We Always Do It For Real 25

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

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

PART 25

CHAPTER XVIII

An Invitation to Dinner

When I agreed to write this account of my life for 
you, Bob, it was because you said it would help you 
with your own work, reporting on the Tokyo sex scene. 
So I am not going to describe the things you already 
know about, or could find out about from anyone. You 
know what my daily work in the film studio is like; 
and you've visited the more up-market strip shows and 
sex clubs, so you can easily imagine me spending 
occasional evenings there. The studio like me to do 
that when they have no other work for me: it helps the 
sales of Marucho products - not just the videos I have 
personally appeared in - if Marucho girls can be seen 
in the flesh, so to speak, around the Tokyo discos and 
clubs. Nor am I going to give you a detailed account 
of my sex life: the way I am screwed on camera, and 
what my lovers and I do together in my spare time. I 
don't suppose I do anything you haven't seen before; 
and while it would make me feel very sexy to imagine 
it and write it down, and I would enjoy that, I would 
frankly rather spend the time getting screwed for 
real. 

Still, I think there are some things that happen on 
the Tokyo sex scene which even you don't know about, 
and not long after we first met I was invited to take 
part in one of them. I suppose you could always turn 
this into an article or a story, and pretend you were 
there yourself. 

You remember Roido-san, of course - Mr Jerry Lloyd is 
his real name - the American businessman who gave the 
big party you escorted me to when we'd just met. You 
gave me a good time, but then you abandoned me to fuck 
Miss Takahashi: do you remember? But I've forgiven you 
for that! She's _very_ beautiful and I've made love 
with her a few times myself. 

It's not difficult to get invited to parties like 
that, where the guests are all welcome to take their 
clothes off and screw each other anywhere and any way 
they fancy. Plenty of people host them and invite 
their friends, though they can't all afford to hire 
professionals like me to set a good example to the 
newcomers. I expect you'd been to such parties often 
enough yourself before I took you to Roido-san's 
house, though if so you never told me about it. He and 
Kazuko Lloyd give sex parties because they enjoy them, 
of course, but also because it helps his business to 
be able to entertain important contacts like that. 
Sometimes they hold much more intimate affairs, and 
once I was lucky enough to be invited to one. 

It was the end of May, a couple of weeks after you and 
I first met, when Mr Niijima sent for me to his 
office. I was in one of the studios ready to go on set 
at the time, but as usual there was some technical 
hitch and the Director told me I could take ten 
minutes. I was wearing only high heels, so I quickly 
borrowed a wrap from Matsumoto-san's rack of costumes 
and went up to the fifth floor in the elevator. Mr 
Niijima peered at me across his desk in his usual 
disapproving way, then told me to sit down. 

"We have a job for you tomorrow evening, Kato-kun," he 
said. 

There was no question of asking me if I was free, of 
course. But I didn't mind much: I thought he was just 
going to instruct me to make a "spontaneous" 
appearance at some expensive sex-club to promote the 
company's videos - a selection of which would by 
chance be on sale at the reception counter. I rather 
enjoyed that sort of thing: surprising the customers 
by climbing up onto the tiny stage and volunteering to 
strip for them as if I had been carried away by the 
stimulating atmosphere; choosing my first partner with 
a coy show of modesty designed to contrast piquantly 
with the shamelessness of my nudity ... mm'mm, _such_ 
fun ... But Mr Niijima had something else in mind. 

"Roido-san has asked for you again," he said, somehow 
making it seem that no respectable girl could possibly 
have attracted the American's attention without some 
display of dreadfully sluttish behaviour. In a way he 
was right, and the only thing that is respectable 
about me is that I pursue my chosen profession with 
hard work and sincerity. But he probably did not 
realise that Roido-san did actually invite respectable 
and inexperienced girls to his parties too, so we 
could all enjoy watching as they were gradually 
overwhelmed by the sexy atmosphere, abandoning their 
innocence along with their clothes. 

"That is kind of him," I murmured respectfully. "I am 
glad I have given him satisfaction. Is it to be another 
big party?" 

"No, on the contrary," said Mr Niijima, delighted to 
prove me wrong. "You are to attend a small 
dinner-party. Mr Roido has a business contact from ... 
from Australia," he concluded, checking a note on the 
pad by his telephone. "It seems no business can be 
done with these _gaijin_ unless they are provided with 
girls to satisfy their uncontrollable appetites." He 
looked at me disapprovingly, as if it were my fault. 
"You are to meet him in the main lobby of the New 
Otani Hotel at seven tomorrow evening. He will be 
responsible for taking you to Mr Roido's house." 

I lowered my head modestly and looked up at Mr Niijima 
through my eyelashes. 

"Thank you, Niijima-san," I said. "I am grateful for 
this opportunity to show my devotion to the Company. I 
hope I shall be able to give satisfaction, however -" 
I managed somehow to make myself blush and continued 
with a slight break in my voice "- however ... er ... 
_immodest_ and _shameless_ the things I am required to 
do." 

I am afraid I rather enjoy teasing Mr Niijima. He 
swallowed loudly a few times. 

"Yes, well ... yes," he said at last. "I hope you 
will. Here are the details." He tore the page from his 
pad and put it on his desk beside me. "I have told the 
costume department to ensure that you are suitably ... 
er ... attired." 

I took the paper respectfully in both hands, and stood 
up. I thanked him again submissively. In my hurry I 
had tied the wrap rather loosely, and as I bowed low I 
made sure he got the best possible view of my breasts. 
He gulped. 

"Oh, _please_ forgive me," I murmured as I stood 
upright again. 

I undid the belt, then innocently pulled the two sides 
apart giving him a brief view of my nakedness before 
tying the wrap more tightly round my body. Wondering 
idly if he had actually come in his underpants, or 
just looked as if he had, I left the room and returned 
quickly to the studio. 

"We're waiting for you, Megumi," said the Director 
harshly. 

It was rather unfair: he had allowed me ten minutes, 
and I could see from the big red figures on the clock 
above the control room window that I still had a 
couple in hand. But of course it was not my place to 
argue. I apologised profusely to him and to the 
technicians, as Matsumoto-san quickly took my wrap and 
gave me a little grin of encouragement. I bowed to the 
male actor waiting for me on set, and a moment later I 
was kneeling between his legs. 

The Director might have been ready but he was not. I 
began to tickle his balls with one hand while holding 
his limp cock to my lips with the other. Very soon I 
felt it pulse into an erection as each heartbeat 
pumped more blood into it. 

"Thanks, Megumi - you're a darling!" he whispered. 

"Give me a good one," I murmured in reply. 

"Quiet on set! Action!" called the Director. 

During the next break in filming, while the make-up 
girl handed me a hot damp cloth with which to wipe the 
cum off my face, I told Matsumoto-san quickly of Mr 
Niijima's instructions. 

"Yes, dearie, I know all about it. You _are_ lucky!" 

"D'you think so?" 

"Oh, yes! You should have a lovely evening. But I'll 
have to dress you _very_ specially. Let me think about 
it overnight. Come and see me tomorrow afternoon, and 
I'll have something for you that Roido-san and his 
friends won't easily forget." 

I started to thank her, but the girl was anxiously 
waiting to repair my make-up and hair for the next 
take. 

By next afternoon I had a few ideas of my own of how I 
wanted to be dressed, but I had to admit that 
Matsumoto-san had as usual got it right. She had 
decided on a classical style, my hair pinned up in 
shining elegance, my pure white dress just a little 
Grecian tunic. It was gathered on the left shoulder, 
leaving my right shoulder and breast bare, and tied 
with a little gold rope on my right hip. Not that the 
two sides quite met: they were five or six centimetres 
apart, for one of the pretty things about her charming 
creation was that while, seen from one side, I seemed 
to be wearing a fairly modest mini-dress, seen from 
the other I was practically nude. The little skirt was 
just long enough to cover my bottom, its edges 
fluttering apart at the side and showing all of my 
right thigh and hip. Matsumoto-san had telephoned 
Kazuko Lloyd and checked on the _placement_ for the 
dinner - trust her for that! My Australian escort 
would be seated on my right and would get the full 
benefit of my semi-nudity. Under the dress I was to 
wear tiny gold bikini panties tied with little 
side-bows. The shoes were also gold, high-heeled 
sandals with long slender thongs which tied several 
times round my ankles before finishing in a bow. 
Matsumoto-san's secret technique of making one slim 
heel a touch higher than the other gave an agreeable 
wiggle to my bottom under the thin white material as I 
walked. At my suggestion we added gold slave bangles 
for my upper arms, and a broad gold collar to fit 
snugly round my neck. It was difficult to prevent the 
upper part of my dress slipping off my left shoulder 
and down my arm, so we hooked it loosely to my collar 
by a light chain. Even so I found I often had to 
readjust it to keep it on my shoulder. But I decided 
that was a pretty gesture and made no complaint. 

I was delighted with my appearance in the long 
mirrors. I had lost a little weight over the past few 
weeks - not because I had been dieting, but simply 
because when a girl has many lovers and a full sex 
life she is less interested in food - and I thought my 
legs looked wonderfully slim and shapely in the 
gorgeously short skirt and high heels. I preened and 
twisted in the mirrors, taking little steps in the 
high heels and admiring the contrast between my 
dressed and undressed sides, till even Matsumoto-san 
grew tired of her own creation and told me to keep it 
for my lovers. She extracted the usual promise of a 
full account the following morning of everything that 
would happen to me; and I changed reluctantly into my 
ordinary clothes before going home to prepare myself. 

At heart I am still the foolish young girl who used to 
enjoy showing herself off in the bathroom mirror at 
home, dreaming of being watched through the glass. So 
much has happened since then! Displaying my nudity, to 
a camera or a live audience, is now part of my job and 
I do it almost every day - but the thrill it gives me 
is as great as ever. If one day I start taking it for 
granted, it will be time to change jobs. I could never 
be a nudist, going without clothes on some theory that 
nakedness is natural. What could be more _un_natural 
than a girl delightedly showing herself off naked to a 
room full of sexually aroused men? Shamelessly 
flaunting her nudity, a clever girl can build up the 
tension to fever pitch and still hold her audience 
spellbound. Not knowing how long she can maintain the 
spell, or whether the tension will explode in a 
glorious orgy of lust, is exactly what excites me - 
her - so much! It's wonderful, but no one could call 
it normal behaviour. Fortunately, the Gods made me an 
exhibitionist, and I bless them for it every time I 
show myself off nude, loving the chance to stimulate 
and titillate my audience - and above all myself. 

So I felt wonderfully elated as the taxi-driver pulled 
the lever which flung open the car's rear door outside 
the main entrance of the New Otani Hotel, and I 
scrambled out feeling ready for a new adventure. For 
the moment I was wearing a short jacket over the upper 
part of my beautiful dress, but the knowledge that I 
was nearly naked underneath was already giving me the 
feeling of tingling excitement that I so loved. 

The piece of paper Mr Niijima had given me contained 
the name Horrigan written in careful Western capitals. 
At least, unlike most Western names, it was 
pronounceable. Underneath in Japanese was written 
"Main Lobby, New Otani Hotel, 1900" and a room number. 
The hotel is a very confusing place, built on a slope 
in the Akasaka district and in two linked buildings, 
so that it is easy to forget which part you are in or 
even what floor you are on. I walked through the lobby 
to the reception desk, and checked with one of the 
girls standing behind it that there was indeed a Mr 
Horrigan staying in the room Mr Niijima had specified, 
and that I was in the lobby serving his part of the 
hotel. I had plenty of time so I declined the girl's 
offer to ring him in his room, and instead settled 
down to wait in an empty chair with a good view of the 
elevators. 

My short jacket did not cover the skirt of my little 
white dress, which as I have already told you was wide 
open down the right side. I crossed my legs casually 
and pretended to ignore the admiring glances I was 
collecting from others in the lobby. As I waited I 
wondered about Australians. I did not recall ever 
having met any. But I remembered that a while ago I 
had seen on TV a movie about Australia called - what 
was it? yes, _Crocodile Dundee_. The star had been a 
very handsome man. Perhaps all Australians were like 
that. Not that that proved anything: bitter experience 
had taught me that just because a man had a handsome 
body, it did not necessarily follow that he had what 
was needed to satisfy a girl sexually, or knew how to 
use it. 

"May I join you?" said a man suddenly in Japanese. 

When, startled, I did not immediately reply he sat 
down in the chair beside me. I lowered my eyes 
modestly but could see at once that the newcomer 
looked very much like the star of _Crocodile Dundee_, 
even if more formally dressed. 

"Only if your name is Horrigan," I said in English, 
hoping so much it was. 

The man reached into the side pocket of his jacket and 
produced a card-case. He took out a card and handed it 
to me formally with both hands, the Japanese side 
uppermost. The name was not Horrigan. The Japanese 
letters on the card said "Rezu Baachi". I looked at 
his face in silence, betraying my disappointment. 

"Maybe one evening when you're not expecting the 
fortunate Mr Horrigan, we might meet again?" 

"'Rezu' is a strange name for a man," I said. 

He made no reply but watched as I slipped his card 
into my jacket pocket. He smiled to show he understood 
what I meant by accepting it, stood up and bowed 
politely. It was stylish of him not to ask how to 
contact me, or even my name. If I wanted him, I knew 
now where to find him. His self-confident courtesy 
showed he knew very well I probably would. 

"Miss Megumi Kato?" said a voice behind me. "I'm Bruce 
Horrigan." 

I twisted round in my chair, not minding how far my 
dress fell apart. The man I was waiting for was short 
and dark, broad-chested but hardly good-looking. The 
other man, having now learnt my name, discreetly 
withdrew. 

"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Shall we go?" 

"Of course." 

I scrambled to my feet, straightened my skirt, and 
took his arm as we crossed the lobby. 


[Next in Part 26: Chapter XVIII continued] 

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