Learning_About_Myself.14

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 06: LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF
BY SAYAKA ONODERA AND BOB WILLIAMS

PART 14

CHAPTER XIV

My Second Client

The man from the agency called the next day.

"That was a good start, Hanako," he said without 
introduction. "The client was pleased. He said you 
were just the sort of girl he liked - and you made him 
come twice. How much did he tip you?"

"Well ..."

"All right, I'm not taking it away from you. Tips are 
yours. I make my money from my share of the fee he 
pays me for having you. But the size of the tip the 
client gives is a sign of how well you did."

I told him how much had been in the brown envelope.

"Not bad. You did well. He'll probably ask for you 
again, or recommend you to his friends. Did you enjoy 
yourself?"

"Not much," I said with a sort of self-critical laugh.

"No, he's not exactly a girl's dream, is he? My 
clients aren't, usually. But you're there to do a job. 
And now here's your next one. Got a pen ready?"

Once again he gave me an address in a nondescript part 
of Tokyo, explaining that my client lived in an 
apartment block near a station on one of the commuting 
lines. He was a schoolteacher, he said, and since we 
were now of course into the school holidays he had 
nothing to do during the day. So he had booked me for 
an hour in the early afternoon.

"What am I to wear?"

"Yeah, you'll enjoy this," said the man with his 
unpleasant but somehow exciting laugh. "He has a 
fetish for _sadisu-chan_. You know, a little _roriita_ 
with a whip. I suppose being a schoolteacher he 
fantasises about his pupils. A lot of them do, the 
perverts. Not that it bothers me: that's how I make my 
money. Supplying them with girls like you to act out 
their fantasies with. He saw the pics of you as 
_sadisu-chan_ on our website and says he has to have 
you. Can you handle it? Got the kit?"

"Well, I ... er ..."

"Or shall I give the job to someone else?"

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together.

"I'll manage," I said.

"Make sure you do. He's paying a good price."

He hung up. My hesitation hadn't been concern about 
whether I could perform a _sadisu-chan_ routine. I had 
been longing to do that ever since seeing Reina's 
video - and I had done something of the sort before an 
audience with Harry and Anton. It was rather that 
Reina had supplied the costume I had worn for the 
publicity photos which had excited my new client, and 
she had taken it away again. I had very little time 
before my appointment the next afternoon to get it, or 
something similar, from her. I called her at once but 
her mobile was switched to voicemail. I left a panicky 
message, and began to wonder what on earth I should do 
if she was away or too busy to help me in time. Should 
I visit one of the sex-shops around Shinjuku Station, 
for example, and try to buy myself suitable clothes? 
And if I did, what would I do about money?

Fortunately, Reina called back within the hour. I 
explained what I needed.

"How very nice for you, dear!" she said. "Now, you 
must wear exactly what you wore in those photos. Men 
like that are obsessive. He'll have downloaded your 
photos with the corset and the whip and I expect he 
masturbated over them for days before making up his 
mind to call your agency."

"What a waste!" I said with a giggle.

"You must take this seriously, Saa-chan," she said 
severely. "He'll want you to be exactly the girl in 
the photos, his dream-girl."

I apologised for my frivolity and lack of commitment 
to the company's interests.

"I can let you have exactly the costume you were 
wearing. And the whip you were using. Anything else 
and he'll be disappointed, and may not be able to 
function. I'll bring it all to you in good time before 
your appointment. Oh, and do you want to watch my 
video again? Or another one like it? Are you sure you 
know what to do?"

I said that would not be necessary: every detail of 
that section of Reina's video was imprinted on my 
memory and had accompanied me into lovely masturbatory 
fantasies ever since I had seen it. In fact it seemed 
that both I and my client would together be turning 
our fantasies into reality. I began to look forward to 
our meeting.

Reina and I met in the empty house the following 
morning and she dressed me carefully in the red 
corset, collar, long gloves and high heels I had worn 
in the little studio a few days earlier. I was 
relieved to find that being dressed like that gave me 
the same tingling thrill as before. Then she handed me 
my equipment, item by item: a beautiful long whip with 
many knotted lashes, a pair of bondage handcuffs, and 
a black leather collar big enough for a man, with a 
lead already attached to one of its D-rings. I stored 
them all carefully in a shoulder-bag, then covered 
myself as best I could in my school overcoat - it was 
a warm day in early summer but of course I had no 
alternative - and set out on my adventure. As usual at 
that time of day the subway trains were fairly empty 
and the other passengers were mainly women going 
shopping or to lunch meetings with friends, but I had 
to refuse, as gently as I could, several attempts to 
pick me up. I suppose the high heels and red gloves 
visible under my coat, together with the smart 
shoulder-bag concealing who knew what, hinted at a 
girl who would be worth getting to know. But my 
encounters with my male fellow-passengers were 
good-humoured.

I found my client's apartment block without too much 
difficulty after enquiring once at a local _koban_ or 
police-box. The policeman was helpful but took no 
special interest in me. Had he been inquisitive and 
asked whom I was visiting, I was prepared to say, 
fairly truthfully, that I was a schoolgirl calling on 
a schoolteacher for a special lesson. But it was not 
necessary. [19]

I announced myself through the entry-phone and was 
told I was expected on the fifth floor. There was no 
one about when I left the elevator, so - very daring - 
I took off my coat and hung it over my shoulder. I 
walked round the little hallway to my client's 
apartment with as much of a swagger as I could manage: 
after all, I was to be the boss in our encounter, to 
begin with at least. He was waiting for me at his open 
door: a man in his fifties with greying hair and heavy 
glasses which he no doubt thought made him look 
intellectual. He was wearing only a towelling robe. As 
his mistress for the next hour I did not bow 
respectfully. I gave him a dismissive nod and waited 
for him to speak. He gazed at my provocative costume 
and I saw the skirt of his robe shift as his cock 
responded. Then he ushered me into the little 
apartment. I kept my shoes on and marched down the 
corridor into the living-room. I dropped my coat on 
the couch and placed my shoulder-bag carefully on the 
floor. I took out the handcuffs and looked at him 
severely. [20]

"You have been very naughty," I said. "I have heard 
about you. You molest your young girl pupils and think 
wicked thoughts about them. I am here to punish you. 
Take off your robe."

"Yes, Mistress. I am very sorry."

"Take it off! Hurry up."

He hastily undid the belt of his robe, stripped it off 
and dropped it on the couch beside my coat. He was 
wearing dark grey underpants. I decided to let him 
keep them on for the moment. I took his hands and 
snapped the handcuffs round his wrists. He did not 
resist. Next I took the black collar from my bag and 
buckled it round his neck, while he obediently lowered 
his head to make it easier for me. I held the lead in 
one hand and reached for the whip with the other, 
flourishing it and letting the long, elegant lashes 
form random patterns in the air and on the floor. I 
had not let the whip touch him yet.

"Oh, Mistress! Forgive me ... please don't hurt me!" 
he begged.

"Down!" I commanded.

He fell to his hands and knees. There was very little 
space in the tiny living-room, but he had obviously 
been through this routine many times before and 
crawled round the room as I followed him, holding his 
lead and whipping his bottom, back and thighs. When he 
came up against the wall I shortened the lead and 
stood by his head, making him kiss and lick my shoes 
as he begged for mercy. But it was far too early for 
mercy - and in any case he didn't really want it. I 
straddled his waist and whipped him energetically. His 
pleas for mercy changed into an incoherent babble of 
thanks.

I stepped away from him and pulled on his lead. It was 
time for a change of position. In our progress round 
the room I had noticed a strong hook fixed into the 
ceiling outside the bedroom door. Clearly being 
suspended from the ceiling and whipped was part of his 
regular sexual routine. How interesting, I thought: 
this job is certainly teaching me about men and the 
things they like! A picture flashed through my mind of 
myself suspended and whipped like that. Not yet ... 
not yet! But it would be a nice thing for a girl to 
enjoy too - very nice - and I was grateful to this man 
for making the arrangements so carefully.

"Up!" I said. "And take those underpants off."

"Must I, Mistress?"

"Yes, you must," I said, flourishing my whip. 
"Quickly!"

He obeyed me, revealing a flagging cock. His anxiety 
about what I had in mind for him was clearly 
overcoming his lust for me. Well, I would soon put 
that right, I thought. Prodding him with the whip 
handle I moved him to stand under the hook. I made him 
raise his cuffed hands above his head. Standing on 
tiptoe and raising the chain between his cuffs with 
the whip-handle, I managed to get it over the hook. As 
he hung there I smiled enticingly and stroked my 
breasts and pussy lasciviously with my free hand. His 
cock soon responded and jerked into renewed erection.

"That's a good slave!" I said gently. "Now I shall 
whip you thoroughly. You'll enjoy that, won't you?"

"Oh, Mistress, please don't hurt me!" he said 
pathetically.

I didn't, of course. Not really. I swished the long 
lashes round his bottom and back in the way I was 
dreaming of having done to me. He whimpered and 
begged, but his erection remained strong and vigorous. 
After about fifteen minutes my arm was tired and I was 
longing for the relief his cock could bring me.

"Now we'll go into the bedroom," I said, "and I will 
punish you more there."

I unhooked him from the ceiling and made him precede 
me into the next room. I was relieved to see that the 
bed was clean and properly made. I made him lie on his 
back, dropped the whip on the sheet beside him, then 
knelt over his face looking down his body. I lowered 
my pussy over his mouth. He knew what to do all right! 
His hands seized my tightly corseted waist as well as 
the short chain of his handcuffs allowed, and he began 
to slurp up the juice which had accumulated in my 
cunt. Once he had enjoyed that, he gave attention to 
my pleasure and skilfully stimulated my clitoris with 
the tip of his tongue. He deserved a reward for that, 
so I stripped off my gloves to keep them clean and 
began to stroke his handsome erection. Incoherent 
cries of gratitude vibrated into my cunt. I was 
finding it more and more difficult to keep control of 
the situation. But then ... I didn't want to any more. 
The scenario required that I lose control, and soon 
...

I stopped stroking his cock for a moment and, taking 
his hands as they squeezed my waist, pressed the 
quick-release mechanism on his cuffs. Pulling them off 
him, I put them on the edge of the bed to join the 
whip. I unbuckled the collar from his neck and added 
it to the heap with its lead still attached. He should 
have no difficulty in taking command now. I leant 
forward and gave his cock a few more loving strokes 
before reluctantly withdrawing my pussy from his mouth 
and swinging round over his body so that I was facing 
him as I slowly impaled myself on his cock. I could 
feel it throbbing rapidly in line with his excited 
heartbeat. I remained upright as I slowly rose and 
fell, masturbating my hungry cunt with his wonderfully 
rigid erection. His hands seized my corseted waist 
again: now free from the imprisoning handcuffs they 
could squeeze me more firmly and cruelly than before. 
I could feel my orgasm building. Was I in control as I 
gripped his cock with my cunt-muscles or was he? It 
didn't matter: I was eager to surrender to him. His 
orgasm was close too: I could feel his cock thickening 
further as his balls forced the jolts of cum along it 
... and then, yes, exploding into my pussy!

I screamed with the joy of it and collapsed onto his 
chest, thanking him incoherently. I knew of course 
what I had to do next - wanted to do next. As soon as 
I had myself under control I sat up again, released 
his cock while holding it upright with one hand, 
wriggled further down the bed and began to lick it 
clean, greedily sucking up the remaining cum mingled 
with my own thick juices.

"Oh, thank you, _sensei_, thank you!" I murmured as I 
completed my task.

It was natural enough to address him as _sensei_: he 
was after all a schoolteacher. But I wanted him now to 
take the dominant role; and while addressing him as 
Master would mark too sudden a change, reminding him 
that he was a teacher and I was a schoolgirl would be 
a clear hint that I was ready to submit to his 
authority ... did he beat girls like me on their 
regulation school knickers while they wriggled and 
squealed, not sure whether they were supposed to be 
feeling the strange new pleasures surging through 
them? I did hope so. While I had always been a good 
and obedient girl who was never punished at school, I 
know now that the greatest lesson a schoolmaster can 
teach pubescent girl pupils is the joy of masochism.

My client/victim - now my client/master - sat up 
suddenly. He plumped up the pillows but before telling 
me to lie down commanded me to put my gloves on again.

"You like me in gloves?" I said coyly.

"Yes. You look very slutty like that. And young sluts 
should be punished."

"Yes, _sensei_. Please, _sensei_. Thank you, 
_sensei_."

I wiped my hands on tissues from a box on the bedside 
table, then pulled on my long red gloves, trying to 
make them lie tight and smooth on my arms. Then I 
looked up at him submissively. He took my right hand 
and attached one shackle of the handcuffs to it. On 
his instructions I lay at full length on my front, 
while he threaded the chain through the head of the 
bed and fixed the other shackle round my left wrist. 
He unclipped the lead from the collar he had worn, 
snapped it to the D-ring at the back of mine and used 
it to pull my head up.

"Now it's my turn," he said. "Slut! Tuck your knees up 
and stick your bottom out."

"Yes, _sensei_."

As soon as I had obeyed him, he jerked the lead again, 
forcing my head back as far as it would go. Then it 
began ... stroke after stroke with the multiple 
knotted lashes, my bottom blazing in its flaming 
embrace, its fiery love flooding through me, making my 
sensitive breasts shiver as if they too were being 
kissed by the whip and my cunt gasp with heavenly lust 
... I was screaming, trying with part of my mind to 
implore him to be merciful, not to hurt me, in the way 
I had been told men found pleasing and stimulating - 
but knowing that I was in fact beyond such coy 
deception and was blurting out the truth: that I 
wanted nothing more than to go on experiencing this 
wonderful fulfilment, to be whipped harder and harder, 
more and more lovingly ... the whole bed was vibrating 
as I pulled against the head with my chain, rocking to 
and fro as I tried to welcome each joyful kiss.

I suppose it lasted about twenty minutes, though time 
meant nothing as the whip drove me on and on, up 
towards paradise. At last it stopped. He let go of my 
lead and I collapsed fully onto the bed, weeping, 
gasping and begging for more.

"Did you enjoy that, slave?" he asked, lifted my head 
with the handle of the whip under my chin.

"Oh, yes, _sensei_ ... yes, Master!" I managed to say.

"You see how I revenge myself for what you did to me."

"Yes ... yes ... thank you!"

"Knees up again!" he commanded.

For a blissful moment I thought he was planning to 
whip me again. But then - almost as wonderful - I felt 
his hands stroking and squeezing my fiery bottom, his 
fingers entering and tickling my unsatisfied pussy. 
Then the bed heaved behind me, hands roughly seized my 
thighs and his cock began to force its way into my 
cunt. Again I screamed with joy, leaning back against 
him and wanting to pull him deep, deep inside me.

It did not last long. The whipping had excited him as 
much as it had me. Only too soon he pulled out of me, 
twisted me roughly onto my back, and directed his cock 
towards my lips as he brought himself to orgasm. I 
opened my mouth, of course, but he came messily - 
about half his cum spurted into me but the rest 
splashed over my face and breasts. My hands were still 
chained to the bed-head but I was able to bend round 
and take his cock into my mouth before it shrank, 
sucking out the last drops and licking it clean.

He released my hands from the cuffs and I lay 
exhausted on the bed, smiling happily up at him.

"You weren't supposed to do that, you know," I said 
once I had my breath back. "I was supposed to whip 
_you_. Punish _you_. But ohh ... I'm so happy that you 
did!"

He did not reply, but as a last tender gesture he 
picked up the whip and let the tips of its lashes 
trail, oh so gently, over my breasts and then down 
over my corset till they could tickle my crotch and 
thighs. I opened my legs so that my lover, my 
beautiful multiple whip, could caress my pussy.

"That was nice," he said as he at last withdrew and 
stood up. "You were good. Very good. All the way 
through."

"Thank you. I'm glad I pleased you."

"You'd better go and clean up."

He indicated the door to the bathroom. Once inside I 
stripped off my gloves again  and wiped myself as best 
I could. I didn't want to take off my corset: it felt 
too good, and it would be difficult to put it on again 
properly without help. When I returned he had moved 
back to the living-room and had wrapped himself in his 
robe.

"That is for you," he said, indicating an envelope on 
the low table.

"Oh, but ..."

"Take it. You deserve it."

I bowed low.

"Thank you. Perhaps if I pleased you, you may summon 
me again?"

"Yes. I may."

I gathered together my belongings and put on my coat.

"Well, good-bye. And thank you. Till next time ..."

"Yes. Till next time."

I had reached the station before I remembered the need 
to telephone the office to report that I had finished 
with my client. I reached home well before my mother, 
of course, undressed and took a thorough shower to 
remove the smell of sex which still clung to me. After 
putting on ordinary clothes I considered what to do 
with my corset and other _sadisu-chan_ equipment. I 
had nowhere to hide anything like that - but did I 
need to? My mother had assured me my new chest was 
private. But it is very difficult to be entirely 
private in a crowded Japanese home. That, I suppose, 
is why we Japanese are good at not knowing things 
about each other that we do not need to know. I did 
not think she would break her promise - and if she 
did, she could not say anything. In a way, it would be 
convenient if she did look in my private chest and see 
my new clothes and equipment: that way, she would 
discover the truth about my new life as a call-girl 
and prostitute without my having to tell her and 
without her having to know more than she wanted to 
know. So I folded up my corset and put all the items 
neatly away in the bottom drawer.


FOOTNOTES

[19] The street-level policing of Japanese cities is 
done from a network of "police-boxes" on street 
corners each staffed by one or two local policemen who 
know their area and its inhabitants well. In 
residential areas they are a familiar and 
well-respected institution. The address system in big 
cities is so chaotic that it is normal for a stranger 
looking for a building to seek directions from a 
police-box. It was probably just as well that Sayaka 
was not asked whom she was visiting: an experienced 
local policeman would have a pretty shrewd idea of 
what "his" residents were up to, even if their 
activities were not criminal. An unmarried middle-aged 
man with a stream of young girls calling on him for an 
hour or so would certainly be noted, even if the 
police saw no reason to do more than gently warn 
inexperienced girls against him. - B W

[20] If you have ever watched a _sadisu-chan_ in a 
video or enjoyed her services on a trip to Japan, you 
will know that she is hardly "severe" in a Western 
sense. Unlike a Western dominatrix she does not treat 
her victim/client with contempt. She is rather a 
mother berating a child for bad behaviour and the 
whipping she metes out is like a strict but 
affectionate treatment designed to cure his 
naughtiness. When, after a token struggle, she 
surrenders the whip her cute submissiveness is like a 
reward to a child who has taken his medicine 
obediently. This motherly performance by a sexy young 
girl is very piquant and adds to the delight of an 
encounter with a _sadisu-chan_. And as every _gaijin_ 
in Japan soon learns, however unusual a man's sexual 
interest it will not be despised or looked down on. 
Rather it will be welcomed as another variation in the 
rich pattern of sexuality. And anyway, you are both 
acting a part and doing it with sincerity. - B W


[Next in Part 15: Chapter XV: The Man at Roppongi 
Hills]

For complete series so far see 
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Bob_Williams
