WORK IN PROGRESS 12

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 05: WORK IN PROGRESS
BY BOB WILLIAMS
ASSISTED BY MEGUMI, NORIKO, FUJIKO, AYUMI, SAEKO, 
MARIKO, TAMA, MAIKO, SHIZUE, MIE, AYAKO, TOMO, YUU 
AND RUMI 

PART 12

CHAPTER XII 

The Willing Slave

     I enjoy writing about Shizue. As well as being 
     exceptionally beautiful, she had a delightfully 
     well-developed interest in masochism, and we 
     spent some pleasant hours together in my 
     torture-chamber. Our description of the 
     imaginary, yet to be built, joy machine (see 
     Chapter IX) was targeted mainly at gadget-freaks. 
     Here is a more general - even if, I must admit, 
     somewhat idealised - account she herself wrote of 
     our day-to-day activities together. 

I know what to do, so I do it without being told. I go 
to the bedroom and remove my clothes. I shower 
carefully, and when I have finished I take a pair of 
nail-scissors and snip away any long hairs from my 
pussy. I scent my breasts, my cunt and my arse with a 
scent which I know he likes - I find it stimulating 
too. I brush my hair, many times, till it hangs behind 
me like a shining curtain. I ensure my make-up is 
perfect, using a pretty petunia shade of lipstick and 
adding a tiny dab of it to each nipple. Then I put on 
my shoes. They are shiny black, a snug, even tight, 
fit with slender heels so high that I am forced onto 
tiptoe and can take only tiny steps when I walk. He 
likes to see me helpless like that, and it gives me a 
lovely feeling of simultaneous defencelessness and 
power - power because no one who sees me so restrained 
can avoid being fascinated by me. Nothing else. 
Everything else I need to wear will be waiting for me 
in the place where I am going. 

I walk down the corridor taking tiny steps. My heart 
is beating fast and I can feel my sexuality mounting. 
Soon it will be at the highest possible pitch and on 
an orgasmic hair-trigger. He knows how to have that 
effect on me. That is why I dedicate all my free time 
to serving him without question if only he will 
occasionally grant me these hours of ecstasy. I stop 
outside the door of the place where I am going. It has 
a name - a terrible name - but it makes me tremble 
even to think it, let alone speak it. The door is 
sound-proofed so I press a button which will tell him 
I am here. The door opens. 

"May I enter, Master?" I ask. 

He says nothing but stands aside for me. The place is 
brightly lit and is furnished with a comfortable 
armchair and a narrow bed, both upholstered in black 
leather. There is a double stand supporting both a 
still camera and a video camera, and a table in one 
corner heaped with pieces of equipment. There is also 
something hanging from the ceiling which I am afraid 
to look at. The door clicks shut behind me. I do not 
know the code which will open it. 

"Why are you here?" he says at last. 

"To serve you, Master," I reply shyly. "To obey your 
every command in the hope that it will give you 
pleasure." 

"And are you here of your own free will?" 

The question makes me shiver even though the place is 
pleasantly warm. 

"Yes, Master," I say at last. "I am here because I 
wish to be. I serve you because I must." 

"Must?" 

"My desires - my sexuality - compel me to serve you 
and do everything you order me. I have no alternative. 
Giving you pleasure and satisfaction is the only 
purpose of my life." 

"Good." 

Picking up items from the corner table he begins to 
decorate me. First leather cuffs are locked round my 
wrists and ankles, and a leather belt is buckled 
tightly round my waist. Then a heavy metal collar is 
snapped into place round my neck. It is wide and 
forces me to hold my head up high, but it is padded 
with soft leather and feels very comfortable. 

Knowing what must come next, I tiptoe to the centre of 
the place and stand under the - thing - which is 
hanging from the ceiling. In fact it is a heavy wooden 
beam suspended from two chains and studded with 
massive hooks. He attaches chains to the D-rings in my 
wrist-cuffs, then fixes the other ends to the hooks at 
the furthest ends of the beam. Still I can move 
freely. Next he fetches a heavy metal bar about a 
metre long and with a big eye-hole at each end. I move 
my feet apart for him and he locks the bar to the 
D-rings in my ankle-cuffs with big padlocks. Then I 
feel my hands being raised as the wooden beam moves 
smoothly and silently upwards. I can no longer move 
much, but I am not stretched tautly. That, I know, 
will come later. 

This of course is only the beginning. More 
sophisticated equipment now follows. First, he brings 
two glittering metal disks which fit snugly over my 
straining, erect nipples. He twists the mechanisms so 
that the disks grip firmly, but not yet painfully. Not 
yet. Next come smooth metal dildos, a thick one for my 
cunt and a narrower one for my arsehole. I feel their 
elegant length penetrating me and I shiver with fear 
and desire. A narrow strap is passed between my legs, 
and buckled firmly to my belt front and back, to hold 
the dildos in place. For the moment they lie still, 
snug in my holes. _Their_ holes - the holes where they 
belong. 

"You look very pretty," he says. 

"Thank you, Master." 

"Are you happy like that? Content for me to use you 
for my pleasure?" 

"And for my pleasure too, Master!" I say, very daring. 

"Of course. I hope so." 

He looks at me carefully, and tightens the grip of the 
disks attached to my breasts. 

"I shall of course gag you," he says, "so you won't be 
able to tell me if you're not happy. So say anything 
you want to say now." 

"Please, Master," I say, getting out the words with 
difficulty, "please use me as you wish - as much as 
you wish, as cruelly as you wish. It is my delight to 
serve you. I am your slave - your sex-slave. Nothing 
can be too much for me if it gives you the slightest 
pleasure." 

"Good." 

Now is the moment for the gag. He shows me a broad 
leather strap in which a plastic plug is fitted. It is 
shaped like a short, fat cock and I open my mouth to 
receive it. It fits comfortably over my tongue and 
gives me the pleasant illusion of caressing and 
sucking a real erection. He buckles the strap firmly 
round the back of my head. There are also two narrow 
straps passing either side of my nose and meeting on 
my forehead before passing over the top of my head to 
be buckled to the strap at the back. The device does 
not cover my eyes, so unless he chooses to blindfold 
me as well I shall be able to see what is being done 
to me even though I can do nothing to stop it. That 
gives me a shivery feeling of fear and desire. 

Now I am being stretched. The beam is slowly rising 
and does not stop till my heels are almost off the 
ground and I am supported mostly by my toes. He looks 
at me, nods and smiles. Then he increases the grip of 
the nipple-clamps till the white-hot agony possesses 
my whole body. He nods again, then sits in the 
armchair. He has a remote control in his hand, and 
switches on the dildos in my cunt and arse. They 
vibrate and wriggle tantalisingly, the pleasure 
contrasting agreeably with the exquisite pain from my 
breasts. Then suddenly they begin to torment me with 
electric shocks, random in both intensity and 
duration. 

I try to scream but of course I cannot. I would not 
beg for mercy even if I could - this is what I have 
come to this place for, or part of it - but I writhe 
and wriggle as best I can and toss my head from side 
to side. A little flashing red light on the video 
camera tells me that my orgasmic agony is being 
recorded. Soon no doubt it will be made available on 
the internet, to be watched by thousands - millions! - 
around the world whose erotic interest is aroused by 
the sight of a nude Japanese girl being tortured. Yes, 
tortured, because that is what this fearful place is 
called: a torture-chamber. Well, if my video shows 
them how to perform erotic torture really well they 
and above all their girls should be grateful to me ... 

He slows down the electric shocks and I stop writhing. 
He is standing again, smiling at me. 

"I want you to see what I have planned for later," he 
said, "so you can look forward to it." 

One by one he holds before my eyes the instruments he 
has chosen: a long cat-o'-nine-tails with slim lashes 
in whipcord; another the same except for the hard, 
cruel knots along the length of each lash; a shorter 
cat with broad leather straps for lashes; canes and 
switches of varying length and thickness; and finally 
a long plaited leather whip which he wraps gently 
round my hips showing me how it can embrace me three 
times at each stroke. Of course I have experienced 
these lovely toys before in this place and am not 
afraid of them: I am only concerned that I might reach 
orgasm too soon and deprive him of the pleasure of 
leading me up to it agonisingly slowly. But then I 
recall that it does not matter: we have agreed from 
the start that if I faint with pleasure he will 
continue whipping me, keeping me floating for hours in 
that private heaven that only a true masochist - and a 
Japanese girl masochist at that - can know. 

There is another twist yet in the mechanism of my 
nipple-clamps and the unexpected extra torture makes 
me stiffen my body and arch my back, lifting my heels 
to point my toes yet further as a girl involuntarily 
does as orgasm approaches. Then the delicious 
wriggling and electric stimulation of the dildos begin 
again, and are increased to the highest level. I do my 
best to show the ecstatic agony my whole body is 
feeling, pleasing him and, I hope, those who will 
enjoy the video recording. 

Then it begins. It takes me by surprise, which in fact 
is the nicest way. I have my eyes closed and am 
floating blissfully in the lower foothills of the 
heaven which lies ahead. Suddenly the first stroke of 
the first whip thrills through me. He has not told me 
in what order he will use his lovely instruments, but 
as I am brought back to reality I can tell that he has 
begun with the long plaited leather whip. It curls 
almost lazily three times round my hips, its loving 
embrace leaving rings of fire round my ecstatic body. 
"Again! Again! More! Harder, harder!" I want to beg 
him but cannot; it does not matter as he knows what I 
want and wants it too. 

Again and again the wonderful lashes embrace me. He 
skilfully varies the instruments he uses without any 
warning, the most glorious experience being his 
occasional use of the flexible canes. Instead of 
curling lovingly round me, the canes write lines of 
white-hot fire on my terrified but eager flesh. I can 
hardly support myself in my helpless ecstasy and hang 
in my bonds, begging him silently, "Take me! Oh, take 
me to heaven! I am ready!" 

He understands me and increases the speed and 
intensity of his whipping. With a gasp I leave the 
world of reality and pass into my orgasmic heaven. He 
is using the cat with the myriad hard knots now and 
they scatter handfuls of golden stars across the 
intense blue of the sky under which I am floating. I 
am approaching my goal now, an intense light which is 
where I belong and long to be. Voices are calling to 
me, telling me to come to them, to join the others who 
have already achieved this nirvana of sensual bliss. I 
have never been this close before: will I reach it? 
What will happen if I do - will I stay there and 
abandon my earthly body and the pleasures it gives me, 
or will I return to it bringing that inner grace which 
I have sometimes detected in girls more advanced than 
I in the delights of masochistic orgasm? 

Perhaps that flicker of interest in worldly matters 
was a mistake. I feel myself slipping away from the 
friends I know are calling to me. Gradually I leave 
the lightness of my heaven and darkness slowly 
overwhelms me. It is darkness illuminated by the 
flickering wonder of his continued whipping of my 
unconscious body, but it is so far from heaven! Never 
mind: I know where it is and how to get there, and one 
day I will achieve my ultimate desire. 

I cannot tell how much longer he goes on whipping me, 
but slowly the wonder and the ecstasy subside. I open 
my eyes. I am still standing in my bonds, my toes and 
heels still just in contact with the carpet. 
Experimenting, I find that my gag had been removed. 
The whipping has stopped but my breasts are still 
burning with the agony of their clamps and the 
electric dildos are still delighting my love-holes. He 
is sitting in front of me in his armchair, lazily 
swishing a whip from side to side. 

"Welcome back!" he says. "From wherever you were. 
Goodness, you made me work hard." 

"Thank you!" I say. "Oh, thank you! I'm sorry I was so 
much trouble." 

"Never mind - you can make it up to me." 

He stands, and frees my wrists from the overhead beam. 
He supports me as I fall to the floor. He returns to 
his chair, and I crawl towards him, my hands reaching 
for his beloved cock, my mouth and tongue longing to 
thank him in the best way I know. 


[Next in Part 13: Tomo: Shopping] 

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

