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From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Mr Moto Returns, 1/3, (D/s, M/F, mc)
Date: Tue, 28 Aug 2001 17:10:04 -0400
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   <1st attachment, "Mr Moto 1t.txt" begin>
   MR MOTO RETURNS (D/s, M/F) by Don Winslow (dwin2001@yahoo.com)
  
***************************************************************************
******* AUTHOR'S NOTE: For this story, the author wishes to acknowledge the
considerable debt he owes to two esteemed "mc" authors.  The author is
grateful to Downing Street (see Business Reversal), whose imaginative work
always yields delightful surprises, and to Toxis (see Race Queen), whose
unflinching vision raises such intriguing possibilities.
  
***************************************************************************
*********** PRELUDE from "BUSINESS REVERSAL" By Downing Street
   THE STORY SO FAR.Caitlin had been a rising star in the business world,
founder and CEO of one of the hottest software companies in the valley. 
Known for her cool demeanor, her aggressive style, her ruthless
determination to succeed, Caitlin was feared by competitors and employees
alike.  Then one day one of her software designers who was slated to be
fired, Oscar Brightman, walked into her office unannounced, a laptop under
one arm.  To her surprise, the mild-mannered programmer asked her to watch
a demo he had designed.  She watched, without thought or comment, as the
images danced across the screen.  Then she dismissed her underling without
a word, vaguely puzzled by the strangely euphoric feeling that tingled
through her the rest of the day.
   Caitlin's efficiency began suffering about then.  She wasn't getting
nearly as much done as usual.  Her mind felt soft and unfocused.  She had
difficulty making decisions.  And increasingly she found her thoughts
drifting to sex -- sexy daydreams, unexpected images of rampant carnality
that kept flashing through her head, like trailers for a feature-length,
X-rated movie in which she was the hot and sweaty star.  Caitlin would
gasp, close her eyes, trying to shake the lewd images from her brain, but
they became more vivid every day.  She became desperately horny.  The
office staff noticed the funny changes in the boss' behavior.  She was
wearing sexier clothes to work, sporting shocking miniskirts and wickedly
high heels.  Even more strangely, she was coming under the influence of
Oscar Brightman who went so far as to move into her office.  She found
herself at her new desk in tight, revealing skirts, low cut tops and
push-up bras.  Her hair was now bleached blond, and she was relegated to
the role of a lowly secretary -- one whose job it was to wait on Brightman
hand and foot.  and to look pretty.
   Confused and uncertain, Caitlin moved as in daze, simply doing what she
was told.  She was even forced to adopt a humiliating new name --
Kitty-Kitty.  And, most astonishing of all, she seemed unable to object to
her continued degradation.  As Brightman's obedient secretary she spent her
days typing, answering the phones, fetching coffee, and providing eye candy
for the office.  She thought she had hit rock bottom - when the call came
in from Mr.  Moto.
   Mr.  Moto was an astute investor looking to put money into high-tech
companies.  When she was CEO, she had gone to him for venture capital.  Mr.
Moto had politely smiled.and turned her down flat.  But all that changed
when Brightman took over.  Somehow he convinced Mr.  Moto to reconsider and
the financier had not only agreed to underwrite the firm, but had basically
written Brightman a blank cheque.  Just to rub her nose in it, Brightman
had ordered his new secretary to bring them tea.  She could still remember
her mortification as she wiggled about the office in a tight, backless
sundress, carefully serving tea in fine china cups while Mr.  Moto's eyes
gobbled up every curve and valley of her superb figure.
   Brightman hardly looked up from his call to Mr Moto.  When he did, it
was only to blatantly check out Caitlin's exposed thighs.  He waved her
over to a chair at one side of the office set up before a computer screen.
Long after Mr.  Moto's telephone call, the former company CEO sat in front
of the computer as in a daze.  She was wearing a tight pink sweater with a
picture of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn embroidered on the front.
Kitten motifs figured prominently in her new wardrobe.  Even her
underthings had little kittens on them.
  
***************************************************************************
***********
   Part 1
   Kitty-Kat (nee Caitlin O'Reilly) was clearly nervous.  As the elevator
doors slid closed behind her with a hushed click, she took two steps
forward, only to be arrested by the sight of the leggy blonde in the little
black dress reflected in the full-length mirrored wall that rose from
behind a clump of potted ferns.
   The brown-eyed girl who looked back at her from under a row of soft even
bangs, met her gaze with a questioning look.  Her wide, glossy lips were
drawn in a tense line.  The lurid red of her gleaming lipstick, the heavy
makeup, the turquoise eye shadow, and thick eyeliner gave her the look of a
high-class whore, an impression she would certainly have given to all those
in the crowded lobby, even if she had not been wearing the sexy slip-dress.
   Kitty-Kat stood there nervously, one hand reaching down to give a final
tug to the hem.  The skimpy dress had, of course, been Brightman's idea.  A
backless number that hung from thin straps looping her bare shoulders, the
thigh-length mini barely managed to cover the shaded tops of her shiny dark
stockings -- and then only if she stood perfectly still.  She studied the
contoured lengths of her shapely black-stockinged legs in the mirror; the
4-inch pumps, her "fuck-me" shoes -- that was what Brightman called them.
   The blond girl turned away, took a deep breath, and began her solitary
journey down the thickly carpeted hallway to Room 802, walking as she had
been taught to -- taking small, mincing steps in the narrow dress and
heels. Chin up and leaning forward just slightly so that her rump arched
back, she let her hips sway daintily with each step she took.  Thoughts of
Suki flashed through her head: Sanjuko-San, her mistress for the last three
months.  How she had admired that marvelous serenity and perfect poise of
the lithe Japanese woman.  Even though she was quite a bit older than her
blond pupil, Suki moved with supple grace, her lean, hard body inevitably
sheathed in that shiny deep blue of the lycra leotard that she donned for
the lessons in Japanese ways that she sometimes taught to those selected
Western women who were sent to her.
   It was Brightman who had arranged for lessons for Kitty-Kat at Suki
Sanjuko's chic dance studio.  The private lessons were expensive, but money
didn't matter, not with so much at stake.
   At the outset, Kitty-Kat had been instructed to follow all directions to
the letter, promptly, and without question.  She was warned to learn her
lessons well; she would be punished if she was found to be a lazy or stupid
girl.  (Now the girl had been called many things, both before, and since
becoming Kitty-Kat, but never "stupid".  In addition to her law degree from
Columbia, she had a BA in women's studies from Cornell, or at least Caitlin
O'Reilly had,.although that was long ago, in a different life really). 
Nevertheless, punished she was, for the least infraction.  She had to
endure the humiliation of being spanked like a little schoolgirl, and learn
to thank her mistress afterwards with a sweet smile on her face.
   Sanjuko-San was a strict disciplinarian, the training she subjected the
new girl to was rigorous: etiquette, deportment, poise and manners,
traditional courtesy and respect, and of course, proper acceptance of her
new role as "pillow girl," -- mistress to one of Japan's most powerful
businessmen.
   Every detail was gone over.  Nor were the blond girl's dress, personal
appearance, and grooming exempt from critical scrutiny.  Only when she was
satisfied with Kitty-Kat's progress in the basics would her demanding
mistress introduce the girl to those skills which would make her an expert
in pleasuring a man (or woman for that matter, should her master desire
it). Kitty-Kat proved surprisingly adept in the arts of making love, and
Sanjuko-San declared herself pleased.  The younger woman flushed with
pride.
   And now it had all come down to this.  Sanjuko-San had reported to
Brightman that the girl was ready.  She could now be presented to the
honorable Mr Moto for his approval.  Kitty-Kat was nervous, but ready for
the test.  She stood before the door to room 802, knocked softly, twice.
   The door opened to reveal a middle-aged Japanese man in an expensive
silk Kimono.  He was slightly-built with a high, smooth brow and receding
hair that was neatly combed straight back.  His face was blankly stolid,
with strong lines that spoke to underlying power.  His lips were set; dark
eyes impassive.  But those eyes began to light up as he appraised the tall
American beauty who stood waiting to be of service.
   Seiji Moto looked her up and down, stepped back from the door, and with
an almost imperceptible nod of his head bid his guest to enter.  Kitty-Kat
took two mincing steps forward and bowed from the waist, as she had been
taught, a deep, formal and submissive bow, with eyes to the floor. 
Remembering Suki's instructions, she looked down at the man's shoes,
counted to two, and then slowly raised her head, careful to look up from
under her long, fluttery lashes and smile politely as she humbly greeted
her new master using the Japanese words she had so carefully memorized.
   "Thank you Master, for allowing me to come into your home.  My name is
Kitty-Kat and as you can see, I am but a foolish and stupid girl, one who
is not worthy of the notice of such an esteemed gentleman as yourself.  It
would be a great honor for me to be allowed to serve you in any way you
might chose."
   Mr Moto seemed pleased with her limited Japanese and responded, curtly
but politely, gesturing her into his room, and closing the door behind her.
   End of Part 1 Copyright 2001, Don Winslow
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