We Always Do It For Real 32

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 01: WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL
BY MEGUMI KATO AND BOB WILLIAMS

PART 32

[CHAPTER XX CONTINUED]

"Looking at our little toys, are we?" I heard Bob say. 
"There will be plenty of time to get to know them 
intimately. Hours and hours of torment, I promise you, 
when you will know them better than your own body. Get 
up there on the platform as I instructed you." 

I hastily scrambled into position. He pressed a button 
on a remote control and, from either side of where the 
ceiling light used to be, two slim chains with hooks 
at the end silently descended. 

"Attach the hooks to the eyelets on your 
wrist-cuffs," he said. 

I did so and the hooks rose again, until my hands were 
suspended at about the level of my shoulders. 

"Stand with your feet apart," he ordered as he began 
to attach the spreader bar to my ankles. 

"Are you comfortable?" he asked. "I do want you to be 
comfortable, you will be here for a long time." 

The great height of my narrow heels meant that 
standing with my feet apart made me turn my ankles 
inwards more than was agreeable: I submissively asked 
him to reduce the spread and he at once agreed. 

"Is that better now?" he asked. 

"Yes," I murmured, "thank you, master." 

"I think you already guess what this is?" he asked, 
wheeling the strange machine along the floor, lifting 
it onto the round platform and positioning it 
carefully between my feet. He showed me the three 
strange bars with their attachments, as he wiped 
copious amounts of lubricating jelly onto the finger 
and a little onto the phallus. Without waiting for my 
answer he pressed another button on his remote control 
and after a few moments I felt a relentless probing at 
my cunt and arse. 

"Accept them!" he commanded as the phallus and finger 
first stopped their upward movement, then resumed it 
very slowly while I pleasurably worked them into their 
preordained holes. Only when the first two attachments 
were snugly inside me did the movement stop, and I 
felt the metal spikes of the third begin to press 
against me and stimulate my clitoris. Another touch of 
a button and the three began to vibrate, the phallus 
and finger also wriggling and moving smoothly into and 
out of my cunt and arse. Suddenly my body was 
convulsed by the tingling of a minor electric shock in 
all three places at once. Downstairs I had confusedly 
thought of myself as converted by Bob into a 
fucking-machine. Now I knew that I was a machine 
designed to be fucked, while the equipment at my feet 
was a machine designed to fuck me, torment me, delight 
me ... Together we were a fucking-machine, each half 
perfectly fitting the other. There was no reason why 
it should ever stop working. 

The pleasure and excitement made me gasp more deeply 
than the constricting corset normally allowed, and for 
a moment I almost choked. 

When I had recovered, he said: 

"Clearly you can guess what this equipment will do to 
you. That was just a test. You should know that, once 
it is switched on for real, and set for a certain 
period of time, there is no off-switch. Nor can I 
alter the intensity or frequency of the movement or of 
the electric shocks. The machine's programming has a 
mind of its own, you might say, and that mind can be 
remarkably cruel and ingenious in its sadism. Once you 
have asked me to set it in motion, there is nothing 
you or I can do to control it. I hope that idea 
pleases you. Now, while you are thinking about that, 
we will stretch you tighter." 

The chains overhead began to rise again and stopped 
only when my hands were so far above my head that my 
heels, tall as they were, were beginning to be pulled 
off the floor leaving me standing only on tiptoes. Bob 
examined the position of my feet and adjusted the 
chains millimetre by millimetre until I was stretched 
as taut as I could be while still able to take up a 
firm stance. Then he adjusted the height of the 
fucking-machine's attachments with similar care, but 
despite my pleas left them switched off. 

"Now you may choose the whip I shall use," he said, 
and brought me the whips and crops from the 
black-covered table, draping them across his arm for 
me to see as if tempting me with accessories in a 
shop. 

"No, master," I said, "it is for you to decide. It is 
your pleasure to torture me, and my delight to be 
tortured. But," I whispered, my throat dry, "I beg you 
to choose the cruellest." 

So he chose a long, slim plaited leather whip with a 
short handle, similar to that Shimizu-san had 
recommended to Ken and me all those months ago. He 
invited me to share his pleasure in its elegance and 
flexibility, my heart beating faster as I imagined its 
smooth length hissing viciously round my body 
measuring out pain and pleasure with each wonderful 
stroke. He draped it round my shoulders, then looped 
it a few times loosely round my neck so that the tip 
dangled down onto my right breast. 

"Kiss it!" he commanded as he raised the end to my 
mouth. 

I did so, wetly, my lips open and tongue between them. 

"You will have many, many hours to get to know our 
friend here," he said, "hours when it will become a 
part of you." 

"Thank you, master," I said, almost soundlessly. 

He let go of the end of the whip and it stung my 
breast as it fell, before hanging again lightly, the 
smooth leather kissing my skin gently as I moved my 
upper body a little from side to side and let it 
delicately tease my erect nipple. My helpless body 
began to tingle with suppressed excitement as I longed 
for the exquisite torture, the burning pleasure, this 
lovely thing would inflict just as soon as it pleased 
my master to let it. I had never known myself so 
overwhelmed with sexual desire: my throbbing lust for 
the thrilling punishment, and the shallow breathing 
imposed by the tormenting shape of the steel corset, 
together nearly made me faint with excitement. 

He returned the other instruments to the table, then 
standing behind me he stroked my breasts with infinite 
gentleness, teasing my nipples to an even greater 
erection. They were like thrusting, baby penises, 
desperate to be brought to climax. My breasts squirmed 
eagerly under his delicate touch. His hands moved to 
caress my buttocks, then stroked the folds between my 
thighs and crotch on either side of the machine's 
metal attachments. He kissed my neck and murmured 
endearments in my ears. 

"Is that good?" he asked. 

"Yes, master, wonderful," I replied. 

"It will feel very different in a few minutes, won't 
it?" 

"Yes, master, I am longing for it." 

His hands moved to my tiny waist, checked the bands 
fastening the front of the corset and, incredibly, 
found it possible to tighten them the remaining 
distance. I moaned in pleasurable agony as the 
constriction reached what seemed an impossible level, 
heightening my beauty and excitement yet further. 
There was a click and the metal edges closed and 
locked finally. At last I was perfect! Looking down as 
best I could I saw the flat D-rings vanish invisibly 
into the surface of my metal skin as he withdrew the 
temporary cloth fastenings. Maybe I am locked into it 
for ever, I thought. No matter: I could die like this 
... nothing that ever happens to me again could ever 
be as beautiful ... 

Then I heard him say, "Shall we begin? You understand, 
do you not, that once we do it will not end until I 
decide it shall." 

Head up, looking straight ahead as my high metal 
collar required, I said: "Yes, master, let it be as 
you wish." 

"No, my dear, it shall be as _you_ wish," he said as 
he left me and settled himself comfortably in the 
chair in front of me, admiring my sculptured, remade 
body flashing in the light of the coloured spots on 
the lighting towers. I longed for a mirror in which to 
do the same. I imagined myself displayed, standing 
stretched as tautly as my body could bear, breasts and 
buttocks proud and free, separated by the exquisitely 
tiny steel waist; the perfection of thighs and legs 
stretched into ideal shapeliness and length; my head 
forced up by the steel collar; only my hands, as my 
fingers curved delicately out of the wrist-cuffs, able 
to move with freedom and gentleness. 

"Have you any concept, my dear, of how lovely you look 
arranged like that?" 

"Yes, master," I replied, "you were so good as to 
allow me time to see myself in the mirror in the 
bedroom, and I thanked you with all my heart for your 
kindness in creating such beauty out of my poor body." 

"What did you feel at that moment?" 

"That it is the beauty you have given me which makes 
you wish to torture me, and that it is therefore my 
beauty that obsesses and controls you, while your 
cruelty has no power over me." 

"Why is that?" 

"Because your cruelty is love for me, and can give me 
nothing but pleasure." 

"You have understood well." 

"In understanding that, I understood why my only wish 
was to subject myself to you and accept with joy 
whatever pain you choose to grant me." 

"When I have finished with you, my dear, you will be 
lovelier still. Not just because of the way you are 
dressed and bound, though that already makes you 
irresistibly lovely and will make you more so, but 
because you will acquire an inner beauty based on the 
merging of pain and pleasure into one ecstasy. The 
experts call it mental orgasm: you will have 
discovered how to access your mental pleasure centre 
direct, independent of what your body is experiencing. 
Very few girls can do that. That special inner beauty 
will shine through your outer loveliness for anyone 
with eyes to see it. You have begged me to start the 
process, and now I shall. It will take a long time, 
but soon time will no longer mean anything to you. 

"I do not intend to blindfold you: it is good that you 
should see what is being done to you. Nor will I gag 
you: you may scream as much as you like but the moment 
will come when you will stop screaming for mercy, and 
start instead to beg for more. 

"First you will experience random stimulation from the 
vibrators and electric shocks in your arse and cunt, 
and pressing against your clitoris. In due course we 
shall combine that pleasure with the pain of the 
whip." 

For what felt like hours the fucking-machine 
stimulated me to the verge of orgasm, then subjected 
me to the torture of stopping the source of my 
pleasure while I stood there immovable in my chains, 
trying vainly to achieve release by rubbing myself 
against the motionless machinery, uselessly begging it 
to start again and let me come. Again and again the 
cleverly programmed machine waited till my near-orgasm 
had ebbed, then started the torment again. 

At last Bob relented, or so it seemed. He held before 
me, so that I should know what was about to happen, a 
pair of nipple-clamps lined with leather and joined by 
a slim steel chain. A moment later they bit into my 
erect and straining breasts, the sharp pain almost 
bringing me to climax as I begged him to tighten the 
springs yet further, and I felt the vibrators moving 
again and at last tipping me over the brink. 

But as I climaxed, I suddenly felt the sharp kiss of 
the whip on my buttocks, the violent extra stimulation 
combining to give me the most powerful orgasm of my 
life. As I stammered my thanks, the whip descended 
again. And again. And again. Thick nectar from my cunt 
began to force its way past the churning dildo, and 
drip slowly down my inner thighs. 

As he had predicted I screamed and begged for mercy, 
even though I knew I really yearned for this agony. I 
had to endure it - longed to endure it - for the sake 
of the moment when my mind could bear the pain no more 
and in self-defence turned it to pleasure. If I had 
been able to control myself I should not have begged 
for mercy but implored him to lash me even harder. But 
he understood without my telling him what I really 
desired, and continued his fierce whipping. I was 
grateful to him now for the hours during which he had 
subjected me to the torment of the machine's 
stimulation and withheld satisfaction: my body's need 
to climax was now unstoppable. 

I became aware of movement: the platform was slowly 
rotating, giving his whip - my whip, my adored new 
lover - access to every intimate part of me. 

As the ecstasy of pain mounted in me, a golden light 
began to descend - or was I ascending into it? Maybe I 
was: I found I could look down on myself illuminated 
in the spotlights below, as if down a long black 
tunnel. With part of my mind I could admire the 
slender loveliness of the girl down there, accepting 
the blissful constriction of the steel cage, the 
torment of the throbbing machines, the sweet kiss of 
the nipple-clamps and the caress of the unremitting 
lash, knowing as she stood sculptured in the 
spot-lights, gaze proudly straight ahead, that it was 
her beauty which was controlling her lover and driving 
him to obsession, not his cruel domination her. 
Despite the distance, I could feel what she was 
feeling: the churning of the dildos in her innermost 
self, the unpredictable jolts of electricity sending 
spasms of delight from the centre of her being out 
through her whole body, the torture of the impossible 
corset converted into rapture by her awareness of the 
loveliness it created, the agony in her beautifully 
moulded calves and thighs as the rhythmic thudding of 
the lash caused her to sway off the tips of the slim 
high heels, the painful stretching of her pretty feet 
into the grace of a ballerina's, the whistling of the 
whip as it curled round her proudly yet modestly 
displayed breasts, arse and thighs with the strength 
and tenderness of a lover's arms. 

The golden light grew more intense. I began to lose 
contact with the girl down there. Suddenly something 
wonderful happened. As he once again sent the whip 
racing round my hips, the tip lashed against the upper 
end of my pussy just where the spiked plate was 
tormenting it. The ecstasy was greater than anything I 
had so far felt, and I knew everything that was about 
to happen to me depended on that feeling lasting for 
ever. With all the strength left in me I forced myself 
back into the girl on the revolving platform and made 
her voice croak: "Again! There! Just like that! Do it 
again! Never stop! I beg you!" 

It was too late to control the next stroke, but then 
he stopped the rotation of the platform and sought the 
spot again. After a few attempts he found it, and I 
just had the strength to tell him so before the golden 
light claimed me again and I felt myself carried 
upwards, upwards, towards ... what? Something 
beautiful that I wanted, needed, belonged in ... 
something that was making me whole ... 

==

I opened my eyes to find myself in near darkness lying 
on the black-upholstered couch. I was naked: the 
corset, shoes and torture equipment I had learnt to 
love so much had been taken off my body. In the gloom 
I could see Bob kneeling beside me. After a few 
attempts I said: 

"But why did you stop?" 

I had no idea whether I was addressing him or the 
wonderfully sadistic fucking-machine. Perhaps both of 
them. 

"Darling, you fainted!" he replied. "At first I 
thought you were having yet another orgasm, but when I 
saw you had passed out of course I stopped and took 
you down. Are you all right?" 

I swallowed a few times. 

"I was," I said. "But you stopped. You both stopped." 

I stretched my body on the couch: languorous, 
luxurious, at ease with itself as if after hard but 
enjoyable exercise. 

"There will be other times," he replied. 

"Yes," I said, "there will be lots of other times." 
There was something else I needed to say before it was 
too late. "And don't forget," I added, "we always do 
it for real." 

I turned over onto my side, curled up facing the wall. 
The fingertips of one hand began to caress my breasts, 
as three fingers of the other slipped comfortably into 
my wet pussy. My mind flooded with great spasms of 
pleasure - had someone in my hearing not used the 
phrase "mental orgasm?" As I fell, fulfilled, into 
deep and peaceful sleep, I dreamt I was a newly 
purchased slave, standing naked before the master I 
hopelessly loved, as for his cruel amusement he 
flicked his riding whip slowly, agonisingly, all over 
my quivering, delighted body. 


END OF WE ALWAYS DO IT FOR REAL


[Coming Next: Volume 02 of the Megumi Stories: 
ALL I EVER WANTED] 

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

