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Subject: {ASSM} (REV) Turning Japanese 2/3 by Rachael Ross (M+/F, F+/F, BDSM, Rom,  Kitchen Sink)
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Date: Sat, 03 Oct 2009 13:10:03 -0400
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Turning Japanese
Copyright 2009 Rachael Ross all rights reserved. Intended for Adults
of All Ages Licensed by Bound For Glory Productions in association with 
Severe Discipline Ltd.
Not packaged for individual sale - See End User Agreement for Export
Restrictions Photograph courtesy Jennifer Cassidy used with permission 
In Case of Emergency: rache696@yahoo.com   
http://www1.asstr.org/~rache/index.htm

===========================-+

Turning Japanese (Part 2)
by Rachael Ross


My whole performance lasted less than ten minutes and I was feeling
very uncomfortable and even foolish as the hostess took her crop back.
I started to leave the stage, but my boss stood up and suggested in a
loud, humorous voice that perhaps the girl should whip me instead. It
was hard for me to follow all of his Japanese, but I understood his
intentions and so did everyone else. All around me Japanese salarymen
laughed and clapped their hands, nodding excitedly to one another.

The hostess looked at me with some contempt and it seemed obvious to
me that she was a very strong-willed person, a Dominatrix by
temperament if not only by choice. I thought her exceedingly
beautiful, as many Japanese bargirls and hostesses must be, and
although I was slightly taller, the woman made me feel small by
comparison and this was new for me. I'd grown very yielding to my
superiors at work, but with strangers and especially the Japanese
women I met away from the office, I was normally confident and perhaps
arrogant with my background and education. Meek personalities don't
graduate Harvard Business School after all, but I wilted beneath her
dark presence and the Dominatrix literally grabbed my jaw in her
gloved fingers, turning my face so that she could stare into my wide
blue eyes.

"Do you wish to be punished?" she demanded and I tried to look at my
boss before I answered, but she held my head tight, pinching my cheeks
with her thumb and fingers painfully.

I could hear him, even if I couldn't see him, telling the hostess that
it was alright because I worked for him. I would do what I was told,
he said, and there was more laughter. I really didn't want this to
happen and I felt a knot of fear cramping in my stomach. The Japanese
woman holding me was strikingly beautiful, as I mentioned, and despite
her attitude and stern countenance, her lustrous brown eyes seemed
warm, almost comforting somehow, and perhaps that was why I agreed to
it. I thought she would ensure that I wouldn't be hurt. I wasn't a
professional BDSM model or whatever they call those people. I was an
American, a junior executive, and innocent of such things as this. She
couldn't possibly hurt me, I thought.

Another girl, attractive and definitely young enough to still be in
her teens, entered the stage dressed in a small, red bikini which
seemed oddly out of place at that moment. She released the girl I was
supposed to have whipped and then the two of them helped me undress
while the hostess watched. I looked around, taking a deep, self-
conscious breath because of the three dozen or so men in that place. I
only knew three of them, and really only one - the company vice-
president that I worked for. I was soon completely naked in a roomful
of strangers and I could hear them talking about me, generally
praising my body, but occasionally the odd Anglophobe would call me a
cow or a fat pig. I tried to ignore everything as I was fitted with a
stiff leather collar and then leather cuffs around my wrists, fastened
with silver buckles.

I had thought they might bind me the way the girl had been, just
handcuffed to the rings in the ceiling, but instead my arms were
brought behind my back, bent at the elbows so my arms pressed
painfully upward against my spine. It hurt a lot as my shoulders were
stretched and my arms twisted so that my joints screamed with sharp
protest. I didn't know a person's arms could even bend that way and I
was trembling and fighting for each ragged breath I took. They
fastened my wrists to a large ring on the back of the collar. I had to
arch my back just to ease pressure on my shoulders and this pushed my
breasts out further, which seemed exactly what my captors desired.

My legs were spread slightly wider than my hips and my ankles were
cuffed and then chained to small rings built into the floor of the
stage. They were hinged so that they could lay flat in in D-shaped
recesses when not in use and I hadn't noticed them before. The girl in
the bikini fitted my mouth with a ball gag, which I didn't like at
all, and I shook my head, saying that no, I didn't want to be gagged.
I was afraid that if I was hurt or something I wouldn't be able to
make them stop, or even yell for help. I had no idea what they
intended to do with me. This was a totally new experience and I
quickly realized that I'd gotten into something over my head right
from the beginning. The girls paid little attention to my refusals,
and turning my head this way and that did me little good as they
proceeded to gag me with expert efficiency.

The gag consisted of a rubber ball, a red one attached to a thin,
leather harness of some sort. It wasn't hard, but firm and
surprisingly soft, and very large as well. The device was quickly
pressed behind my teeth, depressing my tongue so that my mouth seemed
filled completely with it. My protests were immediately muted and
muffled and I could breathe only through my nose as the gag was
tightened and buckled behind my head. Being bound and gagged like I
was filled me with a strange sense of claustrophobia, although I was
standing in the center of the wide open stage.

I felt my heart pounding with excitement and fear, and I realized with
some shock that part of me actually enjoyed this new experience. My
senses seemed to become heightened with my fear and excitement.
Everything was interesting to me and I was curious as to why and how I
found myself becoming aroused. This seemed a forbidden thing,
something darkly romantic, if you can imagine it, and that vague
impression only fed my confusion. I didn't understand what I was
feeling. If someone had asked me before that evening what I thought
about being a BDSM submissive, I'd have said no way. I'd never do it.
But at that moment I felt the butterflies in my tummy and not because
I wanted them to stop.

Finally a chain was lowered from the ceiling and it too connected to
the ring at the back of my collar. It was pulled taut, just enough to
give me the sensation of pressure, but not enough to lift me off my
feet or anything. I stood there, bound helplessly, gagged and
uncertain of what was going to happen. The two girls had spoken not at
all while they'd prepared me and they left the stage wordlessly, the
one in the bikini giving me a smile and the other a small frown,
neither of which offered me any reassurance. The hostess played with
me first, which I found both stimulating and humiliating. I'd never
had anything to do with another woman in my life, not even the playful
exploration so many teenage girls share. I knew I wasn't lesbian or
even bisexual, not in the least. But here was this beautiful Japanese
woman stroking my breasts, talking to me softly and telling me it was
going to be okay, and I couldn't deny that I enjoyed her attentions.

She knew I was excited and I had no choice but to watch her face while
the Dominatrix taunted me with her hands. My bonds kept me upright,
with my chin lifted and my back arched. My breasts were thrust out and
up with my shoulders pulled back like they were, likewise my ass was
put on vulgar display by the forced tilt of my hips. I felt like an
object presented for the lusty approval of the men who watched us so
intently. The woman teased me with her fingers, caressing the tops of
my breasts and smiling at the dark arousal of my nipples. They were
swollen and stiff and when she flicked them with her gloved
fingertips, I couldn't refuse her the muffled moan that issued low in
my throat. My body became flushed and damp with sweat, and goose bumps
broke out across my skin. My nipples throbbed and burned ice cold and
I shivered beneath her gentle hands.

The Dominatrix moved her hands down my body slowly. They were encased
to the elbows in skin-tight black leather, buttery soft gloves that
felt like nothing else I'd ever encountered before. She moved down my
stomach and around my waist, petting and soothing me until she found
my sex. I'd grown wet by then and we both knew it. I wanted to close
my eyes in shame, but I didn't dare. The woman held me with her gaze
and licked her crimson lips as her fingers slid down and across my
slit. I jerked at the sensation and trembled as she worked her fingers
between my swollen labia. My clit became a fiery point of desire and I
rocked my hips in an effort to find her hand with it, but she denied
me with a soft laugh.

I blinked rapidly as my eyes became moist. I was panting beneath my
gag and growing lightheaded as I tried to get the air I needed through
my nose. My heart raced and my lungs seemed to labor under a crushing
weight. The woman massaged my vulva, splitting my lips and staring
intently into my eyes as she pushed a finger slowly inside me. I felt
my pussy spasm and the walls of my sex clasped her digit eagerly,
nursing at that small penetration and hungry for more. A second later
she began to caress my stiff little clit with her thumb, the sensation
making my knees weak and my body tremble with a rush of pleasure. I
don't think I'd ever gotten so excited so quickly in my life. I didn't
know what was going on, whether it was because of the woman, because I
was bound, because of the men watching, or a combination of all those
things. I only knew she was going to make me cum in just a few
agonizing seconds if she didn't stop playing with my cunt.

My captor must have realized it as well, not that it could have been
very difficult to tell. My whole body jerked against my bonds and my
skin fairly glowed with pink arousal beneath the bright lights. My
eyes were wide and begging for relief, and shining with the desire
that I was unable to voice aloud. The woman didn't stop and her
laughter was soft and high pitched when she brought me off. Her finger
thrust deep inside me, curling against my tender flesh and finding the
most sensitive places imaginable. Her palm cupped my sex as she stood
close to me, her lips brushing my cheek so that I could smell her
perfumed hair and pale skin. I felt her humid breath on my face and
her finger wriggled inside me, scratching the desperate itch my
excitement had become. My orgasm arrived quick and hard, crashing
through me like a tidal wave of pleasure and I was swept away with it
for several long minutes. 

I could barely stand and the collar tugged insistently at my neck, but
I had little mind for that. I was dazed and floating on a cloud of
adrenalin and endorphins and all the good feelings my orgasm had
delivered. I could feel the woman still fucking me with her hand,
telling me how she could feel my pussy nursing on her finger like a
baby while I came. She pumped me slowly until I'd recovered enough
that I could focus on her beautiful face once more. She brought her
fingers to her mouth, the leather glistening with my juices now, and
she wanted me to see her lick them clean. The Dominatrix was sharing
in my orgasm and telling me that soon enough I would do the same for
her, but the time for tenderness was through.

The girl I was supposed to have whipped with the crop had reappeared
and she was now given the task of whipping me. She looked like a
Japanese angel, perhaps five feet tall with big brown eyes, small firm
breasts, and a neatly trimmed V of black pubic hair between her
delicate thighs. But she was a demon in disguise, I think, because she
used the crop on me without mercy or sympathy. Not on my ass either,
which I might have borne better. She whipped my breasts, taking a
perverse delight in punishing them until they were covered with angry
red welts, top to bottom and side to side. The girl struck me no place
else, only on my tits, and the kiss of her crop was both unavoidable
and very nearly unbearable.

I will tell you I screamed as long and hard as I could against that
gag. I jerked and twisted. I pulled against my bonds until my body was
bathed in sweat. I'd never been treated in such a way, not even by the
most abusive of the Japanese men I worked with, and so I had nothing
to compare this to. There was no reference and so this whipping of my
breasts seemed all the more terrible than perhaps it truly was. Much
of my suffering, I must confess, was brought upon myself by my own
feverish mind. I'd closed my eyes and I was afraid to open them for
fear of what I'd see when I saw my tits, but when the girl had
finished and I blinked through my tears, I could see that my worst
fears were unrealized. My breasts were criss-crossed with long, thin
stripes of white across my flushed skin. The welts were raised and my
tits throbbed with pain, feeling swollen and burning and heavy as they
tugged at the exhausted muscles beneath them. But they were beautiful
as well, although my mind tried to deny what I understood emotionally.
The girl had painted my tits with pain and though it had been terrible
and frightening, now I was learning to accept it.

The girl was breathing hard after exertions which must have been the
equal of my own, which seemed a curious reveleation and only hinted at
a true and deeper understanding which escaped me. Her own small body
had turned pink and damp with sweat while whipping me and she wore a
satisfied, petulant smile on her angelic face. She held the crop in
her left hand and I watched as she stroked it between her thighs,
sliding the short length of it between her thin pussy lips. I suddenly
became aware that I'd been crying and this seemed to please her
greatly. She told the hostess that my tears made me even prettier and
she struck my breasts again, watching my eyes closely as I sobbed. I
think she would have continued until I passed out if the hostess
hadn't stopped her. I wondered how anyone that lovely could be that
cruel. I winced instinctively when the girl brought a hand to my face,
but she giggled softly and her touch was gentle as she gathered some
of the wetness spilling from my eyes on her fingertips. She brought
her hand to her mouth and licked my tears from her fingers with her
tiny red tongue.

For the crowd's benefit more than mine, I think, the hostess began
playing with my cunt again and I should have been surprised to find
that I was soaked down there. I thought I should have been dry, but
being whipped like that had pushed me right to the edge and the woman
brought me off again with very little effort. She took much pleasure
in announcing my condition to her customers, telling the men in a loud
voice how wet my cunt had become and how easily I accepted three and
then four of her fingers inside my slutty hole. If she meant to
embarrass me further, it wasn't possible. I was beyond humiliation,
lost to everyone but the Dominatrix and her assistants, and my guilt
and shame were gifts for her alone.

The men watching, laughing and drinking and making their lewd
observations mattered very little to me at that point. I was cumming
hard and so soon after having my breasts whipped, as if the experience
had been an aphrodisiac to render me truly helpless with desire. My
orgasm tore through me, mixing with the pain in my tits, and it semed
as if the door to heaven had been cracked open. It was an experience
that I couldn't understand then, but the hostess knew. She understood
completely, I think, and almost certainly the girl who had whipped me
as well. They were like no one else.

At some point during my orgasm, the girl in the bikini had returned,
bringing with her some long, thin leather cords. I'd had some
expectation of being released after being whipped by that lovely
fallen angel, but I was mistaken and through the pleasant haze of my
orgasm I realized that the hostess had no intention of letting me go
so quickly. After all the effort and extravagance of binding me so
thoroughly, I would be required to put on a good show for her well-
paying customers and having my breasts whipped hadn't been nearly
enough to appease them.

Instead of loosing my bonds, the Dominatrix had my tits bound, one at
a time with the leather cords. The girl wound the leather tightly
around the base of my left breast, over and over, ensuring the cord
was painfully tight so that the fatty tissue seem to balloon outward
as the flesh was narrowed beneath it. She did this to my right breast
as well, and after she'd finished my tits looked obscene and strangely
misshapen. They were already red and marred by the welts which had not
yet begun to fade, and soon my tits began to turn darker as the blood
inside them was trapped by the leather cords.

I groaned uselessly against the gag in my mouth when the girl stepped
back so the Dominatrix and the audience could admire her handiwork.
The hostess called out loudly in Japanese, using words I was
unfamiliar with, and a moment later the bikini clad girl returned with
a small bag of metal clips, like clothespins, only stronger with
heavier springs and sharp teeth like large alligator clips. The
hostess worked these onto my nipples first, which were hard and
distended, dark with blood and swollen from the abuse they'd already
suffered. It felt as an incredible, exquisite pain and my body jerked
as my nipples were caught beneath those sharp teeth, the hostess
positioning the open jaws over each nipple and then simply letting go,
so that they snapped into place as if biting me.

A half dozen more were placed on each of my breasts, the clips biting
into my flesh and adding to the nearly overwhelming pain I felt. But
beneath it all I was shivering with excitement. I truly enjoyed this.
Some terrible, perverse part of me that I'd never known existed was
getting off on being abused in this way, being degraded and humiliated
in front of so many total strangers. I felt my pussy aching to be
filled and I found the sudden desire to have the woman clip some of
those pins to my labia, even my sensitive clitoris, to be an almost
intoxicating thought. But this was to be strictly breast torture, I
understood, because they ignored every other part of me except when
the hostess wished to give me another orgasm with her fingers.

With my breasts whipped, bound, and finally clamped as they were, it
came time for the climax of our little scene The hostess disappeared
from my sight for a moment and this gave me time to fix my attention
on the crowd around me, whom I could just make out through the bright
lights that shone down upon the platform. It felt wonderfully strange
to be helpless and in such a torturous mix of pleasure and pain, while
only a few feet away from me men joked and laughed and played with the
bar girls who kept them company. I saw my boss smiling and pointing as
he discussed me with his two associates. He would be well pleased by
what was happening, I was sure. This story too would make the rounds
of my office and everyone I worked with would know what had happened
to me. I felt thoroughly degraded, as if I were so much less than any
of the men staring at me. I was barely even human now, I thought, but
more like an animal to be abused for pleasure than a woman with an
expensive education and a high paying job. How could anyone ever
respect me after the things I'd been forced to do, I wondered. How
could I even respect myself?

All of my thoughts were soon lost however, as I felt the hostess
moving behind me. I could hear the men talking, some of them, and I
understood from their excited words that I was about to be fucked. The
Dominatrix had strapped on a dildo, a very large one judging from the
comments I was able to hear, and I twisted my head to the left and
right, but was quite unable to see the woman or the cock she now
sported. I shook violently and my heart refused to slow as it seemed
ready to burst with anticipation. I could hear it beating in my ears,
rushing hot blood through my body to feed adrenaline to my excited
flesh. I wasn't so much frightened by what was happening as I was
desperate for more. My pussy had grown wet and tight with frustrating
emptiness. I felt my sex like a fist between my spread thighs,
squeezing in on itself and begging to be filled. The idea of that
beautiful, dominant woman taking my cunt in front of those men was
intoxicating and I felt another orgasm building in the depths of my
taut belly.

The hostess wasted little time as she worked the head of her dildo
across my slit from behind. She pressed it down so the shaft rode
between my labia without entering me and as the woman pressed her hips
to my ass, the phallus appeared in front of me, jutting out lewdly
between my legs. The woman teased me that way, and the crowd as well,
taunting my sex for several minutes before finally drawing her now wet
and glistening cock back and pressing it not to my pussy, which was
begging to be filled, but rather to my anus. She put her lips to my
ear, whispering to me in Japanese that her name was Mistress Atsumi
and she intended to make me her slave. I shuddered and the gag made
insensible my reply, but words were unnecessary in any event. Mistress
Atsumi knew what I needed.

The Dominatrix pushed her dildo inside me with a forceful, steady
pressure, spreading the round cheeks of my ass apart with her thumbs
so she could see my tight sphincter yielding beneath her insistence.
I'd been fucked there before, but never like this. None of the men
who'd had my asshole had been as thick as that toy now felt. I might
have screamed if I hadn't been so completely gagged. The delicate ring
of my anus was being forced open around the smooth head of her
phallus, lubricated with the juices from my cunt, and it was another
pleasure-pain cocktail for my lust fogged mind to greedily swallow.
With an odd popping sensation, the woman's cock forced itself into my
rectum and then she began to fuck me in earnest. Mistress Atsumi held
my hips and thrust sharply, with quick, short strokes that took my
tender asshole inch by inch until eventually she had all of her
phallus buried within the tight confines of my bowels.

She let me rest then and perhaps the woman was catching her own breath
as well. I was impaled on her cock and how large it was I couldn't
guess, but it seemed huge to me as my body stretched around it.
Mistress Atsumi grabbed my tits then, pressing herself against my back
and reaching around me. She began digging her gloved fingers into my
tender flesh, by now horribly swollen and purplish from their bonds.
Her efforts knocked several of the clips off and that was another
splinter of painful joy. She handled my tits roughly, working them up
and down, squeezing and pulling them, pressing her palms against my
burning nipples as she fucked my ass with violent abandon. I could
feel her hot breath against my neck and her leather encased body
rubbing against mine. It was a glorious fuck filled with pain and
pleasure and for the first time in my life I came without feeling any
direct stimulation of my clit or vagina. I shook and whimpered like a
little girl as Mistress Atsumi bent me completely to her will. I was
powerless and it thrilled me to my core.

After our show had ended, the naked young woman who had whipped me and
the other one, the teenage girl in the bikini, unbound me and brought
me backstage. The sensation of fresh blood filling my breasts filled
my eyes with tears and that seemed a pain as bad or worse than any
other. They cleaned me up carefully, washing my body and applying a
cream to my breasts which looked terrible from the beating they'd
taken. The girls' hands were gentle and the water was very hot,
soothing and relaxing, and I enjoyed it a great deal.

The girl who'd used the crop on my tits climbed into the water with
me, sitting very close, and I watched her lovely face as her hands
stroked my flesh. She comforted me in all ways and the pain I felt
melted slowly away beneath her tender ministrations. She told me her
name was Fumiko and she asked me if she'd hurt me, meaning something
more than physically, but I was unsure of how I felt just then. I told
her that she had and the smaller woman frowned at that, massaging my
nipples with her thumbs while she squeezed my tits carefully. I smiled
and dipped my head so that I could catch her dark eyes with mine and I
told her that despite the pain, I'd enjoyed it very much. I just
didn't understand how or why and she laughed at that.

"You'll learn, I think," Fumiko said. "You were very good for me."

After my bath I was ready to go back to the table and find my boss and
our two guests. I knew they'd be pleased and probably ready to leave.
They'd bring me to a rest house, or perhaps to a love motel, and I'd
spend the rest of the night letting the two businessmen have their way
with my body, all for the good of the company. I wasn't looking
forward to it. I was worn out, as you can imagine, and I would much
rather go home to my small apartment and spend my time trying to
understand what had happened to me and what it all meant. But I
couldn't find my clothes. I stood there in a towel, looking around and
unsure of what I was doing. None of the other women were in the small
bath just then and I opened the door to peek out. There was a narrow
little hall with the bar directly ahead, the stage to the left, and
offices to the right. I was concerned because I thought my boss would
probably be angry with me if I took too long. I frowned at the towel
and decided it covered me well enough that I could make my way to the
bar and ask someone where my things had gone, but about the time I'd
made up my mind, Atsumi walked off the stage and saw me.

The woman smiled patiently and stepped close to me as I stood there,
damp and nervous, and my heart leapt at being confronted by the woman
who had fucked me so publicly. "What do you think you're doing?" she
asked me with a voice that seemed almost playful.

"I'm looking for my clothes, Mistress," I said somewhat hesitantly,
but I'd decided that was the most correct form of addressing her.
Somehow 'Atsumi-san' didn't seem like something I could easily say.
"My boss is waiting for me and I do not wish to displease him," I
continued in my somewhat formal Japanese. I kept my eyes lowered and
my hands were clutching at the knotted towel between my breasts.

"I gave them to your boss for safekeeping," the woman smiled at me.
"But now he's already left. Didn't he leave your clothes with Fumiko?"

"What? No, I don't think so," I said, looking around and feeling a
little helpless. I didn't see the VP or his companions anywhere. "He
can't leave! He had my purse also."

"Oh my! Well, this is a problem, isn't it?" The beautiful woman shook
her head, but her lips curled in a mischievous smile and I understood
that she was enjoying my discomfort.

"What am I going to do? My money, my keys, everything was in there!" I
felt very insecure right about then, as you may imagine. Yokohama was
a long ways from my apartment in Shinjuku and even if I somehow
managed to get home, I couldn't get through the door.

"Well, I suppose you could come home with me if you like. In the
morning you can call him at work. I'm sure it's just a mistake."

"But I have to be to work in the morning!" I was almost in tears,
feeling suddenly overwelmed by the entire experience. Not merely
finding myself naked and helpless, but I hadn't yet come to reason
with what I'd suffered previously. The heart and mind can only take so
much and I was breaking inside.

"Oh, shush now!" she actually laughed. "This isn't so terrible. He's
your boss. He'll understand if you're a little late, I think."
Mistress Atsumi was making her proposal sound almost reasonable and I
really did have no alternative. I couldn't even afford the train ride
home and while I'm sure the woman would have been happy to lend me a
little money, she hadn't made that offer and I was too embarrassed to
ask.

"Maybe," I nodded slowly. "But I do not wish to be a burden to you."

"It's no burden to be someone's friend," the woman smiled and reached
out to touch my cheek. "We'll go out and have some fun tonight, you'll
see, and in the morning everything will be fine."

Atsumi had Fumiko find me a dress. It was about two sizes too small,
especially for my breasts, which were large by Japanese standards
anyway, and now swollen and overly sensitive. The dress was leather,
bright yellow with an old fashioned bodice, like a corset that laced
closed across my tummy up to my breasts. When I put the dress on
however, I was barely able to cover my nipples and the untied laces
hung free like tassels from my tits as they were pushed upward in a
lewd display of female flesh. The bottom of the dress flared into a
stiff leather skirt that barely covered my ass, and at my hips the
dress stretched very little, hugging my body tightly in a warm,
buttery sheath. The outfit actually felt wonderful around my waist and
stomach, but I felt quite dismayed by my appearance. My body was only
barely contained, with my tits threatening to spill out of the bodice
and my ass and even my sex hidden only so long as I stood straight and
still. Walking would be a definite challenge to my modesty and sitting
down was out of the question! I looked like a very cheap prostitute, I
thought, but Atsumi clapped with happy approval when she saw me.

Fumiko was smiling as well, although I couldn't tell which she enjoyed
more, my trepidation or Atsumi's pleasure. The girl giggled as she
gave me a black leather thong that I held up for a moment, blinking at
it. I'd owned and worn many thongs, but I'd hoped for something a
little more concealing to wear beneath that dress. Nevertheless, I put
the panties on, pulling taut the thin leather between my butt cheeks
while Atsumi watched patiently. I struggled to get into a pair of
patent leather pumps, open toed with four inch heels that fit me
alright, but they obviously weren't designed for comfort. They
accentuated the effects of my new dress, forcing me to tilt my hips
and arch my back as I had to stand almost tip-toe while Fumiko knelt
and fastened the thin straps around my ankles for me.

I hoped we were going straight to Atsumi's apartment, because just
walking through the club as we left proved enough to make me decidedly
uncomfortable. Even though most of the customers had already seen my
little performance on the stage, there were a lot of comments being
made. The men were brutally vulgar for the most part, speaking loudly
for my benefit as much as their companions' and my face reddened
noticeably.

Atsumi had dressed as a Mistress should, attired as a fetishist wet
dream, as was I admittedly. She wore a black leather dress, longer
than mine and much better fitting. It had a skirt that fell just above
her knees, but was very tight all the same, as though molded to her
hips and thighs and wonderfully pert ass. The top was more of a corset
than a real dress, with a push up bustier that had been laced tightly
in the back. She wore her black gloves, the leather clinging to her
arms up to the elbows, and she had her hair pulled back severely and
pinned into an elaborate knot. Her face had been made up perfectly, as
was mine after spending ten minutes in front of a mirror with Fumiko's
undivided attention. Atsumi carried a small leather purse with long
straps and she slipped it over my shoulder, telling me to carry it for
her.

As we were leaving the club, approaching the darkened glass of the
front doors, Fumiko hurried over and gave Atsumi a black leather
collar. It was thin and supple and the Dominatrix affixed it around my
neck without any kind of explanation. After the collar was securely
buckled, Atsumi attached a silver chain to it, like a dog's leash,
with a looping leather handle that Atsumi held. I wasn't too sure
about this and I fingered the collar a little nervously, wanting to
ask her what this was all about, but I couldn't find the words. I felt
a rush of heat spreading upward from my sex and I frowned with my
confusion.

"Don't worry, Jennifer-san, it looks very appropriate for you." Atsumi
smiled and gave the leash a little tug. "I will call you slave
tonight, and you will call me Mistress. You'll enjoy it, I promise.
You'll see."

"Yes...Mistress," I answered slowly and that seemed to please her a
great deal. We walked out of the club and into the night, my new
Mistress hailing a cab to take us to Yokohama Station.

I felt unbearably nervous and I fidgeted in the back seat beside
Atsumi. She touched my leg and I looked down, seeing that my dress was
completely hopeless. It was so short that no matter how I sat my
crotch was completely exposed, the white of my skin contrasting
starkly with the black thong that barely covered my sex.

"Where are we going, Mistress?" I asked her, trying to keep my voice
low, but I saw the driver's head turn slightly at the word and I
reddened.

"We'll go to Roppongi, slave, but before that I think we must go to
Shibuya. I have something I would like to do first," Atsumi answered
and I cringed a little as she'd spoken in a casual tone, as if calling
someone a slave was a normal thing.

The taxi dropped us off at the west entrance of the huge Yokohama
train station and it was terribly crowded as always. I burned beet red
as Atsumi led me by my collar through the crowded plaza, past the many
stores, and down the wide stairs to the sublevel where the trains
were. People openly stared at us and there were a number of comments
made, but only quietly. It was not everyday that one saw a stunning
Japanese woman leading a beautiful American around on a leash. I found
the experience incredibly humiliating, but it also filled me with a
strange happiness, a feeling of pride perhaps? I didn't know, but I
could feel Atsumi's confidence radiating from her in waves and I took
strength from that. She didn't care what anyone thought and she seemed
to possess a power that defied the world around us.

By then I had obviously become aware of my secret pleasure at being
publicly humiliated, of being debased and dehumanized even. No doubt
it's become plain as you've read my story so far, but hindsight has
its own clarity that is often lacking as the events themselves unfold.
I'll say that I was aware of my desires, but I had not embraced them
willingly before that long walk through Yokohama Station. That, for
me, became a journey from the subconscious yearning to the conscious
acceptance of who and what I truly was. Or at least the beginning of
it.

All of my protestations, my reluctance and embarrassments previous to
this seemed silly and contrived. I remembered all the times I'd been
shocked and horrified, stunned by what I was being 'forced' to do...Like
this, being paraded through a crowd of literally thousands of
strangers, dressed as a wanton slut for the pleasure of another, more
dominant woman. And yet, for the first time I was able to tell myself
that it made me happy to do so. That this was something that I wanted
very much and if anything, I'd been lucky that Mistress Atsumi had
recognized this about me and that she was strong enough to make me do
it.

I was soaked when we finally boarded our train, my juices staining the
small bit of lining in my thong and even running down my thighs. I
thought of the times I'd been groped on trains similar to this. How
I'd felt violated and had told myself so often that I was angry, but
in reality I hadn't been angry at all. I smiled to myself, knowing
that I'd loved every perverse minute of it. I wished someone would do
that now. I wanted someone, a man, a stranger, to feel my cunt and
ass, to fuck me there, in front of all those people. To make me suck
his cock and force me to accept his cum on my face, to do anything he
liked with me. I wanted to feel that awful humiliation and worse, I
wanted to show everyone how I enjoyed such treatment.

But no one touched me. No one dared as Mistress Atsumi remained close
by and the leash connecting us declared me to be her property. None of
the men present would contest that. I looked around at them, feeling
the superiority that being owned gave me. I was confident suddenly,
strong and inviolable. 'You're all cowards!' I wanted to shout at them
as they looked away from my alien eyes. They were useless cowards who
couldn't face a woman and take what they wanted, but only steal it
from behind her back. I grew angry not at what had been done to me
before, but only that I'd once given such weaklings that much power
over me. These were heady thoughts and they struck me with a clarity
I'd rarely experienced before. I didn't entirely understand what I was
feeling yet, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and I'd always been a quick
study.

Now things were different. I'd given Mistress Atsumi the power she
held over me, totally and completely while denying it to everyone
else. I looked at her and she smiled as though reading my mind. To
make my point succinctly, I knelt on the dirty floor of that train,
pushing myself down between the legs and feet of those crowded around
us. I put my head close to Mistress Atsumi's skirt, pressing my chin
to her thighs and looking up with my blue-green eyes. She moved her
hand to my hair, stroking me as the train rocked back and forth,
speeding us towards our destination.

At Shinagawa we changed trains and it took another 30 minutes before
we were in Shibuya. From that moment on, when we were on a train or
standing in a queue waiting for a taxi, or when we arrived at a small
shop and went inside, if we stood in one place for longer than a few
minutes, I knelt. It seemed proper somehow and I knew it pleased
Mistress Atsumi very much. She hadn't commented on it, but I could see
the smile on her lips and the light in her eyes when she looked down
at me. I found myself wishing the woman had handcuffed me, strange as
that may seem, and I kept my hands in the small of my back if I could,
while I knelt or even while walking behind her. I couldn't say why,
except that it seemed proper and I wanted to find ways to please my
new Mistress.

The shop we were in was a BDSM place, selling everything from fetish
wear to fetish gear. There were magazines and videos and a large
selection of toys, some of which I couldn't begin to imagine a purpose
for. Mistress Atsumi seemed to be very friendly with the owner,
another woman and obviously a Dominatrix. She was attractive, I
thought, but not nearly so beautiful as my Mistress. Soon after
entering, Mistress Atsumi unclipped the leash from my collar and told
me I could look around if I wished. I thanked her politely,
understanding that she wished to have a private conversation with her
friend.

I'd never been in a BDSM shop before and it was fascinating to me. I
had never imagined some of the things I saw, paddles and whips of all
shapes and sizes. Clothes that looked almost too beautiful to wear.
There were several mannequins dressed and on display. One that I
studied quite intently had been dressed with a PVC hood, tightly drawn
to the scalp and face with bright steel zippers over the eyes and
mouth. This was paired with a leather jumpsuit, skintight and encasing
the body completely with matching gloves and boots. It too had zippers
covering the nipples and the genital area. Another zipper, this one
black and hidden, ran along the spine. The outfit gleamed under the
fluorescent lights and I thought it both lovely and frightening, the
way it was designed to completely hide the person beneath.

"Do you like it?" a soft voice asked me and when I hesitated, she
spoke again. "Do you speak Japanese?"

I turned to see a very cute and young Japanese woman, dressed in tight
black leather shorts and high heels. She wore no blouse, but instead a
collar that was very wide, covering her long throat almost completely.
Her breasts were small and the nipples swollen and cherry red, so red
that I thought they might be painted, but they weren't. Her face was
delicate, with very high cheek bones and pouting lips, and her eyes
were dark and narrow. With her black hair falling in a sort of uneven
shag style around her shoulders, I thought the girl looked almost
mythical in appearance, like an elf or some forest nymph who should be
dancing in the moonlight. I found her very enchanting and I couldn't
help but smile.

"Yes," I answered in Japanese. "I like it very much."

"You're Mistress Atsumi's." It wasn't a question. "That's good. She's
been lonely, I think. It's nice to see her happy again."

"I do not understand what you mean," I said. I hadn't yet considered
what, if anything, my relationship with Atsumi was, beyond the
immediate pleasure of being in each other's company.

"Mistress Atsumi hasn't taken a lover in some time," the girl
shrugged, "but perhaps I'm saying too much." She decided to try and
change the subject. "Your Japanese is very good, where do you study?"

"No, please. I 
-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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