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