WORK IN PROGRESS 02

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 02

CHAPTER II

The Shop Assistant

     Sometimes readers send letters and e-mails 
     commenting on my articles - and sometimes my 
     editors send them on to me. I had several from 
     readers wanting to know more about the charming 
     little shop assistant who had sold me the 
     new-style gag I had used on Noriko - and given 
     her personal endorsement of its pleasures. So, 
     fulfilling my obligations to my readers 
     regardless of inconvenience, I returned to the 
     store to do some research. 

The shop was in one of the back-streets near Shinjuku 
Station, a huge commuting interchange used by a couple 
of million passengers every day. Small bars, 
restaurants and sex-shops proliferate in the area, 
serving commuters who have finished work but are in no 
hurry to return home. I had found the shop by chance 
one evening. At the front it sold, like all the other 
sex-shops, plain-vanilla pornography and sex-toys; but 
once you had passed through that there was an area 
selling a wide range of ingenious equipment with which 
sadists could delight masochists. I liked the way 
these items were displayed openly and available for 
anyone to see and ask about, and had looked in from 
time to time to see what new products of Japanese 
ingenuity in the field of sexual torture were on the 
market. 

This time I was visiting the shop in the middle of the 
morning, when I expected it to be quite empty. The 
girl I was looking for was at her post behind a 
display of whips and restraints. She smiled at me 
encouragingly as I approached, remembering me as a 
frequent customer. I took my time looking at the items 
she had on offer, then pretended interest in a 
cat-o'-nine-tails with long slim lashes. She took it 
out of the case for me, running the lashes through her 
slim fingers; then flirtatiously shook them out and 
pretended to brandish the instrument over a victim. I 
reached out and took it from her, making sure our 
hands touched. I flicked the lashes up and down, to 
and fro, enjoying their sexy rustle. From the happy 
smile on her face I could tell she too was enjoying 
their promise of sexual delight. While I was still 
holding the handle she leant forward, took the lashes 
gently, and showed me the tiny metal tips shimmering 
at the ends, promising the victim especially delicious 
agony. I bent towards her, our heads almost touching, 
and examined the lashes. 

"Beautiful," I said softly. 

"Yes, aren't they?" she replied. 

We were alone together, sharing a fantasy of love and 
desire. 

"How much is it?" I asked. 

She told me. 

"That's rather a lot," I whispered. 

"But imagine the pleasure it gives ..." 

"Yes ... well, thank you for showing it to me." 

"Not at all." 

She began to coil the lashes in her fingers 
preparatory to restoring the instrument to its place 
of honour in the show-case. 

"What is your name?" I asked. 

"Fujiko," she said. 

"Fujiko-san. That is a nice name ... how is it 
written?" 

That may not seem much of a chat-up line; but the 
Japanese are obsessed with their written language. 
Writing is a universal form of artistic expression - 
indeed the word for "to write" and "to draw" is the 
same. Every Japanese likes to be asked about the 
meaning of a character, or how to write something 
correctly, and will go to great lengths to explain: a 
_gaijin_ who can read and write enough to take an 
interest causes surprise and admiration. Fujiko put 
down the whip and wrote the first character of her 
name in the air with her finger, as Japanese like to 
do. Seeing that I still looked puzzled, she picked up 
one of the shop's business-cards, turned it over and 
wrote with an elegant flourish the character for 
"wisteria", followed by the simple character for 
"child" which is almost always the writing for the 
_ko_ in a girl's name. 

"Now I see," I said. "How very pretty." 

She smiled and blushed. Before the moment of intimacy 
could be dispelled, I asked: 

"When do you finish work? Would you like to come out 
with me some evening?" 

"Well ... er ..." 

"You choose what we do," I continued, taking her 
consent for granted. "A nice restaurant ... a theatre, 
a cinema, a disco ... I'm sure you know all the best 
places round here." 

She agreed with a pretty display of modesty, and 
promised to meet me the following evening at seven. I 
pocketed the card on which she had written her name 
and left her stroking the cat before coiling it again 
and putting it away. I hadn't intended to buy it 
anyway: I already owned several like that, some of 
them even more sadistic. If Fujiko enjoyed the one in 
the shop, she would enjoy mine even more, I thought. 

== 

Fujiko spotted me first at the West Exit of Shinjuku 
Station. I was scanning the crowd of pretty girls 
waiting for girlfriends, boyfriends and lovers; and 
then I saw her waving happily at me as she came to 
greet me. Seeing her for the first time in public I 
realised how small she was, despite wearing very high 
heels to make up for it. She was nicely dressed for 
our date, showing off her pretty legs in a pale green 
microskirt and matching tights in a discreet fishnet 
pattern; she wore a crisp white sleeveless blouse, the 
collar turned up and enough buttons left undone to 
give a foretaste of her pretty breasts.[3] A 
decoration of some kind dangled teasingly between 
them, hanging from a silver chain round her neck. Her 
small body was shapely and seemed well-exercised 
without being athletic: promising, I thought. 

She came skipping towards me on her high heels. She 
was carrying a large shoulder-bag in pale gold 
leather: much too big for her, I thought, but I have 
given up trying to understand the constantly shifting 
patterns of fashion among young Japanese girls for 
different handbags, "accessories" and mobile phones. 
We bowed and greeted each other, and as she 
straightened up she tossed back her long hair with the 
hand not occupied with the shoulder-bag. We did not 
kiss: Japanese girls have not adopted the Western 
practice of kissing near-strangers on meeting, which 
means that when you do get to kiss them for the first 
time the sexual promise is much greater. She took my 
arm and smiled up at me happily. I noticed that she 
was wearing fashionably long pointed fingernails 
encrusted with tiny artificial jewels. She hadn't been 
wearing them at work, I remembered, so they must be 
specially for me. I shivered a little at the thought 
of those long points walking up and down my spine, 
tickling my balls ... nice. 

"I thought ..." she said, "you said I might choose ... 
do you like _kushikatsu_? There's a little bar near 
where I work where they do it ..." 

"I don't think I've ever had it," I said, "but let's 
try. I like nearly all Japanese food." 

She looked at me again and giggled. 

"I hope you'll fit in," she said. "It's a _very_ small 
place!" 

So, skipping along happily beside me, she guided me 
through the maze of side-streets. 

It was indeed a very small place, with room for just 
six customers. But I have been to plenty of Japanese 
restaurants where I have to fold myself up small to 
get in, and this one was no trouble. We sat together 
at a tiny table, our knees touching - which I enjoyed 
and Fujiko did not seem to mind. _Kushikatsu_, if you 
don't know it, is a meal made up of tiny mouthfuls of 
various things, each transfixed on a little bamboo 
spear and cooked as you watch. The dictionary says 
_kushi_ means "comb", but it originally meant any kind 
of hair decoration, especially the long pins used to 
hold a traditional female hairstyle together. The 
_kosu_ or "course" offered by this establishment 
consisted of about forty different servings, all 
delicious. In between mouthfuls, we talked. 

"Did your girl enjoy the gag you bought the other 
day?" Fujiko asked. 

"Oh, yes. She loved it. And I took her to a party, and 
she wore it there." 

"I'm so glad." 

"You told me you had one too, and liked to wear it." 

"I love it! And my gentlemen enjoy the effect ... 
That's the nice thing about working at that shop: I 
can find out about all the latest ideas and 
techniques, and I meet such nice people." 

I glanced down the front of her blouse. I could see 
now that the decoration hanging from her neck was a 
little heart-shaped ornament bearing two entwined 
initials. They sparkled in the light hanging over our 
table. 

"Pretty," I said, meaning both the decoration and her 
breasts. "May I?" 

She pulled the ornament up from between her breasts 
and placed it on my fingers so I could examine the 
initials. It was warm from contact with her skin. Our 
heads were almost touching. 

"And who ... or what ... is S M?" I asked. 

"I think you know," she whispered. "I keep it hidden 
... where only lovers will see it ... and 
understand." 

She was being very frank and showing no obvious 
embarrassment, so I decided to probe a little deeper. 

"When did you find you enjoyed ... the things they 
sell in your shop?" 

"Oh, at school," she said casually, tucking the little 
decoration back between her breasts. "There was a 
_sensei_ ..." 

I had guessed as much. Japan must be the only advanced 
country which allows teachers to inflict corporal 
punishment on their pupils; that, and the teachers' 
role as father-figures replacing the real fathers who 
are never home, explain why Japanese girls are such 
charming masochists with a taste for strict older men. 

"I was good at physical education, you see," she 
continued. "And the P E _sensei_ saw that and gave me 
extra lessons privately in the gym. He hoped I might 
become a professional gymnast. He had, well, 
old-fashioned teaching methods. He carried a cane and 
if he thought I wasn't trying hard enough he would 
encourage me with strokes of the cane on my bottom and 
thighs." 

"And you enjoyed that?" 

"Well, yes. Not at first: I was rather indignant 
because I _was_ doing my best and it wasn't fair. But 
then I found it gave me a lovely tingling feeling and 
I looked forward to it happening. And I used to dream 
about it in bed." 

"Did he know?" 

"After a while, yes. One day, after the lesson, we sat 
down facing each other across a table to talk. I was 
wriggling a bit because the strokes of his cane were 
making my bottom tingle so much. He had put the cane 
down on the table while he talked about my progress 
and my possible career. I was shy about that; so to 
give my hands something to do I picked up the cane and 
without thinking started fondling it, stroking it, 
bending it to and fro." 

"And then he realised?" 

"Yes. He suddenly stopped talking, watched my hands, 
and then said, very gently, 'You like it then, do 
you?' And I couldn't look at him but at last I said 
'Yes'. Then he smiled, very kindly, and said, 'You've 
been such a good girl today, perhaps I should reward 
you.' I said nothing, and he went on, 'Go and lean 
over that horse.'" 

"And then he beat you?" 

"M'm. Quite hard and, you know, measured. Previously 
it had just been casual strokes here and there, not a 
proper caning. Ooh, it felt _so_ good! After a while 
he stopped and said, so gently, 'Wouldn't you enjoy it 
more if you pulled down your bloomers?' Of course I 
knew I would, so before I had time to think about it I 
pulled them down to my knees and he started caning my 
bare bottom. Oooh, it was _wonderful_!" 

She stopped for a while, remembering the special 
moment when the true nature of her sexuality had 
suddenly opened before her, luminous with infinite 
possibilities for pleasure. I said nothing, leaving it 
to her to continue. 

"So from then on, every private P E lesson ended like 
that, with my 'reward' as he called it. And of course, 
with that to look forward to, I worked especially hard 
and did my very best to please him." 

"Did any other teachers beat you?" 

"No. Only he. And no one else knew. It was like having 
a very special secret lover. Soon I was taking 
everything off for him and asking him to cane me 
everywhere. I was already ... you know ... developed 
and even the lightest touch made me tingle all over. 
That was when he started using a paddle too: you know, 
one of those broad, flexible instruments in black 
rubber or plastic for smacking a girl with. I didn't 
know it was called that then, but of course I know now 
... he used it on my breasts and stomach and reserved 
the cane for my bottom. It was lovely! He never did 
anything else to me - though if he'd wanted to of 
course I'd have let him. And then I left school and it 
all came to an end." 

She was almost in tears at the memory. I reached 
across the little table and held her hand until the 
cook passed over the next items of food. 

"Did you become a professional gymnast?" I asked. 

"No. I did train as a dancer for a few years and 
sometimes got work, in stage shows, in clubs - you 
know, just as one of the backing dancers. But I found 
it was too demanding and meant too much discipline and 
self-sacrifice. I had a few jobs as a race queen."[4] 

"Oh, lovely!" I said. "I wish I'd seen you." 

She blushed and looked away from me for a moment. 

"I still have some of the costumes," she said shyly. 
"Even though I should have returned them to the 
companies - they have their logos on, after all. But 
it's nice to wear them sometimes ... you know, as 
cosplay[5] for lovers who enjoy that. Then one day I 
happened to find the shop where I work now." 

"How did that happen?" 

"One of my gentlemen took me there. I think it gave 
him an extra sexual thrill to have me with him, 
consulting me while he chose the instruments he would 
later torture me with. It certainly gave _me_ a 
thrill! It was fun playing up to him when he showed me 
the lovely whips and clamps and so on and asked me 
what I liked best - pretending to be shy but wanting 
them all so much, wanting to feel them kissing me 
..."  

"You must have had a nice evening together," I said 
softly as she paused, lost in delightful memories. 

"Oh, yes ..." She came suddenly out of her rêverie. "I 
went back to the shop often. I didn't dare go in: I 
just walked past very slowly, and tried to see inside. 
And then ..." 

"And then?" 

"One day I saw a notice saying the shop was recruiting 
staff. So I made myself go in and ask. And I got the 
job!" 

It was hardly surprising. Any sex-shop would be glad 
to employ such a pretty assistant, with her air of 
sexual promise and her personal interest in the 
products she sold. 

"That was two years ago," she continued. "And I've 
worked there ever since. And that's the story of my 
life - so far." 

The cook leant forward to tell us that our "course" 
had come to an end. One does not linger in a Japanese 
restaurant of that kind - your seats are needed for 
other customers - so I paid and we prepared to leave. 

"Would you care to come back to my apartment?" I 
suggested, "or would you rather ...?" 

I meant, of course, would she rather finish the 
evening at a "love-hotel", preferably one of the many 
establishments boasting rooms with an elaborate 
"dungeon" theme and equipped with all the latest 
ingenious instruments, where torturers and their eager 
victims can make their fantasies come true for an 
hour. But, rather to my relief, she agreed at once to 
continuing our evening at my apartment. 

"Where do you live?" she asked. 

"In Akasaka." 

"Ooh ... isn't that _very_ high-class and expensive?" 

"Oh, I don't know ..." I said vaguely, signalling to a 
taxi outside the restaurant. 

We did not kiss or caress each other in the taxi - we 
were saving that for later - but sat close together, 
hands touching, thigh against thigh. As we approached 
Akasaka I had to direct the driver, and overcome his 
conviction that, since I was obviously a _gaijin_, the 
sounds coming out of my mouth could not possibly be 
intelligible Japanese. At last we reached my block in 
its side-street, the driver flung open the back door 
with his lever, and we scrambled out. 

We stood close together in the elevator. I put my arms 
loosely round her, she stood on tiptoe, and at last we 
kissed: gently at first, and then more passionately 
with the tip of her little tongue coquettishly in my 
mouth. The doors opened at the fourth floor, and we 
kissed again, standing outside the entrance to my 
apartment, she this time welcoming and sucking my 
tongue. I opened the door at last, and guided her down 
the corridor to the living-room. 

"May I ... may I go and wash?" asked Fujiko shyly, 
after looking round the room for a few moments. 

"Of course. Upstairs." 

I followed her up the open staircase leading from the 
living-room to the upper floor of the duplex, enjoying 
of course the close-up view of her pretty legs and the 
glimpses up her microskirt of her firm bottom, nicely 
displayed by her skimpy thong or "T-back" as Japanese 
girls call it. For a second or two I recalled past 
occasions when following a girl up these stairs had 
revealed that she was thrillingly nude under her tiny 
skirt ... how difficult it always was to decide which 
of us was the more aroused by this alluring display: I 
by looking or she by being looked at. What fantastic 
fucking had followed such discoveries! Fujiko had 
chosen not to be nude from the start and would tease 
me and make me wait a little longer, I thought; she 
would expect me to take my revenge for that. It would 
be a sweet revenge which we would both enjoy. 

We entered the bedroom together and Fujiko looked 
around, noting the large bed with approval, I thought, 
as she put down her shoulder-bag. I took a towel from 
a closet and opened the bathroom door for her. She 
smiled and waited for me to leave. She knew very well 
I was half-expecting her to undress for me, but 
preferred to keep my lust on the boil a while longer. 
Clever girl, I thought; she will be looking forward to 
my imposing some especially delightful punishment for 
_that_! It had been a cane, hadn't it, with which she 
had first discovered the pleasure of pain? She would 
expect me to remember that. Not that I was likely to 
forget. 

Before she could finish in the bathroom, I went 
quickly to the secret room along the corridor next to 
the bedroom. I operated the push-button code lock on 
the door and entered just long enough to pick up a few 
instruments: canes, of course, but also switches, 
cats - and some pretty nipple-clamps. I returned to 
the living-room and arranged the little collection 
artistically on an occasional table. Then I removed my 
jacket and shirt, kicked off my shoes, and stood 
waiting for her return bare-chested and in only my 
slacks. 

At last I heard the bedroom door open and footsteps 
along the corridor. Slowly she began to descend the 
stairs towards me. At last I understood the purpose of 
her big shoulder-bag: she had changed completely. Not 
that her new outfit could have taken up much space. 
She was wearing a shiny black corset, fitted snugly 
round her waist and leaving her breasts and arse 
uncovered. A tiny matching black triangle coyly hid 
her cunt, the narrow strings tied in bows at her 
waist. She was wearing the same black high-heels as 
before and had added a tight collar and long sleeves 
or handless gloves, both complementing the glittering 
black of her corset. She had removed her neck-chain 
with its brooch and S M initials: it had done its job 
and conveyed its message clearly. In her left hand she 
was carrying a whip of plaited leather, its long lash 
neatly coiled. 

She stopped on the last step and posed for me. She was 
every sensible man's dream girl - the girl he 
fantasises about when he is awake, and hopes will come 
to him in his dreams when he is asleep. 

"Wow!" I said. "_That_ was worth waiting for!" 

She smiled demurely. 

"I'm sorry you had to wait," she said. "I promise to 
make it up to you." 

She left the stairs and was in my arms. She kissed me 
passionately, rubbing her erect nipples sensuously 
against my bare chest. Then suddenly she twisted round 
in my arms and leant back against me, letting my hands 
explore her breasts and crotch. I pretended to ask her 
permission before pulling apart the little bows of her 
tiny g-string and tossing the scrap of shiny cloth 
aside. She was still holding her whip. 

"I hope you don't mind that I brought my friend with 
me," she said, holding it up. "He's really my best 
friend just now. I _love_ what he does to me." 

"I thought you might like a cane," I said, nodding 
towards the little pile of equipment on the table. "As 
well ..." I added hastily. 

"Of _course_!" she said at once. "To remind me of when 
..." 

"When you lost your virginity?" I completed for her 
gently. "That is ... not your virginity exactly, but 
your innocence ..." 

"I will be innocent for you if you would like that," 
she said earnestly, trying to establish my fetishes so 
that we could enjoy them together. 

"Yes ... an innocent twelve-year-old schoolgirl who 
knows she wants something but hasn't yet discovered 
what ... lovely!" 

"Mm'mm. But first, my new whip. I'm _so_ in love with 
him! You won't be jealous, will you?" she added 
anxiously. 

With my left hand - the hand that was not exploring 
her pussy, with one finger deep in her liquid cunt - I 
helped her uncoil the plaited lash. It creaked as we 
bent it lightly to and fro together, and gave off a 
sensuous aroma of leather. 

"Of course, I'm sure you have other lovely things 
too," she added hastily; and then, changing the 
subject, "Do you like my corset?" 

"I love it. It looks great on you - you look great 
wearing it." 

"I'm glad. I thought a man who enjoys whipping girls 
would be stimulated by seeing a girl in a corset." 

"How do you know I enjoy whipping girls?" I asked, 
teasing her. 

"Well, of course I know the things you bought in our 
shop," she said, looking up at me seriously; "and 
sometimes I couldn't help feeling a _little_ jealous 
of the lucky girls you were planning to use them on. 
But not any more, of course, because now ..." 

"Because now?" 

"I _love_ wearing a corset," she said, changing the 
subject back again, and suddenly pulling away from me, 
"and keeping it on ... you know ... all the time. Will 
you tighten it for me, please? It's difficult for me 
..." 

"Of course. Why don't you hang onto the stair-rail 
there while I do it?" 

So she dropped the lovely whip on the couch, and stood 
with her back to me, gripping the tops of the two 
banisters at the bottom of the stairs, while I untied 
the black cord down her back and laced it more tightly 
through the metal eyelets. She let out a gasp of - 
pain? pleasure? - as I pulled the two ends hard. 

"Tight enough?" 

"Oh, no, no! Not _nearly_ enough! Much tighter than 
that!" 

I pulled till the cords cracked and the eyelets 
threatened to tear from the fabric, then knotted the 
ends together, leaving them to dangle sexily against 
her naked arse. 

"Oh!" she said, as she slowly stood upright and turned 
to face me. "That's lovely! It - feels - so _good_!" 

She breathed shallowly and could speak only in a 
whisper, in little bursts. I admired my handiwork. As 
so often when a girl is cruelly constricted by a 
corset, her breasts and bottom seemed to swell proudly 
in compensation, balancing the loveliness of her tiny 
waist. That after all is what corsets are for, to 
remodel a girl's body into something closer to 
perfection - and that is one reason why girls love 
wearing them. 

"My God, you look beautiful!" I said. 

It is usually a mistake to flatter Japanese girls: 
they are not used to it, and it confuses them. But I 
couldn't help it, looking at this ideal of sexuality. 
She looked puzzled for a moment, then recovered her 
poise. She looked down lovingly at the plaited leather 
whip lying on the couch, but did not move to pick it 
up. 

"How shall we - I mean, where -" 

Her hands were feeling her tiny waist, testing if her 
thumbs and fingers could fully encircle it. With her 
long nails, they almost could. Then they crept up to 
stroke and preen her newly prominent breasts. That 
would be a good place to start, I thought. I fished 
among the instruments I had brought from my 
torture-chamber and selected a pair of nipple-clamps 
with long, heavy, dangling decorations. 

"Let us begin," I said. 

She stood up straight, her shoulders back making her 
breasts thrust forward. Gently I attached first one 
then the other clamp to her hard nipples. She let out 
little gasps of pleasure as the spiked metal jaws bit 
lusciously into her erect flesh. The decorations swung 
sexily, their weight dragging the little barbs more 
firmly into her nipples. 

"Lovely ..." she breathed. 

I took her in my arms, carefully as if afraid I might 
break her, lowered my head and kissed her. She 
responded passionately. We looked lovingly into each 
other's eyes. 

"I think," I said, "it is time I showed you one of my 
secrets." 

"Oh, yes, please!" 

"We will go upstairs again. We'll take _him_ with 
us," I added, picking up the long black leather whip, 
"since you love him so much." 

"Thank you," she breathed. "You do have, you know, 
wrist- and ankle-cuffs, don't you? I have some with 
me, if you need them ..." 

I nodded reassuringly. How wonderful, I thought, to 
meet a girl who comes on a first date bringing with 
her a whip and a set of cuffs, just in case! But then, 
in a change of mood, she continued, 

"But don't you want me to - please you first - suck 
you - whatever you like best?" 

"Of course I do. But I can wait a little longer. And I 
don't think _you_ can! Anyway, I'm looking forward so 
much to showing you ... you know ..." 

"Oh, you are so good to me! But don't forget - as soon 
as you want me - just say - any way you like - _any_ 
way - I am your slave, remember. You made me your 
slave when you tied me into my corset." 

"I won't forget." I kissed her again. "But don't talk 
too much. I know it's difficult to breathe. Save your 
breath for screaming." 

"_Ohhh_ ..." 

She looked at me, her eyes wide with - what? Fear? 
Love? Desire? All three, probably. I could feel her 
heart beating fast against my chest as I held her. 

"Please make me scream ..." she murmured in a tiny 
whisper I could only just hear. 

I urged her up the stairs. She walked slowly, 
balancing carefully on her high heels, the decorations 
swinging prettily from her nipple-clamps. As I 
followed I resisted the temptation to stroke her 
delicious arse. That was dedicated - to begin with, at 
least - to the whip I was carrying. The whip she loved 
so much. And to all the other cruel instruments 
waiting patiently for her. At the top of the stairs I 
guided her to the door of my torture-chamber, unlocked 
it, switched on the lights, and waited, prepared to 
enjoy her delight as she took in everything that was 
ready for her. 

She examined the all-round whipping frame in the 
centre of the room and the X-frame in red-painted 
metal fixed to the back wall. Then she tripped over to 
the long table along one side, where my growing 
collection of whips and canes was laid out neatly, 
ready for action. She could not resist picking them 
up, and running them lovingly through her fingers. 

"Ohhh - this is - ohhh!" was all she could say. Then 
with an effort she turned to face me, and added: "How 
shall we start?" 

"I prefer the all-round whipping frame myself," I 
said, trying to sound casual. "It's much the best if 
you want access to all parts of the girl. Of course, 
the X-frame is very fashionable these days but then 
you have to choose whether to whip the front or the 
back, and place her accordingly." 

"Yes - yes," she breathed, moving to the centre of the 
room and standing expectantly under the overhead beam 
and between the upright poles. 

"I'm glad you agree," I said. "Now, I do of course 
have cuffs - lots of them - and I could lock you into 
a set and chain you between the floor and the overhead 
beam there, and stretch you very beautifully." 

"Oh, yes - oh, please!" 

"But I'd like you to experience something that may be 
new to you. Something I've only just obtained. It 
isn't from your shop - in fact I designed it myself 
and had it made specially." 

From a tall closet in a corner of the room I pulled 
out a long strip of polished steel. In fact it was a 
double strip, hinged at one end and folded in two. The 
strips curved outwards in the centre in two perfect 
semi-circles, making a complete circle when they were 
closed, and there was a smaller similar opening near 
each end. I opened the folded strip and showed Fujiko 
how the inner surfaces of the circles were padded with 
soft white leather. She was speechless with 
excitement. 

"The only problem is, I'll have to take off your 
collar. It's a pity, because you look very charming in 
it. But this will look even nicer, I promise you." 

I leant the metal strip - which was a metre-and-a-half 
or so long - against the table holding my whip 
collection, and gently unbuckled Fujiko's collar. She 
made no objection. Then I opened the metal strip 
again, and showed her how her neck would fit snugly in 
the centre opening, and her wrists could be held 
firmly in the smaller ones either side. She was 
already enjoying the implications of this 
imprisonment, and accepted it at once. At first the 
weight was a lot for her to carry, but I quickly 
slotted the ends of the device into the sockets 
prepared for them in the vertical poles of the 
whipping frame. I adjusted their height so that she 
was obliged to stand upright but could still plant her 
high-heels firmly on the carpet to support her weight. 

I stood back to admire my creation. She looked 
adorable, the glistening steel holding her imprisoned 
but still able to move her feet and body. The contrast 
between the hard cold steel and the soft warm flesh it 
was cradling, so gently but so firmly, ready for a 
supreme sensual experience was aesthetically very 
satisfying. Aesthetic and sexual pleasure are - for 
me, at least - inseparable, two aspects of the same 
emotion. I felt my lust rising as I examined her 
lithe, sleek, lightly tanned body, beautifully muscled 
but not over-exercised, her figure brought to 
perfection by the cruel corset, and imagined her 
swaying and writhing so beautifully under the delicate 
attentions of the lash. 

"Very nice," I said. "Look." 

I wheeled up a full-length mirror and let her enjoy 
the sight for herself. 

"You will stay there just as long as I choose you 
should stay there," I said. "Only I know the 
combination of the door-lock, and there is of course 
no way of escape." 

"Oh, yes - oh wonderful!" she breathed. 

"Soon I will start to whip you, and you will be free 
to dance under the lash. I shall enjoy watching you do 
that." 

She said nothing, but the ecstatic look on her face 
told me all I wanted to know. 

"But first ... a little extra sensation for you." 

Ignoring her protests, I unclipped the heavy clamps 
from her breasts, and massaged sensation back into the 
rock-hard nipples. I applied a little jelly to them, 
and then to her pretty clitoris: just enough to ensure 
a firm contact. Then I carefully fixed little metal 
clips to all three - not the fierce spiked ones whose 
avid bite she had been enjoying so far, but tight 
enough and with wires discreetly dangling. The wires 
led to a little control panel. I set the controls to 
supply just the merest tickle of electricity, enough 
to hint at the torture in store for her, but not 
enough to tip her prematurely into orgasm. She closed 
her eyes and her breathing became fast and shallow. 

"Does that feel good?" I asked unnecessarily. 

She said nothing. Of course it felt good. 

"Well, Fujiko darling, I think it is time to begin. 
You understand of course that there will be nothing 
you can do to make me stop. I am not torturing you to 
make you tell me something or agree to something: I am 
torturing you simply because I enjoy doing it. The 
more you scream and wriggle the more pleasure it will 
give me, and the more I will torture you. If you beg 
me to stop, I will torture you more. If you let me 
know how much you are loving it - well, I am a kind 
man who wants to see his girls happy, so I will 
torture you even harder. Do you understand?" 

"Oh, yes - I understand," she whispered. "Please - oh, 
please begin!" 

"Very well. I shall start with a beautiful cat. 
Look!" I said as I dangled the implement in front of 
her. "See how long his lashes are, and how thin. Look 
at the pretty, hard knots all along each lash, to bite 
and tickle you so nicely." 

She seemed to be saying something. I learnt close to 
her mouth. 

"Don't forget - whip ..." 

"No, I won't forget your favourite whip," I assured 
her. "He's waiting here. He will have his turn 
later." 

I moved behind her, the long cat dangling from my 
right hand, the control panel in my left. I took up 
position, my feet planted firmly apart, and raised the 
whip. Quickly I set the control panel to "random", 
assuring her a constant flow of unpredictable surges 
of electrical power to her breasts and pussy, and hung 
the control on a hook on one of the uprights of the 
frame. Simultaneously with the first burst of 
electricity, or as close to it as I could manage, I 
slashed the cat down on her arse. The lashes swung 
round her hips to pleasure her lower stomach as well. 
She let out a most agreeable scream and her firm young 
body swayed to one side, making her pretty little feet 
in their high heels skip daintily to maintain her 
balance. 

Again. And again. And again. It was one of the most 
enjoyable torture sessions I could remember. The 
dancing movements of her body in the exquisitely tight 
corset and very high heels were most elegant, her 
screams of agony were heartfelt and beautiful, and the 
cruel, hard steel holding her firmly in place was 
aesthetically most satisfying. I suppose I whipped 
steadily for about twenty minutes, then decided I 
needed a short break. Fujiko, of course, needed no 
such thing and murmured piteous complaints about my 
cruelty in bringing her down from Paradise. That 
reminded me of something. From the long table I 
brought the special gag she had sold me - and 
demonstrated and recommended so charmingly! - a few 
days before. 

"Remember this?" I said, as I held it before her face. 

Quickly I slipped the apparatus into her mouth and 
tightened the straps round her head. The clever device 
was designed to hold a girl's mouth open, making her 
helplessly unable to speak but not, like a traditional 
gag, stifling her screams or preventing her from 
receiving into her mouth anything her lover chose to 
put into it. She looked at me, her eyes pleading. 

"All right, darling, I know what you want," I said. 

I picked up her special whip - her favourite whip - 
held it before her face and let it uncoil as the long 
lash fell to the floor. I bent the plaited leather to 
and fro, making it creak sexily. I took up position 
again aiming carefully at her arse, now blushing a 
pretty pink from the loving attentions of the cat. The 
long whip sizzled round her, embracing her twice with 
its kiss of fire, and trying to encircle her a third 
time. She let out an unearthly scream from behind her 
gag. I raised the whip again and let it make love to 
her another time. And another. I noticed that she was 
no longer dancing under the whip, as she had done 
under the multiple kisses of the cat's lashes, but was 
standing firmly with her feet wide apart, every muscle 
in her beautiful legs tensed, offering herself to the 
embraces of her wonderful adorer, tempting him, 
begging him, to give her more, yet more, of his love. 
As for me, I was only the agent who brought these 
passionate lovers together. It made me feel quite 
humble. 

The whip was tireless; she was tireless; I did my best 
not to fail them. I must have lashed steadily and with 
all my strength for at least half-an-hour, working 
slowly round her as she stood firm in the whipping 
frame, letting the two of them consummate their love 
from every angle. At last I had to stop. I laid down 
the whip and adjusted the electric current to a 
lightly fluctuating trickle. This time she did not 
complain: she simply stood there in her steel bonds, 
her eyes closed, breathing quickly, still lost in some 
private heaven of orgasmic delight. 

I stripped off my trousers, pulled up a stool and sat 
in front of her, watching her and intending that the 
first object she would see on returning to earth would 
be my erect cock. It took a long time, but at last she 
opened her eyes. She could not say much with the gag 
still holding her mouth open, but the sounds that came 
from her suggested happiness. Then at last she focused 
on my erection, and expressed herself slightly more 
clearly. 

"O _ee_, eh ee!" 

It seemed a fair guess that this meant, "Oh _please_, 
let me!" I stood up. 

"Yes, of course you may, darling," I said. "I was only 
waiting till you came down at last." 

"Uh _ow_?" 

"I'll show you how," I said, standing. 

I loosened the fastenings holding the steel strip to 
the uprights of the whipping frame. The sockets in 
which it rested could move in tracks fitted to the 
uprights, and I slid them slowly downwards in unison. 
The weight pushed her down: she was crouching, 
kneeling, and at last squatting beneath it. When her 
head was at the convenient height for what I had in 
mind, I braked the sockets again and fixed them firmly 
once more. I moved my stool forward and sat down, the 
tip of my erection just millimetres away from her open 
mouth. She stuck out her tongue and subjected it to a 
whole series of pretty cat-like licks, her eyes 
telling me plainly how much she longed for me to move 
in more closely. So of course I did. 

Fujiko had of course told me that she was familiar 
with this new kind of gag, and had often worn it for 
her lovers' pleasure. So I should not have been 
surprised by her skill. The special feature of the gag 
was that it held a girl's mouth open wide enough to 
receive her lover's cock, but prevented her lips from 
making contact. She could pleasure him only with her 
tongue; which when performed by a clever girl like 
Fujiko is a lovely experience and one which takes a 
very long time to reach a climax. A man who likes to 
take his time over coming would be well advised to 
invest in this gag - and in a girl who enjoys wearing 
it and knows how to make the most of it. And of course 
in this case the steel restraint in which I had placed 
Fujiko meant that she could not use her hands to 
stroke me, and that her head was held absolutely 
still. She could use nothing but her tongue. 

And how she used it! In the course of many years of 
coming in Japanese girls' mouths I can honestly say I 
have never been pleasured by such a clever little 
tongue. It took, I saw afterwards, nearly an hour for 
her to bring me to climax but it was an hour of the 
purest pleasure. Again and again she took me almost 
there, then changed her technique to drag me back 
again, till I was begging her to let me come - _not_ 
to let me come - just like a girl imploring her lover 
simultaneously to whip her harder and to spare her. It 
was strange, but she, a completely helpless prisoner, 
cruelly corseted, held immobile in steel bondage 
equipment, entirely at my mercy, was teasing and 
tormenting me while I begged her to let me come! 

At last she did, and I exploded into her open mouth 
and throat. She did her best to swallow the cum, but 
some dribbled sexily onto her crouching body. As soon 
as I was capable of moving again, I leant forward and 
tenderly removed her gag and the straps holding it. 
She closed her mouth and swallowed the remaining cum; 
then opened it again to thank me with charming 
submission for all I had done to her. I released her 
from the steel collar and helped her to her feet; then 
unclipped the electrical contacts. I handed her damp 
cloths and invited her to clean herself. 

"Oh, that was so wonderful!" she said as she wiped the 
spilt cum from her breasts. "Thank you, _thank_ you!" 

"I enjoyed whipping you," I said. "Your body is so 
firm ... the whip sort of bounces off you, in the most 
attractive way. And you sucked me - well, licked me - 
beautifully." 

She looked at me with a provocative smile. 

"What shall we do next?" she asked. 

"Haven't you had enough?" 

"Don't be silly! Can I have my collar again?" 

I fixed the shiny black collar tightly round her 
throat. 

"And the lovely nipple-clamps?" 

"I think I can do better than that." 

From one of the drawers in the side-table I produced a 
pair of silver discs, designed to fit snugly over the 
nipples and with a mechanism which could be turned to 
clamp them agonisingly enough to satisfy the most 
extreme pain addict. I span the discs to roughly the 
medium setting and was rewarded with a charming gasp 
of pleasure. Her hands flew to her breasts and began 
to explore the little tormentors' delightful 
possibilities. 

"Let's go back into the living-room," I suggested, 
once she had finished pleasuring herself - for the 
moment. 

"Yes, all right - can I keep my corset on?" 

"Of course! It suits you beautifully." 

"I think ... it just might be possible ... to tighten 
it a little ... after a while, I adapt to it ... and 
then, it can be tighter. Even tighter." 

"Go and stand by the stairs again and I'll see what I 
can do." 

Back in the living-room, I was able to tighten the 
corset a little more; then, as she still stood with 
her back to me gripping the banisters, I swished a 
short cat of broad leather straps - one of the 
instruments I had earlier selected from the 
torture-chamber - lazily over her arse, just tickling 
her and making sure her masochistic sensuality was 
kept on the boil. 

"More - harder - please!" she begged. 

I looked at her thoughtfully. 

"Yes, Fujiko-chan," I said, "you've been a good girl 
and deserve your reward." 

Her hands flew to her face and she looked at me, her 
eyes wide with surprise. 

"Oh, yes, _sensei_! Thank you, _sensei_!" she said. 
"But where ...?" 

I walked across to the dining area and brought over 
one of the upright chairs, placing it for her in the 
centre of the room. Then I selected a cane from my 
little pile of instruments. I stood before her, 
swishing it to and fro. 

"Lean over the back of the chair," I ordered her. 

"Yes, _sensei_. At once." 

When we were both ready, I let the cane sizzle down 
onto her pretty arse. She squealed, wriggled, then 
braced herself for more. Again and again I traced 
pretty red lines across her bottom while she gasped, 
thanked me incoherently and begged for more. After 
about thirty strokes I stopped. Slowly she 
straightened up, turned to face me, and bowed 
respectfully. 

"Thank you, _sensei_," she said at last. "You are so 
good to me."[6] 

"That's enough for now," I said. "I want to thank you 
for sucking me so nicely up there." 

I gestured towards the torture-chamber. Her mood 
changed at once: now she was the mature, 
self-confident young woman again. 

"Yes? What do you want to do?" 

"I want to suck you in return. I'll lie on my back and 
you sit on my face." 

"Ooh, yes! Lovely!" 

I took my time, as she had done with me: probing her 
juicy cunt with my tongue, my lips passionately 
kissing hers, my teeth teasing her enchanting 
clitoris, while her delicious juice poured into my 
mouth and my hands, gripping her tiny corseted waist, 
adjusted her position as I explored and adored every 
fold and fragrant petal of her pussy. I could hear her 
crying with delight, and as I looked up her body could 
see her fingers stimulating her desire further by 
twisting the discs on her breasts, click by click, to 
ever higher levels of ecstatic agony. She came at 
last, with great shrieks of joy; but I was not willing 
to let her finish so quickly and continued my worship 
of her cunt. Only when she had screamed and shuddered 
in orgasm for the third time did I gradually release 
her waist. 

At once she moved smoothly down my body till she was 
squatting with her cunt exactly over my erect cock. 
Slowly, making us both wait for it, she lowered her 
hips and impaled herself on my shaft. Having taken 
command of me, she led me towards orgasm: like the 
rest of her, her cunt-muscles were firm and 
well-trained and I found myself yelping with pleasure 
as they rippled up and down my cock. At the last 
possible moment she pulled away, slithered further 
down my body and seized my erection in her mouth. 

When at last I became conscious again, she was curled 
up happily beside me, licking her lips and letting her 
tongue and throat play with the rich mixture of 
saliva, cunt-juice and cum which she had licked and 
sucked from me. 

== 

"I'm so sorry," she said, as she rejoined me in the 
living-room, bathed, fresh and in her street clothes 
with her bag over her shoulder, "you gave me such a 
lovely time, and you only came twice!" 

"Don't worry! They were both really good fucks." 

"Well, next time ... that is, if you want to see me 
again." 

"Of course!" 

"Oh, I'm so glad! You will promise to do it all to me 
again, won't you? And ... we're expecting a delivery 
at the shop on Monday ... there may be some things - 
you know, lovely new things you could use on me ..." 

She was looking up at me, pleading with me, begging me 
so charmingly to subject her to the cruellest and most 
agonising sexual treatment the ingenuity of the sex 
industry could devise. How could I possibly refuse? 

"Of course I will, as much as you like. I'll really 
enjoy it. And I was thinking, perhaps some time I 
should invite a few friends ... or better still, take 
you to a party. You know, a party for friends who 
enjoy whipping and torturing girls while the others 
watch, just like I do ..." 

"Ooh! So I'd be bound and ... and whipped by several 
men at once ... in _public_?" 

"Yes. Well, not quite in public, but at a private 
party at least, with people watching and taking part. 
That's what I thought you might ..." 

"Lovely! Oh, yes _please_! Perhaps you could force me 
..." 

"How do you mean?" 

"Well, if your friends didn't know ... that I love it 
so much ... if you didn't tell them ... then you could 
all rape me and force me, and I could scream and beg 
for mercy - wouldn't that be fun?" 

Her girlish excitement at the thought of all the 
beautiful things we might do to her was charming. 

"You know," I said, "most of the girls I know are 
desperately keen to get a start acting in sex videos. 
Have you never wanted to do that?" 

She thought for a moment. 

"No, not really," she said at last. "Of course I love 
sex videos, especially the ones showing, you know, the 
things I like best; and I can always borrow them from 
the shop and watch them at home, and get lovely ideas 
about new things I could ask my lovers to do to me 
..." 

"But you've never thought of acting in videos 
yourself?" 

"No, never seriously. Apart from, you know, fantasies 
about doing it before an audience. I'm happy working 
in the shop. I learn about all the latest equipment 
and techniques - and the gentlemen I meet are 
interested in the same things as I am, or they 
wouldn't come there!" 

She was silent for a moment; then began to reach into 
her blouse and bra. 

"I must give you these back." 

"No, no. Please keep them. I can see how you 
appreciate them. Till next time." 

"Thank you. I'll wear them always. They'll remind me 
of you, and how very good you were to me. And how 
clever and how cruel!" she added with a coquettish 
little smile. "I'll _never_ forget what a wonderful 
time I had in your lovely torture-chamber." 

"I'll take you to the street and find you a taxi." 

One soon stopped for us. Fujiko stood on tiptoe and 
kissed me. Then she tripped demurely off on her heels 
to the waiting taxi. Only I knew that under her crisp 
white blouse and lacy bra a pair of ingenious 
instruments of torture were sending waves of agony 
through her, keeping her constantly on the brink of 
that masochistic release which her highly developed 
sensuality demanded. 

Of course we met again - frequently. Most of the girls 
who come to me do not stay with me long: they want 
help in achieving their dreams of becoming successful 
porn actresses or the mistresses of wealthy men with 
rather special sexual interests. When I have taught 
them what I can, they move on. But Fujiko is 
different. She is happy in her routine job, so long as 
every evening she can enjoy the sexual pleasures which 
she craves. She adores what I do to her, and I adore 
doing it to her: and she is fun to be with during our 
occasional moments between sexual activity. The total 
compatibility of our desires has given us both great 
happiness in the many hours we have spent together. 

"Darling," she will say, "this is a new piece of 
equipment that has just come into our shop - isn't it 
_beautiful_? Don't you think it will be wonderfully 
painful and thrilling? Please, darling, do it to me!" 

Oh, I _do_ love Japanese girls - especially Fujiko! 


FOOTNOTES

[3] One nice thing about going with a girl much 
shorter than yourself is that, whether standing or 
sitting, you are well placed to look down the front of 
her dress as much as you want. 

[4] "Race queens", sometimes called "booth girls", are 
pretty girls employed under contract to wear 
delightfully abbreviated uniforms and to staff company 
stands at trade fairs and the like. The practice first 
started at motor-racing events, hence the name; but 
the girls are now a universal, and very agreeable, 
feature of Japanese commercial promotions of all 
kinds. While the uniforms they wear still just about 
cover them enough to let them appear in public without 
causing scandal, competition between their employers 
has encouraged the design of ever more provocative 
styles, and many new stars of the sex industry first 
caught the eye of a porn promoter while working as 
race queens. 

[5] "Cosplay" is simply an abbreviation for "costume 
play", the technique by which a Japanese girl 
identifies her lover's favourite fetish, and then 
sweetly embodies it, and tickles his lust for her, by 
beginning a fuck session dressed up for him in the 
appropriate fantasy costume: a flight attendant, 
nurse, race queen, chambermaid and so on. A variety of 
cosplay is when girls dress up as cartoon characters, 
helping their lovers to fulfil their fantasies of 
fucking the provocative little sub-teen figures dreamt 
up by the Japanese _manga_, gaming and advertising 
industries. Not to mention their own fantasies of 
being cartoon figures themselves! 

[6] You may perhaps remember that Mr Otani, Megumi 
Kato's husband and Head of the studio where she is a 
star, won her heart by re-enacting the moment when, as 
a young schoolgirl, she had first been beaten by the 
teacher she worshipped: see the second volume of her 
memoirs, All I Ever Wanted, Chapter II. One of the 
nicest things you can do for a girl you delight in is 
to establish what early experience moulded her young, 
unformed sexuality into graceful shape and gave it the 
kinks and fetishes which you so love. The exquisite 
masochism of a lovely Japanese girl didn't come 
naturally: some seminal early experience set her 
sensuality irrevocably on the right course. Very 
occasionally, repeat and reinforce that experience for 
her in some elaborate role-play: it's great fun, and 
the results can be spectacularly rewarding. 


[Next in Part 03: Fujiko: The Present] 

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

