Learning_About_Myself.14

THE MEGUMI STORIES 06/14
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

VOLUME 06: LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF
BY SAYAKA ONODERA AND BOB WILLIAMS

FINAL REVISED EDITION

Part 14

CHAPTER XIV

My Second Client

The man from the agency called the next day.

"That was a good start, Hanako," he said without 
introduction. "The client was pleased. He said you were 
just the sort of girl he liked - and you made him come 
twice. How much did he tip you?"

"Well ..."

"All right, I'm not taking it away from you. Tips are 
yours. I make my money from my share of the fee he pays 
me for having you. But the size of the tip the client 
gives is a sign of how well you did."

I told him how much had been in the brown envelope.

"Not bad. You did well. He'll probably ask for you 
again, or recommend you to his friends. Did you enjoy 
yourself?"

"Not much," I said with a sort of self-critical laugh.

"No, he's not exactly a girl's dream, is he? My clients 
aren't, usually. But you're there to do a job. And now 
here's your next one. Got a pen ready?"

Once again he gave me an address in a nondescript part 
of Tokyo, explaining that my client lived in an 
apartment block near a station on one of the commuting 
lines. He was a schoolteacher, he said, and since we 
were now of course into the school holidays he had 
nothing to do during the day. So he had booked me for 
an hour in the early afternoon.

"What am I to wear?"

"Yeah, you'll enjoy this," said the man with his 
unpleasant but somehow exciting laugh. "He has a fetish 
for _sadisu-chan_. You know, a little _roriita_ with a 
whip. I suppose being a schoolteacher he fantasises 
about his pupils. A lot of them do, the perverts. Not 
that it bothers me: that's how I make my money. 
Supplying them with girls like you to act out their 
fantasies with. He saw the pics of you as _sadisu-chan_ 
on our website and says he has to have you. Can you 
handle it? Got the kit?"

"Well, I ... er ..."

"Or shall I give the job to someone else?"

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together.

"I'll manage," I said.

"Make sure you do. He's paying a good price."

He hung up. My hesitation hadn't been concern about 
whether I could perform a _sadisu-chan_ routine. I had 
been longing to do that ever since seeing Reina's video 
- and I had done something of the sort before an 
audience with Harry and Anton. It was rather that Reina 
had supplied the costume I had worn for the publicity 
photos which had excited my new client, and she had 
taken it away again. I had very little time before my 
appointment the next afternoon to get it, or something 
similar, from her. I called her at once but her mobile 
was switched to voicemail. I left a panicky message, 
and began to wonder what on earth I should do if she 
was away or too busy to help me in time. Should I visit 
one of the sex-shops around Shinjuku Station, for 
example, and try to buy myself suitable clothes? And if 
I did, what would I do about money?

Fortunately, Reina called back within the hour. I 
explained what I needed.

"How very nice for you, dear!" she said. "Now, you must 
wear exactly what you wore in those photos. Men like 
that are obsessive. He'll have downloaded your photos 
with the corset and the whip and I expect he 
masturbated over them for days before making up his 
mind to call your agency."

"What a waste!" I said with a giggle.

"You must take this seriously, Saa-chan," she said 
severely. "He'll want you to be exactly the girl in the 
photos, his dream-girl."

I apologised for my frivolity and lack of commitment to 
the company's interests.

"I can let you have exactly the costume you were 
wearing. And the whip you were using. Anything else and 
he'll be disappointed, and may not be able to function. 
I'll bring it all to you in good time before your 
appointment. Oh, and do you want to watch my video 
again? Or another one like it? Are you sure you know 
what to do?"

I said that would not be necessary: every detail of 
that section of Reina's video was imprinted on my 
memory and had accompanied me into lovely masturbatory 
fantasies ever since I had seen it. In fact it seemed 
that both I and my client would together be turning our 
fantasies into reality. I began to look forward to our 
meeting.

Reina and I met in the empty house the following 
morning and she dressed me carefully in the red corset, 
collar, long gloves and high heels I had worn in the 
little studio a few days earlier. I was relieved to 
find that being dressed like that gave me the same 
tingling thrill as before. Then she handed me my 
equipment, item by item: a beautiful long whip with 
many knotted lashes, a pair of bondage handcuffs, and a 
black leather collar big enough for a man, with a lead 
already attached to one of its D-rings. I stored them 
all carefully in a shoulder-bag, then covered myself as 
best I could in my school overcoat - it was a warm day 
in early summer but of course I had no alternative - 
and set out on my adventure. As usual at that time of 
day the subway trains were fairly empty and the other 
passengers were mainly women going shopping or to lunch 
meetings with friends, but I had to refuse, as gently 
as I could, several attempts to pick me up. I suppose 
the high heels and red gloves visible under my coat, 
together with the smart shoulder-bag concealing who 
knew what, and my long hair hanging unconfined down my 
back, hinted at a girl who would be worth getting to 
know. But my encounters with my male fellow-passengers 
were good-humoured.

I found my client's apartment block without too much 
difficulty after enquiring once at a local _koban_ or 
police-box. The policeman was helpful but took no 
special interest in me. Had he been inquisitive and 
asked whom I was visiting, I was prepared to say, 
fairly truthfully, that I was a schoolgirl calling on a 
schoolteacher for a special lesson. But it was not 
necessary.[21]

I announced myself through the entry-phone and was told 
I was expected on the fifth floor. There was no one 
about when I left the elevator, so - very daring - I 
took off my coat and hung it over my shoulder. I walked 
round the little hallway to my client's apartment with 
as much of a swagger as I could manage: after all, I 
was to be the boss in our encounter, to begin with at 
least. He was waiting for me at his open door: a man in 
his fifties with greying hair and heavy glasses which 
he no doubt thought made him look intellectual. He was 
wearing only a towelling robe. As his mistress for the 
next hour I did not bow respectfully. I gave him a 
dismissive nod and waited for him to speak. He gazed at 
my provocative costume and I saw the skirt of his robe 
shift as his cock responded. Then he ushered me into 
the little apartment. I kept my shoes on - they were 
part of my costume - and marched down the corridor into 
the living-room. I dropped my coat on the couch and 
placed my shoulder-bag carefully on the floor. I took 
out the handcuffs and looked at him severely.[22]

"You have been very naughty," I said. "I have heard 
about you. You molest your young girl pupils and think 
wicked thoughts about them. I am here to punish you. 
Take off your robe."

"Yes, Mistress. I am very sorry."

"Take it off! Hurry up."

He hastily undid the belt of his robe, stripped it off 
and dropped it on the couch beside my coat. He was 
wearing dark grey underpants. I decided to let him keep 
them on for the moment. I took his hands and snapped 
the handcuffs round his wrists. He did not resist. Next 
I took the black collar from my bag and buckled it 
round his neck, while he obediently lowered his head to 
make it easier for me. I held the lead in one hand and 
reached for the whip with the other, flourishing it and 
letting the long, elegant lashes form random patterns 
in the air and on the floor. I had not let the whip 
touch him yet.

"Oh, Mistress! Forgive me ... please don't hurt me!" he 
begged.

"Down!" I commanded.

He fell to his hands and knees. There was very little 
space in the tiny living-room, but he had obviously 
been through this routine many times before and crawled 
round the room as I followed him, holding his lead and 
whipping his bottom, back and thighs. When he came up 
against the wall I shortened the lead and stood by his 
head, making him kiss and lick my shoes as he begged 
for mercy. But it was far too early for mercy - and in 
any case he didn't really want it. I straddled his 
waist and whipped him energetically. His pleas for 
mercy changed into an incoherent babble of thanks.

I stepped away from him and pulled on his lead. It was 
time for a change of position. In our progress round 
the room I had noticed a strong hook fixed into the 
ceiling outside the bedroom door. Clearly being 
suspended from the ceiling and whipped was part of his 
regular sexual routine. How interesting, I thought: 
this job is certainly teaching me about men and the 
things they like! A picture flashed through my mind of 
myself suspended and whipped like that. Not yet ... not 
yet! But it would be a nice thing for a girl to enjoy 
too - _very_ nice - and I was grateful to this man for 
making the arrangements so carefully.

"Up!" I said. "And take those underpants off."

"Must I, Mistress?"

"Yes, you must," I said, flourishing my whip. 
"Quickly!"

He obeyed me, revealing a flagging cock. His anxiety 
about what I had in mind for him was clearly overcoming 
his lust for me. Well, I would soon put that right, I 
thought. Prodding him with the whip handle I moved him 
to stand under the hook. I made him raise his cuffed 
hands above his head. Standing on tiptoe and raising 
the chain between his cuffs with the whip-handle, I 
managed to get it over the hook. As he hung there I 
smiled enticingly and stroked my breasts and pussy 
lasciviously with my free hand. His cock soon responded 
and jerked into renewed erection.

"That's a good slave!" I said gently. "Now I shall whip 
you thoroughly. You'll enjoy that, won't you?"

"Oh, Mistress, please don't hurt me!" he said 
pathetically.

I didn't, of course. Not really. I swished the long 
lashes round his bottom and back in the way I was 
dreaming of having done to me. He whimpered and begged, 
but his erection remained strong and vigorous. After 
about fifteen minutes my arm was tired and I was 
longing for the relief his cock could bring me.

"Now we'll go into the bedroom," I said, "and I will 
punish you more there."

I unhooked him from the ceiling and made him precede me 
into the next room. I was relieved to see that the bed 
was clean and properly made. I made him lie on his 
back, dropped the whip on the sheet beside him, then 
knelt over his face looking down his body. I lowered my 
pussy over his mouth. He knew what to do all right! His 
hands seized my tightly corseted waist as well as the 
short chain of his handcuffs allowed, and he began to 
slurp up the juice which had accumulated in my cunt. 
Once he had enjoyed that, he gave attention to my 
pleasure and skilfully stimulated my clitoris with the 
tip of his tongue. He deserved a reward for that, so I 
stripped off my gloves to keep them clean and began to 
stroke his handsome erection. Incoherent cries of 
gratitude vibrated into my cunt. I was finding it more 
and more difficult to keep control of the situation. 
But then ... I didn't want to any more. The scenario 
required that I _lose_ control, and soon ...

I stopped stroking his cock for a moment and, taking 
his hands as they squeezed my waist, pressed the 
quick-release mechanism on his cuffs. Pulling them off 
him, I put them on the edge of the bed to join the 
whip. I unbuckled the collar from his neck and added it 
to the heap with its lead still attached. He should 
have no difficulty in taking command now. I leant 
forward and gave his cock a few more loving strokes 
before reluctantly withdrawing my pussy from his mouth 
and swinging round over his body so that I was facing 
him as I slowly impaled myself on his cock. I could 
feel it throbbing rapidly in line with his excited 
heartbeat. I remained upright as I slowly rose and 
fell, masturbating my hungry cunt with his wonderfully 
rigid erection. His hands seized my corseted waist 
again: now free from the imprisoning handcuffs they 
could squeeze me more firmly and cruelly than before. I 
could feel my orgasm building. Was I in control as I 
gripped his cock with my cunt-muscles or was he? It 
didn't matter: I was eager to surrender to him. His 
orgasm was close too: I could feel his cock thickening 
further as his balls forced the jolts of cum along it 
... and then, yes, exploding into my pussy!

I screamed with the joy of it and collapsed onto his 
chest, thanking him incoherently. I knew of course what 
I had to do next - wanted to do next. As soon as I had 
myself under control I sat up again, released his cock 
while holding it upright with one hand, wriggled 
further down the bed and began to lick it clean, 
greedily sucking up the remaining cum mingled with my 
own thick juices.

"Oh, thank you, _sensei_, thank you!" I murmured as I 
completed my task.

It was natural enough to address him as _sensei_: he 
was after all a schoolteacher. But I wanted him now to 
take the dominant role; and while addressing him as 
Master would mark too sudden a change, reminding him 
that he was a teacher and I was a schoolgirl would be a 
clear hint that I was ready to submit to his authority 
... did he beat girls like me on their regulation 
school knickers while they wriggled and squealed, not 
sure whether they were supposed to be feeling the 
strange new pleasures surging through them? I did hope 
so. While I had always been a good and obedient girl 
who was never punished at school, I know now that the 
greatest lesson a schoolmaster can teach pubescent girl 
pupils is the joy of masochism.

My client/victim - now my client/master - sat up 
suddenly. He plumped up the pillows but before telling 
me to lie down commanded me to put my gloves on again.

"You like me in gloves?" I said coyly.

"Yes. You look very slutty like that. And young sluts 
should be punished."

"Yes, _sensei_. Please, _sensei_. Thank you, _sensei_."

I wiped my hands on tissues from a box on the bedside 
table, then pulled on my long red gloves, trying to 
make them lie tight and smooth on my arms. Then I 
looked up at him submissively. He took my right hand 
and attached one shackle of the handcuffs to it. On his 
instructions I lay at full length on my front, while he 
threaded the chain through the head of the bed and 
fixed the other shackle round my left wrist. He 
unclipped the lead from the collar he had worn, snapped 
it to the D-ring at the back of mine and used it to 
pull my head up.

"Now it's my turn," he said. "Slut! Tuck your knees up 
and stick your bottom out."

"Yes, _sensei_."

As soon as I had obeyed him, he jerked the lead again, 
forcing my head back as far as it would go. Then it 
began ... stroke after stroke with the multiple knotted 
lashes, my bottom blazing in its flaming embrace, its 
fiery love flooding through me, making my sensitive 
breasts shiver as if they too were being kissed by the 
whip and my cunt gasp with heavenly lust ... I was 
screaming, trying with part of my mind to implore him 
to be merciful, not to hurt me, in the way I had been 
told men found pleasing and stimulating - but knowing 
that I was in fact beyond such coy deception and was 
blurting out the truth: that I wanted nothing more than 
to go on experiencing this wonderful fulfilment, to be 
whipped harder and harder, more and more lovingly ... 
the whole bed was vibrating as I pulled against the 
head with my chain, rocking to and fro as I tried to 
welcome each joyful kiss.

I suppose it lasted about twenty minutes, though time 
meant nothing as the whip drove me on and on, up 
towards paradise. At last it stopped. He let go of my 
lead and I collapsed fully onto the bed, weeping, 
gasping and begging for more.

"Did you enjoy that, slave?" he asked, lifted my head 
with the handle of the whip under my chin.

"Oh, yes, _sensei_ ... yes, Master!" I managed to say.

"You see how I revenge myself for what you did to me."

"Yes ... yes ... thank you!"

"Knees up again!" he commanded.

For a blissful moment I thought he was planning to whip 
me again. But then - almost as wonderful - I felt his 
hands stroking and squeezing my fiery bottom, his 
fingers entering and tickling my unsatisfied pussy. 
Then the bed heaved behind me, hands roughly seized my 
thighs and his cock began to force its way into my 
cunt. Again I screamed with joy, leaning back against 
him and wanting to pull him deep, deep inside me.

It did not last long. The whipping had excited him as 
much as it had me. Only too soon he pulled out of me, 
twisted me roughly onto my back, and directed his cock 
towards my lips as he brought himself to orgasm. I 
opened my mouth, of course, but he came messily - about 
half his cum spurted into me but the rest splashed over 
my face and breasts. My hands were still chained to the 
bed-head but I was able to bend round and take his cock 
into my mouth before it shrank, sucking out the last 
drops and licking it clean.

He released my hands from the cuffs and I lay exhausted 
on the bed, smiling happily up at him.

"You weren't supposed to do that, you know," I said 
once I had my breath back. "I was supposed to whip 
_you_. Punish _you_. But ohh ... I'm so happy that you 
did!"

He did not reply, but as a last tender gesture he 
picked up the whip and let the tips of its lashes 
trail, oh so gently, over my breasts and then down over 
my corset till they could tickle my crotch and thighs. 
I opened my legs so that my lover, my beautiful 
multiple whip, could caress my pussy.

"That was nice," he said as he at last withdrew and 
stood up. "You were good. Very good. All the way 
through."

"Thank you. I'm glad I pleased you."

"You'd better go and clean up."

He indicated the door to the bathroom. Once inside I 
stripped off my gloves again and wiped myself as best I 
could. I didn't want to take off my corset: it felt too 
good, and it would be difficult to put it on again 
properly without help. When I returned he had moved 
back to the living-room and had wrapped himself in his 
robe.

"That is for you," he said, indicating an envelope on 
the low table.

"Oh, but ..."

"Take it. You deserve it."

I bowed low.

"Thank you. Perhaps if I pleased you, you may summon me 
again?"

"Yes. I may."

I gathered together my belongings and put on my coat.

"Well, good-bye. And thank you. Till next time ..."

"Yes. Till next time."

I had reached the station before I remembered the need 
to telephone the office to report that I had finished 
with my client. I reached home well before my mother, 
of course, undressed and took a thorough shower to 
remove the smell of sex which still clung to me. After 
putting on ordinary clothes I considered what to do 
with my corset and other _sadisu-chan_ equipment. I had 
nowhere to hide anything like that - but did I need to? 
My mother had assured me my new chest was private. But 
it is very difficult to be entirely private in a 
crowded Japanese home. That, I suppose, is why we 
Japanese are good at not knowing things about each 
other that we do not need to know. I did not think she 
would break her promise - and if she did, she could not 
say anything. In a way, it would be convenient if she 
did look in my private chest and see my new clothes and 
equipment: that way, she would discover the truth about 
my new life as a call-girl and prostitute without my 
having to tell her and without her having to know more 
than she wanted to know. So I folded up my corset and 
put all the items neatly away in the bottom drawer.


FOOTNOTES

[21] The street-level policing of Japanese cities is 
done from a network of "police-boxes" on street corners 
each staffed by one or two local policemen who know 
their area and its inhabitants well. In residential 
areas they are a familiar and well-respected 
institution. The address system in big cities is so 
chaotic that it is normal for a stranger looking for a 
building to seek directions from a police-box. It was 
probably just as well that Sayaka was not asked whom 
she was visiting: an experienced local policeman would 
have a pretty shrewd idea of what "his" residents were 
up to, even if their activities were not criminal. An 
unmarried middle-aged man with a stream of young girls 
calling on him for an hour or so would certainly be 
noted, even if the police saw no reason to do more than 
gently warn inexperienced girls against him. - B W

[22] If you have ever watched a _sadisu-chan_ in a 
video or enjoyed her delightful services on a trip to 
Japan, you will know that she is hardly "severe" in a 
Western sense. Unlike a Western dominatrix she does not 
treat her victim/client with contempt. She is rather a 
mother berating a child for bad behaviour and the 
whipping she metes out is like a strict but 
affectionate treatment designed to cure his 
naughtiness. When, after a token struggle, she 
surrenders the whip her cute submissiveness is like a 
reward to a child who has taken his medicine 
obediently. This motherly performance by a sexy young 
girl is very piquant and adds to the delight of an 
encounter with a _sadisu-chan_. And as every _gaijin_ 
in Japan soon learns, however unusual a man's sexual 
interest it will not be despised or looked down on. 
Rather it will be welcomed as another variation in the 
rich pattern of sexuality. And anyway, you are both 
acting a part and doing it with sincerity. - B W


[Next in Part 15: Chapter XV: The Man at Roppongi Hills]


For complete series so far see 
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