Author: Bob Williams
Title: Haruka's Education
Part: Chapter 5 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

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HARUKA'S EDUCATION 05

By Bob Williams and Haruka Sekine

CHAPTER V

Fumie

Fumie was an Office Lady or OL in the Tokyo 
Headquarters of a big electronics company. I 
cannot now recall why I went to visit one of the 
managers there, but I certainly do remember 
Fumie, in her smart miniskirted office uniform, 
collecting me from the Reception and ushering me 
out of the building again when my interview was 
over. On the principle of "Try - she can only say 
no" I asked her for a date, and after some pretty 
hesitation she accepted.

It was very much a standard first date: we met at 
a coffee shop for a light meal, and then went to 
some show or concert I had suggested to her over 
the phone when making the arrangements. Apart 
from taking her arm occasionally I was careful 
not to touch her, but from the start I was 
conscious of a sort of shimmering sexuality 
radiating from her. Of course I asked her back to 
my apartment in Akasaka "for coffee"; she 
accepted readily and the sexual aura turned into 
highly satisfying sexual action within minutes of 
our entrance.

Fumie was a fairly straightforward Japanese girl 
in her early twenties. She made love 
enthusiastically and generously. I don't know if 
she had a naturally giving nature or had early 
learned the lesson that in sex the more pleasure 
you give the more you receive: something of both, 
no doubt. She was perceptive as well as generous 
and knew how to tickle a lover's fetishes. She 
appeared for our first date wearing a short skirt 
held up by an elaborate chain-belt; as she 
undressed she gave me a teasing little smile, and 
then removed the belt from its loops and buckled 
it snugly round her waist. She had guessed 
without being told how nudity decorated with 
chains always stirred my lust. Then she asked 
very sweetly,

"Would you prefer me to keep my heels on?"

Of course I said yes. She kissed me lightly.

"I'm so glad," she said with a blush. "Somehow I 
thought you were the kind of man who would enjoy 
making love to a girl in high-heels. I like it 
best that way too."

Soon after that our mouths were busy with more 
enjoyable things than talking.

Fumie had plenty to give. Her legs were long and 
elegant, and she was taller than average, even 
more of course in her high-heels. She wore her 
hair long, hanging more than half-way down her 
back when it was loose. Her breasts were nothing 
special, but she had a pretty slim waist which 
she liked to show off with tight belts. She no 
longer shaved her cunt-hair - no doubt there had 
once been a time when she stimulated her lovers 
by posing as a precocious schoolgirl tart - but 
she kept it neatly trimmed the way I like it. 
Above all she had the peachiest arse I have ever 
seen: large and with two perfectly shaped and 
matching halves. There were no tan-lines to spoil 
the pale gold tint: if she sunbathed at all she 
obviously did so in the nude. Nor was her bottom 
marred by panty-lines. The resilience of its firm 
flesh was such that within minutes of removing 
her office uniform panties and tights it was as 
immaculate as if she had been nude for hours. I 
could hardly keep my eyes, or hands, off it. My 
adoration of it made her giggle like a teenager. 
Adding to its perfection were two lovely sacral 
dimples which it was my great pleasure to kiss 
and tickle before sliding the tip of my tongue 
down the split between the two halves of the 
peach to indulge in another session of 
arse-worship.

We soon gave up any pretence of formal dating. On 
our agreed evenings she would come to my 
apartment for a prolonged sex session immediately 
after work. Sometimes we would go out for a meal 
or a movie between bouts; more often we would 
stay naked and lie in each other's arms watching 
a video from my collection. Usually we watched 
porn: she had hardly ever seen such videos before 
and it was a treat to see the naive pleasure they 
gave her. She had a charming trick of covering 
her face with her hands when the camera closed in 
on the fucking - though of course looking between 
her fingers and then begging me to do to her 
exactly what she had seen being done to the girl 
on screen.

For all that our fucking was somewhat 
straightforward and, as they say, plain vanilla. 
Given the extraordinary beauty and desirability 
of her arse it was surprising that she did not 
hint at any interest in being whipped. Surely 
some lover would have taught her by now to enjoy 
that, I thought. When I was taking her from 
behind I would spank her a little, and she seemed 
to like it, but she never showed any sign of 
wanting me to go further.

It worried me that there seemed to be something 
lacking in her sexuality. When a girl is 
introduced to masochism at puberty, at the time 
when her imagination is on fire with so many 
wonderful discoveries of what her body can do to 
delight her, she will possess a source of endless 
joy to be treasured for ever by herself and by 
her lovers. But if a young woman has been 
unlucky, and either never learned about the 
overwhelming happiness the whip can give her or 
was introduced to it clumsily, repairing the 
damage to her sexuality is a delicate business. 
So I was right to be cautious - but caution, I 
decided, can be taken too far.

One evening when she was due to visit I left a 
whip neatly coiled on the bed: just a simple cat 
of long leather lashes with no knots or 
sophisticated special features. I was helping her 
out of her clothes and she turned to drop her 
office blouse and bra on the bed - and then she 
saw it.

"What's this?" she asked, picking it up and 
running the lashes through her fingers.

"Oh, I ... er, that is ... I didn't mean to ..." 
I stammered.

Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she responded 
to my carefully acted embarrassment.

"Do you use this on your girls?" she asked 
coquettishly.

"Well, that is, if they, you know, enjoy it ..."

"Do you think I will enjoy it?"

"I ... er ..."

She let the whip fall out of its coils, the long 
lashes rustling erotically as they tumbled to the 
floor. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed me.

"Well, there's only one way to find out," she 
said in a practical tone.

She turned away, dropped the whip in a tangle of 
lashes on the bed, hooked her thumbs into the 
waistband of her tights and pulled them and her 
panties off together. Without any guidance from 
me she spread herself out on the bed, lying on 
her front with her legs wide apart. She pulled 
the pillows together and buried her head in them, 
turning her face to one side. Finally she lifted 
her long hair, gathered it together and tossed it 
down her back.

"Mm'mm ... please ..." she murmured contentedly.

I could hardly resist an invitation like that, 
especially not from a girl whose arse I had been 
lusting after for weeks. I picked up the whip 
from where she had left it and raised it high, 
letting the tips of the lashes tickle her bottom. 
Then, after several teasing false starts, I 
brought them down moderately hard on that 
luscious golden peach. There was a slight murmur 
of - protest? encouragement? - and she wriggled 
her hips a little, burying them more deeply into 
the bed. I raised the whip and brought the lashes 
down again, a little harder this time. And again, 
and again.

After the sixth or seventh stroke she suddenly 
raised herself on the bed, then tucked her knees 
up under her tummy so that her creamy arse was 
fully displayed as the highest point of her body. 
I was overwhelmed by its beauty, but the problem 
was one of too much choice: should I caress it, 
fuck it or go on whipping it? There was no doubt 
about what she wanted so I renewed my efforts, 
giving her another twenty or so slow strokes with 
all my strength. The peach was ripening now, the 
pale gold blending gradually into a beautiful 
pink blush.

I could resist its loveliness no longer, tossed 
the whip aside and, seizing the fruit in both 
hands, thrust my tongue into the luscious crack 
between the halves. I paid a friendly visit to 
her cute little arsehole with the tip of my 
tongue, then moved on down to the gasping mouth 
from which the peach nectar was dripping. As I 
feasted she made another of her rapid movements 
and twisted round onto her back, legs wide apart 
and knees up. I had her by the slim waist now, my 
lips firmly clamped over her lower mouth as my 
tongue dug deep into her cunt in search of yet 
more heavenly juice. Then suddenly her long legs 
were over my shoulders and her ankles locked 
behind my neck, holding me tight as her happy 
prisoner, her pointed heels scratching my 
shoulders. I kissed her pretty cunt-lips and 
found I was murmuring foolishly to them, "Oh, you 
are so beautiful! Oh, you are so beautiful!" Then 
my tongue was deep in her lower throat harvesting 
her honeyed love-juice.

She was close to coming now, I thought, but she 
released me and swung round till we were lying 
together in an untidy sixty-nine position. Now 
her hands and upper mouth = she was always, as I 
said, a generous lover - were caressing my 
erection and I too was close to climax. We came 
together, worshipping each other's bodies as we 
feasted greedily on the passionate mutual flow of 
liquid lust.

"Oh, that was wonderful!" she said at last, once 
we were lying in each other's arms again and had 
shared our juices in long, deep kisses. "Please 
do it to me again!"

"Which part of it?" I asked teasingly.

"All of it! But especially the whipping."

"You liked that?"

"I loved it," she said; and then softly, after a 
little pause, "I know now."

"I'm surprised," I said more seriously, "that you 
didn't already know. Your arse is so beautiful 
... surely I can't be the first lover to have 
wanted to whip it?"

"Well, I have been whipped before. I had lovers 
who wanted to do that to me. But I never enjoyed 
it much. No one ever did it the way you do! More, 
please!"

She began to look around the bed in search of the 
whip. The moment had come.

"I have a special place," I said carefully, 
"where I whip my girls."

She looked at me, wide-eyed, not sure what I 
meant. I sat up and held out my hands to her.

"Would you like to see?"

She nodded silently. We climbed off the bed 
together.

"Why don't you go and wash ... you know, tidy up 
a bit, and then I'll show you."

She kissed me, then disappeared into the 
bathroom. As she went she stepped neatly out of 
her shoes. I picked them up, smelt them and even 
I think kissed them. How arousing girls' shoes 
are, especially when you can still feel their 
aroma and warmth in the curved indentations their 
pretty little feet have pressed into them! But 
for Fumie's first torture-session I can find 
something even better, I thought.

In one of my closets I have a little stock of 
clothes for sexy girls - items bought for former 
partners which they never took away. My youngest 
girls, for instance, those still subject to the 
supervision of parents and schoolteachers, 
usually have to keep their sexual fantasy 
clothing at my apartment where it cannot be 
discovered and their possession of it 
investigated, which largely explains the contents 
of my closet! I soon found what I was looking 
for: a pair of fetish shoes with absurdly high 
heels to force a girl onto her highest tiptoes 
and with long silver cords to bind her feet to 
the curved soles. I love to see my girls, 
especially when we have established a 
master-slave relationship, in the highest, 
slimmest heels they can possibly manage. Apart 
from the pretty teetering walk and posture and 
the elegant reshaping of calves and thighs, they 
add to the fantasy of helpless captivity which a 
girl soon learns to enjoy as much as I do.

Fumie emerged from the bathroom looking as fresh 
and wholesome as an OL arriving at her office. 
Apart from her lack of clothes, of course. She at 
once spotted the shoes waiting for her, but said 
nothing and waited submissively for instructions.

"There are two rules for girls entering my 
special room," I said firmly. "The first: all 
clothing is strictly forbidden. The second: 
except for fetish items specified by me - and 
that almost always includes high-heels like 
these. So put them on, please."

She hastened to obey and I knelt on the carpet to 
help her slide her feet - still fresh and 
slightly damp from the shower - into each shoe in 
turn. I tied the cords for her across her insteps 
and round her ankles. The shoes were just a 
little tight, I thought, but so much the prettier 
and she made no complaint: perhaps she could 
already feel the prickling in her constricted 
feet which would form a tingling background to 
all the strong new sensations she was about to 
experience. How delicious her feet looked forced 
into something close to a ballet-dancer's stance 
and bound into the elegant curve of the silver 
soles! I was strongly tempted to prostrate myself 
before them, kiss them, suck her little toes, 
anoint them with my cum ... I once took part in a 
simple party game in which the group first 
decided which of the girls had the tiniest feet, 
after which we men masturbated all over them and 
then enjoyed the sight of the other girls 
competing to lick them clean and slurp up all the 
translucent blobs and streaks of cum while the 
first girl giggled helplessly and came in her 
excitement ... There is no doubt that a girl's 
feet are a highly erogenous zone, especially when 
your tongue is working over the ticklish gaps 
between her toes, and can stimulate your lust 
delightfully. They should never be neglected in 
any variety of sex but especially not in bondage 
and sado-masochism sessions ...

I'm so sorry, where was I? Oh yes, lying on the 
carpet worshipping Fumie's feet. They would have 
to wait, I decided reluctantly. We had other more 
fundamental lusts to enjoy together first. I 
stood up and took her by the hand.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"No going back?"

I felt her shiver in what I hoped was a mixture 
of fear and anticipation. She shook her head and 
smiled bravely. I slipped my arm round her waist 
and conducted her out of the bedroom and along 
the corridor. She tried to walk at a steady pace 
taking tiny steps in her fetish shoes but her 
legs were trembling and I could feel her 
shivering, which I like a girl to do when she is 
about to enter my torture-chamber for the first 
time. (The second time, of course, she cannot get 
there fast enough!) I activated the push-button 
combination lock, opened the door and switched on 
the main lights. She gazed round with 
astonishment, gradually taking in the room's 
contents and their implications for her as the 
door swung irrevocably shut behind her.

At that first session I introduced her step by 
step to the instruments and equipment in my 
torture-chamber, ready at any moment to withdraw 
if I sensed resistance or dislike. But having 
made a start, Fumie was a fast learner. She soon 
let me know what she liked best to have done to 
her, though with her usual generosity she 
encouraged me to do the things she sensed I liked 
best as well. She preferred to be whipped while 
chained to the red metal St Andrew's Cross. I 
have already explained that I like a girl to be 
helpless within the main whipping-frame so that I 
and my instruments have access to every part of 
her; but given my obsession with Fumie's 
exquisite bottom I was happy enough to whip her 
with just her back exposed to me. She also 
developed a pretty taste for being suspended from 
a ceiling hook and whipped at random as she 
swayed to and fro. She would tiptoe over to the 
instrument table in her tight fetish shoes, scoop 
up a pair of steel handcuffs and hold them out to 
me with an irresistible expression of pleading on 
her sweet face. So I would kneel in front of her 
adorable little feet and chain her ankles 
together with the cuffs. Then I would pull her to 
the floor and attach another set of handcuffs to 
one wrist, loop the chain through the one binding 
her ankles, and fix the other cuff to her free 
wrist. That turned her into a backward-leaning 
crescent, ankles and wrists locked together. 
Another pair of cuffs would pinion her upper arms 
above the elbows, pulling her shoulders painfully 
back and forcing her breasts to stand out 
proudly. Ignoring her convincing but insincere 
protests I would lower a hook from the ceiling 
and loop the wrist- and ankle-cuffs over it. Soon 
she was just a bundle of ecstatic agony hanging 
on her chain and screaming while I vigorously 
plied one of my multiple whips with thick braided 
leather tails, down onto her bottom and then with 
a back-handed flick up onto her breasts and tummy 
as she swayed to and fro.

We had such fun together! You know, when one 
spends much of one's time whipping and fucking 
very young girls, with their vivid but unruly 
sexual imaginations, it is easy to forget the 
pleasure of making love to a beautiful grown-up 
woman who understands exactly what she wants you 
to do to her and knows how to ask for it. But at 
last I would judge we had both been stimulated 
enough and free her. Then for our final game she 
would beg me to rape her. I would carry her back 
along the corridor to the bedroom, throw her down 
onto the bed and take her, while she clung 
passionately to me and begged me unconvincingly 
to spare her.

At last the inevitable happened: when I called 
her to discuss the next date she told me it would 
have to be our last. She was getting married, she 
said: the company thought it was time she moved 
on so that they could employ a younger and 
cheaper OL in her place, and had introduced her 
to a rising young "salaryman" with good prospects 
in the company. I expressed a polite mixture of 
regret and congratulations. We made arrangements 
for our last meeting to include all the 
activities we most enjoyed, including a carefully 
planned sequence of whipping and caning. When she 
called the following day to thank me, she paid me 
the compliment of saying she was still having 
trouble sitting down.

As at last we prepared to part that evening I 
gave her the wedding-present I had ready for her. 
It was a beautiful whip of many strands in white 
leather, perfect for a bride. It was left over 
from a relationship I had once had with a 
charming girl with a vivid dramatic imagination, 
who liked to play the part of an innocent, 
virginal bride who discovered on her 
wedding-night that the respectful young man she 
was marrying was an insatiable sadist of 
exceptional cruelty. I found her demands for 
play-acting and her realistic screams of "Why are 
you so cruel to me?" enjoyable but exhausting, 
and after a while we drifted apart. I learnt 
later that she had in the end married just such a 
man and both of them lived, I hope, happily ever 
after.

On my insistence Fumie opened her present at 
once.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" she said, running the long, 
knotted and decorated lashes longingly through 
her fingers. "Shall we ... shall we just ...?"

"No, no," I said, "that's for your husband to 
do."

She giggled.

"I'll take it on my honeymoon," she said. "I 
can't wait to see his face when I lay it out on 
our bed beside my nightdress."

"Will you take a nightdress on your honeymoon?" I 
asked, pretending to be surprised.

"Of course. I need something to take off, don't 
I?"

She kissed me, and was gone.

I had almost forgotten her when she called me six 
weeks or so later.

"Bob, I have to see you. I have a problem."

"Of course ... but what is it?"

"I'll tell you when we meet. When can I come? I 
must have some time with you alone."

The following evening she came straight from the 
office, still in her OL uniform.

"It's about my fiance," she said almost as soon 
as she had arrived.

Well, I had guessed that of course.

"Is it all off or something?" I asked.

"Well, it may have to be. The trouble is ... I 
know this sounds strange ..."

"Go on. Nothing surprises me."

"The fact is ... he won't ... well, he won't whip 
me."

Having at last got it out, she burst into tears. 
I sat beside her, took her in my arms and 
comforted her.

"But why on earth not?" I asked when at last she 
had quietened down.

"I don't know!" she said, almost in tears again. 
"There's nothing wrong with me, is there?"

"Nothing at all! I can say that, of all people. 
You are wonderful. You are a joy to whip. You 
love it, and you show that you love it, and you 
thank me beautifully. Or you did when we were 
together."

"Then there must be something wrong with him."

"Sounds like it."

"We make love, of course. We go on dates. He's 
very nice to me. But when I suggest that he do 
the one thing I love most, he won't. He won't 
even talk about it. He seems to think it's 
somehow ... I don't know ... wrong, disgusting of 
me even to mention it."

"How very odd. I can't imagine any man refusing 
to make love to you like that. You have the most 
desirable arse of any girl I've ever known ..."

"But what use is a husband who won't whip me?"

She started crying again. I soothed her as best 
as I could. Suddenly she pulled herself together.

"Bob, do something for me. Whip me. I'm 
desperate. I haven't had it for ages. Do it to me 
the way you used to. After all, it was you who 
taught me to want it so much! Then I'll feel 
better. I'll be able to think about it properly. 
Decide what to do."

"Of course," I said. "I'd love to. I've missed 
that bottom of yours more than I can possibly 
tell you."

She smiled bravely and kissed me.

"Let's go upstairs now," she said.

"Sure. But remember the rules. No girl enters my 
torture-chamber ..."

"... with clothes on!" she completed happily.

She jumped up, danced round the room and 
performed a rapid but very arousing striptease. 
Then she was in my arms again, and I was helping 
her up the stairs.

"And there was a second rule, remember?" I said 
as we went.

"Except any fetish gear you choose to instruct 
her to wear!" she said with a giggle. "Fetish 
shoes?"

"You bet fetish shoes!"

We went first to the bedroom and I quickly pulled 
the shoes out of the closet where I kept them. I 
helped her squeeze her feet into them, and tied 
the cords as tightly as I could while she 
supported herself with her hands on the top of my 
head.

"Oh, yes!" she breathed. "I'd forgotten how good 
they feel! So beautifully tight! Such a lovely 
feeling of tingling and shivering!"

"And so pretty!" I added.

She pirouetted round the bedroom, forced onto the 
tips of her toes, while I stood ready to catch 
her if she overbalanced. She came to a halt in my 
arms.

"And now ... the torture-chamber! Oh, the happy 
times I've had there! Please whip me really, 
really well!"

As soon as I had unlocked the door she went 
straight to the St Andrew's Cross against the 
wall and stood there ready with her feet apart 
and her arms above her head. The leather cuffs 
and chains were hanging ready from the four 
points of the cross and it took me only a few 
moments to pinion her to the frame. She let out a 
deep sigh of happiness.

"It's been so long!" she whispered. "And I've 
wanted it so much! Don't keep me waiting ..."

For our earlier sessions in this room I had 
enjoyed planning a sequence of pleasures for her 
- including whips of various kinds, building up 
different levels of pain and normally ending with 
the sharp-edged leather-sheathed birch cane. 
There had been no time for that on this occasion. 
I just grabbed the first long-lashed cat I found 
on the instrument table. It happened to be one 
with hard knots in some lashes and tiny prickling 
metal adornments buried in others. I began to 
caress her with it, slowly and gently at first 
but then more strongly and lovingly. Young and 
enthusiastic girls had passed through my hands 
and my torture-chamber since Fumie and I had said 
good-bye, but I had not forgotten the beauty of 
her perfect arse. Soon the pale gold was again 
ripening to a pretty blush marked at random with 
darker specks from the whip's decorations, as she 
breathed deeply and encouraged me with gasps of 
pleasure and pleas for even harder strokes.

It was more than an hour by the clock when I 
threw down the whip at last, released her wrists 
and ankles and held her as she fell back into my 
arms.

"Oh, that was so good!" she murmured. "And I 
needed it so badly! Thank you ... thank you ..."

"What would you like now?"

I already knew the answer.

"Take me ... please take me hard, the way you 
used to ... Rape me, force me ..."

I half carried, half supported her back along the 
corridor to the bedroom, threw her down and 
secured her wrists and ankles to the four corners 
of the bed with the chains which were always 
hanging discreetly there. She wriggled 
luxuriously and whimpered as her tender bottom 
was stimulated by the sheet.

"I know what you want," I said, "a little extra 
..."

From the bottom drawer of the bedside cabinet I 
produced a square of rough fibre such as is used 
for old-fashioned doormats.

"Up a moment ..."

I raised her hips and slid the matting underneath 
before letting her bottom fall back onto it. She 
squealed and squirmed as the mass of sharp points 
in the rough material stimulated her delicate 
tormented flesh.

"Oh, oh ... _yes_!" she cried. "Ah, that's 
_lovely_! Now take me ..."

I pulled off my shirt and slacks. I was more than 
ready and fell on her, taking her remorselessly 
in the way I knew she loved. I somehow managed to 
make it last as she clung passionately to me and 
begged me to force her more roughly. When it was 
over we lay panting in each other's arms.

"I have an idea," I said, when at last our hearts 
and breathing had returned to something like 
normality. "About your fiance."

"Tell me."

"Don't you think," I said carefully, "that if he 
could see you as I've just seen you ... helpless 
and bound so beautifully, being whipped, loving 
every moment of it ... don't you think he would 
understand at last?"

"Understand?"

"Understand that you adore it, being whipped I 
mean, and want it all the time? And then see how 
cruel he's being, denying it to you? Would that 
work?"

"Well, I suppose it might," she said dubiously.

"You see, I can think of only two explanations. 
Either he's being deliberately unkind to you, not 
letting you have what you want, in which case the 
sooner you get rid of him the better ..."

"Break it off, you mean?"

"Yes. How could you marry a man like that? You'll 
give him everything he wants, won't you? Let him 
do anything to you that pleases him? Do 
everything to him that he most enjoys?"

"Of course!"

"And of course he should do to you the things you 
love best. But it may be that he just doesn't 
understand how much you love being whipped. Need 
it. Must have it. Perhaps he's been brought up to 
think that a girl couldn't possibly enjoy 
something like that, and imagines you're just 
being self-sacrificing in offering to let him 
whip you."

She giggled.

"Are there such men?"

"Well, there might be, and he might be one of 
them. But when he sees you enjoying it, and 
perhaps begins to whip you himself, and finds 
that he enjoys doing it to you ..."

"The way every sensible man does ..."

"Do you think it would work?"

"It might."

"Could you persuade him to come here, meet you 
here?"

"I'll manage somehow."

"Then you get here half-an-hour earlier and when 
he arrives you're in the middle of a whipping 
session. And making it obvious how much you're 
loving it."

"All right. At least that way I get whipped 
again. By you."

"So that's settled?"

"Yes."

"What do you want me to do to you now?"

She stretched out luxuriously on the bed, taking 
care to wriggle her bottom against the tormenting 
square of stiff matting.

"Turn me over," she said at last, "and fuck my 
arse. I haven't had that for _ages_."

"It's so lovely and hot," I said some minutes 
later.

"Mm'mm. Well, you made it hot. With your lovely 
whips. Ahhh, that's good ... deeper, please. If 
you can ..."

"Of course I can. I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Yes you are. It's lovely. Don't stop!"

Well, I wasn't going to of course.

It was almost a week before Fumie called me 
again.

"I've persuaded him," she said. "He's agreed to 
come with me to visit a _sensei_ who can help 
couples with problems of sexual compatibility." 
She giggled. "That's you. But there's only one 
possible time, he can get free on Saturday 
morning for once, so I hope you can make it 
available for us."

"Well, it's not easy," I said. "I have a pupil 
here then."

"Can't you put her off?"

"Not really. She lives here, you see."

"Lucky you. You have a live-in slave now, do 
you?"

"Well, yes. In a way. She has a lot of talent and 
I'm training her. I sometimes think I'm the 
slave. She makes me work very hard!"

"How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

"Aren't you afraid you'll get caught one day, 
corrupting minors, and be deported?"

"_She_ won't report me. She's having the 
loveliest time she's ever had in her entire life. 
But come anyway. I'll make it right with her. She 
won't be in the way. And I think I can see a way 
of using her to help solve your problem."

"That's kind of you. Thank you."

"You get here half-an-hour early so we can set 
things up. Will your young man be on time?"

"He's always punctual."


[Next in Part 06: Chapter VI: Fumie and her Fiance] 

For complete series so far see 
/files/Authors/Bob_Williams

Comments welcome at
bobwilliams1@tiscali.co.uk