ALL I EVER WANTED 02

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

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

CHAPTER II

A Night of Love

I finished my lunch quickly, murmured excuses to my 
colleagues, and fled back to Matsumoto-san's temporary 
costume department. After some quick repairs to my 
appearance, and another fruitless attempt to discover 
how she was planning to dress me for Mr Otani's 
pleasure that evening, I was back on set. There I 
obediently offered myself to the coolly appraising eye 
of the camera, showing myself off, and encouraging 
Harrison's exploring hands, in every way possible. 

Even the most determined, and affronted, Director, and 
even the most perfectionist cameraman, are satisfied 
in the end, and at last I was free to get out of 
costume and prepare for what the evening had to offer. 
In the shower I pulled the hand unit off its hook, 
twisted the setting to the sharpest needle spray it 
could manage, and directed it against my 
over-stimulated but deeply frustrated cunt. But before 
it could bring me the relief I longed for I remembered 
that I had promised myself something even better that 
evening. I switched the shower off, and clung for long 
moments to the plumbing while I got myself under 
control. Normally I take my pleasures where I find 
them, as the wise Frenchman advised. They are like 
money in the bank. No one can take an orgasm away from 
you when you have enjoyed it: and, personally, I am 
always ready for the next at once. But tonight I was 
reserving myself strictly for Mr Otani; and, whatever 
it cost me, I was determined to build up my desire to 
the highest possible level of frustration. I wanted to 
greet him with my mind and body consumed with 
limitless lust. That would be my perfect gift to him, 
my contribution to an evening of endless mutual 
pleasure. 

It suddenly occurred to me, as I stood in the shower 
struggling to resist the temptation to masturbate, 
that I was behaving like a girl I had known at high 
school who kept on saying she wanted to preserve her 
virginity for her husband to take on her 
wedding-night. Well, that wasn't quite the way she put 
it, and she was one of Japan's tiny minority of 
Christians, so she was peculiar anyway. My friends and 
I used to agree, as we left her behind and went off 
for an evening's fun, that chastity must be the most 
unnatural of all sexual perversions. And of course, I 
now suddenly realised, there is no point in a sexual 
perversion if you don't enjoy it. Well, I could find 
pleasure in the perversion of sexual restraint, 
knowing I would be rewarded a few hours later, when I 
had the joy of presenting myself to Mr Otani wild with 
desire for anything his hands, whips, cock and mouth 
could do to me. 

Clean, fresh, lightly perfumed, nude and profoundly 
unsatisfied, I stood before Matsumoto-san while she 
dressed me for my lover's pleasure. As usual, she 
started with the shoes: silver sandals with very high 
heels which stressed the pretty curve of my feet and 
the length of my slim, shapely legs. Sexy shoes like 
these had always been a success with Mr Otani. For my 
dress, she recommended a two-piece outfit: above, a 
black satin bustier, which just covered and discreetly 
uplifted my breasts, while giving me an exciting 
feeling of breathlessness as it tightly squeezed my 
little waist; and below a wrap-round skirt in a soft, 
flirty, dark-red material, the colour emphasising the 
pale ivory of my smooth skin. The skirt was well above 
my knees, even if still a little longer down my thighs 
than I usually liked to wear; and the slit on the 
right, where the two frilly edges met and parted, met 
again and parted again as I moved, offered exciting 
glimpses of my nakedness below the waist. Nonetheless 
I was not entirely happy with it. 

"It's lovely, Matsumoto-san," I said, "but did you 
really mean the slit to be on my right thigh? Surely 
that means, if he wants to fondle me under the table, 
he'll have to use his _left_ hand? I don’t think he'll 
like that ..." 

"Honestly, dearie, do use your head," said 
Matsumoto-san. "He's likely to want to dance with you, 
isn't he? That's when you’ll need the slit up your 
right thigh." 

I thought it through for a moment, imagining his right 
hand holding me firmly against him, his left free to 
roam ... She was right of course. 

Experience had taught me that Mr Otani, like many men, 
had a special fetish about gloves, so I added a long 
tight pair, in shiny silver to match my shoes. Soon I 
would, I hoped, be standing before him wearing nothing 
else. The colour co-ordination of gloves and shoes 
should please him - and stimulate his imagination. But 
as I thought how I would display myself, I realised 
one thing was still missing. 

"You must give me a pair of panties," I said firmly. 

"Don't be silly, dearie, this is the _last_ occasion a 
girl wants to wear any underwear." 

"But don't you _remember_, Matsumoto-san," I begged, 
"I told you how we _always_ play a little game 
together - about my first sexual experience ..." 

"Oh, with your _sensei_, yes, of course ..." 

"Remembering how my school-teacher spanked me when I 
was twelve, and I thought that was what the older 
girls meant by sex, and had my first orgasm ..." 

"So he wants to look at you showing off your virgin 
arse in a naughty little pair of panties, does he, 
while he takes careful aim with his cane? Let me see, 
now ..." 

From one of her closets she passed me an outrageously 
provocative little scrap of silvery, almost 
transparent material. It would have to do. I folded it 
into my purse, along with essential make-up items and 
something else which went everywhere with me. 

It was a little red velvet wallet on the front of 
which I had embroidered my roman-script initials, MK, 
containing a pair of silver metal discs only two or 
three centimetres across. They had been Mr Otani's 
special gift to me the morning after our first long 
night together. Side by side in the velvet case, they 
could have been taken for an old-fashioned powder 
compact. But apart, ohh, they fitted so beautifully 
onto my erect nipples, and then when I twisted the 
clamps tighter, and tighter, and tighter ... the 
delicious agony of their bite on my eager young 
breasts - I could lie for hours, masturbating my cunt 
and clitoris, the pain and the pleasure coming 
together like a completed electric circuit, while I 
dreamt of his loving hands pleasuring and tormenting 
my yearning body ... 

But tonight, until I could offer myself to my lover 
and submit to whatever he had planned for me, I was 
determined to give myself no artificial aids to 
satisfaction and relief, neither the caressing tickle 
of the hand-shower nor the loving bite of the 
nipple-clamps. I wanted him to receive me frantic with 
desire. I kissed Matsumoto-san good-bye, and promised 
to visit her the next morning with an unexpurgated 
account of the evening's activity. Sexually aroused 
and frustrated, both almost beyond endurance, my hands 
firmly by my sides, I waited for my lover's 
chauffeur-driven car to carry me off to a night of 
fulfilment. 

Marucho's PR department had decided that the producer 
and star of their new video having dinner together in 
a fashionable San Francisco restaurant was an 
opportunity too good to miss. There were photographers 
present to record our arrival, and again as we took 
possession of our table. I recognised one of them as a 
Marucho employee. Our PR girl was also busily 
explaining to other customers who we were and why we 
mattered so much. Then at last we were alone together, 
disturbed only by a waiter telling us, with all the 
sincerity he had learnt at drama school, how he could 
really, _really_ recommend tonight's special of fillet 
steak with mangosteen and macadamia nut sauce. 

As I slid along the bench seat behind our table I 
contrived to make my skirt fall open so that Mr Otani 
could stroke me if he wished. My skin quivered with 
excitement as I remembered our first encounter almost 
a year ago on my eighteenth birthday: how his hand had 
caressed me, had crept up between my delightedly open 
thighs, up even beyond the hem of the provocatively 
tiny skirt I was wearing, till at last his fingertips 
could brush the dew from the petals of my eager young 
cunt. To my disappointment he was more restrained this 
evening, though I felt his hand on me as he discussed 
my scenes in the video. I still had two big ones to 
do: the orgy which would be filmed in the San 
Francisco mansion the day after tomorrow, and the 
punishment scene for which we would use the usual 
torture-chamber set which could be erected in 
Marucho's Tokyo studio. 

I cannot remember what I ate: something light and easy 
to digest, no doubt, as I normally did when I expected 
a sexually active evening. We spoke of more personal 
things. How long had it been since we had last met, he 
asked - a couple of months? 

"Seven weeks and four days," I replied at once. 

"You are exact!" he said with a laugh. "Anyone would 
think you'd been locked in a nunnery all that time." 

"Well, it's true I get plenty of good fucking even 
when you've not around. And whipping too, of course. 
But you know how I long for our sessions together." 

"Really?" He smiled down at me, teasing me, teasing 
himself as he glanced down the front of my dress. 

"And when I miss you badly, I play with your present - 
and remember." 

"Have you got them on now? I can't quite see." 

It was typical of him not to pretend he did not know 
what I meant. I leant forward a little, trying to make 
it seem innocent, so he could have a better view of my 
breasts. 

"No, for two reasons. First, because I have already 
been aroused beyond endurance by what I've been put 
through today on set." 

"And the second reason?" 

"Because I'm about to get the real thing. Hours and 
hours of it, I hope. From the man who knows how to do 
it best. How to hurt me the way I love ..." 

He slid his hand higher up my thigh, almost to my 
crotch - but not quite. He signalled to the waiter 
with dramatic ambitions. 

"Well, if you don't insist on having coffee, shall we 
go back to the hotel now?" 

Mr Otani paid the check, and gave the budding actor a 
larger tip than his performance deserved. I was too 
excited to feel regret that he had for once not chosen 
a restaurant where we could dance. He put his arm 
lightly round my waist as other diners looked 
appreciatively at me on our way out. 

"I've just bought a new whip," he murmured in my ear. 
"I'm so looking forward to trying it out on you." 

I blushed and looked up at him adoringly. Those 
watching us probably thought he was telling me how 
much he loved me. In a way, he was. 

His driver had the car outside the entrance the moment 
we emerged. 

He took me in his arms as soon as we were safely 
inside the drawing-room of his penthouse suite in the 
hotel where I was also, but less glamorously, 
accommodated. Our tongues fought with each other 
until, as usual, I gave way and let him explore the 
inside of my mouth, his hands gently stroking my back 
and bottom. At last I pulled my head away and pressed 
my body hard against his, clearly aware of his 
erection through his trousers. 

"Hold me tight," I said. "I need it so much." 

At last he let me go, tore off his jacket and shirt, 
and kicked off his shoes. He was now bare-chested, 
wearing only slacks. He watched me as, with less 
haste, I pulled apart my wrap-round skirt and let it 
fall to the floor. Now I was naked below the waist, 
but my breasts were still imprisoned by the tight 
black bustier. I slowly turned away from him, then 
looked longingly back over my shoulder. 

"Please make me naked," I said. 

Step by step his hands slowly unhooked the top part of 
my dress, tossing it aside at last to join the rest of 
our clothing. I was now the way I knew he liked me 
best, nude apart from my long silver gloves, my tall, 
slender high-heels forcing me onto tiptoes and 
emphasising my willing submission. Quickly I pinned up 
my long black hair. For a moment which seemed to last 
for ever he looked at me, his erection becoming more 
and more obvious. 

"Shall we begin with the cat?" 

"Oh, please!" I whispered, barely able to speak. 

The cat-o'-nine-tails is not as painful as the other 
instruments I was looking forward to feeling on my 
body that evening, nor does it leave serious marks - 
at least not as used on me by Mr Otani. He prefers a 
simple cat with slender, soft leather lashes, and 
without knots. But as any girl who has tried it knows, 
the joy of the cat is its randomness: no man, however 
expert at whipping, can control exactly where its nine 
claws will strike. 

Mr Otani fetched the instrument from a drawer and I 
took up my favourite position for receiving the whip: 
feet apart, hands behind my head to keep my arms out 
of the way, completely unrestrained - unbound, 
ungagged, eyes open and my submission to my master's 
cruelty willing, eager and voluntary. I heard a sexy 
rustling sound as Mr Otani shook out the leather 
lashes of the cat before starting. At first he just 
flicked the whip lazily over my body, tickling and 
teasing me. But then I heard him take a deep breath, 
and he began to send the long strands of leather 
whistling fiercely round my hips. I soon picked up the 
rhythm of the strokes, and unconsciously began to push 
my arse back into the tumbling lashes, longing for 
their loving touch. Even with my experience, and all 
my passion for the whip, it takes a few strokes each 
time until I begin to perceive the pain as pleasure. 
It is an introductory moment I have come to look 
forward to, now that I have trained myself to enjoy 
pure pain for its own sake, not just as a trigger for 
sexual joy. Sometimes I ask my lover to stop for a few 
moments, to spin out the preliminaries, to let me 
relish the pain before it inevitably turns to 
pleasure. But today I had been so thoroughly worked up 
already that the pleasure and relief came almost at 
once. As the cat's nine stinging lashes danced 
deliciously round my delighted body, I could feel the 
long-delayed orgasm begin to build. Too soon! 

"Stop, please! Oh, stop!" I begged. 

"Megumi, I never heard you say that before. Is 
anything wrong?" 

"Oh, take me! Take me now - in my cunt! Please! I 
can't wait any longer! I beg you! You can do anything 
to me you like afterwards. But I must have my cunt 
fucked first!" 

Mr Otani threw the cat aside, unfastened his belt and 
kicked off his trousers, and carried me into the 
bedroom. The big bed had already been stripped for 
action, and he dropped me onto it, still in my 
high-heels and gloves. As he lay over me I felt his 
strong arms lift me from the sheet, taking our 
combined weight on his knees and elbows. I could feel 
my body melting into his. My cunt was so soaked with 
my own lust he hardly needed lubrication, and he 
sensed anyway that in my present mood I yearned to be 
violated. As his splendidly hard cock began to tear 
into me, my orgasm came at last. He rode me hard for 
several minutes while I screamed and sobbed my 
satisfaction and relief, my gloved fingers digging 
into his strong back and arse, pulling him into me as 
deeply as I could. 

At last it was over, and I lay on the bed exhausted 
and - for the moment - fulfilled. I must have drifted 
into a doze for a few seconds because when I opened my 
eyes again I was alone, conscious at once that the 
thick blend of his creamy cum and the nectar of my own 
cunt was beginning to drip onto the sheet. I ran to 
the bathroom. When, cleaned and refreshed, I returned 
to drawing-room I found Mr Otani there, still naked, a 
long flexible whip of plaited leather held curled in 
his hands. I put my arms round his waist from behind. 

"Is that the new one?" I asked. 

"Yes, my dear," he said, "I think the cat will hardly 
satisfy you tonight, and you might like something a 
little stronger now." 

"Oh, yes ... yes please," I whispered, my throat dry 
with excitement, "it's beautiful. May I touch it?" 

He gave it to me to hold, and I enjoyed its 
flexibility, the wicked creak of the plaited thongs as 
I bent them, and the sensuous smell of new leather. I 
yearned to feel it whistling round me with all Mr 
Otani's strength. I passed the beautiful length of it 
between my legs, and made the polished leather kiss my 
clitoris and pussy. It was a demeaning thing to make 
the cruel proud lash do, but it would soon have its 
revenge. How we both longed for it, my beautiful whip 
and I! You will think it sentimental of me, but for me 
every instrument that has pleasured me has a life and 
personality of its own; and I knew this type very 
well. When my first real lover had shown me a Marucho 
video of their lead star, Mie Takahashi, being whipped 
we had immediately gone out together and bought just 
such a whip so that I could learn for myself what it 
felt like, snaking wickedly round my trembling eager 
body. It had been my favourite companion for months. 
Every evening my lover had delighted me with it; every 
night I had dreamt of its embrace ... 

"But please, sir," I added, "forgive me for stopping 
you just now. You know I adore being whipped by you. 
And the cat is so good. But I needed a fuck so 
desperately ..." 

"Don't worry, Megumi. So did I. I've never known you 
so aroused." 

"Thank you, sir. You are so good to me. Now please 
punish me. Show me no mercy. I am your helpless 
victim. Torment me till I beg you to stop." 

"Ah, no, Megumi," he laughed, "I'm not falling for 
that trick again! I know you are insatiable. You'll 
still be as fresh as a morning rose, calling for more 
when I'm just an exhausted heap on the floor." 

"Surely, sir, you are much stronger than I am." 

"Your strength, darling Megumi, is your endurance. 
That is why I love you so much. Your endurance puts 
you in control. It makes me do what you want. And you 
could wear out a dozen men whipping you, and then wear 
them out again in bed, and then still be unsatisfied." 

I thought about what he had said. It was rather 
complicated; but the one thing that emerged was that 
he had said he loved me. I stored that away to think 
over later. Then I turned to more immediate pleasures. 
The sight of the beautiful new whip had reminded me of 
a wonderful night when I had known something like a 
mystical, out-of-body experience while a _gaijin_ 
lover, Bob Williams, had tortured me endlessly and 
sadistically with another whip of the same type. The 
occasion had been even more ecstatic because he had 
first bound me helplessly. 

"If you don't mind, sir," I said, "I think I would 
like to be bound for this whipping." 

As soon as I had said it, I feared I was only making 
difficulties. The suite, obviously, contained no 
whipping post and none of the fixed shackles to which 
a Marucho heroine - often I - would be tied, 
struggling desperately, as she was prepared for her 
first experience of sadistic torture before the coolly 
appraising eye of the camera and for the later 
pleasure of her admirers. But the hotel designer, 
clearly a post-Modernist, had arranged two classical 
floor-to-ceiling pillars in front of the main window 
of the suite's drawing-room. The kit with which Mr 
Otani travelled included wrist- and ankle-cuffs and 
some ropes, so it would be easy enough to spread-eagle 
me between the pillars. 

"Just a moment," he said, as he was adjusting the 
cuffs to fit comfortably, "have you brought your 
clamps?" 

"Of course!" I said, as I skipped over to where I had 
left my purse. "I told you I never go anywhere without 
them." 

I showed him the little embroidered wallet of red 
velvet which I had made to hold them. I slid the 
silver discs out of their container and kissed them 
before handing them to him. He took them, laid them 
aside for the moment, checked my cuffs and tied me 
firmly to the pillars. I was stretched tautly, facing 
the curtained window, legs wide apart, arms almost 
horizontal. 

"May I?" Mr Otani said. 

I felt his loving hands stroke and twist my already 
aroused nipples to their maximum possible erection, 
then slip the silver discs over them. At first they 
pinched just enough to keep in position; then I felt 
his fingers gently increase the pressure, one by one, 
step by step, till I was gasping at the pain of the 
clamps' maximum bite. It was as if my sexuality was 
being renewed from the very start: the day's 
frustration had been washed away by his splendid 
fucking of my cunt and I felt like a fresh young girl, 
being introduced for the first time to the delight and 
agony of sex by an expert lover. I heard him pick up 
the whip. 

"Shall we begin, my darling?" he asked. 

"May we ... may I have the curtains open?" I asked 
submissively. 

"Of course! What a lovely idea!" 

It was unlikely that any other resident of San 
Francisco would be attracted by the light from this 
room at the top of one of the city's highest hotel 
buildings to be spectator of the sadistic scene we 
were about to enact, but it added to my pleasure to be 
able to imagine that, just possibly, someone might. 

"As I told you," Mr Otani was saying, "it's a new 
whip. The leather is stiff and hasn't been broken in 
yet. I shall enjoy using it for the first time on you. 
And I think you will enjoy the extra pain." 

At last my naked body shuddered under the first bite 
of the plaited leather lash as it curled round me, its 
tip agonisingly flicking my lower stomach just above 
the springy, neatly trimmed curls of pubic hair. 
Again. And again. I tried to recall what it had felt 
like the first time I had experienced this miracle. 
The warm tide of lust began to rise in me as it had 
then, and so many times since. I moaned and, almost 
soundlessly, begged Mr Otani to whip me yet harder ... 
between my legs ... round my prettily decorated 
breasts ... 

I felt the juice gather in my gasping cunt and, 
unharvested, begin to drip thickly down my inner 
thighs. He was right, of course. I could never tell 
him I had had enough of this wonderful torment. Whish. 
Whish. Round my arse; round my waist; round my thighs, 
breaking the slow, tickling flow of cunt-juice; 
occasionally achieving the ultimate pleasure as the 
tip cracked viciously against my clitoris. 

"Harder, sir, please harder ... oh my darling, hurt me 
more - much, _much_ more than that ... ohh, it's so 
good ... harder still ... oh, let it last for ever ..." 

By now my lover, my God was putting his full strength 
into the whipping, the lash crackling round me, 
dragging its adoring victim with it to Paradise. 
Firmly tied to the pillars, I could not now lean 
eagerly into the blows, as I had done when he used the 
cat: at best I could tremble like a fly caught in a 
spider's web. Oh, I did so hope people outside the 
window over San Francisco were, somehow, watching me 
in my agony, and enjoying it as much as I was! For a 
few moments I began to experience the sensation of 
seeing myself as they could, submissively hanging in 
my ropes, head held proudly high, worshipping my 
divine lover and his fierce caresses. This was what it 
must be like to be loved by a God: to be consumed in 
the fire of his passion. 

If only it would never end! But Mr Otani was right 
again that it could not last for ever. All too soon, 
despite my anguished pleas, I heard him throw aside 
the lovely lash and declare himself defeated by my 
insatiable endurance. 

"Now, Megumi love, it's _your_ turn to torment _me_," 
he said as he freed me from the ropes, unlocked the 
cuffs from my wrists and ankles and - despite my 
protests - removed my pretty silver clamps. I massaged 
my nipples gently, enjoying the tingle as their 
sensation returned to normal. 

I had to think carefully what he might mean by what he 
had just said. In our earlier sessions he had meant 
only that he wanted me to suck his cock with agonising 
slowness, postponing his orgasm for as long as I knew 
how. But recently I had, just once, persuaded him to 
let me give him a taste of the whip himself, so that 
even under my inexpert hands he could feel something 
of the ecstasy I received from these lovely, supple 
instruments of torment. Hesitatingly, I picked up the 
cat-o'-nine-tails from where he had dropped it and ran 
the lashes slowly through my fingers, leaving it to 
him to take the hint or, if he chose, assume I was 
just reliving my earlier experience. Suddenly he 
grabbed me by my free hand and pulled me into the 
bedroom. 

"I need a mirror for this!" he said, as he positioned 
himself as I had done earlier, hands out of the way 
behind his head, feet apart, watching himself in the 
long mirror by the closet as he waited for me to whip 
him, to return something of all that he had done for 
me. 

Of course with my little strength I could hardly do 
more than tickle his body with the cat-o'-nine-tails, 
and I feared I would only irritate him. But as I 
applied the lashes as best I could to his arse and 
back, I could see in the mirror how his cock was 
coming erect, jerking outwards bit by bit with each 
blow. Yes, he was enjoying this! He stood a while 
longer, eyes shut, his erection now straining towards 
his double in the big mirror. Suddenly he broke away 
from me and threw himself backwards onto the bed, his 
legs dangling over the edge. 

I knew what he wanted now. Dropping the cat, I knelt 
on the carpet before him and prepared to take his 
beautiful erection into my mouth. He had made me work 
for it, and I was determined to make it last. I 
started on the head, holding it firmly between my lips 
as I flicked round the sensitive underside and played 
with the tip, pretending to want to enter the little 
hole with the very end of my tongue. In my own time, I 
let him enter my mouth more deeply, one silver-gloved 
hand weighing and tickling his heavy balls while two 
fingers of the other lightly held his cock at the 
root, ready to squeeze if ever he seemed about to come 
before I was ready for him. At last I opened my throat 
and swallowed him whole, my throat muscles increasing 
his pleasure, gripping his shaft in unpredictable 
spasms - just as my arse muscles would later flirt 
coquettishly with him, pretending to refuse while 
actually drawing him deep into my tight passage. He 
begged me incoherently to let him come, but I was not 
ready yet, holding his passion back repeatedly with my 
fingers. In and out of my throat he had to thrust, my 
flickering tongue and firm lips driving him to mad 
frustration, before I took pity on him and received 
his cargo of creamy, salty cum deep into my throat. 

When at last the spasms of ejaculation were over, I 
sucked him dry, and finally released him as he began 
to shrink and soften. I scrambled up onto the bed and 
we lay in each other’s arms, as he told me how 
wonderful I was and I licked my lips and swallowed the 
last taste of his cum. 

I had dozed off when I was suddenly recalled to 
reality by his voice calling to me. At first I wasn't 
sure where I was: then the stern tone told me that we 
were entering the final phase of our session together, 
in which I was permitted to re-enact with him the 
formative moment of my sexual awakening. 

"Yes, _sensei_," I replied. 

"Come here immediately, Megumi. I want to see you." 

"Yes, _sensei_, at once. I am coming," I called 
submissively, and ran quickly into the drawing-room. 

I had to get ready fast, or I would displease him 
further. Where was my purse? I stripped off the long 
silver gloves, and hunted for the panties with which 
Matsumoto-san had equipped me. They were absurdly 
provocative: the merest whisper of transparent 
material just fitting over my neatly trimmed patch of 
pubic hair, held in place by almost invisible silken 
threads tied round my waist and buried deep in the 
crack of my arse. Twelve years old again, I stood 
before my idol, eyes respectfully lowered, face red 
with shame and excitement. He told me to turn round 
slowly. When I was facing him again, he said: 

"Megumi, you are not wearing official school 
knickers." 

"I know, _sensei_. I am very sorry." 

"Why have you disobeyed me again?" 

"I am sorry, _sensei_. I am a bad girl." 

"What do you deserve for your disobedience?" 

"I deserve to be severely beaten, _sensei_." 

"Come over here, then." 

Obediently I followed him, my heart pounding, to the 
desk at which I was accustomed to be punished. To my 
surprise, instead of instructing me to lean over it, 
rump in the air, my naked bottom neatly presented to 
him, a virgin canvas on which he would draw line after 
delicious line with his cane - instead of that, my 
_sensei_ picked me up by the waist and sat me on the 
edge of the desk, facing him. 

"Why do you constantly disobey me, Megumi?" 

"I don't know, _sensei_." Very daring, I added: "I try 
hard to please you." 

"And you think you please me by coming to my class 
dressed like that?" 

I gazed at him and nodded, my face on fire. The edge 
of the cheap wooden school desk was cutting sharply 
into my naked arse, but I endured it, knowing that 
something much, much more painful - and more 
wonderful - was to come. 

"Even though I have forbidden it?" 

I nodded again. There was a pause. 

"You think, then, that I forbid the things I most 
want?" 

There were only two possible answers to that. 

"Yes, _sensei_,” I chose at random. 

"Oh, my God, Megumi ..." 

Daring again, I asked shyly, "Will you not cane me 
now, _sensei_?" 

"No, Megumi, not this time." 

"But you always cane my poor bottom when I am 
disobedient, _sensei_." 

"And you enjoy it? Is that why you disobey me? To 
provoke me?" 

The honest answer was "yes". But that would lead to 
the question "why?", which was too complicated for a 
twelve-year-old to understand, let alone explain. So I 
said nothing. 

After waiting a while, my teacher said: "The 
prohibition, and the caning, were just tests. To see 
if you could guess what really pleased me. You passed 
the tests." 

Suddenly my adored teacher had his hands on my waist 
again, but this time to undo the ties of my tiny 
panties, so that the front fell and fully revealed my 
pussy. I lifted my arse from the desk just enough to 
allow him to pull the whole garment free and throw it 
to one side, leaving me completely naked apart from my 
shoes. In a strangled voice I had never heard him use 
before, he said, "Oh, Megumi, how pretty you are! And 
how I want you!" Then he was on his knees in front of 
me, kissing and licking the private places between my 
legs. 

With the bit of myself which was still the sexually 
experienced, grown-up Megumi only two months short of 
nineteen, I was impressed that a man whose splendid 
orgasm I had sucked from his balls only minutes ago 
could be aroused again so quickly. The rest of me was 
on a time-trip to more than six years ago, and was 
overwhelmed at the way my idolised _sensei_ had so 
suddenly given way to desire for my pubescent body. I 
was conscious of the suppressed giggles of my 
school-friends watching, wide-eyed, through the crack 
of the door they had deliberately left ajar, 
marvelling as _sensei_’s tongue licked and probed 
around my hairless baby cunt, a wonder they would have 
to wait years to know themselves. I had only recently 
learned to explore there with my fingers, sending 
myself off to sleep with feelings I adored but could 
not understand. I knew, though, that the hole his 
tongue seemed determined to explore was far too small: 
sealed somehow against his entry. Already his tongue 
was hurting me: granting me pain which was somehow 
mingled with new and thrilling pleasure. 

_Sensei_ stopped kissing me and stood up. Between his 
legs I saw something both frightening and wonderful. I 
knew, in principle and from occasional stolen glances, 
that boys were different "down there" from us girls, 
but I had never guessed that they were as different as 
that! _Sensei_ suddenly seized me round the upper body 
and thrust the thing which stood between his legs 
violently into the tiny, saliva-covered hole between 
mine. I was conscious of a dreadful feeling of 
tearing, combined with a wonderful sensation such as 
my own nightly explorings had only dimly hinted at. My 
life, I knew, would never be the same again. 

Before I realised fully what was happening to me, he 
pulled out of my cunt and reached for a handful of 
tissues with which to wipe his cock. 

"Did you enjoy that, Megumi?" 

"Oh, yes, _sensei_. It hurt a bit. But I enjoyed it." 

"Would you like me to do it to you again? It won't 
hurt so much the next time." 
"Oh, yes, _sensei_. Please _sensei_." He said nothing, 
so, very daring, I continued: "Next time, will you 
beat me too, please, _sensei_?" 

"Would you enjoy that, Megumi?" 

"Oh, yes, _sensei_! If ... only if you would enjoy it 
too, of course." 

"Oh, Megumi," he cried, "you are a little witch. How 
did you guess I enjoyed it?" 

I gazed at him in astonishment. I had no idea what he 
meant. Then he made a big effort and changed the 
subject. 

"Those pretty panties you've been wearing, Megumi. 
Where do you find them?" 

"In my mother's drawer, _sensei_,” I replied eagerly. 
"She's got lots." 

"Does she know you've borrowed them?" 

"I don't think so, _sensei_. She only wears them when 
she has a date." I glanced at him, then looked away, 
blushing. "That's what gave me the idea of wearing 
them for you," I added with what I hoped was a 
provocative glance. "D'you like them?" 

"Yes, Megumi. I like them. Come and see me again after 
class tomorrow, and if you're wearing pretty enough 
panties for me, perhaps we'll do these nice things 
together again." 

"And will you beat me too, please, _sensei_? I'd 
really like that." 

He lifted me down off the desk. 

"Run along now, Megumi. Don't tell anyone what we did 
together. Just keep it a lovely little secret between 
the two of us. And you'd better go to the lavatory and 
wash yourself before you go home."


[Next in Part 03: Chapter III: Taking Stock] 

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



