WORK IN PROGRESS 02 THE MEGUMI STORIES BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS VOLUME 05: WORK IN PROGRESS BY BOB WILLIAMS ASSISTED BY MEGUMI, NORIKO, FUJIKO, AYUMI, SAEKO, MARIKO, TAMA, MAIKO, SHIZUE, MIE, AYAKO, TOMO, YUU AND RUMI PART 02 CHAPTER II The Shop Assistant Sometimes readers send letters and e-mails commenting on my articles - and sometimes my editors send them on to me. I had several from readers wanting to know more about the charming little shop assistant who had sold me the new-style gag I had used on Noriko - and given her personal endorsement of its pleasures. So, fulfilling my obligations to my readers regardless of inconvenience, I returned to the store to do some research. The shop was in one of the back-streets near Shinjuku Station, a huge commuting interchange used by a couple of million passengers every day. Small bars, restaurants and sex-shops proliferate in the area, serving commuters who have finished work but are in no hurry to return home. I had found the shop by chance one evening. At the front it sold, like all the other sex-shops, plain-vanilla pornography and sex-toys; but once you had passed through that there was an area selling a wide range of ingenious equipment with which sadists could delight masochists. I liked the way these items were displayed openly and available for anyone to see and ask about, and had looked in from time to time to see what new products of Japanese ingenuity in the field of sexual torture were on the market. This time I was visiting the shop in the middle of the morning, when I expected it to be quite empty. The girl I was looking for was at her post behind a display of whips and restraints. She smiled at me encouragingly as I approached, remembering me as a frequent customer. I took my time looking at the items she had on offer, then pretended interest in a cat-o'-nine-tails with long slim lashes. She took it out of the case for me, running the lashes through her slim fingers; then flirtatiously shook them out and pretended to brandish the instrument over a victim. I reached out and took it from her, making sure our hands touched. I flicked the lashes up and down, to and fro, enjoying their sexy rustle. From the happy smile on her face I could tell she too was enjoying their promise of sexual delight. While I was still holding the handle she leant forward, took the lashes gently, and showed me the tiny metal tips shimmering at the ends, promising the victim especially delicious agony. I bent towards her, our heads almost touching, and examined the lashes. "Beautiful," I said softly. "Yes, aren't they?" she replied. We were alone together, sharing a fantasy of love and desire. "How much is it?" I asked. She told me. "That's rather a lot," I whispered. "But imagine the pleasure it gives ..." "Yes ... well, thank you for showing it to me." "Not at all." She began to coil the lashes in her fingers preparatory to restoring the instrument to its place of honour in the show-case. "What is your name?" I asked. "Fujiko," she said. "Fujiko-san. That is a nice name ... how is it written?" That may not seem much of a chat-up line; but the Japanese are obsessed with their written language. Writing is a universal form of artistic expression - indeed the word for "to write" and "to draw" is the same. Every Japanese likes to be asked about the meaning of a character, or how to write something correctly, and will go to great lengths to explain: a _gaijin_ who can read and write enough to take an interest causes surprise and admiration. Fujiko put down the whip and wrote the first character of her name in the air with her finger, as Japanese like to do. Seeing that I still looked puzzled, she picked up one of the shop's business-cards, turned it over and wrote with an elegant flourish the character for "wisteria", followed by the simple character for "child" which is almost always the writing for the _ko_ in a girl's name. "Now I see," I said. "How very pretty." She smiled and blushed. Before the moment of intimacy could be dispelled, I asked: "When do you finish work? Would you like to come out with me some evening?" "Well ... er ..." "You choose what we do," I continued, taking her consent for granted. "A nice restaurant ... a theatre, a cinema, a disco ... I'm sure you know all the best places round here." She agreed with a pretty display of modesty, and promised to meet me the following evening at seven. I pocketed the card on which she had written her name and left her stroking the cat before coiling it again and putting it away. I hadn't intended to buy it anyway: I already owned several like that, some of them even more sadistic. If Fujiko enjoyed the one in the shop, she would enjoy mine even more, I thought. == Fujiko spotted me first at the West Exit of Shinjuku Station. I was scanning the crowd of pretty girls waiting for girlfriends, boyfriends and lovers; and then I saw her waving happily at me as she came to greet me. Seeing her for the first time in public I realised how small she was, despite wearing very high heels to make up for it. She was nicely dressed for our date, showing off her pretty legs in a pale green microskirt and matching tights in a discreet fishnet pattern; she wore a crisp white sleeveless blouse, the collar turned up and enough buttons left undone to give a foretaste of her pretty breasts.[3] A decoration of some kind dangled teasingly between them, hanging from a silver chain round her neck. Her small body was shapely and seemed well-exercised without being athletic: promising, I thought. She came skipping towards me on her high heels. She was carrying a large shoulder-bag in pale gold leather: much too big for her, I thought, but I have given up trying to understand the constantly shifting patterns of fashion among young Japanese girls for different handbags, "accessories" and mobile phones. We bowed and greeted each other, and as she straightened up she tossed back her long hair with the hand not occupied with the shoulder-bag. We did not kiss: Japanese girls have not adopted the Western practice of kissing near-strangers on meeting, which means that when you do get to kiss them for the first time the sexual promise is much greater. She took my arm and smiled up at me happily. I noticed that she was wearing fashionably long pointed fingernails encrusted with tiny artificial jewels. She hadn't been wearing them at work, I remembered, so they must be specially for me. I shivered a little at the thought of those long points walking up and down my spine, tickling my balls ... nice. "I thought ..." she said, "you said I might choose ... do you like _kushikatsu_? There's a little bar near where I work where they do it ..." "I don't think I've ever had it," I said, "but let's try. I like nearly all Japanese food." She looked at me again and giggled. "I hope you'll fit in," she said. "It's a _very_ small place!" So, skipping along happily beside me, she guided me through the maze of side-streets. It was indeed a very small place, with room for just six customers. But I have been to plenty of Japanese restaurants where I have to fold myself up small to get in, and this one was no trouble. We sat together at a tiny table, our knees touching - which I enjoyed and Fujiko did not seem to mind. _Kushikatsu_, if you don't know it, is a meal made up of tiny mouthfuls of various things, each transfixed on a little bamboo spear and cooked as you watch. The dictionary says _kushi_ means "comb", but it originally meant any kind of hair decoration, especially the long pins used to hold a traditional female hairstyle together. The _kosu_ or "course" offered by this establishment consisted of about forty different servings, all delicious. In between mouthfuls, we talked. "Did your girl enjoy the gag you bought the other day?" Fujiko asked. "Oh, yes. She loved it. And I took her to a party, and she wore it there." "I'm so glad." "You told me you had one too, and liked to wear it." "I love it! And my gentlemen enjoy the effect ... That's the nice thing about working at that shop: I can find out about all the latest ideas and techniques, and I meet such nice people." I glanced down the front of her blouse. I could see now that the decoration hanging from her neck was a little heart-shaped ornament bearing two entwined initials. They sparkled in the light hanging over our table. "Pretty," I said, meaning both the decoration and her breasts. "May I?" She pulled the ornament up from between her breasts and placed it on my fingers so I could examine the initials. It was warm from contact with her skin. Our heads were almost touching. "And who ... or what ... is S M?" I asked. "I think you know," she whispered. "I keep it hidden ... where only lovers will see it ... and understand." She was being very frank and showing no obvious embarrassment, so I decided to probe a little deeper. "When did you find you enjoyed ... the things they sell in your shop?" "Oh, at school," she said casually, tucking the little decoration back between her breasts. "There was a _sensei_ ..." I had guessed as much. Japan must be the only advanced country which allows teachers to inflict corporal punishment on their pupils; that, and the teachers' role as father-figures replacing the real fathers who are never home, explain why Japanese girls are such charming masochists with a taste for strict older men. "I was good at physical education, you see," she continued. "And the P E _sensei_ saw that and gave me extra lessons privately in the gym. He hoped I might become a professional gymnast. He had, well, old-fashioned teaching methods. He carried a cane and if he thought I wasn't trying hard enough he would encourage me with strokes of the cane on my bottom and thighs." "And you enjoyed that?" "Well, yes. Not at first: I was rather indignant because I _was_ doing my best and it wasn't fair. But then I found it gave me a lovely tingling feeling and I looked forward to it happening. And I used to dream about it in bed." "Did he know?" "After a while, yes. One day, after the lesson, we sat down facing each other across a table to talk. I was wriggling a bit because the strokes of his cane were making my bottom tingle so much. He had put the cane down on the table while he talked about my progress and my possible career. I was shy about that; so to give my hands something to do I picked up the cane and without thinking started fondling it, stroking it, bending it to and fro." "And then he realised?" "Yes. He suddenly stopped talking, watched my hands, and then said, very gently, 'You like it then, do you?' And I couldn't look at him but at last I said 'Yes'. Then he smiled, very kindly, and said, 'You've been such a good girl today, perhaps I should reward you.' I said nothing, and he went on, 'Go and lean over that horse.'" "And then he beat you?" "M'm. Quite hard and, you know, measured. Previously it had just been casual strokes here and there, not a proper caning. Ooh, it felt _so_ good! After a while he stopped and said, so gently, 'Wouldn't you enjoy it more if you pulled down your bloomers?' Of course I knew I would, so before I had time to think about it I pulled them down to my knees and he started caning my bare bottom. Oooh, it was _wonderful_!" She stopped for a while, remembering the special moment when the true nature of her sexuality had suddenly opened before her, luminous with infinite possibilities for pleasure. I said nothing, leaving it to her to continue. "So from then on, every private P E lesson ended like that, with my 'reward' as he called it. And of course, with that to look forward to, I worked especially hard and did my very best to please him." "Did any other teachers beat you?" "No. Only he. And no one else knew. It was like having a very special secret lover. Soon I was taking everything off for him and asking him to cane me everywhere. I was already ... you know ... developed and even the lightest touch made me tingle all over. That was when he started using a paddle too: you know, one of those broad, flexible instruments in black rubber or plastic for smacking a girl with. I didn't know it was called that then, but of course I know now ... he used it on my breasts and stomach and reserved the cane for my bottom. It was lovely! He never did anything else to me - though if he'd wanted to of course I'd have let him. And then I left school and it all came to an end." She was almost in tears at the memory. I reached across the little table and held her hand until the cook passed over the next items of food. "Did you become a professional gymnast?" I asked. "No. I did train as a dancer for a few years and sometimes got work, in stage shows, in clubs - you know, just as one of the backing dancers. But I found it was too demanding and meant too much discipline and self-sacrifice. I had a few jobs as a race queen."[4] "Oh, lovely!" I said. "I wish I'd seen you." She blushed and looked away from me for a moment. "I still have some of the costumes," she said shyly. "Even though I should have returned them to the companies - they have their logos on, after all. But it's nice to wear them sometimes ... you know, as cosplay[5] for lovers who enjoy that. Then one day I happened to find the shop where I work now." "How did that happen?" "One of my gentlemen took me there. I think it gave him an extra sexual thrill to have me with him, consulting me while he chose the instruments he would later torture me with. It certainly gave _me_ a thrill! It was fun playing up to him when he showed me the lovely whips and clamps and so on and asked me what I liked best - pretending to be shy but wanting them all so much, wanting to feel them kissing me ..." "You must have had a nice evening together," I said softly as she paused, lost in delightful memories. "Oh, yes ..." She came suddenly out of her rêverie. "I went back to the shop often. I didn't dare go in: I just walked past very slowly, and tried to see inside. And then ..." "And then?" "One day I saw a notice saying the shop was recruiting staff. So I made myself go in and ask. And I got the job!" It was hardly surprising. Any sex-shop would be glad to employ such a pretty assistant, with her air of sexual promise and her personal interest in the products she sold. "That was two years ago," she continued. "And I've worked there ever since. And that's the story of my life - so far." The cook leant forward to tell us that our "course" had come to an end. One does not linger in a Japanese restaurant of that kind - your seats are needed for other customers - so I paid and we prepared to leave. "Would you care to come back to my apartment?" I suggested, "or would you rather ...?" I meant, of course, would she rather finish the evening at a "love-hotel", preferably one of the many establishments boasting rooms with an elaborate "dungeon" theme and equipped with all the latest ingenious instruments, where torturers and their eager victims can make their fantasies come true for an hour. But, rather to my relief, she agreed at once to continuing our evening at my apartment. "Where do you live?" she asked. "In Akasaka." "Ooh ... isn't that _very_ high-class and expensive?" "Oh, I don't know ..." I said vaguely, signalling to a taxi outside the restaurant. We did not kiss or caress each other in the taxi - we were saving that for later - but sat close together, hands touching, thigh against thigh. As we approached Akasaka I had to direct the driver, and overcome his conviction that, since I was obviously a _gaijin_, the sounds coming out of my mouth could not possibly be intelligible Japanese. At last we reached my block in its side-street, the driver flung open the back door with his lever, and we scrambled out. We stood close together in the elevator. I put my arms loosely round her, she stood on tiptoe, and at last we kissed: gently at first, and then more passionately with the tip of her little tongue coquettishly in my mouth. The doors opened at the fourth floor, and we kissed again, standing outside the entrance to my apartment, she this time welcoming and sucking my tongue. I opened the door at last, and guided her down the corridor to the living-room. "May I ... may I go and wash?" asked Fujiko shyly, after looking round the room for a few moments. "Of course. Upstairs." I followed her up the open staircase leading from the living-room to the upper floor of the duplex, enjoying of course the close-up view of her pretty legs and the glimpses up her microskirt of her firm bottom, nicely displayed by her skimpy thong or "T-back" as Japanese girls call it. For a second or two I recalled past occasions when following a girl up these stairs had revealed that she was thrillingly nude under her tiny skirt ... how difficult it always was to decide which of us was the more aroused by this alluring display: I by looking or she by being looked at. What fantastic fucking had followed such discoveries! Fujiko had chosen not to be nude from the start and would tease me and make me wait a little longer, I thought; she would expect me to take my revenge for that. It would be a sweet revenge which we would both enjoy. We entered the bedroom together and Fujiko looked around, noting the large bed with approval, I thought, as she put down her shoulder-bag. I took a towel from a closet and opened the bathroom door for her. She smiled and waited for me to leave. She knew very well I was half-expecting her to undress for me, but preferred to keep my lust on the boil a while longer. Clever girl, I thought; she will be looking forward to my imposing some especially delightful punishment for _that_! It had been a cane, hadn't it, with which she had first discovered the pleasure of pain? She would expect me to remember that. Not that I was likely to forget. Before she could finish in the bathroom, I went quickly to the secret room along the corridor next to the bedroom. I operated the push-button code lock on the door and entered just long enough to pick up a few instruments: canes, of course, but also switches, cats - and some pretty nipple-clamps. I returned to the living-room and arranged the little collection artistically on an occasional table. Then I removed my jacket and shirt, kicked off my shoes, and stood waiting for her return bare-chested and in only my slacks. At last I heard the bedroom door open and footsteps along the corridor. Slowly she began to descend the stairs towards me. At last I understood the purpose of her big shoulder-bag: she had changed completely. Not that her new outfit could have taken up much space. She was wearing a shiny black corset, fitted snugly round her waist and leaving her breasts and arse uncovered. A tiny matching black triangle coyly hid her cunt, the narrow strings tied in bows at her waist. She was wearing the same black high-heels as before and had added a tight collar and long sleeves or handless gloves, both complementing the glittering black of her corset. She had removed her neck-chain with its brooch and S M initials: it had done its job and conveyed its message clearly. In her left hand she was carrying a whip of plaited leather, its long lash neatly coiled. She stopped on the last step and posed for me. She was every sensible man's dream girl - the girl he fantasises about when he is awake, and hopes will come to him in his dreams when he is asleep. "Wow!" I said. "_That_ was worth waiting for!" She smiled demurely. "I'm sorry you had to wait," she said. "I promise to make it up to you." She left the stairs and was in my arms. She kissed me passionately, rubbing her erect nipples sensuously against my bare chest. Then suddenly she twisted round in my arms and leant back against me, letting my hands explore her breasts and crotch. I pretended to ask her permission before pulling apart the little bows of her tiny g-string and tossing the scrap of shiny cloth aside. She was still holding her whip. "I hope you don't mind that I brought my friend with me," she said, holding it up. "He's really my best friend just now. I _love_ what he does to me." "I thought you might like a cane," I said, nodding towards the little pile of equipment on the table. "As well ..." I added hastily. "Of _course_!" she said at once. "To remind me of when ..." "When you lost your virginity?" I completed for her gently. "That is ... not your virginity exactly, but your innocence ..." "I will be innocent for you if you would like that," she said earnestly, trying to establish my fetishes so that we could enjoy them together. "Yes ... an innocent twelve-year-old schoolgirl who knows she wants something but hasn't yet discovered what ... lovely!" "Mm'mm. But first, my new whip. I'm _so_ in love with him! You won't be jealous, will you?" she added anxiously. With my left hand - the hand that was not exploring her pussy, with one finger deep in her liquid cunt - I helped her uncoil the plaited lash. It creaked as we bent it lightly to and fro together, and gave off a sensuous aroma of leather. "Of course, I'm sure you have other lovely things too," she added hastily; and then, changing the subject, "Do you like my corset?" "I love it. It looks great on you - you look great wearing it." "I'm glad. I thought a man who enjoys whipping girls would be stimulated by seeing a girl in a corset." "How do you know I enjoy whipping girls?" I asked, teasing her. "Well, of course I know the things you bought in our shop," she said, looking up at me seriously; "and sometimes I couldn't help feeling a _little_ jealous of the lucky girls you were planning to use them on. But not any more, of course, because now ..." "Because now?" "I _love_ wearing a corset," she said, changing the subject back again, and suddenly pulling away from me, "and keeping it on ... you know ... all the time. Will you tighten it for me, please? It's difficult for me ..." "Of course. Why don't you hang onto the stair-rail there while I do it?" So she dropped the lovely whip on the couch, and stood with her back to me, gripping the tops of the two banisters at the bottom of the stairs, while I untied the black cord down her back and laced it more tightly through the metal eyelets. She let out a gasp of - pain? pleasure? - as I pulled the two ends hard. "Tight enough?" "Oh, no, no! Not _nearly_ enough! Much tighter than that!" I pulled till the cords cracked and the eyelets threatened to tear from the fabric, then knotted the ends together, leaving them to dangle sexily against her naked arse. "Oh!" she said, as she slowly stood upright and turned to face me. "That's lovely! It - feels - so _good_!" She breathed shallowly and could speak only in a whisper, in little bursts. I admired my handiwork. As so often when a girl is cruelly constricted by a corset, her breasts and bottom seemed to swell proudly in compensation, balancing the loveliness of her tiny waist. That after all is what corsets are for, to remodel a girl's body into something closer to perfection - and that is one reason why girls love wearing them. "My God, you look beautiful!" I said. It is usually a mistake to flatter Japanese girls: they are not used to it, and it confuses them. But I couldn't help it, looking at this ideal of sexuality. She looked puzzled for a moment, then recovered her poise. She looked down lovingly at the plaited leather whip lying on the couch, but did not move to pick it up. "How shall we - I mean, where -" Her hands were feeling her tiny waist, testing if her thumbs and fingers could fully encircle it. With her long nails, they almost could. Then they crept up to stroke and preen her newly prominent breasts. That would be a good place to start, I thought. I fished among the instruments I had brought from my torture-chamber and selected a pair of nipple-clamps with long, heavy, dangling decorations. "Let us begin," I said. She stood up straight, her shoulders back making her breasts thrust forward. Gently I attached first one then the other clamp to her hard nipples. She let out little gasps of pleasure as the spiked metal jaws bit lusciously into her erect flesh. The decorations swung sexily, their weight dragging the little barbs more firmly into her nipples. "Lovely ..." she breathed. I took her in my arms, carefully as if afraid I might break her, lowered my head and kissed her. She responded passionately. We looked lovingly into each other's eyes. "I think," I said, "it is time I showed you one of my secrets." "Oh, yes, please!" "We will go upstairs again. We'll take _him_ with us," I added, picking up the long black leather whip, "since you love him so much." "Thank you," she breathed. "You do have, you know, wrist- and ankle-cuffs, don't you? I have some with me, if you need them ..." I nodded reassuringly. How wonderful, I thought, to meet a girl who comes on a first date bringing with her a whip and a set of cuffs, just in case! But then, in a change of mood, she continued, "But don't you want me to - please you first - suck you - whatever you like best?" "Of course I do. But I can wait a little longer. And I don't think _you_ can! Anyway, I'm looking forward so much to showing you ... you know ..." "Oh, you are so good to me! But don't forget - as soon as you want me - just say - any way you like - _any_ way - I am your slave, remember. You made me your slave when you tied me into my corset." "I won't forget." I kissed her again. "But don't talk too much. I know it's difficult to breathe. Save your breath for screaming." "_Ohhh_ ..." She looked at me, her eyes wide with - what? Fear? Love? Desire? All three, probably. I could feel her heart beating fast against my chest as I held her. "Please make me scream ..." she murmured in a tiny whisper I could only just hear. I urged her up the stairs. She walked slowly, balancing carefully on her high heels, the decorations swinging prettily from her nipple-clamps. As I followed I resisted the temptation to stroke her delicious arse. That was dedicated - to begin with, at least - to the whip I was carrying. The whip she loved so much. And to all the other cruel instruments waiting patiently for her. At the top of the stairs I guided her to the door of my torture-chamber, unlocked it, switched on the lights, and waited, prepared to enjoy her delight as she took in everything that was ready for her. She examined the all-round whipping frame in the centre of the room and the X-frame in red-painted metal fixed to the back wall. Then she tripped over to the long table along one side, where my growing collection of whips and canes was laid out neatly, ready for action. She could not resist picking them up, and running them lovingly through her fingers. "Ohhh - this is - ohhh!" was all she could say. Then with an effort she turned to face me, and added: "How shall we start?" "I prefer the all-round whipping frame myself," I said, trying to sound casual. "It's much the best if you want access to all parts of the girl. Of course, the X-frame is very fashionable these days but then you have to choose whether to whip the front or the back, and place her accordingly." "Yes - yes," she breathed, moving to the centre of the room and standing expectantly under the overhead beam and between the upright poles. "I'm glad you agree," I said. "Now, I do of course have cuffs - lots of them - and I could lock you into a set and chain you between the floor and the overhead beam there, and stretch you very beautifully." "Oh, yes - oh, please!" "But I'd like you to experience something that may be new to you. Something I've only just obtained. It isn't from your shop - in fact I designed it myself and had it made specially." From a tall closet in a corner of the room I pulled out a long strip of polished steel. In fact it was a double strip, hinged at one end and folded in two. The strips curved outwards in the centre in two perfect semi-circles, making a complete circle when they were closed, and there was a smaller similar opening near each end. I opened the folded strip and showed Fujiko how the inner surfaces of the circles were padded with soft white leather. She was speechless with excitement. "The only problem is, I'll have to take off your collar. It's a pity, because you look very charming in it. But this will look even nicer, I promise you." I leant the metal strip - which was a metre-and-a-half or so long - against the table holding my whip collection, and gently unbuckled Fujiko's collar. She made no objection. Then I opened the metal strip again, and showed her how her neck would fit snugly in the centre opening, and her wrists could be held firmly in the smaller ones either side. She was already enjoying the implications of this imprisonment, and accepted it at once. At first the weight was a lot for her to carry, but I quickly slotted the ends of the device into the sockets prepared for them in the vertical poles of the whipping frame. I adjusted their height so that she was obliged to stand upright but could still plant her high-heels firmly on the carpet to support her weight. I stood back to admire my creation. She looked adorable, the glistening steel holding her imprisoned but still able to move her feet and body. The contrast between the hard cold steel and the soft warm flesh it was cradling, so gently but so firmly, ready for a supreme sensual experience was aesthetically very satisfying. Aesthetic and sexual pleasure are - for me, at least - inseparable, two aspects of the same emotion. I felt my lust rising as I examined her lithe, sleek, lightly tanned body, beautifully muscled but not over-exercised, her figure brought to perfection by the cruel corset, and imagined her swaying and writhing so beautifully under the delicate attentions of the lash. "Very nice," I said. "Look." I wheeled up a full-length mirror and let her enjoy the sight for herself. "You will stay there just as long as I choose you should stay there," I said. "Only I know the combination of the door-lock, and there is of course no way of escape." "Oh, yes - oh wonderful!" she breathed. "Soon I will start to whip you, and you will be free to dance under the lash. I shall enjoy watching you do that." She said nothing, but the ecstatic look on her face told me all I wanted to know. "But first ... a little extra sensation for you." Ignoring her protests, I unclipped the heavy clamps from her breasts, and massaged sensation back into the rock-hard nipples. I applied a little jelly to them, and then to her pretty clitoris: just enough to ensure a firm contact. Then I carefully fixed little metal clips to all three - not the fierce spiked ones whose avid bite she had been enjoying so far, but tight enough and with wires discreetly dangling. The wires led to a little control panel. I set the controls to supply just the merest tickle of electricity, enough to hint at the torture in store for her, but not enough to tip her prematurely into orgasm. She closed her eyes and her breathing became fast and shallow. "Does that feel good?" I asked unnecessarily. She said nothing. Of course it felt good. "Well, Fujiko darling, I think it is time to begin. You understand of course that there will be nothing you can do to make me stop. I am not torturing you to make you tell me something or agree to something: I am torturing you simply because I enjoy doing it. The more you scream and wriggle the more pleasure it will give me, and the more I will torture you. If you beg me to stop, I will torture you more. If you let me know how much you are loving it - well, I am a kind man who wants to see his girls happy, so I will torture you even harder. Do you understand?" "Oh, yes - I understand," she whispered. "Please - oh, please begin!" "Very well. I shall start with a beautiful cat. Look!" I said as I dangled the implement in front of her. "See how long his lashes are, and how thin. Look at the pretty, hard knots all along each lash, to bite and tickle you so nicely." She seemed to be saying something. I learnt close to her mouth. "Don't forget - whip ..." "No, I won't forget your favourite whip," I assured her. "He's waiting here. He will have his turn later." I moved behind her, the long cat dangling from my right hand, the control panel in my left. I took up position, my feet planted firmly apart, and raised the whip. Quickly I set the control panel to "random", assuring her a constant flow of unpredictable surges of electrical power to her breasts and pussy, and hung the control on a hook on one of the uprights of the frame. Simultaneously with the first burst of electricity, or as close to it as I could manage, I slashed the cat down on her arse. The lashes swung round her hips to pleasure her lower stomach as well. She let out a most agreeable scream and her firm young body swayed to one side, making her pretty little feet in their high heels skip daintily to maintain her balance. Again. And again. And again. It was one of the most enjoyable torture sessions I could remember. The dancing movements of her body in the exquisitely tight corset and very high heels were most elegant, her screams of agony were heartfelt and beautiful, and the cruel, hard steel holding her firmly in place was aesthetically most satisfying. I suppose I whipped steadily for about twenty minutes, then decided I needed a short break. Fujiko, of course, needed no such thing and murmured piteous complaints about my cruelty in bringing her down from Paradise. That reminded me of something. From the long table I brought the special gag she had sold me - and demonstrated and recommended so charmingly! - a few days before. "Remember this?" I said, as I held it before her face. Quickly I slipped the apparatus into her mouth and tightened the straps round her head. The clever device was designed to hold a girl's mouth open, making her helplessly unable to speak but not, like a traditional gag, stifling her screams or preventing her from receiving into her mouth anything her lover chose to put into it. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. "All right, darling, I know what you want," I said. I picked up her special whip - her favourite whip - held it before her face and let it uncoil as the long lash fell to the floor. I bent the plaited leather to and fro, making it creak sexily. I took up position again aiming carefully at her arse, now blushing a pretty pink from the loving attentions of the cat. The long whip sizzled round her, embracing her twice with its kiss of fire, and trying to encircle her a third time. She let out an unearthly scream from behind her gag. I raised the whip again and let it make love to her another time. And another. I noticed that she was no longer dancing under the whip, as she had done under the multiple kisses of the cat's lashes, but was standing firmly with her feet wide apart, every muscle in her beautiful legs tensed, offering herself to the embraces of her wonderful adorer, tempting him, begging him, to give her more, yet more, of his love. As for me, I was only the agent who brought these passionate lovers together. It made me feel quite humble. The whip was tireless; she was tireless; I did my best not to fail them. I must have lashed steadily and with all my strength for at least half-an-hour, working slowly round her as she stood firm in the whipping frame, letting the two of them consummate their love from every angle. At last I had to stop. I laid down the whip and adjusted the electric current to a lightly fluctuating trickle. This time she did not complain: she simply stood there in her steel bonds, her eyes closed, breathing quickly, still lost in some private heaven of orgasmic delight. I stripped off my trousers, pulled up a stool and sat in front of her, watching her and intending that the first object she would see on returning to earth would be my erect cock. It took a long time, but at last she opened her eyes. She could not say much with the gag still holding her mouth open, but the sounds that came from her suggested happiness. Then at last she focused on my erection, and expressed herself slightly more clearly. "O _ee_, eh ee!" It seemed a fair guess that this meant, "Oh _please_, let me!" I stood up. "Yes, of course you may, darling," I said. "I was only waiting till you came down at last." "Uh _ow_?" "I'll show you how," I said, standing. I loosened the fastenings holding the steel strip to the uprights of the whipping frame. The sockets in which it rested could move in tracks fitted to the uprights, and I slid them slowly downwards in unison. The weight pushed her down: she was crouching, kneeling, and at last squatting beneath it. When her head was at the convenient height for what I had in mind, I braked the sockets again and fixed them firmly once more. I moved my stool forward and sat down, the tip of my erection just millimetres away from her open mouth. She stuck out her tongue and subjected it to a whole series of pretty cat-like licks, her eyes telling me plainly how much she longed for me to move in more closely. So of course I did. Fujiko had of course told me that she was familiar with this new kind of gag, and had often worn it for her lovers' pleasure. So I should not have been surprised by her skill. The special feature of the gag was that it held a girl's mouth open wide enough to receive her lover's cock, but prevented her lips from making contact. She could pleasure him only with her tongue; which when performed by a clever girl like Fujiko is a lovely experience and one which takes a very long time to reach a climax. A man who likes to take his time over coming would be well advised to invest in this gag - and in a girl who enjoys wearing it and knows how to make the most of it. And of course in this case the steel restraint in which I had placed Fujiko meant that she could not use her hands to stroke me, and that her head was held absolutely still. She could use nothing but her tongue. And how she used it! In the course of many years of coming in Japanese girls' mouths I can honestly say I have never been pleasured by such a clever little tongue. It took, I saw afterwards, nearly an hour for her to bring me to climax but it was an hour of the purest pleasure. Again and again she took me almost there, then changed her technique to drag me back again, till I was begging her to let me come - _not_ to let me come - just like a girl imploring her lover simultaneously to whip her harder and to spare her. It was strange, but she, a completely helpless prisoner, cruelly corseted, held immobile in steel bondage equipment, entirely at my mercy, was teasing and tormenting me while I begged her to let me come! At last she did, and I exploded into her open mouth and throat. She did her best to swallow the cum, but some dribbled sexily onto her crouching body. As soon as I was capable of moving again, I leant forward and tenderly removed her gag and the straps holding it. She closed her mouth and swallowed the remaining cum; then opened it again to thank me with charming submission for all I had done to her. I released her from the steel collar and helped her to her feet; then unclipped the electrical contacts. I handed her damp cloths and invited her to clean herself. "Oh, that was so wonderful!" she said as she wiped the spilt cum from her breasts. "Thank you, _thank_ you!" "I enjoyed whipping you," I said. "Your body is so firm ... the whip sort of bounces off you, in the most attractive way. And you sucked me - well, licked me - beautifully." She looked at me with a provocative smile. "What shall we do next?" she asked. "Haven't you had enough?" "Don't be silly! Can I have my collar again?" I fixed the shiny black collar tightly round her throat. "And the lovely nipple-clamps?" "I think I can do better than that." From one of the drawers in the side-table I produced a pair of silver discs, designed to fit snugly over the nipples and with a mechanism which could be turned to clamp them agonisingly enough to satisfy the most extreme pain addict. I span the discs to roughly the medium setting and was rewarded with a charming gasp of pleasure. Her hands flew to her breasts and began to explore the little tormentors' delightful possibilities. "Let's go back into the living-room," I suggested, once she had finished pleasuring herself - for the moment. "Yes, all right - can I keep my corset on?" "Of course! It suits you beautifully." "I think ... it just might be possible ... to tighten it a little ... after a while, I adapt to it ... and then, it can be tighter. Even tighter." "Go and stand by the stairs again and I'll see what I can do." Back in the living-room, I was able to tighten the corset a little more; then, as she still stood with her back to me gripping the banisters, I swished a short cat of broad leather straps - one of the instruments I had earlier selected from the torture-chamber - lazily over her arse, just tickling her and making sure her masochistic sensuality was kept on the boil. "More - harder - please!" she begged. I looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes, Fujiko-chan," I said, "you've been a good girl and deserve your reward." Her hands flew to her face and she looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, yes, _sensei_! Thank you, _sensei_!" she said. "But where ...?" I walked across to the dining area and brought over one of the upright chairs, placing it for her in the centre of the room. Then I selected a cane from my little pile of instruments. I stood before her, swishing it to and fro. "Lean over the back of the chair," I ordered her. "Yes, _sensei_. At once." When we were both ready, I let the cane sizzle down onto her pretty arse. She squealed, wriggled, then braced herself for more. Again and again I traced pretty red lines across her bottom while she gasped, thanked me incoherently and begged for more. After about thirty strokes I stopped. Slowly she straightened up, turned to face me, and bowed respectfully. "Thank you, _sensei_," she said at last. "You are so good to me."[6] "That's enough for now," I said. "I want to thank you for sucking me so nicely up there." I gestured towards the torture-chamber. Her mood changed at once: now she was the mature, self-confident young woman again. "Yes? What do you want to do?" "I want to suck you in return. I'll lie on my back and you sit on my face." "Ooh, yes! Lovely!" I took my time, as she had done with me: probing her juicy cunt with my tongue, my lips passionately kissing hers, my teeth teasing her enchanting clitoris, while her delicious juice poured into my mouth and my hands, gripping her tiny corseted waist, adjusted her position as I explored and adored every fold and fragrant petal of her pussy. I could hear her crying with delight, and as I looked up her body could see her fingers stimulating her desire further by twisting the discs on her breasts, click by click, to ever higher levels of ecstatic agony. She came at last, with great shrieks of joy; but I was not willing to let her finish so quickly and continued my worship of her cunt. Only when she had screamed and shuddered in orgasm for the third time did I gradually release her waist. At once she moved smoothly down my body till she was squatting with her cunt exactly over my erect cock. Slowly, making us both wait for it, she lowered her hips and impaled herself on my shaft. Having taken command of me, she led me towards orgasm: like the rest of her, her cunt-muscles were firm and well-trained and I found myself yelping with pleasure as they rippled up and down my cock. At the last possible moment she pulled away, slithered further down my body and seized my erection in her mouth. When at last I became conscious again, she was curled up happily beside me, licking her lips and letting her tongue and throat play with the rich mixture of saliva, cunt-juice and cum which she had licked and sucked from me. == "I'm so sorry," she said, as she rejoined me in the living-room, bathed, fresh and in her street clothes with her bag over her shoulder, "you gave me such a lovely time, and you only came twice!" "Don't worry! They were both really good fucks." "Well, next time ... that is, if you want to see me again." "Of course!" "Oh, I'm so glad! You will promise to do it all to me again, won't you? And ... we're expecting a delivery at the shop on Monday ... there may be some things - you know, lovely new things you could use on me ..." She was looking up at me, pleading with me, begging me so charmingly to subject her to the cruellest and most agonising sexual treatment the ingenuity of the sex industry could devise. How could I possibly refuse? "Of course I will, as much as you like. I'll really enjoy it. And I was thinking, perhaps some time I should invite a few friends ... or better still, take you to a party. You know, a party for friends who enjoy whipping and torturing girls while the others watch, just like I do ..." "Ooh! So I'd be bound and ... and whipped by several men at once ... in _public_?" "Yes. Well, not quite in public, but at a private party at least, with people watching and taking part. That's what I thought you might ..." "Lovely! Oh, yes _please_! Perhaps you could force me ..." "How do you mean?" "Well, if your friends didn't know ... that I love it so much ... if you didn't tell them ... then you could all rape me and force me, and I could scream and beg for mercy - wouldn't that be fun?" Her girlish excitement at the thought of all the beautiful things we might do to her was charming. "You know," I said, "most of the girls I know are desperately keen to get a start acting in sex videos. Have you never wanted to do that?" She thought for a moment. "No, not really," she said at last. "Of course I love sex videos, especially the ones showing, you know, the things I like best; and I can always borrow them from the shop and watch them at home, and get lovely ideas about new things I could ask my lovers to do to me ..." "But you've never thought of acting in videos yourself?" "No, never seriously. Apart from, you know, fantasies about doing it before an audience. I'm happy working in the shop. I learn about all the latest equipment and techniques - and the gentlemen I meet are interested in the same things as I am, or they wouldn't come there!" She was silent for a moment; then began to reach into her blouse and bra. "I must give you these back." "No, no. Please keep them. I can see how you appreciate them. Till next time." "Thank you. I'll wear them always. They'll remind me of you, and how very good you were to me. And how clever and how cruel!" she added with a coquettish little smile. "I'll _never_ forget what a wonderful time I had in your lovely torture-chamber." "I'll take you to the street and find you a taxi." One soon stopped for us. Fujiko stood on tiptoe and kissed me. Then she tripped demurely off on her heels to the waiting taxi. Only I knew that under her crisp white blouse and lacy bra a pair of ingenious instruments of torture were sending waves of agony through her, keeping her constantly on the brink of that masochistic release which her highly developed sensuality demanded. Of course we met again - frequently. Most of the girls who come to me do not stay with me long: they want help in achieving their dreams of becoming successful porn actresses or the mistresses of wealthy men with rather special sexual interests. When I have taught them what I can, they move on. But Fujiko is different. She is happy in her routine job, so long as every evening she can enjoy the sexual pleasures which she craves. She adores what I do to her, and I adore doing it to her: and she is fun to be with during our occasional moments between sexual activity. The total compatibility of our desires has given us both great happiness in the many hours we have spent together. "Darling," she will say, "this is a new piece of equipment that has just come into our shop - isn't it _beautiful_? Don't you think it will be wonderfully painful and thrilling? Please, darling, do it to me!" Oh, I _do_ love Japanese girls - especially Fujiko! FOOTNOTES [3] One nice thing about going with a girl much shorter than yourself is that, whether standing or sitting, you are well placed to look down the front of her dress as much as you want. [4] "Race queens", sometimes called "booth girls", are pretty girls employed under contract to wear delightfully abbreviated uniforms and to staff company stands at trade fairs and the like. The practice first started at motor-racing events, hence the name; but the girls are now a universal, and very agreeable, feature of Japanese commercial promotions of all kinds. While the uniforms they wear still just about cover them enough to let them appear in public without causing scandal, competition between their employers has encouraged the design of ever more provocative styles, and many new stars of the sex industry first caught the eye of a porn promoter while working as race queens. [5] "Cosplay" is simply an abbreviation for "costume play", the technique by which a Japanese girl identifies her lover's favourite fetish, and then sweetly embodies it, and tickles his lust for her, by beginning a fuck session dressed up for him in the appropriate fantasy costume: a flight attendant, nurse, race queen, chambermaid and so on. A variety of cosplay is when girls dress up as cartoon characters, helping their lovers to fulfil their fantasies of fucking the provocative little sub-teen figures dreamt up by the Japanese _manga_, gaming and advertising industries. Not to mention their own fantasies of being cartoon figures themselves! [6] You may perhaps remember that Mr Otani, Megumi Kato's husband and Head of the studio where she is a star, won her heart by re-enacting the moment when, as a young schoolgirl, she had first been beaten by the teacher she worshipped: see the second volume of her memoirs, All I Ever Wanted, Chapter II. One of the nicest things you can do for a girl you delight in is to establish what early experience moulded her young, unformed sexuality into graceful shape and gave it the kinks and fetishes which you so love. The exquisite masochism of a lovely Japanese girl didn't come naturally: some seminal early experience set her sensuality irrevocably on the right course. Very occasionally, repeat and reinforce that experience for her in some elaborate role-play: it's great fun, and the results can be spectacularly rewarding. [Next in Part 03: Fujiko: The Present] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams