by Toby Abbott
"I surely gave you all the figures, Aubrey?" said Sir Roger.
"Yes, but I like to check them myself. I have a reputation to maintain."
"You certainly do!" said Sir Roger caustically, as Aubrey insinuated the cold and slimy end of the tape within Mary's sensitised sex. "I am surprised that Mr.Morimoto should have ordered knickers."
"He didn't. But the measurement may come in useful on another occasion. It is a most unusual one."
The room was the coldest she had been in on the ship, and the naked Mary stood shivering while the two well dressed old men discussed her body, Aubrey lingeringly, Sir Roger with growing impatience.
Finally the wardrobe master was satisfied - sexually, perhaps, as well as professionally, thought Mary bitterly - and a selection of clothes was handed to her.
"Put them on quickly," ordered Sir Roger. "Your sponsor gets very angry if he is kept waiting."
Aubrey must have seen the fear in Mary's eyes, for he said with evident relish, "A little anger merely gives an edge to his enjoyment of a new slave. Not that his appetite will need much whetting in this case."
The outfit comprised sheer stockings and a suspender belt, moderately high heeled shoes, a white blouse, and a smart but rather severe business suit, the skirt of knee length. "I look like Doris Day," thought Mary, as she stood before the mirror, "but I bet she always wears a bra and knickers."
"Put these on too," said Sir Roger. "They are a present from Mr. Morimoto."
'These' were a lovely pearl necklace and a matching pair of earrings. They did wonders for the suit.
"You will be given the rest of the set when you are able to wear it," added Sir Roger darkly.
Trying to fathom this remark added one more anxiety to the many that preoccupied Mary as Sir Roger escorted her through the maze of corridors which led from the wardrobe to the dread cabin of Mr.Morimoto.
Sir Roger derailed her flying train of thoughts by instructing her to drop to the ground as soon as she saw Mr.Morimoto, and to crawl towards him on hands and knees.
"He is to be treated like royalty."
"Does he come from a very aristocratic family?" asked Mary timorously, anxious to form some idea of her new owner.
"Not a bit of it. He was born in a Tokyo slum, and I've heard it said that his father was hanged for murder. No, Mr.Morimoto is to be treated like royalty because he is one of the richest men in the world, and because it drives him mad to be treated in any other way. Do you feel that you are in a position to disregard any of your sponsor’s wishes, Mary?"
"No, Sir Roger."
Akio Morimoto was a short, thick-set man in his fifties, gnarled, grizzled, and with an exceedingly fierce expression. Not that Mary saw any of this at first, for when they reached their destination, and an impatient voice bade them come in, Sir Roger hissed an urgent 'now', so that Mary entered her sponsor's presence on hands and knees, her head humbly bowed.
It was a huge cabin which she found herself laboriously crossing, but she soon realised that it needed to be, because it was full of women, or parts of women. One of the first things she passed was a low table with boxed in sides. On it were displayed some everyday items, a vase, a humidor, but also an upturned pair of female buttocks, which had been tightly forced up through a hole in the table top. The woman's invisible thighs must have been secured widely apart, because her shaven sex was blatantly exposed. A frond of fern dangling from the vase was brought into intermittent contact with the pulsating cunt by the breeze from the porthole. As Mary passed by, more substantial relief seemed in prospect, for a sly looking brown cat jumped onto the table, and began to sniff about, and to lick idly at anything with a promising aroma.
Nearby a perfectly formed female leg erupted from the top of a plinth large enough to have supported an equestrian statue. The leg was held taut and upright by a thin chain connecting a ring worn on the big toe to the ceiling. Only the pulsating tendon of the thigh revealed that the leg was human, not tinted marble. Evidently the rest of the woman was squashed together inside the hollow plinth.
The sound of heavy breathing attracted Mary's hasty glance to the far corner, where an elegant lady was seated in an arm chair, her eyes closed. A second look revealed the reason for her agitation. The lady, who might have been aged thirty-five, was wearing a beautifully tailored blouse and jacket, and a magnificent pearl choker. This last was, in fact, a disguised restraint, maintaining the subject's perfect posture by means of a clip attaching it to the back of the chair. Similarly ambiguous bracelet cuffs secured her wrists to its padded arms. Thus far she might have been a queen giving audience, especially as a tiara was perched on the summit of her elaborately dressed hair. But below the waist all was changed.
Beneath the arms the chair was transformed into a tank of water, the plate-glass front of which revealed the lady's legs in a state of nudity quite shockingly stark when compared with the conservative dignity of her dress above the waterline. The 'chair' had no seat. The lady's knees had been pulled sharply apart and secured to hooks at the upper front corners of the tank, and her toes to the lower corners. This left her belly floating in the middle. Most horrifying to Mary was the realisation that there were also rings in the lady's labia, for two other taut chains clearly stretched down from them to the bottom of the tank at either side, and thus kept her sex wide open. Not that Mary could see it at all. The lady's modesty was preserved, so to speak, by a dense mass of tiny eel-like creatures that seethed around the junction of her thighs in what Mary could only assume to be a feeding frenzy. The effect was of a very daring version of a black bikini bottom.
The most frightening thing was the lady's obvious straining for silence. Involuntary groans and pantings burst from her lips from time to time, but despite the absence of any gag, she did not scream or plead, even though she was evidently in great distress, physical or emotional. Before she could mentally form the question 'why?', Mary knew the disturbing answer. Silence had been imposed upon the lady, and she clearly had ample experience that the consequences of disobedience would be far worse even than her present plight.
This was all that Mary could take in during the few seconds it took to shuffle the length of the large cabin. She had become so horribly fascinated by the lady in the tank that she failed to notice that Sir Roger had stopped walking beside her, and was only brought sprawlingly to a halt when her wrist collided with the step of a dais. Thus her first sight of her sponsor Mr Morimoto was a minute close-up of his toecap.
"I am accustomed to approach these rituals of homage in a more gradual manner, my dear Miss Bowdler, but as you are there you may kiss my foot." Mary felt as if the icy voice were trickling down her spine. Remembering the earnest advice of Madame she hastened to obey, slobbering all over the thin leather in her eagerness to please.
"Enough, enough. You may give me a tongue bath some other time, perhaps after instruction from one of my countrywomen. Get up now, and let me see you." Mr Morimoto's English was fairly idiomatic, but made sinister by the unpredictable mingling of Japanese and American elements in the accent. He had spent much time in the United States both before and after the war while masterminding the spectacular rise and the even more spectacular rebirth of his business empire.
Mary stood shuddering in front of her hideous master. She was a head taller than him, so that even the dais only brought them face to face, but one glance from his fiery eye instantly halved her mental height.
"Exquisite! Is she not exquisite, Sir Roger, as I told you? But please be seated, my dear fellow. You see that my memory was not at fault, nor my eyesight, though you hinted at both."
"If I did, my friend, I apologise. Indeed, now that I have got to know Miss Bowdler more intimately I almost feel I should compliment you on your X-ray vision."
"You intrigue me. But turn around, Miss Bowdler - slowly! - and let me admire you from every side..... Perfect
ion! The arms raised, if you please - right up, as if you were suspended.... Now the back view again. Touch your toes. The knees straight! And hold the position.... A foretaste of paradise, Sir Roger! Is that skirt comfortable, Miss Bowdler? It seems very tight."
"Perfectly comfortable, thank you Master," said Mary in a very small voice. As she had been rushed through these positions by the alternately polite requests and barrack-square orders of Mr Morimoto the skirt had come to be very dear to her.
As Mary continued to observe her master's glistening shoes through the narrow archway of her legs, Mr Morimoto took a seat (really more like a throne) next to Sir Roger, and continued: "I should explain, Miss Bowdler, that I am fan of yours. Oh yes! Last Christmas I was in London on business, and was persuaded to take my grandson to the pantomime. A miraculous chance. It was 'Beauty and the Beast'. I went to be bored, and stayed to fall in love."
"My only London engagement!" thought Mary bitterly.
"When I was a young man making my way in the West many an American and British beauty has called me a beast. Oh yes, my dear fellow, I assure you. Dirty beast! Filthy beast! Ugly Jap beast! And all because I offered them my love and devotion."
Mary was glad that her uncomfortable position made it impossible for her to catch her master's eye, for although he had begun this reminiscence in a calm enough voice he had now worked himself up to a fury. There was a pause during which the only sounds were his angry fingers drumming on the arm of the chair, and the tank lady moaning softly in her corner. Then Mr Morimoto resumed more quietly, but no less menacingly.
"As the money started to roll in I was able to buy the caresses of some of these proud Western women. But even those harlots would insult me once the dirty dollars and pounds were safe in their purses. So you see, Miss Bowdler, it was not only your exquisite loveliness in the part of Beauty that won my heart. It was also the symbolism. You have told me, Sir Roger, that your pantomimes are rich in symbolism?"
"Stiff with it, old boy."
"There I was again, a poor young lad, a despised, outcast foreigner, pleading for the pity of a lovely princess. But this time a miracle! She sees through my rough outside to the beauty of my soul..."
"Quite," said Sir Roger.
"...and she loves me! And you will love me, Miss Bowdler. I prophesise it. You will love me even if I have to break you to make my dream come true."
While Mr Morimoto was speaking the moans from the direction of the tank had been increasing in frequency and volume. Now they rose to a swift crescendo, and then faded away in a diminuendo of whimpering.
"But where are my manners?" said Mr Morimoto. "I have forgotten to introduce Miss Bowdler to my second most favourite protegée. Or perhaps, my dear, you are already acquainted with Mrs Van Dusenberg? No? Then stand up and let me do the honours."
The Senator's Wife
Mr Morimoto led the party to the corner of the cabin, where the panting lady seemed scarcely conscious and as if only held upright by her bonds. Her face was violently flushed, and her make-up streaked with sweat, but now that she saw her closely Mary was able to recognise the unfortunate lady as a leading figure in American social and political life. Her picture was often in the weekly papers, and she was sometimes featured in the newsreels.
"Mrs Van Dusenberg, Miss Mary Bowdler; Miss Bowdler, Mrs Virginia Van Dusenberg."
As his introduction evoked no response from the American lady, Mr Morimoto turned to Sir Roger, and asked him to be so kind as to drain the tank. "This complex technology is too much for a simple Japanese gentleman," he added with a laugh.
The water ran rapidly down a drain when Sir Roger operated a straightforward lever. The hundreds of tiny eels were washed away with it, and their removal did succeed in rousing Mrs Van Dusenberg. The tepid water had apparently softened the attentions of the seething, sucking mass into an experience of ultimately orgasmic pleasure. But now the removal of the water had exposed the raw flesh of her most intimate parts to the rude contact of the air. She awoke to a monstrous itch, which her trussed position gave her not the slightest chance of allaying.
Whatever threats had silenced Mrs Van Dusenberg during her intercourse with the eels were evidently not strong enough to restrain her during this ordeal by itching. She screamed and begged for release until Mr Morimoto was obliged to silence her with a monstrous ball gag. As a silent performance the wild belly dance the American matron contrived to perform, in spite of her bondage, was certainly remarkable, and eloquent testimony to the depths of her suffering.
When the gentlemen had enjoyed enough of this display they resumed their seats, and Mary was ordered to stand in front of them with her hands clasped at the back of her neck.
"No doubt you are wondering," said Sir Roger, dropping into his customary role of club historian, "how poor Mrs Van Dusenberg fell into her current predicament. I am sure I need not tell you that she is the wife of Senator Van Dusenberg, who made such a bold bid for the presidential nomination a few years since. What you may not remember is that one of the Senator's hobby-horses is his hatred of Japan, and especially of what he calls dishonest Japanese businessmen taking the bread out of the mouths of decent American ex-servicemen. Most unfairly, he is apt to single out my good friend for his most violent attacks."
"Arrogant fool," hissed Mr Morimoto.
"The Senator is a good deal older than his lovely wife, and suffers moreover from a bad back, a weak heart, and all the other ills that politicians are heir to. Ginny, on the other hand, is a passionate woman in the prime of life. While her husband was out on the stump she was out on the tiles. Nothing wrong in that, you'll say. Of course not. But sadly she chose a young German stud for her playmate. An East German cultural attaché! As a matter of mere routine he kept a filmed record of their cultural exchanges, but before he could inform his political masters of this affair an agent of good Mr Morimoto (who had the senator and his wife under observation) made him an irresistible offer for the material. And excellent viewing it is!”
“She has an insatiable appetite for German spunk,” Mr Morimoto interjected, with a surprising hint of disgust.
“But naturally the aesthetic content of the films was not the aspect that interested Mr Morimoto. A private screening was arranged for Ginny at her attaché’s flat. I was privileged to be present, and I must say it is a great shame that we did not film the lady’s reactions, which were almost as entertaining as her on-screen performance. Such pleading and grovelling and hysterics even I have never witnessed. The upshot is that Ginny now makes regular guest appearances at club events in return for the continued suppression of those remarkable home movies. She is on a holiday cruise at this moment, or so the Senator believes. The operation was a masterpiece of planning and execution."
Aki Morimoto was normally happy to hear his triumphs recalled, or to recount them himself over and over again at great length, but at this moment he was impatient to consummate a new victory over the women of the west.
“Spare my poor blushes, Sir Roger,” he now hastily interposed. “Enough of Mrs Van Dusenberg for the present. If you will just assist me to make her more comfortable I can turn to immediate matters. Miss Bowdler will be thinking me to be a cold admirer.”
Aboard this ship comfort was, of course, a relative term. Ginny was no doubt glad to be released from her chair of torment, but any hope she may have entertained of being able to scratch her fiercely itching cunt was immediately dashed when the two men stripped her and bound her arms wrist to elbow behind her back. Her attempt to rub her thighs together for some relief was cut short as she was hustled across the great cabin to one of the few vacant display stands.
This was a large black-lacquered box about four feet square, with a small circular opening in the top. Mr Morimoto drew the two halves of the top apart, along grooves, like the wings of an expanding table, leaving a semi-circular indent on the inner edge of each. Ginn
y was up-ended and her head and trunk fed into the now wider opening of the box until half her body was entirely hidden from Mary’s view. Inside the box a harness was ready to support and restrain Ginny’s head and shoulders, and Mr Morimoto leant in to discourage any wriggling by the application of nipple clamps, stretched out to the sides of the box. The two halves of the top were then snapped firmly together around Ginny’s waist, leaving her head, arms, and trunk in total darkness within while her buttocks and legs, startlingly white against the black lacquer, fidgeted above in the bright light of the cabin. From a little drawer in the side of the box Mr Morimoto produced a pair of sheer stockings, which he and Sir Roger rolled lovingly onto Ginny’s legs, and then, as a finishing touch, they added a pair of white high heeled shoes with straps.
Ginny could clearly not find a comfortable, or conceive a modest position for her legs, as she could have no idea when or from which direction or at what range male eyes might be gloating over her distress. She could bend backwards a little from the waist, and pulling her heels towards her buttocks, bring her shoes into contact with the top of the box. But that position quickly produced an accelerating ache behind the knees that demanded rapid stretching and flexing. She could straighten her legs and lower them in the other direction until the shins came in contact with the edge of the box, leaving her feet protruding over the edge. That was less uncomfortable, but even though she struggled to keep her ankles tightly together she knew it must blatantly expose her shaved and ringed sex as the high point and focus of her body. Or she could wave her legs in the air in a humiliating upside down parody of a dance. But most of the time the tormenting itch between her legs overrode conscious thought about the spectacle she was providing, and led her to rub her thighs vigorously together or twine her legs into tight knots in a vain search for alleviation.
Mr Morimoto must have found her thrashing and flailing a distraction. Before turning his attention to Mary he rang for a pot of whipped cream and while Sir Roger held her legs wide apart he emptied the contents over Mrs Van Dusenberg’s cunt. He then collected the cat that was still sniffing around the buttock ornament near the door and deposited it on the black lacquer box. The delighted animal quickly located the cream and began to lick at the portion running down the crack of Ginny‘s buttocks, while its dancing tail tickled her thighs. At first the outraged political hostess attempted to fend off the animal with her heels and knees, and when not striking at it she kept her legs clamped together to protect her cunt But pussy was persistent, and soon the rasping of its tongue between her buttocks, combined with the soothing action of the cream, began to produce pleasant sensations. Mrs Van Dusenberg’s legs gradually parted as the furry head squeezed between them in search of the main deposit of cream.
