We Always Do It For Real 31

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

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

PART 31

CHAPTER XX

Megumi Transfigured

So I sent Bob Williams this account of my early life 
and career, as he had asked. But it was a month at 
least before he and I were able to see each other 
again. I was kept busy at the studio, and I was seeing 
a lot of the new friend I had made after Miss 
Takahashi's departure from her wedding reception. As I 
had hoped, he had a large repertoire of ingenious 
things he enjoyed doing to girls, some of them 
wonderfully kinky and perverted,[15] and of course I 
insisted on having them all done to me as often as 
possible. So what with our sessions together, work 
before the camera and occasional multiple non-stop 
fucking at a sex-party, I was walking around in a sort 
of glow of sexual delight. 

Then I was taken out of Tokyo for some location 
filming. Another company had produced a fairly 
harmless, sentimental full-length feature starring a 
couple of young actors quite well-known for appearing 
on television quiz shows. Their names and faces would 
sell the result in Japan, but the overseas 
distributors were telling the producer it hadn't a 
hope elsewhere unless it was spiced up a bit. The 
young girl who starred in the film refused to do sex 
scenes, though the young man was keen, and, as quite 
often happened, Marucho had been asked to make some 
which could plausibly be edited in. Someone in the 
studio thought my face, and - more important - my 
body, were near enough to those of the girl star to 
make me the choice for her stand-in. So off we all 
went for a couple of weeks to a deserted beach on the 
Japan Sea coast, which someone who'd never been there 
thought could double for a beach in Hawaii where the 
hero and heroine first got close to each other, to 
film some scenes of their getting even closer. 

It was quite good fun: my first experience of work in 
the "legitimate" cinema. It meant days of lying around 
on the beach waiting for something to happen, working 
on my all-over tan while the two companies' directors 
argued about how the two productions could be made to 
match and the crew shovelled a lot of smelly seaweed 
and dead jellyfish off the bit of sand which was to 
star jointly with me and the young male hopeful. It 
then turned out that he was too nervous to achieve an 
erection most of the time, and that when he could the 
result was laughably small. So we all had to wait 
while a male actor with plausible looks was summoned 
from Marucho, after which the pair of us dispatched 
the business in an hour. I heard later that the 
overseas distributors thought the whole thing looked 
so contrived that it was never used anyway. 

When I got back to the studio, I found messages from 
Bob. He wanted to discuss my manuscript, and "other 
things". I hoped the other things were what I wanted 
too. My new lover was away from Tokyo - no doubt 
subjecting other delighted girls to his special 
techniques, but I didn't grudge him that, or them - so 
I badly needed someone to fuck me. I had some days off 
saved up as a result of the hard work of the last few 
weeks, so Bob and I arranged to meet that evening. 

I arrived at his apartment wearing a simple dress with 
nothing underneath, but carrying a transparent plastic 
umbrella and a large bag which I had carefully packed 
with a selection of my favourites from Matsumoto-san's 
costume department. I hoped they would become his 
favourites too. Right on top was the costume I had 
worn for the opening scene of my most recent fuck 
video - not yet released, or even edited so far as I 
knew. It was a short plastic raincoat, completely 
transparent apart from silver strips along the edges. 
I thought Bob deserved a special treat for his 
patience over the past few weeks. There was nobody 
around in the corridor outside his front door, so I 
stripped off my dress, hoping he was not listening out 
for the sound of the elevator, and standing there nude 
stowed it in the bag. Then I covered my naked body 
with the transparent raincoat, put up the umbrella and 
rang the bell. 

"Oh, I am so sorry to trouble you," I said in a coy, 
girlish voice, "but it's raining so hard, can I come 
in for a moment while I wait for a taxi?" 

It was my opening line from the video. "Of course you 
can," he replied, getting the next line right. (Well, 
it wasn't that difficult to invent.) 

I dropped my bag near the door then walked into the 
living-room, still apologising and flirting with the 
open umbrella. The camera - I mean Bob - was getting a 
close-up of my bottom wiggling under the clear 
plastic, helped by a pair of Matsumoto-san's special 
uneven high-heeled shoes. 

He urged me to take my coat off and be comfortable. I 
giggled nervously, closed my umbrella, said "Oh no, I 
shall only stay a few moments," undid the front of the 
coat and sat down at one end of the sofa, crossing my 
legs provocatively and spreading the skirts of the 
coat around me. 

Well, he kept up an attempt at the film-script for a 
few more lines of dialogue, and then things progressed 
very satisfactorily. At his request I gave him a 
special fashion parade in the coat, but it didn't stay 
on me long. His beautiful cock visited all three of my 
holes, finishing with my mouth. When I judged he was 
close to his climax, I finished him off with a 
hand-job and made him come copiously all over my 
breasts. Most men enjoy that; and of course I was able 
to scoop up his lovely cum with my fingers and 
transfer most of it to my mouth. 

"Mm'mm, that was a lovely hors d'oeuvre," I said when 
I had finally tasted and swallowed as much of it as I 
could. 

"I enjoyed mine, too," he replied. 

It was dinner-time and he said he was getting hungry. 
I was too excited at the thought of all the things we 
were going to do to each other to have any appetite 
for food, and neither of us wanted the bother of 
getting dressed up respectably and going out. We had 
something delivered; I received it at the door, 
dressed in a French maid's outfit I had brought with 
me, and served him at his dining-table, reacting 
coquettishly whenever his fingers found their way up 
the uniform's tiny skirt as I stood beside his chair. 
Finally I got him settled comfortably in his armchair 
with a drink, stood before him and curtsied. 

"Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" 

"Since you ask, yes, there is." 

Submissively, but excitedly wondering what it would 
be, I waited for my orders. 

"I have been reading your account of how you started 
at Marucho." 

I said nothing. I just waited for what was to come. 

"One thing surprised me. You never told me about your 
specialism." 

"You mean -" 

"I mean that when you and your lover Ken were making 
your video for the studio, you included a scene in 
which he bound you and whipped you. You didn't tell me 
about that." 

"No, sir," I whispered, my head bowed and my hands 
folded in front of my crotch. 

"Do you not think you should be punished for hiding 
that from me?" 

My heart was pounding. Had I guessed right? Could I 
dare to hope that this was what he had reserved for my 
special pleasure this evening? Panic-stricken, I 
remembered that I had not thought to bring the right 
clothes or equipment. But all I said was, "If you 
think so, sir." 

"No, Megumi, it is not what I think that matters, it 
is whether you genuinely wish to be punished for your 
deceitfulness. Think carefully before you reply, 
because if you ask me to punish you I shall do it very 
severely." 

My mouth was so dry with excitement I could hardly 
speak, but I managed to say, "I am very sorry that I 
did not tell you, sir. Please punish me for my 
mistake." 

"You must beg me to do it, and you must beg me to do 
it severely." 

I knelt in front of him. 

"I am my master's slave to use as he wishes. My only 
delight is to give pleasure to my master. If I am to 
have the joy of receiving punishment at my master's 
hands, then I beg him to punish me with the utmost 
cruelty and severity." 

"Very well, that will do," he replied. "Go upstairs 
and on the bed you will find the costume you will wear 
for your punishment." 

My excitement was almost unbearable. I could tell that 
the little g-string I was wearing as part of the 
French maid's outfit was already soaked in my 
cunt-juice. I ran up the stairs and into the bedroom. 
Yes, he had prepared for this properly. On the bed 
was - or rather _stood_ - the most exciting bondage 
corset I had ever seen, even in Matsumoto-san's 
wardrobe. It had an outer shell of shining metal, 
hinged at the back, and an inner lining of soft white 
leather which would feel wonderful against my skin. I 
longed to feel its cruel embrace. I quickly got out of 
my maid's costume and, naked except for my shoes, held 
the corset loosely around myself in the mirror. It 
lifted my breasts without covering them. I almost 
fainted with excitement when I realised how cruelly 
perfect was the shape of the steel shell. How tiny my 
waist would be once the two halves were tightly 
closed, and how deliciously the hard shining metal 
would contrast with the smooth soft curves of my 
bottom and my breasts! Oh, I longed for the pain and 
the beauty the lovely, cruel instrument would grant me 
once I was helplessly locked into it. How wonderful it 
must be, I thought, to be the man about to enjoy a 
girl as exquisitely bound and offered as I would be. 

How was I to get the thing on properly? It would need 
more than my strength to fasten it fully. But there 
were strips of silver cloth tucked through flat 
D-rings along the open edges, and I recalled how, last 
time I had worn a constricting corset for Bob, on the 
evening he took my arse for the first time, I had 
fantasised about his hands pulling it tightly, ever 
more tightly, around me. Perhaps this time the fantasy 
could be turned into reality. He had not, after all, 
ordered me to wear the costume, only to go and find 
it. 

Also on the bed were wrist cuffs in shiny silver metal 
to match the corset, a broad metal collar for my neck, 
and silver high-heeled shoes fitted with slender steel 
bands across the instep. I tried the shoes first. They 
were not quite as extreme as the fetish shoes I had 
worn for my first ever whipping by Ken all those 
months ago, but the heels were among the highest I had 
ever worn. Nonetheless the shoes fitted snugly and 
were surprisingly comfortable, even though the metal 
fittings made them heavy and the long pointed heels 
allowed me to take only tiny steps. I walked up and 
down the room a few times to get used to them. They 
had stainless steel chains round the ankles. I liked 
that. A woman never looks so feminine as when she is 
wearing chains somewhere on her body, a hint as subtle 
as good perfume that with the right partner she would 
like nothing better than to be bound and submissive. 

I put on the cuffs, which clicked shut (I hoped Bob 
had not lost the keys!) and snapped the metal collar 
closed round my neck. It was shaped so as to force me 
to hold my head up high and look straight ahead. I 
posed provocatively for myself in the mirror. Then, 
otherwise naked and carrying the beautiful steel 
corset over one arm, I went slowly downstairs to 
subject myself to whatever my master had in store for 
me. 

"The slave begs her master to bind her," I said, "as 
tightly as it may please him." And as tightly as it 
may please _her_, I added silently. I held out the 
corset. 

He said nothing. He stood, took the steel corset and 
closed it loosely round my body. It was surprisingly 
light, and my skin tingled at the touch of the soft 
leather lining. I felt his hands buckle the silver 
straps across the front of my body. He began with the 
one in the middle round my waist, then moved upwards, 
then down again. He then returned to where he had 
started and tightened each buckle in turn little by 
little. Step by step the pressure and the constriction 
increased as I stood bracing myself against the back 
of his chair, determined not to cry out either in pain 
or in delight as his loving hands remodelled me. 

"He is turning me into an ideal fucking-machine," I 
thought happily. It is strange that the idea of a 
machine should have entered my mind then, in view of 
the delights Bob had in store for me. 

At last the corset was done as well as it could be, 
the edges of the steel shell still a little way apart 
at the front but the soft leather now part of me, my 
waist tortured into the tiniest possible link between 
my eager breasts and my panting cunt and arse. I 
released the chair and stood in a submissive posture, 
breathing fast in the short, shallow breaths which 
were all I was now permitted, as I awaited my master's 
orders. 

"You will now go upstairs," he said. "You will walk 
straight ahead without touching the banisters or other 
support. You may spend a short time in the bedroom: 
you may examine yourself in the mirror and appreciate 
the new beauty I am creating out of you. You may 
adjust your hair and make-up. But then you will go to 
the room on the left of the staircase, take up 
position for punishment and await my pleasure." 

"Thank you, master," I whispered. "Your slave will be 
awaiting your pleasure. And her own," I added daringly 
- out loud, this time. I turned towards the stairs, 
then looked back for a moment. "Please come soon," I 
said, tears of love making my eyes sparkle, "and 
please whip me very _very_ hard. I am longing for you, 
and for that, so much." 

I could hardly breathe with the constriction, and with 
the excitement of knowing I had committed myself to 
endless, indescribable, joyous torment. We had of 
course made no arrangement for secret signs telling 
him I had had enough: it thrilled me to know that, 
even if I later wanted him to stop, there would be no 
way I could say so. I walked up the stairs as 
instructed, the metal collar, corset and shoes 
combining to enforce a slow, steady, teetering, 
unsupported gait. 

In the bedroom I caught my breath at the sight of the 
beauty in the mirror, her head held proudly up but her 
eyes full of modesty and submission, utterly serene in 
her total vulnerability. How could I ever thank my 
master enough for the imagination and skill he had 
devoted to creating this ideal of femininity from such 
poor materials? Only, I knew, by complete submission, 
proud to accept at his hands the most excruciating 
pleasures he could devise for me, recognising that 
whatever he did to me his slave would have the aim of 
creating even greater beauty. I knew that before long 
he would somehow bring it to perfection by closing my 
steel shell completely. I yearned to submit to the 
delicious pain that beauty would cost. All those 
months ago, a young girl pleasuring herself secretly 
in bed at home with fantasies about being sold on a 
slave-market, I had wondered why I involuntarily 
longed for the pleasure of being whipped by my owner. 
I now had the answer. 

I brushed out my long hair and lightly painted my 
lips, eyes and nipples as if a lover were waiting for 
me before the cameras in the studio. I walked in my 
newly acquired tall grace with little teetering steps 
along the corridor to whatever awaited me. I 
remembered the room as little more than a walk-in 
closet, full only of suitcases and discarded boxes. 
Flipping on the light, I gasped in amazement at the 
transformation. The glaring overhead circular tube 
light had been replaced by small lighting towers in 
each corner, concentrating different coloured spots on 
the middle of the square, windowless room. In the 
exact centre was a round platform, about one metre in 
diameter, just above floor level, looking like one of 
those revolving table centre-pieces in Chinese 
restaurants. Clearly I was the delicacy to be 
displayed on that platform. 

There were three items of furniture in the room, all 
covered in black: a comfortable armchair facing the 
platform, a narrow bed in one corner and a table in 
another. I knew I should take up position on the 
platform to await my master's pleasure and 
instructions, but I could not resist looking first at 
the things on the table. There were whips and canes of 
various sizes and an adjustable metal bar, silver like 
my corset, which I assumed to be a spreader for my 
legs. On the floor beside the table was a piece of 
machinery about the size of a vacuum cleaner, but 
where the cleaning attachments would be were thick 
metal bars to which were fixed a phallus, a model of a 
man's middle finger, made out of a firm but flexible 
plastic, and a small metal plate studded with short 
projections. Gradually the realisation of the sadistic 
tortures in store for me began to mesh with my own 
masochistic fantasies, and I felt my arse begin to 
gasp with excitement and my cunt drip juice down my 
thighs. 


FOOTNOTE

[15] I don't really know why I say "kinky and 
perverted", except that it makes the sex seem even 
more fun. No sexual activity is perverted, however 
original and unusual; and if a man can, for example, 
do enchanting things to me with a string of metal anal 
beads, an extra strong clitoris clamp and a battery, 
while suspending me from the ceiling and swinging me 
gently to and fro as my lips and tongue helplessly 
caress his beautiful cock - well, it seems entirely 
natural for me to want him to do it to me and never to 
stop! 


[Next in Part 32: Chapter XX Continued] 

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

