ALL I EVER WANTED 03

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 02: ALL I EVER WANTED
BY MEGUMI KATO AND SAMANTHA WEST

CHAPTER III

Taking Stock

I luxuriated in the penthouse suite's big bath, 
scooping armfuls of foam onto my breasts and stomach. 
It was time for a little stock-taking. 

The first and most important event in my sexual 
development had been when, at the age of twelve, I had 
so exasperated a schoolmaster in whom I fancied myself 
in love that he had walloped me soundly on my 
regulation school knickers. This combination of rebuke 
and reward had given me a healthy respect for 
schoolteachers, which had seen me safely through to my 
graduation from high school. But, much more important, 
it had coincided not only with my first love but also 
with my first experiments in masturbation. It had 
therefore firmly established in my growing sensuality 
the importance of pain as a source of sexual pleasure. 
This precious possession had then lain largely dormant 
for a few years while my sexuality grew in otherwise 
normal ways, and I developed a healthy interest in the 
standard pleasures of heterosexual fucking. 

It was not until I was seventeen that Ken, my first 
serious lover, reawakened my masochistic tendency. A 
budding film director, he had already taught me to 
enjoy pornographic videos, and I was a devoted fan of 
an actress called Mie Takahashi, who starred in the 
products of the Marucho Company. Even though I 
secretly knew it was a hopelessly unrealistic 
ambition, I had set my heart on getting a job with 
that company once I had graduated from high school. 
One of Miss Takahashi's videos included a lovely 
torture sequence. I had never seen such a thing 
before; and when I saw her tied up, exquisitely nude 
and helpless, submitting so beautifully to the 
sadistic ingenuity of her captors as their whips 
whistled round her, it was as if a great light went on 
inside me. I wanted Ken to tie me up and whip me like 
that too. He was willing enough, and soon he developed 
my long-dormant gift till it was a key element in my 
everyday sex-life. But I kept up my interest in 
straightforward fucking as well; and under Ken's 
guidance also developed my natural talent for acting 
and a newly discovered delight in exhibitionism. 

That is a fancy word for something very simple. Like 
many young girls I had found that I adored showing off 
my prettily developing body nude in public. I loved 
being innocently provocative and taking the delightful 
consequences. While waiting for my chance with 
Marucho, I had great fun - and earned a little 
pocket-money - as a stripper in the theatres in the 
Asakusa district. Being the only girl, naked in a room 
full of aroused men, had long been one of my favourite 
bedtime fantasies, and now I could display myself 
naked before a real audience. I found it incredibly 
exciting; night after night I would end my act 
completely nude and aroused beyond endurance, 
imploring lusty members of the audience to come up on 
stage and fuck me. 

A girl's first experience of sex in public is 
tremendously important to her, I think. Sometimes it 
happens naturally at a sex party; or a girl may go 
with friends to a strip show, not really knowing what 
to expect, and find herself invited to take part in an 
Amateur Night.[2] I at once became totally addicted to 
public sex and nudity, which is something I now know 
happens to a lot of girls. 

Meanwhile I had a few lesbian encounters: enough to 
satisfy my curiosity. Then when I met Mr Otani he 
introduced me to the delights of anal sex, and it 
seemed my basic sexual repertoire was complete. 
Marucho took me on and were pleased with my progress. 
I was in Heaven. All I ever wanted was to be fucked, 
to be whipped, then to be fucked again ... in as many 
different ways and with as many people watching as 
possible ... 

From the start Mr Otani took a special interest in me, 
both as an actress and as a sex partner. So the next 
item in the stocktaking had to be about him. He had 
somehow spotted the importance of my early masochistic 
experience as a key to my sensuality. Perhaps he 
thought it desirable to refresh it from time to time. 
In our regular sexual work-outs he helped me to 
re-enact it, playing the part of the angry, adored 
schoolmaster and - usually - caning my arse with a 
ferocity which reinforced beyond any mistake the link 
in my psyche between love, pain and sexual ecstasy. I 
wriggled my bottom in the bathwater, and caressed my 
little, erect clitoris with my fingertips, as I 
recalled the exquisite bite of Mr Otani's cane, 
scoring line after line of fire into my thrilled arse, 
each a precise millimetre below its predecessor. 
Tonight that had not happened. Instead Mr Otani had 
presented me with a wonderful new fantasy, in which my 
_sensei_ succumbed to my pubescent sexual allurement, 
in a way he would never have dreamt of doing in 
reality. I knew I would be taking that fantasy to bed 
with me on many future occasions. 

That was nice of him, but why had he done it? More 
important, why did Mr Otani pay so much attention to 
me, when he could have any girl he wanted? And why was 
I so fascinated by him, when I had already had more 
lovers than I could count, and longed to have many 
more? The second question was easy to answer. My 
father had died when I was young, and my most 
memorable lovers had been older, dominating men. My 
feeling for Mr Otani was obviously what we call in 
Japanese a _faaza-kon_: a father-complex. Most 
Japanese girls are in thrall to that obsession, even 
if their lovers and eventual husbands are their own 
age. Bob Williams, one of my most interesting _gaijin_ 
lovers, once explained to me that the charm of 
Japanese girls is not just that we are prettier, 
cleaner and more sexually pleasing than Western girls 
(though we are, of course): it is that we are 
naturally submissive, masochistic and searching for a 
father-figure to replace the daddy who was never at 
home when we were growing up. And of course the way to 
keep the fantasy-father at home is for the 
fantasy-daughter to entice him with her sweet young 
sexuality. That, Bob explained to me, is why even 
grown-up Japanese girls flavour the sexual menu they 
offer their lovers with the spice of immaturity and 
childishness.[3] 

The sad thing is that many a girl's _faaza-kon_ goes 
unrequited because she cannot find an older man with a 
matching _rori-kon_ or Lolita-complex. Lots of 
Japanese men lust after daughter-substitutes, of 
course: you only have to look at the armies of Office 
Ladies or OLs, with their girlish voices and pretty, 
miniskirted uniforms, who keep the morale of the 
Japanese economy going. The current craze for _enjo 
kosai_ or "assisted dating" has produced a whole 
network of agencies which help eager Japanese _kogaru_ 
or "little girls" meet older men to whom they gladly 
offer their young bodies, longing to learn the 
techniques of sex from experienced partners who will 
reward them with gifts of fashionable clothes and 
accessories. It is a wonderful development, and I wish 
it had existed when I was at school, but really it is 
just the latest way of matching the mutual desire of 
father-substitutes and Lolita-daughters. Did Mr Otani, 
who was anyway only half Japanese, feel that way? And, 
even more important, did he feel it about me? 

This was becoming very deep, and the bathwater was 
growing cold. I heaved myself upright and gave myself 
a final hot shower, before drying myself and petting 
my still stinging behind with lotion and powder from 
the hotel's collection. I tiptoed naked into the 
drawing-room. Mr Otani was playing one of the 
background music CDs supplied by the hotel for its 
cherished customers. As I entered he smiled at me, 
sitting on a sofa in a towelling robe. I rescued my 
few clothes and retreated to the bedroom. 

I returned in my shoes and gloves, and wearing the 
tiny panties which had been such a success with my 
_sensei_ - or with Mr Otani's performance of him. The 
music was still playing. I danced for him, 
lasciviously stroking my breasts and arse with my 
silver hands, hinting at how much I wanted him to 
stroke them for me. He watched me with pleasure, but 
with no obvious reaction. I stripped for him, making 
the most of the little I had to take off. I fetched 
him the cat-o'-nine-tails, and made him stand up and 
whirl it to and fro between us as I danced in and out 
of range, my long hair floating round me as I twisted 
and turned in the spray of lashes, flirting with them, 
giggling and squealing with pleasure as they randomly 
flicked and stung my eager flesh. At last I came to a 
stop and, laughing happily, presented my arse to him 
for a delicious final whipping before we both 
collapsed out of breath onto the sofa. 

"Gods, that was fun!" I gasped. "We must do that again 
next time. Now I want to be fucked!" 

"Oh, Megumi!" he laughed, "again?" 

"You know me," I said, snuggling closer to him. "When 
I've been fucked, I want to be whipped. When I've been 
whipped, I want to be fucked again." 

He groaned with - false? - reluctance, but I took him 
by the hand to the bed and made him lie naked on his 
back. His cock was half erect and I sucked and stroked 
it till it was ready for me. Then I straddled his 
waist, kneeling upright as I pulled him fully into my 
cunt, masturbating myself with his firm rod while he 
lay back and let me do it, watching me with an amused 
smile. At last I could feel him approaching a climax, 
and his strong arms held me tight on top of him as we 
came together. 

Afterwards, I puzzled again over the thoughts that had 
come to me. Tentatively, I asked him: "Sir, am I your 
Lolita?" 

"How do you mean? Lolita was only fourteen, wasn't 
she?" 

Perhaps, living mostly in America, he hadn't heard the 
expression _rori-kon_. It had only recently become 
fashionable in Japan. 

"Well, am I your little daughter?" 

"Yes, my clever little Megumi, that's just what you 
are." 

"Thank you, father, I'm so happy," I murmured, as I 
curled up beside him in the big bed and slipped into 
the happy, fulfilled sleep of a well-fucked, 
well-whipped girl. 

==

Matsumoto-san had turned her room in the mansion into 
a close imitation of her lair at Marucho's 
headquarters, dominated by a group of folding chairs 
and a table littered with Japanese teacups around 
which intimate discussions took place. Unusually for 
me I was wearing a long skirt, and sat down opposite 
her, gingerly at first, then wriggling my bottom 
lasciviously as the stinging remains of Mr Otani's 
whippings recalled the previous evening's pleasures. 

"Ah, I see a girl who had a good time last night!" she 
exclaimed with her famous sexy chuckle. 

No one seems to know if Matsumoto-san still has a 
sex-life. It is generally agreed - even by herself in 
expansive moments - that she was one of the company's 
first and most successful actresses, and the mistress 
of the first Mr Nagao. But that was a long time ago. 
Now she just says, "The only pleasure I get these days 
is hearing what you sexy little trollops have been up 
to!" Certainly she takes the trouble to dress us up 
for our dates in ways which ensure that we get up to a 
lot. 

I gave her a brief account of what Mr Otani and I had 
done to each other. I added that, although the evening 
had been deeply fulfilling, I had been surprised that 
he had not chosen to use the cane on me. Nor had he 
fucked my arse, which was normally a climax of our 
evenings together. After all, since it was he who had 
taken the virginity of my coy little rosebud, on my 
never-to-be-forgotten eighteenth birthday, it was in a 
way his to do what he liked with. At Matsumoto-san's 
insistence, I gave her a detailed account of the new 
way the two of us had acted out the schoolroom scene. 

"He's no fool, that man!" cried Matsumoto-san. "He's a 
lot of money invested in your cute arse, and the movie 
isn't finished yet. I bet he wanted to make sure you 
were fit to play the orgy scene tomorrow." 

"M'm, yes, maybe, but why didn't he say so?" 

"Because he took the opportunity of giving you a new 
version of what went on between you and that teacher, 
and didn't want to spoil the surprise." 

"Yes, I expect you're right. It was lovely, anyway. He 
came four times. That's nothing for a girl, of course, 
but it's a lot for a man, isn't it? In one session."  
My mind kept wandering around last night's pleasures. 
"Did I tell you how we invented a new way of using the 
cat? With him swishing it to and fro and me dancing in 
and out of the lashes as if they were spray? Oh, 
_that_ was nice." 

"Yes, dearie, you told me. If I were twenty - no, 
fifteen - years younger I'd ask to join in." 

"Matsumoto-san, did you enjoy being whipped in your 
time too?" 

I knew she had done, because she had told me often 
enough, but it pleased her to be asked. 

"Did I? Dearie, I was the greatest! There was never 
anyone like me. Old Mr Nagao always said so. One day 
I'm going to lean really heavily on that young man -" 
she meant the present Mr Nagao, another father-figure 
in my eyes "- and make him get my films out of the 
storeroom. If they transfer them from celluloid to 
video ... you young trollops will have to learn a few 
new tricks if you're to compete with me in my prime. 
There's still a Matsumoto Fan Club, you know. I still 
get letters." 

"You mean, they can still see well enough to write?" I 
teased her innocently. 

"Get along with you! You're not the only one who gets 
proposals of marriage." 

I blushed. There had been one proposal, so elegant and 
moving, accompanied by such a handsome photo, that I 
had been quite sentimental about it for a few weeks. 
Until, that is, an enquiry agency which did occasional 
jobs for Marucho had established that my admirer was a 
fifty-eight year old retired university professor, 
smelling of Jintan - a rather old-fashioned patent 
medicine - and with a domineering wife and three grown 
children. 

"That reminds me!" cried Matsumoto-san. "Has it ever 
occurred to you that your Mr Otani may be training you 
up as a future wife?" 

I put down my teacup and stared at her. This was all 
going much too fast for me. I had established that we 
had - at least on my side, and perhaps on his - a 
father-daughter relationship. It was a fixation, a 
fantasy, rather than the real thing, so there was no 
reason why it should inhibit our sexual obsession with 
each other. So far as I could see, it made the sex 
even better. That insight from last night was a 
wonderful new thought which I wanted to have time to 
enjoy and treasure. But to go on from there to suggest 
that he might seriously want to take me as a 
daughter-wife was further than I had ever imagined. 
Something suddenly occurred to me. 

"If he did ever want me like that, wouldn't that mean 
... being fucked and whipped by him ... every night?" 

Of course there would be other girls. But surely his 
chosen wife would have first call on his sexual 
energies. It was a vision of such glory that I didn't 
mind when Matsumoto-san burst into peals of rich 
laughter. 

"Oh, dearie, you are so funny! Of course it would! To 
begin with, at least. What else do you think people 
get married for? They've found a brand of sake they 
fancy and want to go and work in the brewery for the 
rest of their lives. It doesn't last, of course. But 
it's good while it does." 

"Have you ever been married, Matsumoto-san?" 

"No, dearie, not me. Fun without responsibility, 
that's my motto. Or used to be. Nowadays the only fun 
I get ..." 

"... Is hearing what we sexy little trollops have been 
up to," I completed in time with her. 

"Well, you can laugh. They'll be queuing up for that 
cute arse of yours for a while yet. Enjoy it while it 
lasts. And don't forget it was old Matsumoto who 
taught you some of the tricks. But you have to think 
of the future." She poured herself more tea, blew it 
to the right temperature, and swallowed half of it. 
"I'll tell you one thing. If Mr Otani ever wants to 
marry you, say 'yes', but not until he's told you the 
truth about whether he has any children. Or wants any. 
You need to know what you're taking on." 

"Has he any children?" I asked, fascinated. "I know 
he's had girls - hundreds, thousands of them - but I 
hadn't heard that." 

"There are rumours, said Matsumoto-san airily. "You 
just make him tell you the truth. Now run away and 
enjoy your day off. I've got four housemaids' uniforms 
to get into good order for tomorrow. How you girls get 
these costumes into such a state I just do not know." 


FOOTNOTES

[2] That is what happened to me, as you may remember 
if you have read the first volume of my memoirs! I was 
surprised to find that in Western countries girls do 
not go to strip shows. In Japan it is quite common to 
see girls in the audience, in groups or with their 
lovers, picking up tips from the professionals. When 
the manager sees a pretty girl in the audience, then 
of course it turns out to be Amateur Night - and 
Japanese pressure to conform, and a Japanese girl's 
natural inclination to be obedient, ensure that she 
gets up on stage and shyly does her best. Once she has 
tasted the delights of being nude, and fucked, before 
an appreciative audience she is hooked, and keeps 
coming back for more. 

[3] Well, that's the way he put it anyway - quoting 
one of his articles for American magazines I expect. 


[Next in Part 04: Chapter IV: The Girl from Saks] 

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

