Whips, Clamps And Party Clothes - Part 1 free porn video

“Can’t you make it tighter?” asked Natsuko in a shy little voice, as I prepared her for the evening’s party.

“Of course—is that what you’d like?”

“Yes—yes, it is.”

I undid most of the loops holding the two rows of metal hooks down her back, and laced the shiny black corset even more tightly round her waist. Her body quivered and shook as I pulled the strong black cords as hard as I could after each twist. Finally I tied the ends together firmly, leaving them to dangle and tickle her naked bottom. The erect nipples of her firm young breasts pointed eagerly forward, showing the pleasure the cruel corset was giving her.

At last, I stepped back to admire my handiwork, and she turned to the mirror.

“Ohhh! Don’t I look pretty!” she gasped.

Irresistible was the word I would have used.

“Yes,” I said briefly.

She put her hands on her waist, spreading the fingers to see if they would meet. They almost did, but not enough to satisfy her.

“Can’t you make me even smaller here?”

“I can try,” I said. The thought of binding her even more tightly excited me so much I was having difficulty keeping myself under control.

“Ohhh! Oh yes, please!”

*

The weekend had started well. As usual Natsuko came to me on Friday evening, after looking in at home to leave her school briefcase and chat with her mother. Then she had gone, innocent in her high-school uniform, to visit a friend. At the friend’s house she had changed and finally arrived at my apartment, enjoying the attention she attracted on the subway in her cropped top, miniskirt and strappy sandals with high narrow heels. For her meetings with me she wore nothing else. I had told her there was nothing I found more delightful than slipping my hand gently up a girl’s thigh, and finding, just a few millimetres above the hem of her microskirt, not panties—however pretty—but a naked young pussy, trembling shyly with desire.

I had encouraged Natsuko to keep an account in a little notebook of what her various lovers liked best. Men had different tastes, I explained.

“But I can remember what you like!” she had said, startled. “It’s what I like too!”

“And can you remember what the other men you go with like?” I had asked, keeping my voice neutral.

She had giggled and blushed.

“Soon you’ll have so many lovers you won’t be able to keep track. You want to go to each one ready to do the things he especially likes, don’t you?”

She had looked up at me with a charming mixture of amazement and excitement.

But this Friday evening she did not rush into my arms eager to be petted and stroked. She stood in front of me, embarrassed, drawing little lines on the carpet with the toe of her left shoe while she balanced precariously on the high heel of the right.

“I’m so sorry about Tuesday,” she suddenly said in a rush. “It was very naughty of me to trick you like that. Making you take that test without warning you. And the other girls behaved very badly, teasing you while you were chained up. But it’s all my fault.”

She looked down at the floor. In fact Tuesday, when I had been made to spend an hour forbidden to come while being tormented by a bevy of her exquisitely nude school friends, had been an amazing experience which I longed to be forced to go through again. And I was pretty sure Natsuko knew that very well.

This embarrassed apology was almost certainly play-acting. But one of the things I have learnt about Japanese girls is that they are natural actresses, especially in matters of sex, and that there is no point trying to tell the difference between pretence and reality. What they are pretending to be they are, at the time; and if they don’t know which is which how can a crude foreigner expect to?

She shifted to the left foot and started twisting her right high heel to and fro on the carpet.

“Don’t you think I was very naughty? Shouldn’t I—” a little gulp “—be punished for it?”

She glanced at my face, and then returned her gaze to the carpet.

Now we were getting somewhere. Some weeks ago I had introduced Natsuko to the pleasures of the whip. She had enjoyed it: sixteen is a good age for a girl to develop her natural masochism. At that time she is, or should be, so overwhelmed with new sexual experiences that pain and pleasure blend easily in her sensual development.

Of course in theory at least she had known about the delights of being whipped for years: they are described vividly, along with other perverted activities, in the manga pornographic cartoon magazines she and her friends shared, giggling and wondering how soon they could hope to enjoy these extreme experiences themselves. In fact, now that I thought about it, at the end of that glorious session in her school gymnasium last Tuesday I had as good as promised her a whipping. We had seen a delightful new instrument in one of the sex-shops we liked to visit together, and she had been begging for it ever since. It was waiting for her now in my punishment room. I picked up my cue.

“Yes, Natsuko. You have been very naughty, and deserve to be punished very severely for the way you behaved to me.”

In fact I owed Natsuko a lot: not just the fun of being used as a sex-toy by all those nude girls, but my first encounter with Sachi, a friend of hers even more sex-crazed than the others. I was making arrangements to meet Sachi again and planned to explore her heavenly arsehole—but there was no need to tell Natsuko that. She probably knew anyway.

“Very, very severely?” she was saying in an anxious, trembling voice.

“Yes, very severely indeed,” I said. “I have a specially painful whip for use on girls like you—and this will be your first experience of it.”

“Oh, thank you, darling,” she whispered, looking up at me at last; “thank you.”

She turned eagerly towards the door. She knew where to go.

“Natsuko,” I said harshly. “You know the rules.”

She looked expectantly at me.

“No girl enters my punishment room with clothes on.”

“Oh, yes—of course,” she said submissively. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled the top over her head, revealing her young breasts. They were still growing, I thought, but were already lovely firm handfuls for me to play with. Then her miniskirt slid down her thighs and to the floor. She stepped out of it, and smiled at me expectantly.

“All right,” I said.

As she walked unhesitatingly to the room where I had set up my equipment, she flashed me a radiant smile over her shoulder. Watching her pretty bottom gyrate as she teetered precariously on her absurd heels, and thinking of everything I was about to do to it, I felt almost faint with love and lust.

My whipping-frame is simple: just vertical bars firmly fixed from floor to ceiling with tracks in which the hanging metal cuffs for ankles and wrists can slide so that the victim can be tightly stretched in a star formation. Natsuko went straight to it and struck a sexy pose between the uprights.

“Are these shoes all right?” she asked.

“Fine. You’ll look nice trying to balance on them.”

One by one I attached the metal cuffs to her wrists and ankles, clicking them shut. They were padded with soft leather so as not to hurt her—torture is one thing: unnecessary discomfort is another. I did not yet pull the chains tight in their tracks, still leaving her standing freely within the frame. I went to the table where I keep the instruments and brought the new whip for her to examine. It was a cat-o’-nine-tails, each lash almost two metres of thin whipcord prettily decorated with tight knots along its length. Natsuko had been lusting after it, dreaming of the exquisite agony the lashes and the knots would bestow on her, ever since she had seen it in the sex-shop.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she said; then added anxiously, “You will whip me really hard, won’t you? Really, really hard? And all over? Breasts, bottom, tummy, thighs?”

“I promise,” I said. “These long lashes should kiss you all over at each stroke.”

She quivered deliciously.

“How long will it last?”

“Oh, about an hour,” I said casually. “After that I’ll need a break.”

The cat’s long lashes rustled sensuously as I shook them out and let them trail on the floor.

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful?” she said. “I’m longing for it.”

I put the whip down and started work on stretching her body between the bars. I pulled her arms as taut as I could, and fixed her feet as far apart as the frame allowed. That way, when I whipped her thighs, the long slender lashes would flick round them and reach up to kiss her pussy.

“I have another treat for you first,” I said.

“Oh, you are so good to me!”

From a box on the instrument table I picked up a handful of clips. They looked just like ordinary clothes-pegs, but the springs were much stronger and the grips were lined with little pieces of serrated metal. They were sold in specialist sex-shops for masochists and sadists to enjoy. Tenderly I fitted one to Natsuko’s left nipple. Expecting just the simple caress of an ordinary peg, she was taken by surprise as the sharp metal teeth bit lusciously into her breast.

“Oooh,” she gasped.

The next clamp fitted over her erect right nipple.

“Does that hurt? Does it feel good?”

“Yes! Yes! Lovely!”

“More?”

“Oh, yes, please! Lots more!”

One by one I attached the pretty decorations to the rounded slopes of Natsuko’s breasts. A tiny silver bell hung from each clip, and they all tinkled delightfully as Natsuko wriggled and squirmed with pleasure. Then I stood back and admired the artistic effect. She was gasping with the pain and the excitement, and liquid was collecting on the lips of her cunt. I couldn’t resist running a finger gently between her tightly stretched legs, harvesting the glistening drops of nectar.

“Delicious as ever Natsuko-chan,” I said. “You must give me plenty of that this evening.”

“Oh, I will, I will! How many more of those lovely clips are there?”

I looked in the box.

“Seven,” I said.

“Only seven? We must get some more. I want to be covered in them!”

“We’ll go to the shop together, and you can choose what you want.”

“Ooh, what fun! But now, please—put the rest of them on my pussy.”

Delicately I fitted the little metal jaws to the lips of her cunt. One by one. Three on each side. Each was greeted with a muscular spasm and a gasp of delight, accompanied by delicate tinkling from the little bells.

“And now,” she said, speaking with difficulty, “one more. The last one. On my clitoris.”

“That will really hurt,” I warned her.

“Oh, I know—I know! That’s why I want it!”

I probed in the folds of almost hairless flesh above her cunt and held the fierce little clamp open over her sweet love-button.

“Ready?”

“Oh, yes, yes!”

Slowly I let go. As the metal edges bit, she threw back her head and screamed. The effect, blending with the tinkling of the little bells, was exquisitely beautiful.

“Oh, please can I stay like this for ever!” she said at last.

I left her in her ecstasy for a while longer, then moved behind her and took from the table something which she could not see.

“I wish you could, darling. But that’s just the start. You’re really here for something else, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And what are you really here for?”

“To be punished,” she said in a little voice.

“Why?”

“Because I have been very, very naughty.”

“And you want to be punished?”

“Yes—yes!”

“Tell me how much.”

“Please, please whip me very hard with my new whip. I want to feel it all over.”

“Go on.”

“Torture me, yes, torture me till I faint with happiness.”

This was good. Natsuko was remembering her lessons in English sexual vocabulary.

“Very well. In future, you will not ask for punishment. This is no longer your punishment room. From now on it is your torture-chamber. You are tortured here, not as a punishment for being naughty, but because it pleases me to torture you. And because it pleases you to be tortured. I shall torture you whenever I feel like it. And you may beg for it whenever you wish. It pleases me to hear you ask to be tortured. Ask for it by name. Remember.”

“I shall remember. Please torture me. As long and as much as you wish.”

“Open your mouth.”

From behind I slipped between her lips the ball-gag I had been holding, and buckled the straps tightly behind her head.

“Now I shall begin the torture,” I said. “If you want it to stop, all you have to do is tell me.”

But she couldn’t. I knew that, and she knew it too. For both of us, her helplessness added to the pleasure we were about to share.

I began by tickling her lightly with the cat. She let out little whimpers of desire from behind her gag as the tips of the lashes lightly swept over her breasts and bottom.

“Nice?” I asked.

The ecstatic expression on her face told me all I needed to know.

Then, standing behind her, I took up position and spread the cat with all my strength over her arse. The long lashes flicked right round her waist and thighs, some penetrating briefly between her legs and kissing her pussy before releasing her and falling to the floor. Natsuko trembled in her bonds and let out a strangled gasp of happiness. I stepped back and used only the ends of the lashes for my next stroke, relishing the pattern of black lines across her creamy bottom.

I soon established a slow rhythm, letting the impact of each hard stroke sink in before following with the next. The only variation I allowed her was between strokes with the tips of the lashes and strokes using their whole length, so she could enjoy their embrace right round her hips and thighs.

I counted up to a hundred. At the slow pace I was using I guessed I had been whipping her for about twenty minutes. Her arse and thighs were bright pink now, and were beautifully decorated with little dots where the tight knots in the whipcord had bitten delightfully into her flesh. At any rate, they were delightful to look at, and I could only guess how delightful they had felt.

I walked round to face her. She was slumped in her bonds, her eyes were closed and she was dribbling from behind her gag. I put the handle of the whip under her chin and forced her head up. I kissed her as best I could over her gag and licked up her sweet-tasting saliva. She opened her eyes and I heard a noise from her throat which might have been “Don’t stop!”

I wasn’t planning to stop, but it was high time the front of Natsuko received its share of the pleasure. Unfortunately this meant taking off the clips decorating her as they would otherwise become entangled in the lashes and perhaps be torn off. I started removing them. Sounds of protest emerged from Natsuko’s gag.

“Don’t worry, love,” I reassured her, “I’m going to do other things to you that will feel just as nice.”

From my stock of implements I found a pair of nipple-clamps, showed them to her and explained the mechanism, and then screwed them on slowly, increasing their bite as she murmured what I assumed to be satisfaction at the mounting agony. They were small metal discs which clung tightly to her nipples and would not be dislodged by even the fiercest whipping.

Then I took up position facing her with the cat dangling from my hand, and began again. I started with her breasts, in case they felt neglected, letting the lashes swing right round her in a complete circle. After about twenty steady strokes, I gradually moved the angle of the whipping downwards, first pleasuring her tummy and finally sending the lashes sizzling round her hips and thighs. The blissful look on her face, and the beauty of the marks decorating her firm flesh, distracted me and I lost count. But I must have given her another hundred hard strokes at least.

By now I was badly in need of relief. In the corner of the room stood a short whipping-post, a sort of pillar with a padded top, over which a girl could lean when receiving my attentions. I hadn’t used it much since installing the metal frame, but it was just what I needed now. I pulled it to the middle of the floor, in front of where Natsuko was standing. I released her from the metal cuffs, leaving her gag and nipple-clamps in place, and arranged her doubled-up over the post. Her arse was beautifully displayed: I gave it a few quick cuts with a cane, and then prepared to enter it.

Usually when I fuck Natsuko’s pretty little arsehole I use plenty of lubrication, asking her to lick my cock well or soaking it first in her dripping cunt-juice. But the deep pink and heat of her well-whipped arse were so entrancing that I couldn’t wait. I had just enough self-control to smear my cock quickly with jelly from a tube on the instrument table—normally used to ensure a tight connection when preparing a girl for electric-shock torture—before seizing her thighs firmly from behind and entering her in a single slow thrust.

I stayed motionless inside her for minutes while she massaged my cock with the beautiful rippling of her arse muscles which some previous lover—lucky man—had taught her. Oh, why would any man ever want to be anywhere other than deep inside Natsuko’s enchanting arsehole, gripped by her firm young anal muscles?

At last I came, and my shrinking erection slipped out of her sheath. When I was able to move again, I went round to her head and unbuckled the straps of her gag. Her first words were, “Oh, do that to me again! Please!”

“Darling, I want to,” I said, “you know how I want to. But I can’t, not just yet.”

But there was something else I could do for her. Hunting in the drawers under the table I found a slim anal finger. Its plastic shaft was deeply ridged and at the base were two short spikes protruding at right-angles which could fit snugly along the crack of a girl’s arse when the finger was fully inserted—thus avoiding the risk of the device vanishing inside her and an embarrassing session at the doctor’s office. I unscrewed the finger and put in a new set of batteries. It purred into life, wriggling and throbbing. Natsuko’s arsehole was well coated with the lubrication and cum I had left there, and the finger slid easily into place.

“Oh, lovely!” she gasped. “Oh, thank you!”

Tempting though it was to whip her again—and much as I was sure she would have enjoyed it—I decided to bring the session to an end. I helped her to stand, and for a while she clung to me, kissing me and thanking me.

“Oh, you are so good to me!”

“It wasn’t too much for you, was it?”

“Oh, no! I want much more than that. There was something you did, before—you know—you fucked my bottom, that was fantastic!”

“I used a cane. Just a little bit.”

“Was that what it was? I must have that again. A lot. It was so wonderful. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Torture me again—soon—please?” she begged. “Tomorrow?”

“In fact, I have something rather special in mind for tomorrow.”

“Aren’t we going to a party as usual?”

A sex-party on the Saturday night was part of our standard weekend program.

“Oh yes. But a rather special one. With some people you haven’t met before. You’ll see.”

Our arms round each other we moved slowly back to the staircase leading down to the main room of the apartment. At last she slipped out of my grasp and took herself off to the bathroom. When she returned and joined me downstairs she was delightfully fresh, scented and ready for anything. That’s what I love about Japanese girls: they are never satisfied. And looking at Natsuko, wearing only her stiletto heels and nipple-clamps, neither was I. The anal dildo was deeply buried and invisible, but I knew it was there—and so of course did she.

We settled down—I on the sofa, she on the floor at my feet—to watch a pornographic video which she chose from my collection. The plastic finger was still throbbing inside her anus: most girls have to wear panties or some kind of strap to hold a dildo in place, but Natsuko’s muscles were firm and beautifully trained. After a while she turned away from the screen and, without my asking, began to suck my cock. She made it last an agonisingly long time. She was much better than the girl in the video.

“I love cum,” she said at last. That, I knew, was true. “Especially yours,” she added after a moment. That wasn’t true: she had never met a man whose cum she didn’t love. Natsuko treated all men equally. But it was sweet of her to say it.

At last she consented to be carried upstairs to bed, and I fell asleep with Natsuko beside me under the futon luxuriously wriggling her tender bottom and breasts against the rough sheet. I woke during the night to find her sitting disconsolately on the edge of the bed.

“I was having such a lovely dream,” she said, “and then it stopped, and I woke up, and—look—the batteries are dead.”

She offered her sweet arse for inspection. My fingers confirmed that the dildo still plugged into it was motionless.

“I can soon fix that,” I said, turning on the bedside light.

“Oh, please don’t take it out!” she begged as I prepared to replace the batteries from my emergency supply.

I withdrew the dildo just far enough to unscrew the cap. Fitting new batteries straight into Natsuko’s arsehole was fun: it was as if I were recharging a sex-doll. Which, in a way, I was.

“Thank you,” she murmured happily; and with one hand stroking her pussy and the other caressing breasts still tormented by the grip of the nipple-clamps, she returned to her sweet dreams.

*

The next morning we spent some time in my little Japanese-style bathroom. I persuaded Natsuko to surrender her toys and show me how well she remembered last week’s lessons. I told her to imagine she was working at a bath-house or sōpurando, and I was a customer being washed all over by her nude body. I lay on the floor by the ofuro while Natsuko poured soapy liquid on me and squirmed her cunt and breasts delightfully all over me. I had explained to Natsuko that when she started on her career in the sex industry she was likely to have to begin at the lowest level, spending some time at least as a pretty nude bath-girl, and should learn the techniques. She was a fast learner, but I am a perfectionist. She finished by taking my slippery erection between her breasts and making me come all over them. I had told her that paizuri or breasturbation was something a bath-girl had to do nicely.

“You did it very nicely,” I told her when I had got my breath back; “but you must keep practicing. I don’t think your breasts have finished growing yet.”

“Why can’t I start work as a bath-girl now?” she asked. “I’m longing to do it for real—and if there’s more to learn I’ll pick it up much more quickly from real customers.”

I evaded her question because I had no real answer. It was one of her frequent complaints. She was desperately keen to start her career. It was true that she was already as good as any professional bath-girl, stripper or bar-hostess I had ever met. Watching her charming self-confidence at sex-parties I could tell how perfect she would be at exclusive “waitress” clubs where the girls were always deliciously nude and available.

At parties like the one I was taking her to that evening she was also learning all the experts could teach her about masochism and discipline. She was as ready as she would ever be. But she lacked one qualification: age. She couldn’t legally earn her living in any branch of the sex business—even as a nude model—till she was eighteen.

Meanwhile, Natsuko’s youthful beauty and enthusiasm, and all the pleasure they could give to so many lovers as well as to herself, were going to waste. Of course there were ways round the law: thousands of girls of sixteen or seventeen were joyfully flaunting their sexuality in establishments all over Japan. Apart from all the pleasure they gave themselves and their lovers, they were very fashionable.

Older girls aimed at the “Lolita look” and affected innocent little-girl voices. But there was nothing I as a westerner with a resident’s visa to renew regularly could do to help Natsuko. Surely some entrepreneur in the sex business would soon spot her and ease the path for her. Meanwhile the best she could do was to work hard at polishing her skills and offer them privately to her growing circle of friends and admirers.

“What would you like to do now?” I asked when we had finished washing my cum off her breasts.

“Please whip me again,” she said at once.

“Don’t you want to go shopping as usual?”

“Yes. But whipping first. You promised to punish me again today. Torture me, I mean. Please.”

I kept a whip of sorts in the bathroom. It was just a short cat with a stubby handle and wide leather straps for lashes. It was nice to use on a girl after sharing a bath with her because when the straps became wet they slapped delightfully against her firm body. So we spent a happy half-hour with this unsophisticated instrument, Natsuko squealing and pretending to wriggle away from it while in fact offering her breasts and bottom to its wet kiss.

“Please tease me like you did yesterday,” she said after a while.

“How?”

“You know, you tickled me with the whip and made me wait for it. I enjoyed that. But tease me a long time, and then whip me really hard, when I’m not expecting it. That would be lovely.”

So I did that, and it was lovely for me too: hearing her giggling and begging for the lash, and then screaming delightfully when she got it.

Then it was time for Natsuko to practice stripping. In fact she did not need to rehearse any more: she already stripped beautifully. But she insisted on showing me how well she did it, and I was certainly not going to stop her. I settled down in a chair to one side of my living-room and waited for her to make her entrance. She appeared in a glittering silver top and a tiny black skirt held up by an elaborate chain belt. Her legs, above the transparent high-heeled platforms fixed to her feet with narrow silver straps, were bare but I guessed she was, for once, wearing a bra and panties. She pretended to be shy at first, as if not expecting to be on stage before so many admiring men, but she soon began to dance and surrendered to the throbbing beat of the music I had chosen.

You have seen girls strip often enough no doubt, and so have I, but I have never seen a girl with quite Natsuko’s skill. She instinctively knew how to blend a delightful modesty with coy pride in her desirable nudity. She had her top off soon, then stood before me shyly asking me to unzip her little skirt—skipping away from me with a little squeal as I tried to hold her. She detached the chain belt from the skirt and buckled it round her waist: I had told her that men love to see chains suggestively decorating a girl’s nudity. Then her bra was off and she was stroking and teasing her firm young breasts, arousing her own desire. Soon she abandoned her little bikini panties too, tossing them flirtatiously into the audience. Her aim was good and they landed on my face. I held them against my nose and mouth, relishing the aroma and dampness of her sweet pussy.

“They’re wet!” I said to her softly.

“Of course!” she replied with an enticing smile, “I’m up here wanting it, oh, so much! Of course that makes me wet!”

She pulled her fingers out of her cunt and held them out briefly for me to lick. Every last remnant of modesty had vanished along with her little bikini panties. Now naked and masturbating charmingly, she teetered in front of me in her platform heels on the edge of the imaginary stage, the chains round her waist tinkling prettily and suggestively. I could easily have stood up and seized her, carrying her off the stage and taking her any way I wanted, but I didn’t. She was holding me entranced: I was sure she could do the same to any strip-club audience until she was ready to surrender to them. As I said, I have never known a stripper so naturally gifted as Natsuko.

She gradually lowered herself, now squatting with her thighs wide open.

“Come to me! Come to me!” she whispered.

I quickly left my chair, now crouching on the carpet, my face almost touching her open pussy lips as she stroked her clitoris with her middle finger.

“Ready?” she breathed.

I knew what she meant, and opened my mouth wide. At once a fountain of warm yellow liquid spurted from her: I caught the flow quickly and enjoyed once again the delicious salty and lemony taste of a young Japanese girl’s piss.

At last the flow slackened and ended: I swallowed down the last of it, then licked the final drops from her pretty little pee-hole. She stood again, dancing for me as I lay looking up between her legs, wanting so much to join me but uncertain if she might.

“You will be gentle, won’t you?” she begged shyly. “I want it so much, but I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” I said.

“Yes. Oh, please.”

And she was in my arms; and then on the floor between my legs, reaching for my erection with hands and mouth while the imaginary audience gathered round us and urged me to hurry so they could all have their turn with her.

“Was that nice, sir?” she asked timidly when I had finished, my cum glistening on her chin and breasts.

“You mean, the strip or the fuck? Or the piss?”

“Well, whatever you liked best,” she replied with a charming blush.

“All three very nice,” I said.

“You will let me keep practicing, won’t you? I do so want to be perfect before I do it for real.”

“It was real enough. And just perfect.”

She had stopped acting the timid but aroused beginner and was my lovely insatiable Natsuko again.

“Anyway,” she said, “the one thing that’s different from the real thing is that of course in a strip-club I’d have to fuck everyone.”

“Yes, you will won’t you? Are you ready for that?”

“Of course!”

At last I pulled her to her feet and forced her back into the bathroom’s tiny lobby.

“Wash yourself. And dress,” I ordered. “We’re going out. No more sex, no more torture, no more practice stripping. You must be fresh and ready for all the things that will happen to you tonight.”

“But I’m always—” she protested.

“Yes, but think how much more you’ll enjoy tonight’s party if you’ve had to do without sex for a few hours.”

I was ready and dressed before she emerged from the bathroom, still naked but looking—as always—fresh and virginal. A quick look showed me the reason for her delay: she had used one of my disposable razors to shave her cunt. There was not a single hair to be seen between her legs: she looked not only virginal but too young to fuck. Until I tore my gaze away from her pussy and looked at her sweet teenage breasts.

“Aren’t you worried your mother will see what you’ve done and worry about it?”

“Well, a bit. But I think I can hide it from her. I just thought if the people at tonight’s party are as kinky as I hope they are—they might like me with a bare pussy.”

I thought they might too. I certainly did.

“Come and sit on my face,” I said.

“I thought we were in a hurry.”

“Not that much of a hurry. And I need to check you haven’t missed anything with the razor.”

She hadn’t. I lay on the sofa with my head on one of its arms; Natsuko (who knows very well the effect a nude girl in high-heels has on me) stepped into her platform shoes and straddled my face. My tongue explored every millimetre of her sweet baby pussy: no hair, no stubble—but plenty of delicious cunt-juice. I held her by the hips and slurped happily. It was as if a tap were dripping endlessly from inside her. Then without warning she started to pee again. Only very young Japanese girls taste as good as that. When they get older their piss becomes bitter and harsh to the taste.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to do that,” I said when I could speak again.

She giggled.

“No; but you never complain when I do.”

“Well, get dressed,” I said briskly. “We’re going shopping.”

“Where?”

“Asakusa. I want to buy you some kinky clothes. And some other things.”

“Ooh, lovely!”

She pulled on her cropped top and microskirt, and was ready. The tight top clearly showed the outline of her bare breasts and her hard, alert nipples. So long as she stood perfectly upright with her thighs together, the skirt didn’t quite show her naked pussy. I didn’t think she would stand like that for long: it was difficult in her beautifully tarty platforms. Anyway she loved showing off in public, bless her, and knew how much it excited me to see her do it.

“What you need,” I said, taking her little bare waist in one hand and fingering her sweet navel with the other, “is a stud here. So you can hang jewellery and chains and things from it.”

“Yes, I’d love that. And I’d love to have my nipples pierced too. But I think all that’s something my mother would notice.”

“Probably.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t matter so much. I think she knows more about what I do than. And doesn’t mind—so long as she doesn’t have to know.”

“What about your father?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s too busy to notice. I don’t suppose he’d recognise me if he did,” said Natsuko sadly.

I have a theory that the reason for the sexual obsession older men and young girls feel for each other in Japan is that fathers and daughters never get to know each other. But I wouldn’t want to change it. Oh no. My dream was to spend my life satisfying Japanese lolitas’ father complexes. That is the nearest thing to Heaven a man can find on this earth.