“Does she speak Japanese?” he wondered and I had the impression he’d never seen an American before, ridiculous as that may sound.
“It’s passable, she’s still learning,” Mistress Atsumi replied as I straightened up again. “Slave, greet this man. His name is Keiyu.”
I kept my eyes properly lowered and spoke as well as I knew how. “Master Keiyu, it is an honor for this humble slave to be in your presence.” I frowned as I knew at once that my pronunciation of several words had been flawed. “I…I beg your patience for my ignorant tongue.”
The man laughed happily and clapped his hands, as if he’d just witnessed a trained seal bouncing a ball on its nose. It seemed very impolite of him to mock me that way, I thought. I wondered then if Mistress Atsumi was equally displeased, but I didn’t dare to look. I merely closed my eyes tightly instead and felt my eyes growing moist above my hot cheeks. I found the entire episode very humiliating.
“You will always surprise me, Atsumi!” the man chortled. “But it’s good to see you so happy again. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, daughter.”
Daughter? I almost looked up in surprise. I didn’t know if he’d used the word literally or figuratively. Daughter wasn’t a term of familiarity that I’d heard in common use. I thought it must be the truth and the idea of being presented in this fashion to Mistress Atsumi’s father was almost distressing to me. There was no practical experience I could draw upon to give their relationship context. My own father was an insurance adjuster, he knew as much about my personal relationships as I did about brain surgery. But Mistress Atsumi and her father seemed to be much more intimate than that.
“This is what I would like for her.” Mistress Atsumi said, handing the man a piece of paper covered with kanji in her delicate ***********.
Keiyu looked over the note carefully, rubbing his beard at one point. “Have you discussed this with her?” He looked at Atsumi hard, reminding me of the way my father looked at me when he thought I was making a mistake.
“No. I don’t have to, she’s my slave.” Mistress Atsumi tugged the leash and I dropped to my knees in response. “She will accept what I ask of her.”
“She’s not Aijen, Atsumi,” her father’s voice was soft and I wondered who Aijen was and what this was all about. I tried to get a look at the note, but not obviously, and my skills at reading Japanese did not extend to upside down handwriting in any case.
It seemed clear that Mistress Atsumi wished the man to do something to me, but I had no idea what that could be. I assumed that whatever it was would be permanent and I was torn between wanting to have it done, whatever it might be, without having any choice; and the more sensible desire to exercise some control over what happened to my body.
“I know that, father,” Atsumi was speaking quietly. “But I know this woman. I know what she wants, even if she doesn’t. Do you doubt it?” She seemed to be challenging the old man and he shook his head.
“I do not doubt that you believe that, Atsumi.”
“So then you’ll do it?” Atsumi crossed her arms, pulling my leash inadvertently so that I had to lean forward with my head to her thigh.
“You must ask her first.” The man pushed the paper across the glass countertop between them. “I will not do it like this.”
“I’ll ask her now then. You’ll see that I’m right.” Atsumi reached down and touched my face, lifting my chin with her fingertips so that I looked up and into her face. Her expression seemed clouded by something, fear perhaps, or uncertainty, like the woman wasn’t quite so self-assured as she’d professed herself to be.
“Slave…” she paused. “Jen-san, do you wish me to free you, right now? I will give you back your things, Fumiko has them, and you will leave me and we will never speak again. Do you wish this?”
I was not so surprised at her admission that Fumiko had my clothing and my purse. I’d actually suspected as much and it had given our little game a wonderful pretext. I thought about what I’d been through that evening and how I’d seemed to learn and grow at every step. I felt loved and wanted by this woman, as I’d never been before, and even now I could see hope shining in her eyes. Atsumi didn’t want me to leave her. But I didn’t know what, if anything, I was accepting or losing. I didn’t know how far our game extended or what all the rules were. Somehow that didn’t seem to matter, because Mistress Atsumi would know, and she would protect me. I was certain of it.
“No, Mistress. I do not wish to be free.” I couldn’t help but put my arms around her waist as I knelt there. “Please, do not send me away.”
“Do you love me, Jen-san?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Do you trust me also?”
“Yes, Mistress. I love and trust you.”
“Will you give yourself to me now, here in front of my father, as my slave and lover?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You must say it, Jen-san.”
“I give myself to you, Mistress Atsumi, my body and my heart and my spirit and my mind. I will be your slave and I will be your lover in all things. I swear this to you, before your father and all of the world. I beg you to accept this humble offering, Mistress.”
I don’t know where those words came from. It seemed as though another voice had spoken through my lips, a different me, unknown and unsuspected. Someone lurking and waiting within my heart for this precise moment in time. It is a very Japanese concept that everything and every person has a perfect state of existence, a harmony in which they are most pure and most content. I had heard of it, read of it, but never experienced or even believed in it. Until right then. Giving myself to this woman, a stranger it had taken 26 years and 10,000 miles to find, was my perfect moment.
“I accept you Jen-san,” Mistress Atsumi said softly and I wept gently, feeling myself suddenly overcome by emotions I had never experienced before. She stroked my face lovingly and smiled at her father.
“Huh,” the older man grunted, but he accepted me also. “She has a lot to learn, but that is your concern now. Come with me.”
He led us to a small room with a chair that seemed like a cross between a dentist’s chair and an OB/GYN examination table. I was told to undress completely and I did so, feeling only a little shyness as Mistress Atsumi’s father watched me intently. I struggle briefly to get free of the dress, as it was entirely too small for my body and I think my self-conscious efforts amused the old man. Mistress Atsumi had stayed behind in the shop proper and perhaps I felt more uncomfortable being out of her presence than anything else.
“You may call me father now,” Keiyu said as he positioned me in the chair, bringing stirrups into place, wide apart so I had to spread my legs, exposing my sex to him. “I will pierce you tonight, seven times, and when those are healed I will do additional piercings until your Mistress is satisfied.”
“Yes, father.” I nodded, swallowing nervously as seven piercings sounded like quite a lot to a woman with only pierced earlobes.
He washed my sex with surgical soap, having put on some thin latex gloves already. It was a gentle, but thorough process that left my pussy tingling. I felt his fingers inside me, not far, just enough to find my inner lips.
“These are the labia minora,” he said in English, spreading my outer lips and pulling at the smaller interior lips with the tip of his finger. I could see them, thin and bright pink from the scrubbing he’d given me. “I will pierce them both, three times on each side, and set interlocking rings into them. You’ll be able to urinate, to have your menstruation, but you won’t be able to penetrate your vagina with much more than your little finger. You’re hole is very small anyway, so perhaps not even that. Do you understand this?”
I nodded again. “Yes, father. I understand.”
“That’s called female infibulation and it will keep you chaste. I will also pierce your clitoral hood.” His fingers were stroking the sheath of my clit, coaxing that small bundle of nerves to stiffen and emerge from her shy retreat. It felt good and I blushed slightly as I watched the man’s expert fingers draw my clit to her full erect state, all of perhaps a quarter inch in length, softly rounded and ruddy. It was aching already and the thought of having my clit pierced filled me with fear.
“Do not worry, child, I’ve done this many times before. It’ll be painful, but I will not injure you.” He gave me what I hoped was a comforting smile. I just gulped and nodded. My clit was very sensitive sometimes. “You have a wonderful pubis.” He traced a finger just above my sex, on the fat little swell just above my slit. “I should like to give you a tattoo there sometime. Something personal. You should consider it, because I think your Mistress would enjoy giving you such a gift.”
“I understand, father.” It seemed strange calling him that when I considered it in English. I’d been a good catholic girl growing up and it seemed as if I were addressing him as a priest, but in Japanese it was better, with a meaning closer to Daddy.
“Your piercings will heal within a month anyway,” he said, removing his fingers from my sex. “Six weeks at the most and your Mistress will know how to care for them.”
Atsumi had returned and I could see she was carrying several small plastic bags containing the seven rings. Six of the rings were silvery, surgical steel as Keiyu explained, and they were obviously for my infibulation. Once they were in my flesh, piercing the small inner lips of my cunt, they wouldn’t be noticed by the casual observer. My outer lips, the larger ones, would hide my rings well enough, at least until someone tried to fuck me, I thought with a smile. I had no idea how I felt about that. I liked having sex and the idea that I wasn’t going to enjoy intercourse again filled me with no small amount of apprehension. That and having my clitoris pierced. I liked my clitty just the way it was and sticking a needle through the most sensitive spot on my entire body seemed a little insane to me, despite father’s reassurances.
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