MR MOTO RETURNS  (D/s, M/F)
by Don Winslow (dwin2001@yahoo.com)

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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.  

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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. 

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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.


Part 2

Seiji Moto looked up at the blond girl who stood towering over him in 
her heels, and the trace of a scowl flitted over his lips.  Much as he 
favored tall statuesque women, it still annoyed him when they had to 
look down upon him, even when they were respectful, as this one seemed 
to be. Of course, he'd soon have the girl on her knees, but at the 
outset, he decided, the shoes could go.

Now Mr Moto, was a connoisseur of feminine beauty, one who deeply 
appreciated the way tall heels shaped and elongated the sinuous curves 
of a pair of devastating legs.  Nevertheless, he had his new mistress 
remove her pumps, and set them aside, knowing full well that before 
they were through, she would be wearing them again, but this time on 
her bare feet as he would have her prance about the room for him 
wearing nothing but her shoes.

The Japanese businessman turned his back on his new pillow girl as she 
slipped off her pumps, and in her stockinged feet followed obediently 
followed two steps behind him as he crossed the room to a large 
wingbacked chair that dominated the spacious, well-appointed suite. 

Mr Moto sat down with feet planted flatly on the floor, pointed to a 
spot just in front of his chair, then watched the stockinged feet that 
took the two additional steps to bring the girl to the place on the 
thickly-carpeted floor he had indicated.  Kitty-Kat took her assigned 
place, automatically assuming for her new master, the presentation 
position that she had been taught: standing erect, with head 
submissively lowered, eyes respectfully locked on the floor.  The arms 
she held at her sides were turned so that her open palms faced forward. 
She stood motionless while tingles of excitement radiated through her 
body.

 Mr Moto lit a cigarette and settled back to leisurely study the crown 
of that blond head, the smooth helmet of straight silver-gold hair that 
fell forward to partially shield the girl's face.  He took note of the 
even bangs and the long page-boy cut.  Many Japanese women wore their 
hair in that simple style; Mr  Moto approved.   His eyes now took in 
the creamy smoothness of her rounded shoulders and the soft curves of 
her upper chest, all left deliciously  bare by the revealing gown; the 
bulging promise of those rich, full breasts; the perfect taper of her 
figure in the black dress that smoothened down to a narrow waist and 
firmly jutting hips.  And just below the brief skirt, his eyes beheld a 
truly gorgeous pair of legs sheathed in shiny black nylon.   The man 
nodded to himself, deciding that he was well satisfied with Brightman's 
gift, and although his face remained expressionless, his inner delight 
was evidenced by the growing erection that tented the crotch of the 
expensive trousers he wore under his Kimono.

He looked up at the waiting girl, and gruffly ordered her, in English, 
to get undressed.  Still keeping her eyes rigidly downcast, Kitty-Kat 
moved instantly to obey.  She reached behind her to lower the zipper on 
the dress, then went on to delicately peel down each wispy 
shoulderstrap.  The loosened dress slithered down her lush body to 
collapse in heap.  She stepped out of the inky puddle; nudged it aside 
with one toe.  The descending dress left the voluptuous blonde in 
nothing but a pair of  smoky pantyhose.  Her ample breasts now hung 
free, completely exposed to the man's delighted eyes.  Kitty-Kat had 
been told to wear nothing underneath the sexy dress -- Brightman's 
orders.  And she had done so.  She always followed Brightman's orders, 
though she was never quite sure.just why she did such things.

The man's delighted eyes traveled from her furry vulva, dimly visible 
under the tautly stretched nylon that molded her underarch, up to those 
newly revealed breasts, to linger there, enjoying the way the generous 
swells, once released wobbled slightly as they fell into place, then 
hung pendulously: rich, fully-curved, naked tits, with thick, wide 
nipples that angled down and pointed outward from the center.  He 
motioned the blond woman forward, had her place her hands on the arms 
of his chair and lean down over him, letting her heavy breasts sway 
forward to dangle practically in his face.  Mr Moto brought both hands 
up, curved his fingers to fit the tempting mounds; loosely cupped and 
hefted the substantial, dangling tit-bags.  

He watched her face as he felt her up, finding pleasure in her arousal 
as he fingered the soft, silken skin, pumping two handfuls of tittie-
flesh to test the softness, the deep inner resiliency of her pliant 
breasts  -- those delightful breasts that he toyed with and fondled to 
his heart's content.  He used his extended thumbs to worry her low-
slung nipples, coaxing the sensitive tips into greater prominence.  He 
cupped her, felt the hardened nipples pressing into his palms, as he 
moved her tits in slow, sensual circles.  

Kitty-Kat gurgled with pleasure.  Under this unrelenting manipulation, 
she tightened her grip on the chair, held her arms rigid.  At the 
outset she tried to keep still, but that proved impossible as the 
strong masculine hands made love to her needy bosom.  She twisted in 
his hands, wiggling her shoulders, arching back like a big cat, tossing 
back her long blond hair.  A tight-lipped grunt escaped her set lips, 
and then a low wavering, open-mouthed moan, as the woman squirmed in 
the flush of rising heat, her eyes closed shut, a dreamy expression on 
her face, savoring the pleasures of a masterful lover's hands.

Kitty-Kat was breathing heavily now, practically panting through her 
mouth open like a filly after a thundering heat.  Still those slow, 
masterful hands never stopped their warm caress. A quiver of lust shot 
through her, wiggled out through her twisting shoulders.  And finally, 
just when she thought she could stand no more of such intense pleasure, 
he gave up her swollen, throbbing breasts.   With a final tug on her 
erected nipples, and a light slap to the dangling tits, he dismissed 
her, allowing the girl to leave the pose he had put her in, but only to 
immediately order her to her knees.

"Serve me," he ordered, in curt English.

And the pantyhose-clad girl got on her knees and knelt erect at the 
feet of her master, her superb breasts rising and falling in deep 
undulations, her heavy breathing the telltale sign of her having been 
turned on and heated up so mercilessly.  He had her settle back on her 
heels, with feet tucked under her in the Japanese way. With head bowed, 
Kitty-Kat waited to serve, to do her master's bidding.  Mr  Moto gazed 
down on the huddled shoulders of the girl at his feet, reveling in the 
lovely vision of feminine servitude she presented.  He had her remove 
his shoes and socks.  Then she was told to take up a bare foot, and 
cradle it in her lap.

He looked down at her, and muttered something in Japanese.  Kitty-Kat 
understood just enough to know what he wanted.  And the girl took up 
the proffered foot, to kiss the top, to lick along the length, watching 
the toes curl with exquisite pleasure, then to take each toe in turn 
between her soft, pouting lips and gently give suck.  Moto sighed, and 
rocked back in his chair, surrendering himself up to the heavenly feel 
of the lovely wet lips of this charmingly submissive woman who knelt 
before him, dutifully kissing her master's feet.

After only a few minutes of this excruciating pleasure, Mr  Moto's 
erection was painfully stiff, and demanding satisfaction.  But the 
wordly Mr Moto is a connoisseur of sexual pleasures, and he well knows 
that such experiences are best left to unfold slowly, so as wring out 
the greatest possible pleasures from each and every one of them.  And 
so he orders his pillow girl to stop her mindless, obsequious devotion, 
to rise up and bring him Saki.

His pleased eyes followed the movements of the tall American blonde, 
enjoying the sheer beauty of those attractive stockinged legs, the 
sinuous lines of smoothened hips and succulent  tapering thighs, and 
the splendid generous bottom its rounded mounds tightly packed in smoky 
nylon as she to scurried off to do his bidding.

He never took his eyes off her as she collected the things at an 
elaborately carved  sideboard.   Carefully balancing a bottle of saki 
and two demicups cups on a small red lacquered tray, she shuffled back 
across the carpet, and he enjoyed the sight of her naked breasts on 
display, jiggling slightly as she walked, swaying softly when she bent 
over, and bowed deeply to her master, juddering, to settle into place 
when she got down on her knees to place the tray to one side, and 
respectfully offer up a cup of saki.  

Once the topless serving girl had seen to the needs of her master, she 
was permitted to pour herself a drink .  Kitty-Kat doesn't like the 
taste of saki, but she knew she could never refuse such an invitation.  
So she swallowed the powerful liquor, smiled  bravely up at her lord, 
even though the burning liquid almost brought tears to her eyes.  He 
was pleased with her.she could tell.  He ordered another drink, but 
this time she was not invited to drink with him.  Instead, as he eased 
back to sip his saki, he ordered his new pillow girl to pose for him.
 
He had her kneel upright , raising her arms and arching back, with 
interlocking fingers clasped behind her head, so that she presented her 
magnificent breasts, the firm curves jutting out as if seeking his 
approval.  He stared at that comely bosom over the rim of his saki cup.  
Kitty-Kat felt a shiver of lust; her shallow breathing deepens whenever 
she's made to show herself like this.  After several minutes of holding 
the erotic pose, kneeling motionless before her lord while he finished 
his drink, she was ordered to her feet to come closer to his chair.

He looked up at her as she stood before him; made her widen her stance, 
and clasp her hands together behind her.  The thought occurred to him 
that the girl would look nice in a pair of handcuffs with her wrists 
secured behind her, and he mentally filed that happy thought away for 
now.   

So far, Mr  Moto had purposely, quite deliberately, denied himself the 
feel of those nyloned haunches, but now he would allow himself that 
further pleasure.  Reaching out for her, he curved his hands around 
those solid hips, curling his long narrow fingers to press deeply into 
Kitty-Kat's firm, meaty ass.  He squeezed; lightly stroked her thighs, 
enjoying with just the tips of his fingers the slick cool feel of the 
silky nylon that seemed plastered to her lower body.  He nudged her 
legs even further apart He savored the warmth and inner firmness of her 
legs, as his hands caressed the feminine contours of those long 
tapering limbs sheathed in smooth black nylon, while she quivered under 
his touch. 

He had the girl turn in place, bend well forward at the hips to steady 
herself with hands braced on her thighs, so that she was forced to 
stick back her well-made bottom towards the face of the hungry Mr Moto.   
He abruptly jumped up; his hands trembling slightly as he reached for 
her.  His greedy hands curved to fit those lush, twin contours, and he 
spent a few enjoyable minutes fondling two generous handfuls of the 
American girl's plump, shapely bottom through her tightly stretched 
pantyhose.  After amusing himself in this fashion for awhile, he had 
her straighten, and turn once more to face him.  

Mr Moto is thin, and unusually tall for a Japanese.  He is almost the 
same height as Kitty-Kat in her stockinged feet.  She finds herself 
standing only inches from her master, flushed and panting with arousal.  
She immediately lowers her eyes.

 "Look at me," he muttered.

And when he had her looking right into his eyes, he reached down and 
took a handful of her plump womanhood through the damp crotch of the 
pantyhose.  Gripping her by the sex, he tightened his curving fingers 
up into the softness of her pussylips, as he began palming her vulva, 
heating the girl up, bringing her to an ever higher state of excitement 
while she squirmed helplessly, and he stared into her widening eyes.

Kitty-Kat was breathing heavily now, her knees gave out and she 
collapsed against her masterful lover as  he fondled her mercilessly.  
She wriggled lustily, ground her damp mons against his manipulating 
hand.  He could feel the inner heat, the wetness that was saturating 
the crotch of the pantyhose.
 
"Down!" he hissed, tightening his grip on her, till she sucked in air, 
threw back her head, and whimpered.

Kitty-Kat fell to her knees, with head bowed and shoulders heaving.  It 
was time, Mr Moto reckoned, for his terrible itch to be relieved by the 
lush lips of his American beauty.



Part 3

The corporate jet with the ITTO logo was winging its way across the 
Pacific, straight as a sleek white arrow, flying high and swift.  In 
the cocoon of its luxurious cabin, Seiji Moto sat engrossed in 
reviewing a business report.  At his feet, his newest acquisition sat 
cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the whisperjet, a laptop computer 
before her.  She was staring at the screen, captivated by the 
flickering images dancing before her eyes.   He looked down with pride 
upon his new pillow girl.  Kitty-Kat was, of course, bare-breasted; it 
pleased him to keep her so whenever they were alone together, or even 
if he had company, and he wanted to show off his new toy.  Today, she 
was wearing a pair of thin cotton panties, little girl's underpants 
with playful kittens of pink and blue frolicking about.  Other than her 
panties, she wasn't wearing very much: just a pair of white kneesocks 
with  black, flat-heeled sandals strapped on her feet.  As a final 
touch a baseball cap, also black and also bearing the ITTO logo was 
perched on her head, affixed so that the blond pony tail she now wore 
could dangle freely through the cut-out in the back of the cap. 

He smiled down on her and called her softly by the silly English name 
she had been given.  And she raised her head to look up at her master 
from under the broad visor of the baseball cap, presenting him with an 
upturned face sticky with male spendings -- the honorable Mr Moto's 
drying sperm decorating her pretty blond features.

She promptly gave him a great big smile.  The thick wads of gooey semen 
oozed down her cheeks, smeared her lips, and dribbled down her chin.  
He looked down on the brightly smiling, cum-splattered face, and he 
laughed.   It was a priceless picture.  Later, he would take that 
picture with his new digital camera, and perhaps share his private 
bukkake collection with the world via the internet.

But for now inspired by the stirring sight of his beautiful blond 
mistress wearing his sperm, he closed the pages of the report before 
him.  He would try his hand at a haiku:

Rain falls soft or hard
The dove
Is grateful

******

The transformation was now complete.  Hard-driving executive Caitlin 
O'Reilly would soon become a distant memory.  The once-proud CEO and 
corporate attorney knelt at the feet of a powerful corporate leader, 
with sperm dribbling down her chin, being spirited away to a new life 
in Japan.  When he tired of her, as he inevitably would (for there had 
been others before her and they had gone the same route), she would be 
passed along, dispatched to the exclusive house of pleasure run by the 
honorable Herakini-San.  She would, of course, obey, although she would 
beg to be allowed to take along the laptop computer, from which she 
could not bear to be separated; he would allow her that -- as a parting 
gift.


End of Part 3
The End
Copyright 2001, Don Winslow





  
Mr Moto Text