As we approached the darkened glass of the front doors, Fumiko hurried over and gave Atsumi a black leather collar. It was thin and supple and the Dominatrix affixed it around my neck without any kind of explanation. After the collar was securely buckled, Atsumi attached a silver chain to it, like a dog’s leash, with a looping leather handle that Atsumi held. I wasn’t sure about this and fingered the collar a nervously, wanting to ask her what this was all about, but I couldn’t find the words. A rush of heat spread upward from my sex and I frowned with my confusion.
“Don’t worry, Jennifer-san, it looks very appropriate for you.” Atsumi smiled and gave the leash a little tug. “I will call you slave tonight, and you will call me Mistress. You’ll enjoy it, I promise. You’ll see.”
“Yes…Mistress,” I answered slowly and that seemed to please her a great deal.
We walked out of the club and into the night, my new Mistress hailing a cab to take us to Yokohama Station. I felt unbearably nervous and I fidgeted in the back seat beside Atsumi. She touched my leg and I looked down, seeing that my dress was completely hopeless, it was so short that no matter how I sat my crotch was completely exposed, the white of my skin contrasting starkly with the black thong that barely covered my pussy.
“Where are we going, Mistress?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice low, but I saw the driver’s head turn slightly at the word and I reddened.
“We’ll go to Roppongi, slave, but before that I think we must go to Shibuya. I have something I would like to do first,” Atsumi answered and I cringed a little as she’d spoken in a casual tone, as if calling someone a slave was a normal thing.
The taxi dropped us off at the west entrance of the huge Yokohama train station which was terribly crowded as always. I burned beet red as Atsumi led me by my collar through the crowded plaza, past the many stores, and down the wide stairs to the sublevel where the trains were. People openly stared at us and there were a number of comments made, but only quietly. It was not every day that one saw a stunning Japanese woman leading a beautiful American around on a leash. I found the experience incredibly humiliating, but it also filled me with a strange happiness, a feeling of pride perhaps. I didn’t know, but I could feel Atsumi’s confidence radiating from her and I took strength from that. She didn’t care what anyone thought and she seemed to possess a power that defied the world around us.
By then I had obviously become aware of my secret pleasure at being publicly humiliated, being debased and dehumanized even. No doubt it’s become plain as you’ve read my story so far, but hindsight has its own clarity that is often lacking as the events themselves unfold. I’ll say that I was aware of my desires, but I had not embraced them willingly before that long walk through Yokohama Station. That, for me, became a journey from the subconscious yearning to the conscious acceptance of who and what I truly was. Or at least the beginning of it.
All of my protestations, my reluctance, and embarrassments previous to this seemed silly and contrived. I remembered all the times I’d been shocked and horrified, stunned by what I was being ‘forced’ to do… Like this, being paraded through a crowd of literally thousands of strangers, dressed as a wanton slut for the pleasure of another, more dominant woman. And yet, for the first time I was able to tell myself that it made me happy to do so. That this was something that I wanted very much and if anything, I’d been lucky that Mistress Atsumi had recognized this about me and that she was strong enough to make me do it.
I was soaked when we finally boarded our train, my juices staining the small bit of lining in the thong and even running down my thighs. I thought of the times I’d been groped on trains similar to this. How I’d felt violated and had told myself so often that I was angry, but in reality I hadn’t been angry at all. I smiled to myself, knowing that I’d loved every perverse minute of it. I wished someone would do that now. I wanted someone, a man, a stranger, to feel my cunt and ass, to fuck me there, in front of all those people. To make me suck his cock and force me to accept his cum on my face, to do anything he liked with me. I wanted to feel that awful humiliation and worse, I wanted to show everyone how I enjoyed such treatment.
But no one touched me. No one dared as Mistress Atsumi remained close by and the leash connecting us declared me to be her property. None of the men present would contest that. I looked at them, feeling the superiority that being owned gave me. I was confident suddenly, strong, and inviolable.
‘You’re all cowards!’ I wanted to shout at them as they looked away from my alien eyes. They were useless cowards who couldn’t face a woman and take what they wanted, but only steal it from behind her back. I grew angry not at what had been done to me before, but only that I’d once given such weaklings that much power over me. These were heady thoughts and they struck me with a clarity I’d rarely experienced before. I didn’t entirely understand what I was feeling yet, but I enjoyed it nonetheless and I’d always been a quick study.
Now things were different. I’d given Mistress Atsumi the power she held over me, totally and completely while denying it to everyone else. I looked at her and she smiled as though reading my mind. To make my point succinctly, I knelt on the dirty floor of that train, pushing myself down between the legs and feet of those crowded around us. I put my head close to Mistress Atsumi’s skirt, pressing my chin to her thighs and looking up with my blue-green eyes. She moved her hand to my hair, stroking me as the train rocked back and forth, speeding us towards our destination.
At Shinagawa we changed trains and it took another 30 minutes before we were in Shibuya. From that moment on, when we were on a train or standing in a queue waiting for a taxi, or when we arrived at a small shop and went inside, if we stood in one place for longer than a few minutes, I knelt. It seemed proper somehow and I knew it pleased Mistress Atsumi very much. She hadn’t commented on it, but I could see the smile on her lips and the light in her eyes when she looked down at me. I found myself wishing the woman had handcuffed me, strange as that may seem, and I kept my hands in the small of my back if I could, while I knelt or even while walking behind her. I couldn’t say why, except that it seemed proper and I wanted to find ways to please my new Mistress.
The shop we went to was a BDSM place, selling everything from fetish wear to fetish gear. There were magazines and videos and a large ***********ion of toys, some of which I couldn’t begin to imagine a purpose for. Mistress Atsumi seemed to be very friendly with the owner, another woman and obviously a Dominatrix. She was attractive, I thought, but not nearly so beautiful as my Mistress.
Soon after entering, Mistress Atsumi unclipped the leash from my collar and told me I could look around if I wished. I thanked her politely, understanding that she wished to have a private conversation with her friend. I’d never been in a BDSM shop before and it was fascinating. I had never imagined some of the things I saw, paddles and whips of all shapes and sizes. Clothes that looked almost too beautiful to wear. There were several mannequins dressed and on display. One that I studied quite intently had been dressed with a PVC hood, tightly drawn to the scalp and face with bright steel zippers over the eyes and mouth. This was paired with a leather jumpsuit, skintight and encasing the body completely with matching gloves and boots. It too had zippers covering the nipples and the genitals. Another zipper, this one black and hidden, ran along the spine. The outfit gleamed under the fluorescent lights and I thought it both lovely and frightening, the way it was designed to completely hide the person beneath.
“Do you like it?” a soft voice asked me and when I hesitated, she spoke again. “Do you speak Japanese?”
I turned to see a very cute and young Japanese woman, dressed in tight black leather shorts and high heels. She wore no blouse, but instead a collar that was very wide, covering her long throat almost completely. Her breasts were small and the nipples swollen and cherry red, so red that I thought they might be painted, but they weren’t. Her face was delicate, with very high cheek bones and pouting lips, and her eyes were dark and narrow. With her black hair falling in a sort of uneven shag style around her shoulders, I thought the girl looked almost mythical in appearance, like an elf or some forest nymph who should be dancing in the moonlight. I found her very enchanting and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Yes,” I answered in Japanese. “I like it very much.”
“You’re Mistress Atsumi’s.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s good. She’s been lonely, I think. It’s nice to see her happy again.”
“I do not understand what you mean,” I said. I hadn’t yet considered what, if anything, my relationship with Atsumi was, beyond the immediate pleasure of being in each other’s company.
“Mistress Atsumi hasn’t taken a lover in some time,” the girl shrugged, “but perhaps I’m saying too much.” She decided to try and change the subject. “Your Japanese is very good, where do you study?”
“No, please. I wish to know what you mean.” I moved a little closer to the woman. “I thought Fumiko-san is her lover.”
She giggled at me when I said that. “Fumiko is Mistress Atsumi’s sister. Not her lover.”
“Oh.” I stood back a little as I considered that news. There were similarities between them, I supposed once I thought about it. But honestly, I wouldn’t have noticed the resemblance on my own. It was their eyes, Mistress Atsumi and Fumiko’s eyes had the same shape and color. Not so dissimilar from other Japanese women, perhaps, but wonderfully unique when one stared into them as I had.
“I’m Jun.” She nodded in the direction of Mistress Atsumi who still spoke with the shop’s owner. “My Mistress is called Kami.”
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