I AM NOT ASHAMED 12

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 03: I AM NOT ASHAMED
BY KIMIKO KOBAYASHI AND MEGUMI KATO

CHAPTER XII

The Next Day

Breakfast had arrived in our sitting-room while I was 
day-dreaming on the bed, and now I sat naked opposite 
David at the little table, pink and warm from my bath 
and from his attentions to me, luxuriously wriggling 
my tender bottom against the rough cloth of the chair. 

"Please tell me something," I said shyly as I leant 
forward, conscious of his eyes on my naked breasts, to 
pour us both more coffee. 

"Of course." 

"D'you remember, yesterday at dinner, you said there 
was something about me ... something that you 
especially liked?" 

"Yes?" 

"What was it?" 

"I thought you already knew." 

"No, tell me. I want to hear it." 

"Well, you know I love Japanese girls." 

"And I expect you've had _lots_," I said, trying not 
to sound accusing. 

"Yes, quite a lot. Not nearly enough, though." 

"And I bet you loved them more than you love me," I 
said, not wanting to say it but unable to prevent 
myself. 

"I thought you wanted to hear what makes _you_ 
special." 

I said nothing, just looked at him with my eyes 
sparkling. 

"The part of Japanese girls I love best is their cute 
bottoms and thighs." 

"But that's the _worst_ part!" I protested. Surely he 
was making fun of me. "So fat, and short ..." 

He ignored me. 

"All the time I've lived in Japan, I've been looking 
for the girl with the perfect arse. I knew she must be 
there somewhere. And even though I never found her, 
it's been such fun looking." 

"Beast!" 

"And then yesterday I found her at last. I saw you 
standing there on the train in front of me, showing me 
your bottom so sweetly, and I knew my search was 
over." 

I blushed, and wriggled luxuriously again on my seat. 

"What would you have done if I hadn't come back?" 

"Oh, I don't know, gone through the train looking for 
you I expect, begged you to take pity on me ... Tell 
me, do you always wear skirts that show off your 
bottom and legs so nicely?" 

"That skirt doesn't _really_ show my bottom, does 
it?" I asked anxiously. 

"Of course it does, darling - you know very well it 
does. That's why you wear it, of course. Do you think 
I couldn't see you showing it off to me, wriggling it 
slightly and hoping I would react?" 

I blushed again. That was just what I _had_ done. The 
old feeling of shame at my behaviour began to flood 
through me again. But I was so glad I had done it. 

"Now that I know you like it," I said, "I promise I'll 
always wear skirts like that for you ... for _all_ my 
lovers." 

"What do you mean?" he asked severely. "Are you 
planning to have other lovers besides me?" 

"Oh, yes ... lots and lots and _lots_!" 

"You naughty little slut!" 

There had once been a time, I thought, when I would 
have been horrified to be called that. Now it made me 
giggle delightedly. 

"Am I naughty?" I asked, trying to tempt him. 

"Yes, very." 

"Punish me?" I suggested hopefully. "Punish me for 
being naughty, and for being a little slut?" 

"Later, perhaps. Make me fuck you first." 

I got up, walked over to where my clothes were lying 
in a muddled heap from yesterday, and clipped the 
little white strip of plastic material round my naked 
bottom. I stepped into the high-heeled black shoes and 
paraded round the room for him till I could see that I 
had got the result I was hoping for. I went back to 
the breakfast table, wheeled it out of the way, and 
knelt before my wonderful lover. 

"Come in my mouth, please, darling," I murmured. 

He lay back in his chair and let me use him. I did not 
swallow him this time, just took him as far into my 
mouth as I comfortably could, my tongue reaching out 
to flick around the roots of his cock, while my 
fingers tickled his balls and the sensitive folds 
where the tops of his thighs reached his crotch. I 
varied my technique as much as I could but soon enough 
I had my reward as the salty cream, tasting like 
frothed egg-white, spurted uncontrollably into my 
mouth. 

"What time is your train back to Tokyo?" he asked 
after a while. 

"Oh, er, 1447 I think," I replied, still licking my 
lips. 

Fortunately I knew how long the run from Osaka to 
Kyoto was supposed to take. Add two minutes for the 
stop in Kyoto ... Oh, I hoped he would not ask to 
check my ticket! 

"We must hurry!" he said. I'm supposed to be showing 
you Kyoto!" 

"Do I have to?" I asked rebelliously. "I'd much rather 
stay here and ... and be a naughty little slut." 

The words were such a perfect description of what I 
wanted to be - already _was_ - that I could not let go 
of them. 

"Yes, you do have to. If you're going to be a success 
with your lovers, a perfect bottom isn't enough. You 
need to be able to talk intelligently too." 

"You said you liked my bottom." 

"I do. I adore it. If I could, I'd spend the rest of 
my life kissing it and fucking it." 

"And whipping it ... and caning it?" I asked 
anxiously. 

"Of course. That too. But unfortunately I can't fuck 
non-stop the way you can. So there have to be other 
things we can do together in between. This morning I'm 
going to show you the Kiyomizu Temple." 

"Is that the one on the great wooden platform?" I 
asked hesitantly, faint memories stirring of myself as 
one of a crowd of giggling schoolgirls shepherded by 
tired, cross teachers. 

"That's right! I knew you weren't as ignorant as you 
pretended." 

"All right, then." 

I decided to wear my transparent blouse, white 
miniskirt and new boots, as I had done the day before, 
but with two differences. I wore no tights; and, just 
in case, I coiled two of my ropes as tightly as I 
could and slipped them into the pockets of my short 
coat. For a moment I considered wearing nothing under 
my skirt at all, so as to be ready for anything my 
lover might have in mind; but the skirt was so short, 
even when covered by my coat, that in the end I wore 
my little g-string panties as well. They would come 
off easily enough if I found they weren't wanted! 

As we left the hotel, David arranged for us to keep 
the room a couple of hours after normal check-out time 
and, to avoid delays, he asked to pay the bill at 
once. Twenty minutes later a taxi dropped us at the 
foot of the long path which leads up through rows of 
shops to the entrance to the Kiyomizu Temple. With the 
many other visitors in couples and groups, we strolled 
past the souvenir shops, businesses specialising in 
fans and traditional ceramics, and small restaurants 
until we reached the huge entrance. David pointed out 
the large boards newly erected there, and, impatient 
with his slow progress through the Japanese script, I 
took over from him and read out the warning that 
persons staying in a certain hotel were not permitted 
to enter the temple. 

"What on earth is that about?" I asked when I had 
finished. 

David explained that a property company had recently 
got permission to erect a 60-storey building in front 
of Kyoto Station, much of it to be used as a hotel, 
and that many of the priests and abbots who owned the 
shrines and temples were furiously opposed to this 
desecration of Japan's cultural capital. 

"But they can't really stop people from one hotel, can 
they? How will they know which hotel anyone is staying 
in?" I asked. 

"Come on, darling, you know your own people better 
than that! The temple people can't know, but the 
visitors themselves will know, and they will feel 
terribly ashamed." 

I blushed, and thought that the sense of shame was 
after all an important part of the Japanese make-up. 
Perhaps I should take care not to lose the capacity 
for it altogether. 

We walked on, up the broad path through the outer 
precincts of the temple, till we came to the famous 
platform. I had forgotten how huge it was, supported 
on gigantic beams and tree-trunks as it projected over 
the steep valley. Like everyone else, we took pictures 
of each other leaning against the railing admiring the 
spectacular view over the city. I smiled indulgently 
at the hordes of giggling schoolgirls in their 
sailor-suit uniforms, trying to imagine myself one of 
them again. We walked on past the monks collecting 
signatures supporting world peace, and the eccentric 
elderly ladies trying to interest people in religious 
tracts. 

At the end of the platform were the racks to which 
petitioners tied wooden plaques after they had 
inscribed them with their prayers. For some reason 
these are known as _ema_ or "horse-pictures", which is 
correct only one year in twelve really as the blank 
plaques are always sold decorated with the calendar 
animal of the current year: today they all displayed 
paintings of a cock with long white feathers and 
handsome red crest. David lifted a few on their 
strings and read them. I was shocked - it had never 
occurred to me to read other people's prayers, however 
openly displayed. But it was interesting to see the 
worries and preoccupations of many ordinary visitors: 
"That Mother will get well soon;" "That I get a 
husband who will make me happy and take good care of 
me;" "For a safe childbirth;" "That I pass my nursing 
certificate exam." I had a sudden wild desire to buy 
one of the blank pieces of wood from the bored priest 
at the sales counter and offer a prayer "That I have 
many wonderful lovers who will fuck and whip me every 
night till I faint with pleasure." Only an inquisitive 
foreigner would notice if I did, and most of them 
cannot read Japanese anyway. 

Suddenly I thought, "The Lord Buddha will notice what 
I write. But then he loves and cares for me, and 
grants me what I want, in any case. He was with me on 
the train, and he is with me now." I felt guilty at 
having ignored his compassion; I excused myself a 
moment from David and ran back to the place where the 
huge shutters were lifted to show the dark inner 
sanctum. I joined the crowd gathered there in bowing 
my head and offering a wordless prayer - just a state 
of mind, really. I regretted not having a coin to 
throw into the big collection box, but he would 
understand. 

The broad path turned to the right and opened onto 
other platforms. We again took video shots of each 
other against the view, and then David recorded me 
laughing among a crowd of people all trying to catch 
in long-handled cups the clear water pouring down the 
hillside from which the temple gets its name. We went 
on, leaving the crowds behind us as we entered less 
frequented parts of the temple precincts. In an open 
space surrounded by ancient trees were two little 
red-painted shrines dedicated to Inari, God of the 
rice-harvest, each guarded by stone statues of the 
foxes who are the God's retainers. The shrines were 
neglected and it had been long since anyone had made 
offerings of food and sake on the miniature china 
dishes and bowls. I had nothing to offer except 
respect, and awareness that other Gods had inhabited 
this place long before worship of the Lord Buddha 
arrived from China, but I clapped my hands so they 
would notice me and bowed before each shrine in turn. 
Unlike Buddha, who never sleeps, the old Gods of Japan 
have to be woken and reminded that we still need them. 

David slipped his arm round me as he guided me uphill 
behind the shrines to a deserted area of the temple 
grounds. There were ancient trees, and I enjoyed the 
smell of pine in the fresh autumn air and the silence 
of the thick carpet of leaves. The temple itself 
seemed very distant among the red foliage on the 
hillside across the valley. When we were well out of 
sight of the path David took me in his arms, his hands 
sliding under my open coat, and kissed me. 

"Are you enjoying seeing Kyoto like this?" 

"Oh, yes! Seeing it with you is wonderful!" I 
hesitated a moment and then said, "David ..." I was 
about to ask him about the man he had brought to our 
room, the man who had whipped and caned me till I 
fainted from the joy of it. But I hesitated too long. 

"Are you sorry you missed Osaka?" he asked without any 
change of tone. 

For a moment I did not take in what he meant; then 
suddenly I blushed scarlet and could only gaze at him 
helplessly. 

"You were going to Osaka really, weren't you?" 

I was still speechless. Then as the implications of 
what he was saying began to sink in, I buried my face 
on his shoulder and did my best not to cry. 

"The conductor on the train thought you were. Of 
course, he could have been mistaken. But when I paid 
the bill at the hotel I found that the phone call you 
made to your friend was to an Osaka number, not 
local." 

Now I was really beginning to cry. 

"How's your ankle, by the way?" he asked. "I hope you 
haven't put too much strain on it with all this 
walking. The left, wasn't it? Or was it the right? Or 
can't you remember?" 

I said nothing. What could I say? 

"Do you often wiggle your bottom at strange men in the 
hope of getting picked up?" 

I absolutely had to say something now. 

"No!" I said tearfully, looking anxiously at his face. 
"Only for you. Once I had met you I couldn't bear to 
lose you. You said you felt the same way about me. And 
anyway," I continued, snuffling into his shoulder 
again, "I thought you liked my bottom." 

"Oh, you naughty little slut!" he said, his hands 
still caressing me under my coat, "don't you think you 
should be severely punished for being so deceitful?" 

I looked up at him again, this time eagerly. My heart 
was still beating fast, but in hope rather than fear 
of what he might be about to do to me. Had this all 
been an elaborate charade to build up to another 
wonderful session of sexual pleasure? But where? How? 
Meanwhile I knew what I had to say. 

"Yes, Master," I said submissively. "I deserve to be 
beaten very severely." 

He pulled away from me, and slowly drew the 
nine-tailed whip from his coat pocket. I gasped with 
astonishment; then, my eyes sparkling with excitement, 
put my hands into my own pockets and showed him my 
ropes. He let out a great shout of laughter. 

"Oh, darling Kimiko, isn't it marvellous that I found 
you and you found me on that train? Have you ever 
heard of two people so suited to each other?" 

He kissed me again, then turned me so that he could 
slip off my coat. He put it down neatly on the carpet 
of dry pine-needles, then commanded me to remove my 
skirt. I quickly undid the three silver snaps, and 
then the little bows which held up my panties, and 
handed him the scraps of material to place on top of 
my coat. I shivered a little in the autumn air as I 
stood naked apart from my boots and my silky 
transparent blouse. 

"Over here." 

He led me towards the largest of the trees, an ancient 
cryptomeria. At his instruction I leant against it, my 
arms trying to embrace its enormous trunk, my booted 
feet apart. My sensitive breasts rubbed through the 
thin blouse against the bark, and I could feel my 
nipples harden at its rough touch. David tied the end 
of one rope to my wrist, then pulled it tightly round 
the huge trunk before tying me again by the other. 
Then I could feel him do the same to my ankles, 
holding them comfortably apart. Now it was the turn of 
my pussy to feel and relish the close, rough contact 
of the tree. Somehow its ancient strength communicated 
itself to me, a sense of its extraordinary, 
centuries-old power sucking nourishment from the 
earth. 

"Ready?" 

"Yes, Master, I am ready. Please give me a lovely 
whipping. You know I deserve to be whipped really 
hard." 

I could hear behind me the erotic rustling of the 
lashes as my lover shook them out, practising his 
strokes before starting in earnest. My bottom tingled 
in excited expectation. Suddenly the whipping began, 
and I felt again the miracle of an appetite which 
increases indefinitely the more it is satisfied. As 
usual the first few strokes were agonisingly painful, 
but I longed for them because I knew I would soon find 
again the alchemy which transmuted them into liquid 
gold coursing through my body, redoubled by the strong 
touch of the giant tree against my nakedness. It was a 
comfortable, steady whipping compared with what I had 
been granted last night; but still I threw back my 
head and, as my voice screamed and implored, gazed up 
at the dark green foliage as if through an endless 
tunnel. Through the leaves the clear, high autumn sun 
shone on my upturned face, the Goddess smiling 
indulgently on her erring but blessed daughter. 

Suddenly the lashes stopped swishing exquisitely round 
my delighted body. I whimpered a complaint at being so 
unexpectedly deprived of the pleasure they were giving 
me and then, through the haze of golden light in me 
and around me, became aware of voices somewhere to my 
left. I turned my head and saw a couple standing, 
gazing at me in astonishment, David trying to reassure 
them that there was no need for them to interfere. As 
my eyes began to focus again on everyday things, I 
realised that I had seen the girl's woolly cap and 
dowdy clothes before. Beside her stood her solemn 
young husband. It was hardly surprising that they were 
visiting the same sights as we, or that on honeymoon 
they looked for places to be alone together just as we 
did. 

As I began to descend from the paradise to which 
David's whipping and the beautiful natural 
surroundings had raised me, I felt stirrings of an 
embarrassed shame which I thought I had put behind me. 
Hanging there against the tree, naked except for my 
transparent blouse and high-heeled boots, I began to 
respond, however unwillingly, to the agony of 
embarrassment obviously felt by the young couple. 
Suppressing my shame by concentrating on my own urgent 
desire - and recognising David's need for help - I 
called out begging him to continue my whipping as hard 
as he could. The effect on the young couple was only 
to send them into an even more rigid spasm of 
embarrassment and uncertainty. 

Fortunately David had been in Japan long enough to 
know that an uncertain, hesitating Japanese can be 
kick-started into normal action by presenting him with 
a cliche to which he can respond without conscious 
thought. He tucked the whip under his arm and, 
ignoring my anguished pleas to him to use it on me 
again, strode over to where we had left our coats and 
other belongings. He picked up my video-camera and 
handed it to the young husband. 

"Won't you take our photographs for us?" he asked 
politely. 

Automatically, the young man took the camera and began 
to fiddle with the controls. 

"Where would you like me to ...?" 

"By the tree, if you don't mind. Full-length." 

I could hear David approach me from behind. Suddenly 
the nine lashes once again burnt their random lines 
into my skin. I cried joyously as he lashed me 
steadily forty or fifty times, using all his strength 
but pausing a few moments after each stroke to let it 
sink in and send its individual nine-fold message of 
delight through my squirming body. Now his whipping 
was the equal of that of last night's stranger. I 
screamed and implored as loudly as I could, partly 
because it was the only way I knew to thank him, and 
partly because I wanted to convince myself that I felt 
no shame at having been detected by strangers enjoying 
this woodland idyll. 

At last my wonderful lover detected from the change in 
my voice - groaning rather than screaming with 
happiness now - and perhaps from the thick flow of 
love-juice making its way from my cunt down my inner 
thighs, that I had reached my climax. He left me 
dangling from the tree to enjoy it on my own. I had 
almost fainted from the pleasure when I became aware 
of him wiping my cunt and thighs with his handkerchief 
- no doubt to enjoy my aroma later. I felt him freeing 
me from my ropes and from the embrace of the friendly 
old tree. The girl ran forward to support me. 

"Did you really ... did you enjoy that so much?" she 
was asking me. 

"Oh _yes_!" I gasped as soon as I could speak, "it's 
the best ... most wonderful thing there is ... tied up 
and completely helpless ..." 

"You looked so happy!" she whispered. "Do you think 
..." She looked longingly to where her husband was 
giving David back the camera. "No, he would never 
..." 

She helped me over to where I had left my clothes. I 
hoisted my skirt round my naked bottom and forced the 
three snaps to meet over my lap. I couldn't be 
bothered with panties any more. I knew what I had to 
do. This young couple's happiness depended on what 
happened in the next few seconds. If the moment 
passed, they would be for ever separated from it, too 
embarrassed ever to suggest returning to it and trying 
again to take the right fork in the path. It was a 
sacrifice, but I walked back to the tree, picked up 
the ropes from where David had left them, coiled them 
neatly and handed them to her. 

"I want you to have these." 

"Oh, but ..." 

Her eyes showed me what I wanted to know. 

"I insist." 

Once again, David showed his understanding of what to 
do. He bowed to the young husband and with both hands 
presented him with the whip. 

"This is for you, with our best wishes for your future 
happiness." 

Even though there was a set reply to this formal 
sentence, the young man was too overwhelmed to say 
anything. We left them quickly; I glanced back just 
once to see the girl hugging the ropes to herself, her 
husband running the lashes of the cat through his 
fingers, while the two of them gazed into each other's 
eyes, knowing that their lives would never be the same 
again. 

David hurried me down the hill to rejoin the main path 
below the entrance to the temple. 

"That was generous of you," he said "Let me buy you 
some more ropes." 

"No, no, I can easily get them. But those ropes were 
special, because they were my first. I learnt from 
them." 

"Learnt?" 

I knew he was testing me, trying to see if I could say 
it outright without shame. 

"Learnt to like being tied up, being submissive, the 
joy of being whipped. Learnt the truth about myself 
and my sexual tastes. But _she_ needs them now. I'm 
sorry you had to give him your whip." 

"It doesn't matter. I have plenty more. And other 
things too. Anyway that was just a little cat I travel 
with, in case it comes in useful. If you ever visit me 
at home in Tokyo I'll show you my full collection of 
whips and canes, and you can choose the ones you like 
best." 

"If ...? But of course I'll visit you, if you'll let 
me. I know I have so much to learn from you." 

He kissed me, then looked at his watch. 

"We must hurry." 

"Are we going back to the hotel now? There are lots of 
nice things we could do together ... even without the 
whip." 

"No, not yet," he said. "I want to give you a 
present." 

"But you don't need to do that! You've already given 
me the best weekend a girl could have!" 

He stopped suddenly, half-way down the street of 
souvenir and craft shops. The people behind us bumped 
into us, then swept round us with apologies. 

"Will you trust me?" 

"Of course! What do you want to do to me?" 

"I want to give you something to remember me by, 
something that will always be with you. It will 
enhance your sex-life beyond anything you can dream 
of." 

I put my arms round him and hugged him, not caring if 
my short coat and skirt lifted to show my naked  bottom. 

"It sounds _wonderful_, David, but what is it?" 

"Are you ready?" he asked in return. 

"Of course!" 

At the end of the street we had the good luck to find 
a taxi just dropping off some other visitors. The 
driver looked at me of course for instructions, but 
David gave him an address. Since he was clearly 
programmed not to understand anything said by a 
_gaijin_, I repeated it; and we were off. I had no 
idea where we were going. Kyoto was laid out in the 
11th century in a grid pattern, and addresses are 
often just cross-references on the map. We soon left 
the temple buildings I remembered passing on our 
journey from the hotel, and entered an area of small 
shops and traditional houses. David was looking 
anxiously out of the window but at last recognised 
what he was looking for. He told the driver to stop, 
paid him and urged me down a side-street. 

There was a small junk-shop, its windows and outside 
stall piled high with discarded household china and 
cheap lacquer; even a framed, damp-stained portrait of 
the Emperor Meiji cut from a 19th-century magazine. 
Next to it was a workshop whose sign proclaimed it to 
be a producer of _tatami_ mats. But the establishment 
David was looking for was rather like an old-fashioned 
barber's shop - except that there was no striped pole 
outside. He slid open the door along its rattling 
track and called out apologies for the intrusion. An 
old man's voice replied with a greeting from the 
interior of the shop, and soon the proprietor shuffled 
in to stand behind the counter, which I now saw was 
stocked with traditional Chinese medicines. Was my 
souvenir of David to be some kind of aphrodisiac? I 
felt a little disappointed that he should think I 
needed such a thing - and weren't they dangerous? 

"Would you mind going over there, darling?" David 
asked. "The _sensei_ and I need to discuss something 
in private." 

The stone-flagged space where customers entering from 
the street could stand opened at one side onto a few 
mats of elderly, sagging _tatami_. The old man nodded 
at me with a hint of a smile, and I unlaced my boots 
before stepping barefoot up into the domestic area. 
There was a low table with an ashtray and an old 
lacquer box containing a chipped tea-set, and on 
either side a couple of _zabuton_ cushions in faded 
blue. I chose the more modest position, sitting with 
my back to the shop window, and busied myself with the 
tea-pot and the kettle of hot water humming quietly to 
itself on top of a kerosene stove which stood burning 
to one side of the table. The warmth and slight smell 
made me feel drowsy. In the distance I could hear the 
murmur of David's discussion with the old man. The 
_sensei_, as he had called him, was treating my 
lover's request with complete equanimity. I took a sip 
of tea. When I looked at the two again, the old man 
seemed to be drawing something on a scrap of paper, 
while David made respectful suggestions. At last David 
came over to me, stepped out of his shoes and joined 
me on the _tatami_. 

"Please come with me," he said, "your present is 
waiting for you." 

The old man preceded us into another room at the back 
of the shop. Here too a kerosene stove was burning and 
the stuffiness was making me increasingly sleepy. I 
could hear flies buzzing against the closed 
window-pane. Propped on the _tatami_ matting was a 
battered old chair with a steeply reclined back, and a 
set of instruments on a rack beside it. The room 
looked rather like a primitive dental office, except 
that the chair seemed to be equipped with leather 
straps to restrain the occupant's arms and legs. I 
looked at David in alarm. What were he and the old man 
planning to do to me? 

"Please trust me, darling," he said. 

"Of course I do," I murmured, and sat down unbidden in 
the chair. 

I leant back and the old man quickly adjusted the 
leather straps so that my arms were motionless along 
the edges of the chair, and my legs were spread wide. 
David bent over me and pulled open the three silver 
snaps down the front of my little skirt. 

"Lift your hips," he ordered me. 

I obeyed him - what else could I do? - and felt the 
shiny cloth slide out from beneath my bare bottom. I 
was now shamelessly and helplessly displayed, naked 
below the waist, my breasts quite clearly visible too 
under my transparent blouse. David moved up to talk to 
me. 

"I think it would be nice if you were blindfolded, 
darling," he said, "then you won't have to feel 
embarrassed about what's going to happen." 

"What _is_ going to happen?" I asked anxiously. 

"Don't worry about it: you'll find out soon enough." 

"Oh," I said, suddenly remembering, "don't forget to 
video it, whatever it is." 

"I won't forget." 

He produced his handkerchief, folded it into a strip 
and tied it tightly round my eyes. Of course I could 
do nothing to stop him. There was an intriguing, musky 
smell from the handkerchief, and I remembered that he 
had used it to wipe away the love-juice which had 
spurted from my pussy during that last heavenly 
whipping in the grounds of the Kiyomizu Temple. 

"If I'm a good girl, will you whip me again?" I asked 
softly. 

"Of course, darling. As much as you like." 

"Then I'll be good." 

Nothing happened for quite a while. I lay quiet and 
listened to the hiss of the kerosene stove, the 
buzzing of the flies and the indistinct murmuring of 
the two men, all interspersed with the distant sound 
of traffic on the main road. The thought of being so 
helplessly exposed to whatever was coming made my skin 
quiver with excited anticipation. 

All at once I felt a hot damp cloth being applied to 
my crotch, as fingers expertly cleaned me. After a few 
moments that was followed by a freezing sensation in 
the area at the top of my right thigh: my nose at once 
told me that I was being wiped with some kind of 
antiseptic or cleansing liquid. Another pause, then 
suddenly came the sharp sensation of a needle pricking 
my skin where I had been cleaned. I jumped at the 
pain, and a mutter of annoyance from the old man 
mingled with David's voice urging me to hold still. 

Compared with the glorious agony I had accepted from 
David's whip, the pricking of the old man's needles 
was only a small pain. But it was different from the 
pain I had learnt to love in that it never turned to 
ecstasy. I found myself relishing it for all that: its 
very purity titillated me. In the hour I spent in the 
tattooist's chair - because of course I soon 
recognised what was being done to me, blindfolded as I 
was - I learnt the pleasure of pain which has nothing 
to give but pain itself. The stimulation soon produced 
a sexual response in me and several times the old 
artist had to stop and wipe my cunt dry before my 
juices could interfere with his work. 

At last it was over, and the delicately tormenting 
needles had finished their work on both sides of my 
crotch. Fingers rubbed soothing cream into my skin. I 
heard the two men discussing the result, David 
congratulating the artist and the old man pretending 
to be dissatisfied - more time and several sessions 
were really needed for work of quality. Then David 
made me lift my bottom again, and my skirt was once 
more fastened round my hips. Only then did he remove 
my blindfold and the old man free me from the straps. 

"Well done, darling - you were very brave," he said. 
"But now we're in a terrible hurry if you're to catch 
your train." 

He thanked the old man hastily, and I politely averted 
my gaze as he paid the bill. Then the tattooist 
shuffled away into his private quarters, and we were 
hurrying down the narrow street in search of a taxi on 
the main road. 

==

"You've just five minutes to get ready, if we're to 
catch that train!" David shouted as we burst into 
our hotel room. "So hurry! And whatever you do, 
don't waste time looking at my present now!" 

Almost in a panic I hurriedly used the bathroom, 
then dressed again as I had done yesterday at Tokyo 
Station in white g-string panties, black fishnet 
tights and black high-heels. Fortunately the 
complicated buttons of my transparent blouse were 
already done up. At the top of each thigh on the 
inside there was a place that felt swollen and sore 
under my skirt, but David was right: there was no 
time to examine them now. It flashed through my mind 
that it was as well I was not wearing more modest 
panties, or the elastic might have pressed painfully 
against the fresh tattoos. I tossed my remaining 
belongings into my bag, grabbed my coat and was 
ready thirty seconds before David's deadline. 

In the taxi to Kyoto Station we hastily exchanged 
phone numbers. I would have to take a risk on David 
calling me at the office: I could not face the 
hopeful enquiries of my mother if she heard me at 
home conducting intimate conversations with a lover. 
But I urged him to keep his calls as short and 
businesslike as he could. 

It was only when we were standing on the platform, 
my bag at my feet between the two lines marking the 
spot where the door to carriage no 13 would arrive, 
David's arms holding me tight under my coat as the 
train approached, that I suddenly remembered. 

"I was a good girl, wasn't I? At the tattooist's 
shop?" 

"Yes, darling, _very_ good." 

"You promised to whip me if I was good." 

"Sorry, darling, there just wasn't time. Anyway, I 
haven't got a whip now. We gave it away - don't you 
remember?" 

I thought of the prim, inexperienced honeymoon 
couple and wondered for a moment how they were 
getting on. But there was no time for that. 

"Next time we meet. I promise," David was saying. 

"Very, very, _very_ hard?" 

"Yes. With all my strength. Till you beg me to 
stop." 

"For ever and ever, then, darling." 

He was about to kiss me, but I stopped him. I had 
remembered something else. 

"And will you promise to piss on me again?" 

"Of course. If you promise to practice swallowing it 
the way I told you." 

There were only a few seconds left. 

"I will," I said. "And I'll piss in your mouth too, 
the way you like." 

"Oh, please darling. Keep it all for me. Every 
drop." 

Our lips met at last; then the train doors were 
opening and we had to stand aside for passengers 
arriving from the Okayama direction. As the 
two-minute stop ended the klaxon began to sound and 
I grabbed my bag and leapt into the carriage at the 
last moment. David was soon lost to sight as the 
train gathered speed, and I went to find my seat. 
There were more passengers than there had been on 
Saturday, but I still had a pair of seats to myself. 
I took off my coat and placed it folded neatly on 
the rack beside my bag, then settled down for the 
two-and-a-half or so hours of the journey. It 
suddenly occurred to me that I had had no lunch, and 
had no money to buy anything. David had obviously 
not thought of that - but why should he? He knew 
nothing of the Test. 

The ticket collector politely inspected my tickets, 
and then left me to watch the roofs of eastern Kyoto 
as we sped along the overhead tracks. I was soon 
lost in a delightful fantasy of working my way 
through the train, offering myself to each man in 
turn: mouth, cunt, arse ... But no, I had had a 
wonderful experience and had successfully completed 
my Test. That was enough. There was however one more 
thing I had to do. 

Balancing once again on my slender high heels 
against the swaying of the train, I made my way to 
the end of the carriage. There were appreciative 
glances as I walked gracefully along the central 
aisle, and there would be more to look forward to on 
my return. Why not? There was nothing to be ashamed 
of in looking beautiful and desirable. Choosing the 
western-style lavatory, I locked myself in and 
carefully pulled down my tights. I sat on the lid 
and examined myself. 

There they were, David's two presents, engraved for 
ever in the tender valleys of flesh just above the 
big tendons at the top of my thighs. On the right, a 
detailed representation of a coil of rope, its ends 
flying loose, ready to be tied. On the left, a 
little whip, its long flexible lash looped sprawling 
across my flesh. Every lover I ever had from this 
moment on would know of my special tastes. I could 
never deny them, but nor would I ever have to shame 
myself by describing them. All I had to do was shyly 
remove my panties and let him see. Every man to whom 
I showed myself naked in future would know at once 
that my desire was to be tied up, and then when I 
was completely helpless he would whip me till I 
fainted with joy. And there wasn't anything I could 
do to prevent it happening to me. Night after night. 

David's present to me was a whole new life. I wanted 
it to begin at once. 


[Next in Part 13: Chapter XIII: Interlude] 

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