell, before hanging again lightly, the smooth leather kissing my skin gently as I moved my upper body a little from side to side and let it delicately tease my erect nipple. My helpless body began to tingle with suppressed excitement as I longed for the exquisite torture, the burning pleasure, this lovely thing would inflict just as soon as it pleased my master to let it. I had never known myself so overwhelmed with sexual desire: my throbbing lust for the thrilling punishment, and the shallow breathing imposed by the tormenting shape of the steel corset, together nearly made me faint with excitement. He returned the other instruments to the table, then standing behind me he stroked my breasts with infinite gentleness, teasing my nipples to an even greater erection. They were like thrusting, baby penises, desperate to be brought to climax. My breasts squirmed eagerly under his delicate touch. His hands moved to caress my buttocks, then stroked the folds between my thighs and crotch on either side of the machine's metal attachments. He kissed my neck and murmured endearments in my ears. "Is that good?" he asked. "Yes, master, wonderful," I replied. "It will feel very different in a few minutes, won't it?" "Yes, master, I am longing for it." His hands moved to my tiny waist, checked the bands fastening the front of the corset and, incredibly, found it possible to tighten them the remaining distance. I moaned in pleasurable agony as the constriction reached what seemed an impossible level, heightening my beauty and excitement yet further. There was a click and the metal edges closed and locked finally. At last I was perfect! Looking down as best I could I saw the flat D-rings vanish invisibly into the surface of my metal skin as he withdrew the temporary cloth fastenings. Maybe I am locked into it for ever, I thought. No matter: I could die like this ... nothing that ever happens to me again could ever be as beautiful ... Then I heard him say, "Shall we begin? You understand, do you not, that once we do it will not end until I decide it shall." Head up, looking straight ahead as my high metal collar required, I said: "Yes, master, let it be as you wish." "No, my dear, it shall be as _you_ wish," he said as he left me and settled himself comfortably in the chair in front of me, admiring my sculptured, remade body flashing in the light of the coloured spots on the lighting towers. I longed for a mirror in which to do the same. I imagined myself displayed, standing stretched as tautly as my body could bear, breasts and buttocks proud and free, separated by the exquisitely tiny steel waist; the perfection of thighs and legs stretched into ideal shapeliness and length; my head forced up by the steel collar; only my hands, as my fingers curved delicately out of the wrist-cuffs, able to move with freedom and gentleness. "Have you any concept, my dear, of how lovely you look arranged like that?" "Yes, master," I replied, "you were so good as to allow me time to see myself in the mirror in the bedroom, and I thanked you with all my heart for your kindness in creating such beauty out of my poor body." "What did you feel at that moment?" "That it is the beauty you have given me which makes you wish to torture me, and that it is therefore my beauty that obsesses and controls you, while your cruelty has no power over me." "Why is that?" "Because your cruelty is love for me, and can give me nothing but pleasure." "You have understood well." "In understanding that, I understood why my only wish was to subject myself to you and accept with joy whatever pain you choose to grant me." "When I have finished with you, my dear, you will be lovelier still. Not just because of the way you are dressed and bound, though that already makes you irresistibly lovely and will make you more so, but because you will acquire an inner beauty based on the merging of pain and pleasure into one ecstasy. The experts call it mental orgasm: you will have discovered how to access your mental pleasure centre direct, independent of what your body is experiencing. Very few girls can do that. That special inner beauty will shine through your outer loveliness for anyone with eyes to see it. You have begged me to start the process, and now I shall. It will take a long time, but soon time will no longer mean anything to you. "I do not intend to blindfold you: it is good that you should see what is being done to you. Nor will I gag you: you may scream as much as you like but the moment will come when you will stop screaming for mercy, and start instead to beg for more. "First you will experience random stimulation from the vibrators and electric shocks in your arse and cunt, and pressing against your clitoris. In due course we shall combine that pleasure with the pain of the whip." For what felt like hours the fucking-machine stimulated me to the verge of orgasm, then subjected me to the torture of stopping the source of my pleasure while I stood there immovable in my chains, trying vainly to achieve release by rubbing myself against the motionless machinery, uselessly begging it to start again and let me come. Again and again the cleverly programmed machine waited till my near-orgasm had ebbed, then started the torment again. At last Bob relented, or so it seemed. He held before me, so that I should know what was about to happen, a pair of nipple-clamps lined with leather and joined by a slim steel chain. A moment later they bit into my erect and straining breasts, the sharp pain almost bringing me to climax as I begged him to tighten the springs yet further, and I felt the vibrators moving again and at last tipping me over the brink. But as I climaxed, I suddenly felt the sharp kiss of the whip on my buttocks, the violent extra stimulation combining to give me the most powerful orgasm of my life. As I stammered my thanks, the whip descended again. And again. And again. Thick nectar from my cunt began to force its way past the churning dildo, and drip slowly down my inner thighs. As he had predicted I screamed and begged for mercy, even though I knew I really yearned for this agony. I had to endure it - longed to endure it - for the sake of the moment when my mind could bear the pain no more and in self-defence turned it to pleasure. If I had been able to control myself I should not have begged for mercy but implored him to lash me even harder. But he understood without my telling him what I really desired, and continued his fierce whipping. I was grateful to him now for the hours during which he had subjected me to the torment of the machine's stimulation and withheld satisfaction: my body's need to climax was now unstoppable. I became aware of movement: the platform was slowly rotating, giving his whip - my whip, my adored new lover - access to every intimate part of me. As the ecstasy of pain mounted in me, a golden light began to descend - or was I ascending into it? Maybe I was: I found I could look down on myself illuminated in the spotlights below, as if down a long black tunnel. With part of my mind I could admire the slender loveliness of the girl down there, accepting the blissful constriction of the steel cage, the torment of the throbbing machines, the sweet kiss of the nipple-clamps and the caress of the unremitting lash, knowing as she stood sculptured in the spot-lights, gaze proudly straight ahead, that it was her beauty which was controlling her lover and driving him to obsession, not his cruel domination her. Despite the distance, I could feel what she was feeling: the churning of the dildos in her innermost self, the unpredictable jolts of electricity sending spasms of delight from the centre of her being out through her whole body, the torture of the impossible corset converted into rapture by her awareness of the loveliness it created, the agony in her beautifully moulded calves and thighs as the rhythmic thudding of the lash caused her to sway off the tips of the slim high heels, the painful stretching of her pretty feet into the grace of a ballerina's, the whistling of the whip as it curled round her proudly yet modestly displayed breasts, arse and thighs with the strength and tenderness of a lover's arms. The golden light grew more intense. I began to lose contact with the girl down there. Suddenly something wonderful happened. As he once again sent the whip racing round my hips, the tip lashed against the upper end of my pussy just where the spiked plate was tormenting it. The ecstasy was greater than anything I had so far felt, and I knew everything that was about to happen to me depended on that feeling lasting for ever. With all the strength left in me I forced myself back into the girl on the revolving platform and made her voice croak: "Again! There! Just like that! Do it again! Never stop! I beg you!" It was too late to control the next stroke, but then he stopped the rotation of the platform and sought the spot again. After a few attempts he found it, and I just had the strength to tell him so before the golden light claimed me again and I felt myself carried upwards, upwards, towards ... what? Something beautiful that I wanted, needed, belonged in ... something that was making me whole ... == I opened my eyes to find myself in near darkness lying on the black-upholstered couch. I was naked: the corset, shoes and torture equipment I had learnt to love so much had been taken off my body. In the gloom I could see Bob kneeling beside me. After a few attempts I said: "But why did you stop?" I had no idea whether I was addressing him or the wonderfully sadistic fucking-machine. Perhaps both of them. "Darling, you fainted!" he replied. "At first I thought you were having yet another orgasm, but when I saw you had passed out of course I stopped and took you down. Are you all right?" I swallowed a few times. "I was," I said. "But you stopped. You both stopped." I stretched my body on the couch: languorous, luxurious, at ease with itself as if after hard but enjoyable exercise. "There will be other times," he replied. "Yes," I said, "there will be lots of other times." There was something else I needed to say before it was too late. "And don't forget," I added, "we always do it for real." I turned over onto my side, curled up facing the wall. The fingertips of one hand began to caress my breasts, as three fingers of the other slipped comfortably into my wet pussy. My mind flooded with great spasms of pleasure - had someone in my hearing not used the phrase "mental orgasm?" As I fell, fulfilled, into deep and peaceful sleep, I dreamt I was a newly purchased slave, standing naked before the master I hopelessly loved, as for his cruel amusement he flicked his riding whip slowly, agonisingly, all over my quivering, delighted body. END OF WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL [Coming Next: Volume 02 of the Megumi Stories: ALL I EVER WANTED] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams