We_Always_Do_It_For_Real.05

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

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

PART 05

CHAPTER IV

Dinner, and Afterwards

We ate at a restaurant near Bob's apartment block in 
Akasaka. I remember the place, but not what we ate: I 
was too excited to pay attention to the food. A couple 
of glasses of wine steadied my nerves and gave me a 
warm feeling of pleasure to come - that I do remember. 
Bob tactfully did not talk about the pleasures we had 
shared and were both looking forward to enjoying 
again. He asked me about my career as an actress with 
Marucho: when I had decided on that as a profession, 
what sort of training I had been given, what videos I 
had appeared in. I decided not to tell him I'd 
remembered to bring my videos, his present from the 
company. He could have them later. Tonight and 
tomorrow I wanted him to pay attention to the real me. 
After I'd gone it would be fun to imagine him trying 
to remember me with the help of my videos, and jerking 
off in front of the TV in his apartment, all 
alone - unless of course he called up one of his 
regular girl-friends and fucked her in memory of me. 
Or to forget me. Or something. 

I was so preoccupied with what was to come after 
dinner that I answered his questions pretty much at 
random. He was stroking my thigh under the table. The 
hem of my tiny tight skirt was just millimetres below 
my crotch. I was holding my thighs slightly open for 
him, wishing his fingers would slide that tiny bit 
higher ... Bob was saying, "You know Megumi-san, it 
would really help me in my writing if you would tell 
me more about your career, what you do, how you 
started." 

I said I'd be glad to, one day, when I was calmer. 
Then I abandoned the attempt to talk generally. I told 
him how excited I was, and why. I tried to describe 
what it felt like to have his insatiable cock firmly 
lodged in my gasping cunt, or half-way down my throat. 
As I spoke, my tongue loosened by the wine, he kept 
tickling my thigh through the tights, very gently, 
high up on the inside, but alas never quite high 
enough ... Then he said: "I've never wanted a girl as 
much as I want you. Let's go and do all those things 
we've been dreaming about, shall we?" 

It was just a few minutes to his apartment block, and 
after the day's wind and rain it had turned into a 
fine though cool evening. I thought the fresh air 
would steady me so we walked the short distance 
up-hill. I was surprised to find that Bob rented the 
two top floors of the small block. He explained that 
it was shaped a bit like a pyramid, so the two floors 
together were not much bigger than one floor lower 
down, but even so it seemed luxurious for a writer. 
And much, much bigger than my little apartment of 
course. 

We went into the lobby and called the elevator. He was 
carrying my bag (that's another thing I like about 
going with _gaijin_) but in the elevator cage he 
unbuttoned my coat, slipped his free hand inside and 
held me. 

"What's the first thing you are going to do when we 
get there?" he asked. 

"The first thing I'm going to do," I said carefully, 
trying but failing to regain a little control over the 
situation, "is take off all my clothes." 

"That sounds like a good idea. What's the second 
thing?" 

"The second thing I'm going to do," I said, "is take a 
shower." 

"That sounds like another good idea. Can I join you?" 

"No, you can't. There are times when a girl needs 
privacy." 

"Oh. Pity. What's the third thing?" 

"When I've had my shower," I said, "I shall of course 
get dressed again." 

The elevator stopped and we got out. He let go of me as 
he felt for his key. 

"That strikes me as a bad idea," he said. 

"But you don't know what I'm planning to wear," I said 
and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Neither did I, 
yet - or indeed if I would be wearing anything. 

We entered the apartment along a short corridor 
leading to the large main room built into the sloping 
walls of the block. There was a small kitchen off the 
corridor, and an open-tread staircase at one side of 
the main room leading to the floor above. The actress 
in me was already planning possible entrances down 
that staircase. A sophisticated nude with my hair up 
and in nothing but high heels? A sexy bar-girl in just 
a tiny gold g-string and little gloves? Innocently 
naked under a wide skirt my audience could look up 
while I pretended not to know? It all depended on what 
else Matsumoto-san had provided. 

Bob put down my bag and helped me out of my coat, 
dropping it on one of the sofas. He held me very 
close, one hand stroking the back of my neck, the 
other feeling the shape of my arse outlined by the 
thin cloth of the tight miniskirt. 

"Bedroom upstairs?" I murmured after a long moment. 
"And bathroom?" 

He guided me to the stairs, taking my bag again. I 
went first, he followed, and I could sense his eyes 
enjoying the close view of my bottom and thighs moving 
just above him at face level, tingling with desire 
under the thin layers of tight material. 

The upper floor had a master bedroom with a bathroom, 
a spare bedroom, a second bathroom and (as I later 
came to know very well) a large storeroom with no 
windows or outside wall. Bob put my bag down on the 
big double bed and stood waiting. I looked a question 
at him. 

"You said the first thing you were going to do was 
take off all your clothes." 

"I did," I replied, "but I didn't say you would be 
allowed to watch. Wait downstairs and I'll join you 
when I'm ready for you." 

"It had better be worth the wait." 

"It will be, darling, I promise. Trust me." 

Alone, I peeled off the black mini-dress and found 
somewhere in the closet to hang it up. I removed the 
high-heeled silver sandals, my tights and my panties. 
I wasn't wearing a bra of course. I went into the 
bathroom and took a long shower. I thought pleasurably 
of my lover waiting for my slow entrance down the 
stairs, ready in my own good time to make him free 
again of my fresh, clean body. When I returned to the 
bedroom I saw that he had been there to remove his own 
clothes, but had respected my wish to be alone in the 
shower. I was grateful to him for that. 

I sat naked in front of the fitted dressing-table and 
repaired my make-up with the emergency kit 
Matsumoto-san had sent me. Then I sorted through the 
bag to decide what to wear - not that I expected to be 
allowed to keep it on for long. Black had been a 
success at dinner, so I started with a tight black 
corset in a smooth satin material, designed to leave 
my breasts free while providing a little discreet 
support. Criss-crossing the laces tightly enough down 
the double row of hooks at the back was not easy on my 
own. I began to fantasise about his strong hands 
pulling harder and harder on each cross of the laces 
from hook to hook, I begging him to be merciless in 
constricting my waist as cruelly as he could, while in 
contrast my breasts and buttocks jutted out ever more 
proudly, the lips of my moist pussy pouting prettily, 
longing to be kissed, stroked, entered ... 

I told myself to stop daydreaming. I got the corset 
done somehow, tight enough at least to give me a 
pleasurably painful feeling of breathlessness and 
imprisonment. I planned to leave my breasts uncovered 
but wear a very short, wide skirt of the same black 
satin as the corset. It fitted snugly round my now 
temptingly slender waist, then stood out from my hips 
supported by a mass of short, stiff petticoats already 
sewn into place. I wore no tights or panties of 
course, but slipped on a pair of shiny black pumps. 
For a moment I almost lost my balance on the high, 
narrow heels, one of them, I now realised, a touch 
longer than the other - a trick often used by our 
costume department to increase the sexiness of a 
girl's walk. The heels would oblige me to take only 
little steps, and what with them and the exquisitely 
tight corset I would be my lover's prisoner tonight: I 
could never escape even if I wanted to.[2] (Maybe I 
could _try_ to escape, just for fun, so that he could 
have the pleasure of catching me and I the joy of 
being caught?) I felt my throat go dry and my heart 
beat faster at the thought of presenting myself to him 
like that: enticingly vulnerable and helpless, a toy 
designed specially to tickle his lust. 

He was waiting, but I didn’t think he would be going 
anywhere. I stood in front of the long mirror and 
examined myself carefully. I did a little pirouette 
and enjoyed the sexy rustling of the petticoats as 
they swished round my naked bottom and crotch. I liked 
the look of the girl in the mirror, tossing back her 
long black hair so that it poured down the ivory skin 
of her back, her tiny waist setting off her firm 
breasts and erect nipples pointing forward eager to 
meet her lover's questing hands, her long, slender 
legs emerging from the froth of the petticoats and 
enhanced by the dainty femininity of the extremely 
high heels. 

Somehow she needed a little more. I hunted again 
through the bag and found her a pair of long black 
sleeves - like gloves but ending in a loop round the 
middle finger, leaving the hands free - and a black 
silken ribbon to fit snugly round her slender neck. 
Now she was a fitting gift for her lover. He had 
waited for her long enough. 

Practising little steps in my slender high heels, I 
walked quietly to the top of the stairs. I could see 
Bob standing in the living-room below, dressed in a 
_yukata_, the long cotton Japanese bathrobe, an _obi_ 
sash knotted round his hips to hold it together. I 
wondered if he were wearing anything underneath. I 
rather guessed not. 

"Here I am!" I called gaily. I didn't want him to miss 
anything of the effect I hoped my entrance would make. 
I came slowly down the stairs, occasionally fluffing 
up my petticoats like a ballet-dancer with her tutu. 
The open staircase meant he could not help seeing how 
naked I was underneath and I coyly made the most of 
it. I could see from his reaction that I had guessed 
right about his own nakedness under his _yukata_. I 
struck a pose on the last steps, came towards him, 
demonstrated my pirouette and a deep curtsey, and was 
then in his arms. 

"Please, darling," I said, when I could speak again, 
"tighten my corset for me. I did my best, but I know 
you can do it better." 

I pulled away and turned my back to him. 

"You like it really tight?" he asked, a little 
anxiously. 

"Yes, really, _really_ tight. I love that. And I'm 
sure you'd like to see me that way, wouldn't you?" I 
added teasingly. 

Already I could feel his strong fingers pulling the 
cruel laces round their hooks and through their 
strongly reinforced holes. I was now so constricted I 
could hardly breathe, and I could feel the sexy rush 
of slight oxygen starvation blending with the sensuous 
pleasure of pain. It might have been my imagination 
but as my waist shrank to the tiniest possible size I 
could feel my breasts and bottom swelling and firming 
in compensation; my pussy and arsehole seemed to be 
pouting and panting with desire. 

Before falling back into my lover's arms I tightened 
my little skirt, moulding it to my new waist and 
pointing up even more the contrast with the swell of 
my bottom and breasts. After what seemed a long, long 
time during which he showed me, rather than told me, 
how well I pleased him, I managed to pull away and 
insisted on making an inspection tour of the 
living-room. I bent low over the objects displayed on 
the side tables and carefully examined them, unaware 
of course of how this disarranged my skirt and 
petticoats and pulled them up towards my waist. He 
caught me at last from the back, his hands fiercely 
grasping my bare breasts and pinching my nipples. One 
hand left me and I felt him undo his sash and shrug 
off his _yukata_. His hands were now round my waist 
while he told me incoherently how amazed he was at my 
newly sculpted figure. Then he was on his knees behind 
me, pulling my arse and thighs hard towards his mouth, 
while I fell forward onto the sofa, supporting myself 
against the cushions on my hands. 

As he pulled aside my petticoats his tongue urgently 
thrust forward between my legs, roughly licking the 
outer lips of my already dripping pussy. He pulled my 
legs apart: for a moment I staggered on the high heels 
but I held firm, my legs straight and the muscles of 
my thighs and calves taut, still leaning onto the sofa 
cushions so that my uncovered arse was the highest 
point of my body. The tip of Bob's questing tongue 
reached as far forward as my erect clitoris. I was 
shuddering with the pleasure and excitement. The 
shallow panting that was all my constricting corset 
would allow seemed to force the gathering liquid in 
spasms from my eager cunt onto his relentless, greedy 
tongue. I heard him groaning with delight as he 
slurped the musky juices from my pussy and begged for 
more. 

Suddenly he seemed to bring his passion under control. 
He slid his hands down my legs as far as my knees, and 
withdrew his tongue gently. I felt the tenderest of 
touches in the area just below my pussy. Then his 
tongue hardened to a point, and resumed the delicate 
but inescapable probing of my arsehole which he had 
started hours ago on the bed in the disused studio. 
Gradually he wore down my resistance, and his tongue 
could enter my hole quite some way until a muscular 
spasm on my part squeezed it out, only to feel it 
begin its gentle but insistent demands again. 

Of course quite a few lovers had taken me in the arse, 
and I had learnt with practice to relax my sphincter 
muscles and help them in, but I had never managed to 
open up the way some girls did so that a cock could 
enter me at a stroke. My rosebud was still shy and 
almost virginal, despite all the pleasure it had given 
and received. And leaning forward onto the sofa as I 
was, with my rump in the air, was not the most 
comfortable position from which to offer my new lover 
entry into the one hole he had not yet claimed for his 
own. It was no doubt my own fault for keeping my legs 
in that position, but I did not want to deprive him of 
the pleasure I sensed he was getting from their 
straight, shapely length between my long, slender high 
heels and the hem of my tiny, frothy skirt. 


FOOTNOTE

[2] A Western lover once showed me a book called _The 
Kimono Mind_ by Bernard Rudofsky (Charles E Tuttle, 
Tokyo, 1971) and helped me read parts of it. 
Explaining the traditional attraction of a Japanese 
girl tightly bound into a kimono, which he describes 
as "a combination of straightjacket and hobble 
skirt," he says: "Men derive infinite pleasure from 
watching hobbled women. They never tire of inventing 
and perfecting new harnesses for them, putting new 
obstacles to their gait, all the more as women do not 
protest against their sartorial captivity. They are 
happy in their assurance that the bonds imposed on 
them help to fan a man's desire." And then, in a 
discussion on traditional Japanese footwear: "The 
effect of absurdly impractical shoes ... is as 
intoxicating as a love potion. The girl child who puts 
on a pair of high-heeled shoes is magically propelled 
into womanhood." (pp. 44-50.) Now _there's_ a man who 
_really_ understands! But he doesn't allow for the 
fact that it's we girls, and not just you men, who 
love inventing new ways of being bound and helpless. 
To wear the most constricting possible corset, the 
highest and slenderest possible heels, to be 
restricted in my movements by the tightest and 
shortest possible skirt, is as exquisitely erotic for 
me to experience as it is for you to look at.


[Next in Part 06: Chapter IV concluded and Chapter V: 
Breakfast for Two]
