Author: Bob Williams Title: Haruka's Education Part: Chapter 4 of 20 Universe: The Megumi Stories Summary: A young girl is prepared for a career as a Japanese sex artist Keywords: Mf, bd, tort, Japan ===== HARUKA'S EDUCATION 04 By Bob Williams and Haruka Sekine CHAPTER IV The Torture-Chamber I woke to find my cock being expertly stroked. The curtains had been opened and the morning sunlight was streaming into the room. Haruka was kneeling on the bed, one hand working on my cock while with the other she attempted unsuccessfully to stop her long hair falling forward onto my stomach as she leant over me. I didn't know why she was doing that: the light tickling was agreeable. I held out my arms to her. "Good morning, darling!" she said brightly. "Are you ready?" Well, of course I was. She had seen to that. "All yours," I said, stretching out lazily. Haruka stopped stroking and began to suck and lick me efficiently. Then she straddled my waist and slowly impaled herself on my erection. I was determined to let her do the work, and she made no objection, rising and falling with increasing vigour while waving her arms above her head in triumph. I did my best to delay my climax but her tight muscular cunt was merciless and soon milked me dry - for the moment. She released me, licked me clean and then leapt off the bed. "I'm going to be whipped today! I'm going to be whipped!" she sang happily as she danced round the room. Then she vanished into the bathroom and I heard the sound of the shower. "What shall I wear today?" she asked when she emerged, looking as always fresh and virginal. "Just shoes," I said. "Nothing else?" she asked coquettishly. "Not even my pretty clamps?" "Nothing. I need you to be pure and unsatisfied. Ready for all the things I'm planning to do to you." "Oooh!" I walked purposefully to the closet where I kept my girls' fetish clothes. I soon found the shoes I had already chosen for her in my mind, strappy black sandals with long spike heels. "Here. Put these on." "Then can we start?" she asked eagerly as she obeyed me. "No. Breakfast first. You go and get it ready while I shower and dress." I watched her longingly as she twirled out of the room. Then I washed quickly and put on black slacks and a casual shirt. The smell of fresh coffee was beckoning me from the kitchen. That and the thought of the enthusiastic nude girl waiting to serve me. "Careful not to eat too much," I warned her as she made toast. "You might be ill." "I'm too excited to eat much anyway. But why?" "Well, being hung upside down and that sort of thing ..." I replied vaguely. "Oooh!" "Right!" I said, as I drained my coffee. "We have a busy day ahead. And I have a pupil coming later, so we must use our time well." "Oh ... I'd forgotten," she said obviously disappointed. "Don't worry. We have a couple of hours. And when I've tortured you that long you won't care who else is there." I stood up. She stroked her body against me, stood on tiptoe to kiss me, and gave me a provocative smile. "Please be gentle with me," she said in a little-girl voice, fluttering her eyelashes. "I've never done this before and I'm rather ... you know ... frightened ..." It was a very convincing performance. If I hadn't known that she had spent several hours the evening before submitting joyfully to her first public experience of the whip's embrace I might have been convinced myself. "Don't worry," I said. "I'll start gently of course. Just a gentle tickling to begin with. Then you will beg for more." "Will I?" "Oh yes. You'll want more and more. And I'll give it to you. I promise you that." "You won't get tired and stop before I've had enough?" "Of course not. There's nothing more stimulating to a man than a delightful girl begging him to torture her in every way he knows." "Ohh," she said with a deep sigh and a complete change of mood. "Yes ... Please torture me. Torture me every way you know. I'm longing for it. I think I've always wanted it." "When I've finished with your training," I said, "you'll never want anything else, and you'll never stop wanting it." I slipped my arm round her waist and we walked slowly, unhesitatingly, through the living-room, up the stairs, along the corridor and into the little room which was to become her Paradise. So far Haruka had experienced the whip, but not a real whipping. I, and the unnamed "gentleman" at her hostess club, had awakened her hidden longings and stimulated her sensuality with informal, casual strokes of the cat, I using simple leather strips while he had taken her education a step further with graceful knotted lashes. That had been a good start, and I could tell she was desperate to feel more of the cat's loving embrace and the kiss of other implements she had seen but whose refined cruelty she had not yet experienced. Her breasts had always been delightfully sensitive and I was pretty sure that the firm curves of her bottom, with their huge mass of nerve-endings, designed by nature to be the main beneficiary of ecstatically painful sensation, could be taught to be equally receptive. But I knew from long and enjoyable experience in training young Japanese girls and helping them realise their full masochistic potential that the whip alone is not enough. So far Haruka had done no more than receive the whips' strokes in a kneeling position. Being helplessly bound to a whipping-frame or other restraint device is an essential part of a torture session - from it the victim learns to enjoy the beauty of perfect submission and the impossibility of escape from the sadist's loving care. I have two restraint devices in my torture-chamber. The first is the all-round whipping-frame which Haruka had glimpsed the day before on her illicit venture inside. I guessed the frames she had seen being used at her hostess club were the same type: a platform with vertical bars at each side to which the victim's arms and legs could be chained or strapped and a cross-bar at the top from which she could be suspended - perhaps by a head-harness with a ring at the top or from straps round her shoulders. Her wrists, ankles and head fixed tautly to the frame at these five points the victim would be arranged in a star formation, unable to escape but free to tremble and shiver as the tormenting whips snaked round her or a cane engraved white-hot lines of bliss on her bottom, thighs and breasts. The great advantage of the traditional whipping-frame, as I see it, is that every bit of the victim is totally available. There are elaborate frames which turn the victim slowly on a little platform as she is whipped. Mine does not have that refinement, but I have only to move round and I have access to whatever part of her I choose to subject to my expert application of extreme sensation. Against the back wall is fixed a more modern restraint device: a St Andrew's Cross in red-painted metal. Cuffs dangle from the four points of the cross and the victim can be attached by wrists and ankles, as loosely or tightly as the torturer likes. The effect is very pretty, there is no doubt about that. But this kind of restraint has the drawback that you can whip only one side of the girl at a time: you have to decide from the start whether you will concentrate on her back and bottom or on her front and breasts. Of course you can release her, turn her round and bind her to the cross facing the other way; but in my view that interrupts the rhythm and continuity of the whipping and therefore its beauty. I installed the cross because some of my girls, having seen such devices in use in videos or at clubs, fancied the idea of being pleasured on one of them. Japanese girls are such slaves to fashion! A friend discovers the latest thing, and all the others must have it too. Of course it adds to my pleasure when a beautiful nude girl begs to be whipped in one way rather than another, and I guess it adds to hers to know that she is being tortured in accordance with the latest fashionable trend. But I think crosses of that kind are most attractive when used for display purposes. Perhaps you have been to private parties or specialist clubs where a lot of girls are bound as a group to a row of crosses, squealing prettily in chorus and begging for more as guests casually flick whips or riding-crops over their quivering bodies. Aesthetically that is very satisfying. But this first torture session with Haruka was to be a different kind of occasion. So as I accompanied her into my special room that morning I instructed her to stand in the centre of the whipping-frame. My tools were already laid out on a small table placed conveniently beside the frame. I took two pairs of black leather cuffs, buckled them firmly round Haruka's wrists and ankles, and chained them to the sliding hooks fitted in the vertical poles. Then I considered what to do about suspension from the upper cross-bar. A head restraint would be pretty, I thought. The black leather cap fitted closely, leaving her long hair flowing down her back, and I buckled the straps tightly under her chin and round the back of her head. I had chosen a helmet which was not fitted with a gag - I wanted to relish her screams and enjoy the lovely moment when entreaties for mercy turn into pleas for yet more pain - but a pretty nose-hook was dangling from the front. I slipped the pair of silver hooks into her nostrils and adjusted the strings till she was forced to hold her head proudly high. Finally I attached a chain hanging from the cross-bar to the strong metal hook fitted to the very top of the leather cap. For the moment I allowed her to remain loose, moving freely within the limits of the chains. She said nothing but her eyes were sparkling and she was breathing in short gasps. When I stroked her body I could feel her heart beating wildly with excitement. It was time to begin. The whips and canes were ready and waiting, but they could be patient a little longer: Haruka did not know it but she was to undergo a little initiation ceremony first. From a bundle of wires hanging discreetly along the two upright poles of the frame I chose two which ended in metal crocodile clips. These I attached carefully to her nipples, enjoying the murmurs of pleasure I could hear from above me. Another wire terminated in a narrow probe in ribbed metal. I wiped it carefully with a little disinfectant and then anointed it with lubricating oil. I moved behind Haruka and inserted it slowly into her anus She squirmed and helped me by pressing her bottom down onto it. Last came another wire with a crocodile clip, but a miniature one this time: it fitted snugly onto her shy little clitoris. I stood back and admired the effect, a small control hidden in my hand. "Ready, darling?" I asked. "Oh, _yes_! Yes please!" came the eager response. "For anything?" "Of _course_!" Without taking my eyes off her helpless nudity I moved the main control on the little panel steadily across to the maximum setting, delivering the full electrical charge to her most sensitive erotic zones. I held it there for a few seconds before slowly returning it to zero. Without giving her time to recover I switched again to full charge but suddenly this time; then after a few more seconds finally adjusted the setting to a low level which would maintain a gentle trickle of stimulation. The effect on Haruka was - well - electrifying. She went as rigid as a statue, her mouth wide open in a silent scream, then as the second burst hit became even more taut, and finally slumped as far as her tight bonds would allow. I dropped the control and let it dangle against the upright pole. I stepped forward and took her in my arms. Sweat had burst out all over her body, and her heart was pounding. At last she opened her eyes wide and gazed up at me. "Did you enjoy that, darling?" I asked gently. "Would you like it again? Harder, perhaps? Longer?" I could see her throat swallowing several times, then at last she spoke. There was hardly any sound, but I could make out her words clearly enough. "Oh yes, _yes_ ... more ... More, please!" "Darling, you are so wonderful and so brave!" I said. "I love you very, very much!" "I thought I was ... going to ... explode!" she said, forcing the words out in tiny spasms. "How long ... did it last?" "Just a few seconds. And then the same again." "I thought it would never end," she said, her voice returning to something like normal. "At first, it was _terrifying_ ... and then, it was as if I had been invaded, taken over, by the greatest orgasm I have ever known ... still terrifying, but wonderful too." She paused and took some deep breaths. "Promise to do that to me again. Promise?" "I promise. One day." I kissed her dry mouth passionately, then carefully removed the clips and probe. Of course I had no intention of subjecting her immediately to more electric shock torture. Those first bursts had been a test of her courage and commitment, and she had passed it. To make her endure it again in her present condition would be simple cruelty, and that is not my style. I have known a few sadists who get their pleasure that way, reducing girls to helpless submissives whimpering in their servitude; and I believe there are girls whose masochism is so extreme that it drives them to seek such slavery. The lovely thing about sado-masochism that however extreme and weird a lover's desires there is a perfect match for them somewhere - especially in Japan. But I find my happiness and satisfaction in treating a girl not with cruelty but with love. I try to introduce each new experience lovingly so that it becomes an integral part of her sensuality, taking its place on the continuum between pleasure and pain so smoothly that those two words cease to have meaning and are only different ways of describing the sexual ecstasy which is her birthright. Haruka's heartbeat and breathing were returning to normal. It was time to increase her excitement again by showing her the instruments I was preparing to use on her. Later, when her addiction to pain and its rituals had been established beyond question, it would be fun to let her choose them herself, enjoying her pretty enthusiasm as she felt the knotted and decorated lashes with her fingers and tested the flexibility of the thin canes, imagining the ecstasy they would bring as they sliced through the air onto her flesh and trying to choose between them. "Oh, please whip me with him!" she would murmur lovingly as she wound some adored lash round her hands and kissed the sparkling decorations buried in the hard little knots: "don't you think he's _wonderfully_ cruel?" And I would offer other delicious tortures to her attention while she squirmed with imagined delight. There would be role-play too: perhaps with a heavy rubber paddle, broad enough to stimulate the whole of her curved bottom at once, the little holes cunningly pierced in it preventing air resistance and guaranteeing the full power of each stroke as I enacted a teacher punishing a little schoolgirl and she leant across the desk lifting her skirt and clinging obediently to the far side, and innocently inflaming the schoolmaster's lust by her brave determination not to cry out ... But all that was for the future. For this first introduction she had to feel dominated, helpless, overwhelmed by what was in store for her. I showed her each implement in turn: the simple leather cat of the kind I had used the previous day; the cats with long, knotted, multiple strands of whipcord; special cats in whose narrow leather lashes were buried at random tiny metal prickles which would grant her little stars of bright agony to enhance their fiery kisses; single whips of braided leather creaking sexily as they twisted in my hands; rods of bamboo which would hum through the air as they prepared to caress her; and finally thin flexible canes of birch, their leather sheathing softened by the sweat and juices of so many fulfilled victims, the shard of wood inside cunningly shaved into a sharp triangular silhouette which would engrave threads of white-hot fire into her smooth bottom - kisses which would still make her squirm with spasms of pleasure long after our session was over. "You see, darling," I explained, "the whippings you experienced yesterday were just the beginning. This will be way beyond anything you could ever imagine. And you can't escape - you understand that, don't you? Once it starts it will continue as long as I choose it to. And when it's over - well, it won't be over, because you'll be addicted. Whipping - the pain and the pleasure of being whipped - is a drug you won't be able to live without. From now on, every lover you have, man or woman, you'll be begging for more. Today I shall turn you into a perfect masochist. Are you ready for that?" I saw her throat muscles try to move. Then, looking up at me trustingly, she said "Yes, Master. I am ready. But ..." "But what?" I asked, trying to sound severe. "You will do that wonderful thing you did ... just now ... again, won't you? Please?" I kissed her tenderly and put down the whips and canes I was holding. It is such a lovely feeling when a beautiful nude girl implores you to torture her and drive her to the heights of masochistic orgasm! "Of course I will, darling! I promised. Just occasionally, as a special treat." "Thank you, Master," she murmured. "You are already well on the way to becoming a beautiful masochist. You feel that, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer I began to tighten her bonds. First I pulled her ankles apart till her feet in their long slender heels were almost touching the vertical poles; then I raised the sliding hooks to which her wrists were fixed until she was stretched tautly. Finally it was the turn of the hook fixed to her leather helmet. I pulled it as high as I could, until her feet were almost but not quite off the ground, and then lowered it again slightly: I wanted her to be able to stand firmly in her heels. At last I moved round behind her shivering body, took careful aim at her smooth and still unmarked bottom, and started. At first I teased her, lightly and irregularly, letting the nine lashes do no more than tickle her skin. I could almost smell the fear and desire with which she was waiting for the real torment to begin. And then, without warning, I gave her what she so longed for. She gasped as the nine long lashes snaked round her hips, held her in their fiery embrace and fell away. At the third slow stroke she began to scream: not the gurgling girlish squeals my light whipping had elicited from her the previous evening but a beautiful high-pitched melody, rising and falling and interspersed with piteous appeals for mercy. It is such a lovely moment when a girl begins to sing like that in her agony - it always inspires me to greater efforts! And of course it is only the beginning: the pleasure centres in her mind are already starting to do their work, protecting her against the sensory overload of the mounting agony by converting it to something she experiences as joy. That joy soon overwhelms her both mentally and physically, filling her with an unearthly bliss to which she becomes helplessly addicted, begging for more and more of it. After a dozen strokes around her bottom I moved to pay the same attention to her breasts: I was sure their famous sensitivity would help her on her way to paradise. Returning again to her bottom, I changed instruments and let her enjoy the many-stranded whipcord, its hard knots scattering handfuls of sharp pain among the glow of pleasure. The previous day I had felt bound to be careful not to mark her smooth virginal bottom before handing her over to her lovers at her club, but there was no need for that now. I made another swift change and took up the cat with the tiny metal prickles: the pretty pink blush of her bottom was now adorned with minute crimson dots where the needle-sharp points had lightly penetrated. I stopped for a while. I had certainly not finished but I wanted to hear her beg for more. I picked up a cool damp cloth and wiped her face where she had dribbled liquid from her mouth and nose. "How are you feeling, darling?" I asked. "Oh ... oh ... _please_ don't stop!" she managed to say after a few false starts. "Of course not! I've only just begun!" I adjusted the chain from the overhead bar, stretching her tighter and lifting her heels a few millimetres from the floor so that she was balanced on her toes. I swished the cat up between her legs a few times, rewarding her for her good behaviour by making it flicker sweetly over her cunt and clitoris. She whimpered prettily. Then I returned to the other side of her. Her bottom looked irresistibly lovely, its rosy blush ornamented with the tiny marks from the knotted and decorated cats. In its beauty it cried out to be tortured even more seriously. I chose one of the braided leather whips, aimed carefully and let it wrap itself adoringly round her hips. She screamed more beautifully than ever, and as the whip released her I could clearly hear her begging for more. I gave her twenty strokes in all, varying my angle slightly so that the leather's loving embrace could beautify and gratify her waist and upper thighs as well as the perfect curve of her bottom. Again I paused, gently wiped her face and asked her if she wanted more. She was beyond speech, but her eyes told me all I needed to know. Whether she knew it or not, she was ready for the climax. I decided to skip the bamboo cane and went straight to the leather-encased birch. How it sang through the air during the millisecond before it cut its sharp crease into the flesh that was longing to receive it! Haruka was so astounded that she could not even scream, and greeted the white-hot thread inscribed by the birch with a strangled gasp. I let the sensation sink deep into her mind and memory before repeating the stroke: no girl ever forgets her first encounter with the cane and it is only kind to ensure that the experience overwhelms her, takes over the very core of her sensuality, to be treasured in all its transcendent beauty as a favourite masturbation fantasy and as something to be repeatedly begged for and reinforced at the hands of skilled and trusted lovers. Surely the ancient legends, found in cultures everywhere, of an earthly maiden loved by an immortal god and consumed in the fire and glory of his undisguised passion are derived from tales of girls granted by skilled lovers the celestial bliss of torture so great that it drives the senses to something beyond earthly experience. Feeling - I admit it - a bit godlike myself I gave her another four strokes, each on a fresh unmarked area of her arse; and then a fifth, aimed precisely and with all my strength at the sensitive fold where the swelling flesh of the thigh meets the curve of the bottom. Then it was over. I left her, taut in her bonds, to absorb the searing agony and transmute it into golden ecstasy while I prepared the second part of her initiation. The new equipment which I had installed to the right of the entrance of my torture-chamber consisted of two main items. They had not been cheap but an advance from a publisher who had agreed to bring out my latest novel had made the investment possible - even if extravagant. Or, I suppose you could say, generous: generous to all the sweet girls who were destined to be introduced by it to pleasures that were lying in wait for them but which they had never known existed. First there was a sort of bed on which the victim would lie and to which she would be firmly bound: a narrow bench for her body with a pillowed area for her head and supports going off at angles for her arms and legs. The bench was not flat but was shaped with shallow declivities for her bottom and shoulders: my dear friend Fujiko at Restraint, the specialist sex-equipment shop where I had bought it, had assured me it was very comfortable, even though a girl's body would be trembling and her heart beating fast with fearful expectation of the ecstatic torment in store for her. The area on which she would lie was lined with a special material, the latest product of the endlessly inventive Japanese sex industry. Soft and gentle to the touch when inert, the artificial fibres from which it was made were conductive of electricity and when the sheet of material was connected and switched on delivered endless shimmering electrical stimulation. The victim bound to the bed could do nothing to escape it or turn it off; the skilled torturer on the other hand - that is I, of course - could vary the intensity of the charge tickling and prickling the victim to suit his desires, and his understanding of hers. I was looking forward to seeing the effect of this pretty invention on Haruka, her skin already sensitised to the utmost by an hour of expert whipping and caning. The machines were ready and waiting: I had seen to that the night before. The big touch-screen from which I could control the bed's many attachments was on and ready, angled so that the victim could not see it and know in advance what experience was in store for her. Meanwhile Haruka was moaning and protesting at my neglect. I took her in my arms, still stretched tautly in the whipping-frame, and kissed her. "How are you feeling, darling?" I asked as our mouths came apart. "Oh, please ... please whip me more!" she managed to say. "More? You greedy little girl!" I replied with a tender smile. "Don't you want to try the fucking-machine? He's been waiting for you, so patiently." I ran my hands lightly down her back till I was gently stroking her arse. I felt her go even more rigid than she had been in her taut bonds, while her glowing bottom quivered delicately at my touch. Good, I thought; she will be tender and responsive to the maddening electric kiss of the miracle-fibre on the bed. Of course, she doesn't know anything about that yet. It will be a lovely surprise for her ... "Yes! Yes please!" she was saying in reply to my question. "I've been longing for it ... dreaming of it ... ever since I saw it yesterday!" It was just as well she reminded me of my programme. Her tender bottom and the backs of her thighs, blushing a delicate pink prettily decorated with the slightly darker slash marks of the braided leather whips and the thin red lines left by the birch, were so tempting that I might otherwise have picked up another instrument and gone on pleasuring her right up until Fumie was due to arrive. Instead I freed her from her helmet and released her hands and feet from the frame, and then unbuckled the wrist- and ankle-cuffs. She would not need them now. However I let her keep on the pretty black high-heeled shoes. Anyone who knows me, or my writings, will be aware that for me there is no more beautiful sight on earth than a nude girl wearing only the highest heels she can possibly manage - especially when she has been driven almost mad with desire by the stimulating touch of hands, mouths and whips. I picked her up in my arms and carried her the few steps to the narrow bed prepared for her. Gently I placed her there, making sure her bottom fitted smoothly into the hollow made for it. She smiled up at me, enjoying I am sure the comfort of the soft material she was lying on. Little does she know, I thought, as I set to work binding her firmly to the bed with the straps: first the big ones round her waist and shoulders, then the smaller bonds intended for her upper arms, elbows and wrists, and for her thighs, knees and ankles. The bed had several other ingenious attachments which I was looking forward to exploring with Haruka's involuntary co-operation. Neatly coiled beneath the frame were a number of electrical wires terminating in metal clips. I picked up a pair from each side and gently attached the clips to her nipples. They did not need to be stroked to erection, they were already hard as little rocks yearning and straining for they knew not what. The clips were very light and Haruka probably hardly felt their touch: she was already accustomed to stronger sensations. But she certainly did feel it when I attached a clip with little pointed ends to the clitoris poking its pretty nose out of the hood surrounding it. At the end of the bed were hanging an array of clips with curved ends, the two halves of each little pincer forming a circle. I decided to start with just a minor experiment and attached the two smallest clips to the tiny fifth toes peeping between the tight straps of her high-heeled sandals, their little dabs of silver nail-varnish gleaming against the shiny black leather. I walked round to her head and looked down on her. "Comfortable, darling?" She smiled up at me happily. Without letting her see what I was doing, I ran a finger over the image on the touch-screen which governed the electrical current flowing through the fibres she was lying on, turning it to its lowest setting. Her smile vanished, her face went rigid, she gasped with astonishment: I could see her body quivering as she tried to wriggle away from the unexpected stimulation. But, bound tightly to the bed, there was nothing she could do to escape it. Turning the screen so that she could see what I was doing I slowly, very slowly, moved the slider from position 1 to position 3 - the highest being 10. She tossed her head, the only part of her free to move, from side to side and began to moan piteously. "Still comfortable now, darling?" I asked again. "Enjoying it?" Her moan had become a pretty gurgling scream. I could feel my cock hardening and my heart beating fast. What a joy sadism is - especially when practised on a pretty partner who really appreciates it! Of course Haruka wasn't enjoying it, or hadn't yet fully understood that she was; but my long experience of Japanese girls' screams told me that hers was a blend of a desperate plea to be released from the terrible, wonderful sensation to which I was subjecting her and a growing lust for more of it. Properly handled, the newly discovered lust would grow till it consumed her senses entirely and would never leave her in peace. Then she would be that most beautiful of feminine sexual beings: the insatiable masochist. I recalled what she had said about being urged on by little demons inside her, each governing an aspect of her fresh new sexuality. The demon of joyful masochistic subjection was nearly out of his bottle now. He was my ally. It was my job to give him all the support I could. There were many more dials and sliders pictured on the touch-screen. Each of the electric clips had its own individual personality and could be set to a different voltage, either constant or fluctuating at random between specified limits. For a start I turned the master control to 4 and constant, hoping that the higher charge to her nipples, love-button and toes would speak to her over the background of stimulation from the electrified material clinging unstoppably to her back, bottom and thighs. She was squealing in passionate gusts now. I took a cool damp cloth and gently wiped her face and neck. I could just detect that mixed appeal - the sadist's reward for all his hard work - of "Oh, please stop!" mingled with "Oh, please _don't_ stop!" and even the first pretty hints of "More! Please more! Please do it to me more!" The demon was in control now. She would never be out of his power. Lucky girl, I thought, with years of endless orgasmic agony ahead. And lucky lovers who would be begged to grant her the exquisite pain which would both feed and stimulate her hunger. The ultimate objective when training a young Japanese masochist - and I have been involved in the creation of quite a few - is a girl whose mind can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure. Any strong sensation, whether the joyous penetration of her pussy or skilfully applied torture, will stimulate the explosion which I have described in the pleasure centres of her brain. My new equipment was designed to deliver an enormous range of finely calibrated stimulation which Haruka was already learning to perceive as pleasure. Her eager young body was ready to receive these stimuli in a virtually infinite number of ways. So far, experimenting with my new toys, one a sophisticated piece of electro-mechanical machinery and the other a living and breathing sixteen-year-old girl, I had been able to achieve only crude and elementary results. That was just the start. Together we would work to ensure that every atom of Haruka was developed into its true potential as an erogenous zone. It would be a thrilling journey for us both taking her into the unexplored universe of her sensuality. Looking down on her lovely panting body, already beginning to achieve its purpose as a living machine for the creation of endless mutual orgasm (humbly inadequate in me, gloriously triumphant in her) I was drawn especially to her sweet little toes. Why not start there, I thought? There were ten crocodile clips and I had used only two. Carefully, I attached the clips one by one to the other eight silver-painted toes, taking care to separate the sizes. At first there was no reaction above the squealing and panting evoked by the different levels of current surging through her. I touched buttons on the screen and soon discovered how to deliver variable electrical flows to the ten clips. I set each one to a different pattern within wide limits; then, watching her frightened face carefully, pressed the "confirm" button. The effect was even more beautiful than I had expected. The high-pitched squealing increased in intensity and was interspersed with cries which I could now clearly make out as "More! Oh, please _please_ more!" While her ankles were of course tightly strapped to the ends of the leg-rests and she could not move her feet, there was nothing to stop her wriggling her toes as the fluctuating electricity surged through them. For a dedicated foot-fetishist there could hardly be a more enchanting sight. I looked up from Haruka's toes and my eye was caught by the big clock on the wall. (When Japanese girls pay you by the hour to whip and torture them you need to watch the clock.) Time was getting on: Fumie was nearly due and she was always punctual. I had been having such fun with the torture-couch that I had hardly looked at the second piece of new equipment. It is easy to describe: imagine a domestic drill such as a home handyman uses, expanded to many times the usual size, and fixed to a bench with its handle upwards. The drill bit was about sixty centimetres long, and terminated in a plastic cock: nothing too extreme, but long and thick, the sort of erection any man would be proud to display to his girl of the moment. Less usually shaped types were also provided to satisfy the lust of girls with specialised desires. I moved the machine forward and the drill advanced between Haruka's invitingly open thighs till the tip almost touched the glistening lips of her vagina. For once the juice would be needed for its primary purpose, lubrication. I switched off all the electrical stimulation she was receiving, leaving only a light position-1 tickle from the fibre she was lying on. "Wha–a–? Oh, please ..." she moaned. "Don't you want to try the fucking-machine?" I asked teasingly. "He's waiting for you!" "Oh, yes ... Yes!" I unclipped the little pincer from her clitoris - I would have liked to let it continue to pleasure her but was concerned it might impede the action of the drill - and turned my attention to the machine's controls. All I needed to do was start the bit turning slowly and moving gently forward into Haruka's gasping pussy. She screamed as the head entered her and continued letting out very pleasing squeals as each heavy ridge of the plastic cock drilled slowly and inescapably into her. At last it was fully home, held at the correct penetration by a curved metal shield at the rear end of the bit which fitted snugly against her crotch. Slowly, I adjusted the speed of the drill, setting it to spin first one way and then the other. As it did so, the metal shield I have described contributed a matching electrical charge. "Good?" I asked. Of course it was. Her head was tossing from side to side and her moans had an unearthly beauty. I wiped her face gently with the damp cloth. Like a normal domestic drill, this one had a "hammer" control causing the bit to thrust in and out as it span. I activated it, and slowly increased the force of the thrust. I glanced at the clock again: time was getting short. Returning to the elaborate controls of the torture-bed I turned up the voltage supplied by the clips attached to her nipples and toes. Something suddenly occurred to me: were there not supposed to be ...? Indeed there were: neatly coiled under the ends of the arm supports were two sets of five wires ending in clips matching those stimulating her sweet toes. It took only a few moments to attach them to the tips of her slim fingers and start the current flowing. I made some arbitrary decisions about voltages and about the degree of random fluctuation to be allowed. This was, after all, just a preliminary experimental test-run with the machine - or machines, I should say, since there were three of them working together: the drill-style fucking-machine, the electrical torture-bed and Haruka's own ultra-sensitive body. There would be plenty of time in the future to try out different settings, Haruka telling me exactly what pattern of pleasure and pain gave her the precise degree of orgasmic stimulation she longed for. Only a couple of minutes to go. I smiled down on Haruka. I doubted if she was aware of me now, lost in her own private heaven, or hell, or blissful combination of the two. I picked up a ball-gag and swiftly inserted it into her gasping mouth, lifting her head and buckling the strap tightly. She looked up at me, startled. "You'll be all right on your own for a while, darling, won't you?" I asked. She could not reply, of course, but the awareness that she was to be left entirely at the mercy of the machines, one inflicting endless programmed torture and the other raping her gloriously, out of the reach of any help, could only add to the masochistic enchantment she was discovering in herself. One last detail remained. In supplying the equipment Fujiko had added at no charge a spare sheet of the miracle fibre. I unfolded it, checked that it was connected, and spread it lightly over Haruka. It was so light and soft that it immediately moulded itself to her body, but I tucked it gently round her, smoothing it so as to be sure that it was touching her gently but fully from her neck to her ankles. I held the touch-screen close to her face and made her watch while I adjusted the sliders controlling random fluctuations within a wide band of permitted voltages. Apart from her face, not a millimetre of her was now free of the loving attentions of either the torture-bed or the fucking-machine. I stroked her cheek and then pressed the "confirm" control. She gasped from behind her ball-gag as the fibres in the new sheet of material, lovingly spread over her, began to deliver their maddening and unstoppable electrical caresses. Her face and neck went rigid before relaxing as she tossed her head from side to side, her hair flowing down to the floor from the head-support. A red light flashed, telling me that there was someone at the door. Fumie's voice came from the intercom. I pressed the button admitting her to the building and went to receive her at the front door to the apartment. The combination lock on the torture-chamber door clicked shut behind me. So let us leave Haruka imprisoned all alone in her private paradise of orgasmic ecstasy while I tell you about Fumie. [Next in Part 05: Chapter V: Fumie] For complete series so far see /files/Authors/Bob_Williams Comments welcome at bobwilliams1@tiscali.co.uk