We Always Do It For Real 18

THE MEGUMI STORIES
BY MEGUMI KATO AND FRIENDS

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

PART 18

CHAPTER XIII

Megumi and her new Boss

Nervously, I tapped at Mr Nagao's outer door a few 
minutes later. When the voice of his secretary called 
for me to enter I had no idea what to expect. His 
suite of offices had been constructed from one of the 
first-floor apartments of the block the company 
occupied, and the original hallway had been adapted to 
provide a room for his personal receptionist and 
secretary. She smiled at me as I entered and told me 
to go on in. 

I knew that Mr Nagao, the nephew of the Nagao who had 
founded the film studios not long after the War, was 
in his 50s. I had vaguely pictured him as a typically 
brusque, bullying (towards women, at least) Japanese 
company President in a dark suit, and was in no way 
prepared for the casually dressed, soft-spoken man who 
welcomed me into his office with a friendly smile. He 
sat behind a desk in what I suppose had been designed 
as the living-room of the small apartment. I was 
surprised to see that his hair was greying - surprised 
because in Japan almost all older men use dye to keep 
their hair black. 

"Come in, Megumi-san," he greeted me, "sit down and 
make yourself comfortable." 

I said "Good morning, sir," shyly and took the upright 
chair in front of his desk, knees primly together, 
hands folded in my lap. Mr Nagao examined me with an 
amused look in his eye. I found myself blushing under 
his scrutiny and wondered if he had already found time 
to enjoy my shameless behaviour of only half-an-hour 
ago on the video. He would in any case have seen the 
material I had sent in support of my application; I 
suddenly realised that the girl showing off her pretty 
nude body in the photos scattered on his desk was me. 

However, he soon put me at my ease by asking me 
obvious questions about myself. Once again I explained 
how I had developed a passionate ambition to work in 
the sex-film industry, and he was impressed by my wish 
to undergo a screen-test the very day I became old 
enough to do so legally. 

"Sorry I couldn't be at the studio when they tried you 
out," he said. I did not tell him that I was relieved. 
"I have a very important visitor here today. But he's 
talking detailed business with Niijima-san from now 
till lunch, so let's take a look at your video 
together, shall we, and see how well you did?" 

My mouth was too dry for me to answer. But I stood up 
when he did, and he led the way into an adjoining 
private sitting-room. This - originally the 
apartment's bedroom - was furnished with comfortable 
armchairs and sofas arranged round a huge TV monitor, 
of the size which can show high-definition pictures as 
well as analogue programmes. But what struck me at 
once was that the room looked out onto a small garden. 
Mr Nagao noticed my interest. 

"Would you like to see the garden first?" he asked, 
sliding back the glass door. 

The garden was partly enclosed by the block and had 
obviously been intended as an amenity for the people 
who would have lived in the original apartments. It 
was small, of course, given the cost of land in Tokyo, 
but had a little patch of grass and a fish-pond in the 
middle, in which some lazy carp drifted about, with a 
few garden chairs and loungers arranged near it. 

"We try to keep the garden looking nice," said Mr 
Nagao, "because we sometimes use it. We shoot outside 
scenes here if we can rather than going on location. 
I'm always surprised how clever our cameramen are at 
blocking the buildings out and making this patch of 
grass look like real countryside." 

My imagination started working overtime as I pictured 
myself in the sunshine taking part in an outdoor 
scene. Mr Nagao had his arm gently round my shoulders. 
It felt nice; and a little breeze was creeping up my 
thighs like a skilful hand and playing delightfully 
with my bare cunt. I tried to make myself remember 
that I was wearing nothing under my skimpy dress and 
must be careful not to let the breeze lift the tiny 
skirt too far; but I was drifting helplessly into a 
delicious fantasy of showing myself off, nude and 
eager for sex, in this pretty garden ... after all, 
Matsumoto-san had hinted that my new boss might be 
planning to fuck me ... would he be pleased, perhaps, 
if I encouraged him? I looked up at him with my lips 
slightly open ... 

"Right, let's go and see that video," he said briskly, 
leading me back into the sitting-room. The tape was 
already loaded and we settled ourselves to watch in 
two big armchairs upholstered with squashy leather 
cushions. The chairs were so big and soft that I had 
difficulty sitting properly: as the video began I 
slipped off my shoes, folded my legs under me and sat 
half-kneeling. 

The editing department had already done some work on 
the tape: it opened with a title, followed by a few 
screens of information about me taken from my 
application form: name, date of birth, measurements, 
blood-group, hobbies and so on. These were illustrated 
with some of the nude photos Ken had taken of me. I'd 
never seen them before, of course, as we had sent in 
the undeveloped film. I had to admit that I looked 
quite nice. On the soundtrack was the voice of the 
Director giving me my instructions: I had not known it 
was being recorded! After the standard shots of me 
walking to and fro, the camera closed in on me as I 
began my slow removal of my dress and panties. 

I have always been able to watch myself - on a video, 
even in the mirror - as if the girl up there was 
someone different: me, of course, but not the me 
watching. So perhaps it's not too conceited to say I 
was impressed, and excited, by the girl's performance. 
Maybe it was true that, as Matsumoto-san kept saying, 
she had a talent for it. I felt my cunt begin to 
moisten with excitement as the show progressed. I 
liked the way she flirted with the camera as she 
undressed, turning her back on it a couple of times 
and making the viewer wait till she was ready to 
reveal herself in her full nudity. And, yes, she did 
look beautiful naked: long-legged, slender, but with a 
smoothly rounded arse, firm young breasts that seemed 
to beg to be stroked and petted, and an enticing 
little V of dark curls, like an arrow pointing between 
her legs and saying shyly "Please touch me here!". My 
position in the big armchair had made my tiny wide 
skirt ride immodestly up towards my waist; the feel of 
the leather against my bare skin was exciting me and 
my fingers had already found their way unconsciously 
into my naked pussy. 

But I was really pleased by the scene on the couch. 
When I was kneeling there and supporting myself with 
one hand while I masturbated my cunt with the other, 
and even more when I stopped stroking myself, put both 
arms behind me and let nature take its course, the arc 
of my body was as beautiful as I had hoped. The 
painful tension of my curved thighs, back and arms, 
combined with my imminent sexual explosion, was so 
elegant and so arousing, even when remembered later, 
that I nearly came all over again. I suppose it was 
vain of me, but I was piqued to see Mr Nagao watching 
the imaginary me on the screen with such concentration 
when the real me was sitting nearly naked beside him, 
maddened with desire and completely ignored. Still, I 
thought, he had built up his successful business by 
constant careful attention to how things looked on the 
screen. 

When the girl on the video finally collapsed under the 
power of her climax, and Kunio entered shot and began 
to make love to her, Mr Nagao finally paid attention 
to the real me. 

"Was he any good?" he asked. 

"Not bad," I said, "but I came so fast he couldn't do 
all that we had planned." 

Mr Nagao clicked the stop button on his remote 
control. 

"Never mind that, then," he said. "But you masturbated 
beautifully. The scene on the couch was lovely - the 
position was most original and very arousing. Was it 
painful?" 

"Yes, rather," I said. 

"Did you come more strongly because of the pain?" 

"Yes," I admitted with a blush. 

"I thought so. Anyone with real talent like yours 
finds that pain adds to pleasure. And of course I've 
seen the video you sent us - the part where you showed 
us your specialism. Your partner wasn't very 
experienced, but he knew how to pleasure a girl with a 
whip - and that's what matters. I could see at once 
that you were loving every moment of that whipping." 

I was blushing furiously now, a lovely shivery feeling 
spreading over my body as I remembered the exquisite 
torture of the agonisingly tight bondage corset and 
fetish shoes, the ecstatic torment of the whip biting 
into my arse and breasts as I hung helplessly from the 
hook in Ken's front-door ... 

"I wanted it never to end," I said shyly. 

"I could see that. Have you done much bondage and 
whipping?" 

"Oh, yes - _lots_!" I replied, naively trying to 
impress him. "But actually, what you saw on my video 
was my first ever experience of being whipped. It was 
so marvellous I felt I could never do it better. So I 
decided to send you that." 

He smiled kindly. I suddenly caught my breath as it 
occurred to me that he might be about to suggest that 
he should whip me himself. But he said only, 

"Will you please repeat that part of your screen-test 
for me? The part where you used pain to help yourself 
come. You can do it on the sofa over there." 

"Of course!" I said, delighted that he was taking an 
interest in the real me at last. I scrambled out of 
the deep, comfortable chair and found my shoes. Mr 
Nagao went over to a hi-fi rig on a shelf in the 
corner and soon music similar to that used on the 
video was playing. I was too excited to remove my 
dress teasingly and slowly, as I had dreamt of doing 
for him in the garden, and gave him only a rapid and 
highly abbreviated version of the strip I had done for 
the camera. 

"You're not wearing your panties this time?" he asked, 
even though it was obvious by then that I wasn't. 

"No," I said shyly, "Matsumoto-san said you wouldn't 
mind." 

"I don't. Please continue. Make yourself come." 

I was soon kneeling naked on the sofa, my fingers 
working furiously on my cunt and tweaking my nipples. 
Gradually I leant backwards, nearly losing my balance, 
rescuing myself with one hand. All according to plan. 
I arched my back and thighs into that lovely, 
painfully tense bow that both Mr Nagao and I had so 
admired. My spare hand was still masturbating my 
pussy, the fingers sliding in and out of my cunt deep 
and fast. It felt good to be doing it for _him_ this 
time, for my new boss. I could feel myself approaching 
orgasm. 

Once again I concentrated on my breasts for a minute, 
then let both hands support the weight of my body 
while screwing up the arch still higher to increase 
the tension, waiting for the imminent climax. 

Too late, I realised I had moved too soon into the 
final position. Without the extra measure of 
stimulation I had allowed myself on set, and after the 
two splendid orgasms I had already enjoyed that day, I 
began to feel my excitement ebbing. What was I to do? 
Could I somehow scramble back into the previous 
position and use my fingers to stimulate my cunt 
further? Did I dare to try to fake a climax in front 
of the man who had built up a company on the slogan 
"We Always Do It For Real"? Of course not! He would 
detect my fraud at once and throw me out. Desperately 
I lifted my bottom further and stretched the muscles 
of my thighs yet tighter, hoping that the extra edge 
of pain would give me the release I craved, but even 
as I did it I knew I was defeated. 

Suddenly the cushions heaved in front of my face and 
gentle, skilful hands began to caress my breasts, 
bringing the nipples erect again. Mr Nagao leant 
forward and, supporting himself on the back of the 
sofa with one hand, began to stimulate my cunt with 
the fingers of the other. I felt juice begin to flow 
again, and blessed release from my tension approached. 

There was something bobbing against my upturned face. 
I opened my eyes and realised that Mr Nagao was naked 
and that his erect cock was being brought within range 
of my lips as he rocked forward, fingers digging deep 
into my now soaking cunt. I had no hands free to help 
me, but managed to catch the head of his cock with my 
lips on one of his forward movements, sucking the rest 
deep into my mouth, his balls now slapping against my 
nose and forehead. The only way I could show my 
gratitude for his kindness in rescuing me from my 
absurd predicament was to give his cock the best 
licking and sucking I could. At last we came together: 
Mr Nagao with great spurts of salty cum into my eager 
mouth, I with something less than the greatest orgasm 
I had ever experienced but never more relieved in all 
my life at having managed it. 

"That was very nice, my dear," said Mr Nagao in his 
soft voice, once we were sitting side by side on the 
sofa. "You were a little over-ambitious but that is a 
good fault in a beginner." 

"Oh, thank you," I said, "I do so want to do what is 
right, and please you." 

"Now, my dear," said Mr Nagao briskly, as he stood up 
and began to dress, "I would like you to do something 
for me." 

"Of course, sir," I breathed, wondering if he had some 
other sexual challenge in mind to test me further. 

"I told you I had an important visitor here. Soon we 
will have lunch together here in my office. I want you 
to join us." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"You may go now. I will speak to Matsumoto-san in the 
costume department and tell her to prepare you. You 
should tell her our special guest is Mr Otani. She 
will know what is required." 

Matsumoto-san was on the phone when I returned, 
obviously getting her instructions from Mr Nagao. I 
heard her ask something which sounded like "Is it 
standing or sitting?" and receive an answer. I 
wondered what that was about but there was no time to 
ask. 

"You _are_ having an interesting day, dearie!" she 
exclaimed when she saw me. "Now, I want to hear every 
lewd detail of what you and the boss did together and 
every moment of what happens at lunch. But it'll have 
to wait. Mr Otani indeed!" She chuckled. "Gosh, you 
_are_ lucky!" 

"Am I?" I said shyly. 

"You'll see. Now, you get out of that dress and into 
the shower with you. Then down the corridor to make-up 
again as fast as you can." 

The girl in the make-up room had had her instructions 
from Matsumoto-san and gave me gold-shaded eyelids and 
a touch of glitter on my neck and breasts. Then she 
did my hair, twisting it round my head in a smooth 
curve with just a few locks escaping at the back. I 
liked what I saw as I sat in front of the mirror. The 
girl asked me to erect my nipples. When I had teased 
them into life with my fingers, she skilfully applied 
some touches of the same gold make-up she had used on 
my eyelids. 

The dress Matsumoto-san had chosen for me was so short 
I thought at first it was just a blouse. I loved it 
immediately. It was in a beautiful gold material which 
crinkled and caught the light when I moved. It was 
sleeveless and had an impossibly deep narrow V-neck, 
the opening passing between my breasts and exposing 
even my navel before finally coming together low on my 
waist, where a few snaps held the tiny skirt together 
down the front: it ballooned slightly over my hips 
before the elasticated hem brought it in snugly 
against my thighs, only millimetres below my crotch. 
When Matsumoto-san said I wasn't to wear any panties 
under it, I could see I was going to have to be 
careful how I sat and stood! But perhaps not _too_ 
careful - I was already day-dreaming about my next 
encounter with Mr Nagao. 

The gorgeous gold dress felt lovely against my 
sensitive skin, and all the accessories I was to wear 
were in gold too: strappy sandals with high stiletto 
heels, earrings, necklace, ornaments for my hair, 
broad gold slave bangles on my upper arms - even a 
darling gold decoration in my exposed navel. 

"Now, listen, dearie," said Matsumoto-san, "and listen 
carefully because there isn't much time. There are two 
things about a girl a man looks at first. D'you know 
what they are?" 

"Her face?" I suggested. "And ..." 

"Nonsense," she replied. "First he looks at her legs. 
Then he looks to see if he can get a peek at her tits. 
And then, if he likes what he sees, he starts paying 
attention to her face. And then perhaps he talks to 
her and takes an interest in her as a person. But the 
first things you have to get right are legs and tits. 
Don't ever forget that." 

"No," I said, "thank you." 

"Now, you've got a lovely pair of legs and that skirt 
and those shoes make the most of them. So that's all 
right. If you're going to interest a man in your tits, 
what's the first thing you need to know?" 

I stood in silence. 

"You have to find out if the occasion is mostly 
standing up or sitting down. Obvious really, isn't it? 
If this were going to be a drinks party with you and 
Mr Otani standing up, I'd've put you in a low-cut 
dress so he could look down it. But this lunch 
requires a different approach. Come and sit down 
here." 

I sat as she directed at the table where she had her 
endless cups of tea, in the chair close to one of the 
wall mirrors. 

"Look at yourself in the mirror. Turn a little towards 
it. Suppose that reflection is really him. Put your 
arm on the table - the other arm, silly - and lean 
forward as if listening carefully to what he's saying. 
A little further. There! Do you see what I mean? By 
doing that you can let him look across and into your 
dress from the side. You've no idea what's happening, 
of course." 

"Of course not." 

"Don't do it obviously, and don't do it too often. But 
make sure you do it." 

"Yes." 

"And remember - I want to hear every detail." She let 
out her luscious chuckle again. "That's all the fun I 
get these days - hearing what you pretty little tarts 
get up to!" 


[Next in Part 19: Chapter XIV: Mr Otani]

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