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Message-ID: <34225asstr$1008997804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP {Winslow} "Mr. Moto Returns" (Part 1) (D/s, M/F, humil)
Date: Sat, 22 Dec 2001 00:10:04 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Mr Moto 1.txt" begin>

MR MOTO RETURNS  (D/s, M/F)
by Don Winslow (dwin2001@yahoo.com)

***********************************************************************
***********
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  For this story, the author wishes to acknowledge the 
considerable debt he owes to two esteemed "mc" authors.  The author is 
grateful to Downing Street (see Business Reversal), whose imaginative 
work always yields delightful surprises, and to Toxis (see Race Queen), 
whose unflinching vision raises such intriguing possibilities.  

***********************************************************************
***************
PRELUDE from "BUSINESS REVERSAL" By Downing Street

THE STORY SO FAR.Caitlin had been a rising star in the business world, 
founder and CEO of one of the hottest software companies in the valley. 
Known for her cool demeanor, her aggressive style, her ruthless 
determination to succeed, Caitlin was feared by competitors and 
employees alike. Then one day one of her software designers who was 
slated to be fired, Oscar Brightman, walked into her office 
unannounced, a laptop under one arm. To her surprise, the mild-mannered 
programmer asked her to watch a demo he had designed. She watched, 
without thought or comment, as the images danced across the screen.  
Then she dismissed her underling without a word, vaguely puzzled by the 
strangely euphoric feeling that tingled through her the rest of the 
day.

Caitlin's efficiency began suffering about then. She wasn't getting 
nearly as much done as usual. Her mind felt soft and unfocused. She had 
difficulty making decisions.  And increasingly she found her thoughts 
drifting to sex -- sexy daydreams, unexpected images of rampant 
carnality that kept flashing through her head, like trailers for a 
feature-length, X-rated movie in which she was the hot and sweaty star.  
Caitlin would gasp, close her eyes, trying to shake the lewd images 
from her brain, but they became more vivid every day.  She became 
desperately horny.  The office staff noticed the funny changes in the 
boss' behavior.  She was wearing sexier clothes to work, sporting 
shocking miniskirts and wickedly high heels.   Even more strangely, she 
was coming under the influence of Oscar Brightman who went so far as to 
move into her office.  She found herself at her new desk in tight, 
revealing skirts, low cut tops and push-up bras.  Her hair was now 
bleached blond, and she was relegated to the role of a lowly secretary 
-- one whose job it was to wait on Brightman hand and foot. and to look 
pretty. 

Confused and uncertain, Caitlin moved as in daze, simply doing what she 
was told.  She was even forced to adopt a humiliating new name -- 
Kitty-Kitty.  And, most astonishing of all, she seemed unable to object 
to her continued degradation.  As Brightman's obedient  secretary she 
spent her days typing,  answering the phones, fetching coffee, and 
providing eye candy for the office.  She thought she had hit rock 
bottom --when the call came in from Mr. Moto.

Mr. Moto was an astute investor looking to put money into high-tech 
companies.  When she was CEO, she had gone to him for venture capital.  
Mr. Moto had politely smiled.and turned her down flat.  But all that 
changed when Brightman took over. Somehow he convinced Mr. Moto to 
reconsider and the financier had not only agreed to underwrite the 
firm, but had basically written Brightman a blank cheque.  Just to rub 
her nose in it, Brightman had ordered his new secretary to bring them 
tea. She could still remember her mortification as she wiggled about 
the office in a tight, backless sundress, carefully serving tea in fine 
china cups while Mr. Moto's eyes gobbled up every curve and valley of 
her superb figure.

Brightman hardly looked up from his call to Mr Moto.  When he did, it 
was only to blatantly check out Caitlin's exposed thighs. He waved her 
over to a chair at one side of the office set up before a computer 
screen.  Long after Mr. Moto's telephone call, the former company CEO 
sat in front of the computer as in a daze. She was wearing a tight pink 
sweater with a picture of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn 
embroidered on the front.  Kitten motifs figured prominently in her new 
wardrobe. Even her underthings had little kittens on them. 

***********************************************************************
***************

Part 1/3

Kitty-Kat (nee Caitlin O'Reilly) was clearly nervous.   As the elevator 
doors slid closed behind her with a hushed click, she took two steps 
forward, only to be arrested by the sight of the leggy blonde in the 
little black dress reflected in the full-length mirrored wall that rose 
from behind a clump of potted ferns.

The brown-eyed girl who looked back at her from under a row of soft 
even bangs, met her gaze with a questioning look.   Her wide, glossy 
lips were drawn in a tense line.  The lurid red of her gleaming 
lipstick, the heavy makeup, the turquoise eye shadow, and thick 
eyeliner gave her the look of a high-class whore, an impression she 
would certainly have given to all those in the crowded lobby, even if 
she had not been wearing the sexy slip-dress. 

Kitty-Kat stood there nervously, one hand reaching down to give a final 
tug to the hem. The skimpy dress had, of course, been Brightman's idea.  
A backless number that hung from thin straps looping her bare 
shoulders, the thigh-length mini barely managed to cover the shaded 
tops of her shiny dark stockings -- and then only if she stood 
perfectly still.  She studied the contoured lengths of her shapely 
black-stockinged legs in the mirror; the 4-inch pumps, her "fuck-me" 
shoes -- that was what Brightman called them.

The blond girl turned away, took a deep breath, and began her solitary 
journey down the thickly carpeted hallway to Room 802, walking as she 
had been taught to -- taking small, mincing steps in the narrow dress 
and heels.  Chin up and leaning forward just slightly so that her rump 
arched back, she let her hips sway daintily with each step she took.  
Thoughts of Suki flashed through her head: Sanjuko-San, her mistress 
for the last three months.  How she had admired that marvelous serenity 
and perfect poise of the lithe Japanese woman.  Even though she was 
quite a bit older than her blond pupil, Suki moved with supple grace, 
her lean, hard body inevitably sheathed in that shiny deep blue of the 
lycra leotard that she donned for the lessons in Japanese ways that she 
sometimes taught to those selected Western women who were sent to her.  

It was Brightman who had arranged for lessons for Kitty-Kat at Suki 
Sanjuko's chic dance studio.  The private lessons were expensive, but 
money didn't matter, not with so much at stake.

At the outset, Kitty-Kat had been instructed to follow all directions 
to the letter, promptly, and without question.  She was warned to learn 
her lessons well; she would be punished if she was found to be a lazy 
or stupid girl.  (Now the girl had been called many things, both 
before, and since becoming Kitty-Kat, but never "stupid".  In addition 
to her law degree from Columbia, she had a BA in women's studies from 
Cornell, or at least Caitlin O'Reilly had,.although that was long ago, 
in a different life really).  Nevertheless, punished she was, for the 
least infraction.  She had to endure the humiliation of being spanked 
like a little schoolgirl, and learn to thank her mistress afterwards 
with a sweet smile on her face.     

 Sanjuko-San was a strict disciplinarian, the training she subjected 
the new girl to was rigorous: etiquette, deportment, poise and manners, 
traditional courtesy and respect, and of course, proper acceptance of 
her new role as "pillow girl," -- mistress to one of Japan's most 
powerful businessmen.  

Every detail was gone over.  Nor were the blond girl's dress, personal 
appearance, and grooming exempt from critical scrutiny.  Only when she 
was satisfied with Kitty-Kat's progress in the basics would her 
demanding mistress introduce the girl to those skills which would make 
her an expert in pleasuring a man (or woman for that matter, should her 
master desire it).  Kitty-Kat proved surprisingly adept in the arts of 
making love, and Sanjuko-San declared herself pleased.  The younger 
woman flushed with pride.

And now it had all come down to this.  Sanjuko-San had reported to 
Brightman that the girl was ready.  She could now be presented to the 
honorable Mr Moto for his approval.  Kitty-Kat was nervous, but ready 
for the test. She stood before the door to room 802, knocked softly, 
twice.

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged Japanese man in an expensive 
silk Kimono.  He was slightly-built with a high, smooth brow and 
receding hair that was neatly combed straight back.  His face was 
blankly stolid, with strong lines that spoke to underlying power.  His 
lips were set; dark eyes impassive.  But those eyes began to light up 
as he appraised the tall American beauty who stood waiting to be of 
service.

Seiji Moto looked her up and down, stepped back from the door, and with 
an almost imperceptible nod of his head bid his guest to enter.  Kitty-
Kat took two mincing steps forward and bowed from the waist, as she had 
been taught, a deep, formal and submissive bow, with eyes to the floor.  
Remembering Suki's instructions, she looked down at the man's shoes, 
counted to two, and then slowly raised her head, careful to look up 
from under her long, fluttery lashes and smile politely as she humbly 
greeted her new master using the Japanese words she had so carefully 
memorized.  

"Thank you Master, for allowing me to come into your home.  My name is 
Kitty-Kat and as you can see, I am but a foolish and stupid girl, one 
who is not worthy of the notice of such an esteemed gentleman as 
yourself.  It would be a great honor for me to be allowed to serve you 
in any way you might chose."

Mr Moto seemed pleased with her limited Japanese and responded, curtly 
but politely, gesturing her into his room, and closing the door behind 
her.


End of Part 1/3
2001 Copyright, Don Winslow
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Don_Winslow/

<1st attachment end>


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