Ming

Chapter 3

When the blindfold came off, they were inside a gated estate moving down a long, smoothly paved drive lined on both sides by towering ornamental conifers. How long had she been trapped in flannel darkness? She couldn't tell. Long enough for the damn thing to have become really annoying! Checking the dashboard clock didn't help; Lyle had covered it with tape. He'd also put the odometer on "Trip A" and reset it to zero. He obviously intended that she have virtually no idea of where they were, including how long it took to get there. She guessed it had been four or five hours because they had left right after an early breakfast and the sun was still high overhead.

Just before the blindfold was removed she had felt the Mercedes slow down, turn sharply to the right and come to a softly punctuated stop. The window on Lyle's side had hissed down, letting in a draft of warm air, sweet with the scents of grass, trees and flowers.

"Your card, please, Sir."

A male voice. Polite but not obsequious. Several long moments of silence, save for the call of distant songbirds.

"Thank you, Dr. Bach. They're waiting for you and Ms. Ming. Have a wonderful day."

"Thank you," her lover had answered. "I expect to."

It was less than a minute after that that he had removed the damned blindfold. She shook her head and tried to pat her hair back to a semblance of tidiness.

"Jesus Christ, Lyle! Do all the women who come here get this damned blindfold treatment? Or is it just me?"

"It's SOP for all newcomers, both men and women. After that, it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether they intend to keep coming back. For the men that means joining up as a member. The women who come back and participate in the activities become PG's. Privileged Guests. PG's only have to be blindfolded within five miles of the grounds. It's just a matter of security."

"So in other words, the women have to put up with blindfolds but the men don't?"

"In a word, yes."

"What the fuck does that mean? Women are greater risks than men?"

"As it happens, that's the case."

She snorted. "Oh great! Rampant sexism. But then, this is a men's club, isn't it."

He bristled. "No it's not. A men's club is a place where women are excluded so men can enjoy a purely masculine environment. In a 'men's club' women are invited only for special occasions, if then. The Millennium Group, on the contrary, is fifty-fifty men and women. It's just that the members, the men, are more vulnerable to . . . ah . . . legal complications than the women, so they're less likely to bring the wrong kind of attention to our activities."

"Those would be the 'illicit' goings on that you mentioned."

"That's right."

"And that you won't tell me about."

"Because it's better that you experience them yourself and not make prejudgments. At any rate, that's why the men are considered less of a security risk."

"So you're going to keep blindfolding me for these trips?"

He favored her with a warm smile. "As I said, if you decide you want to be my permanent guest and join in with the spirit of the group, it'll only be for the last eight or ten minutes of the trip. There are also a couple of other options."

"Like what?"

"I could put you in the trunk."

"Terrific! I can add discomfort to blindness."

"Or I can put you to sleep for the whole trip."

She eyed him suspiciously. "How would you do that?"

"I'm a doctor, remember? There's a certain serum I can inject. You'll be out like a light till we get here."

"And there's another serum to wake me up?"

"You'll wake up naturally, all refreshed."

"So why didn't you offer it this time?"

"Because you're much more fun when you're awake." He leered at her.

She gave him a little half-suppressed smile. "Yeah, well you can just get out the serum and keep yourself zipped up from now on."

"Look, I'm expecting you'll become a Permanent Guest right away, and surely you can put up with a blindfold for ten minutes. You endure lots more than that at the Club."

She made a small non-committal grunt, but what he said was obviously true.

"You should know," he went on, "that I intend to keep coming to these events and you're the one I want to have with me. I'm trusting that you want that, too."

He glanced over at her. There was no plea in his eyes. The meaning of his remark was clear enough. Her dream of a permanent connection to the good Dr. Bach hinged on how well she took to this Millennium Group, on how enthusiastically she embraced whatever shadowy activities went on here.

It was at that point Ming had made her fateful decision. She wanted Lyle at any cost. She prepared herself to accept whatever was coming. After all, how bad could it be if all these other "permanent guests" kept coming back?

As these thoughts filled her mind, the Mercedes emerged from the evergreen sentinels into a spacious curved arc that circled past the grand portico of an enormous three-story mansion. The massive roof of the portico was supported by six fluted Corinthian columns. It doubled as an ornate third floor balcony enclosed by a wrought iron balustrade. Six granite steps ran the length of the portico separating it's marble-tiled floor from the brick walkway between the mansion and the curve of the driveway. The wings of the building stretched out several hundred feet in both directions from the imposing portico. A multitude of huge marble-framed gothic windows lent an air of magnificence to the structure, abetted by dozens of slate-topped dormers and two rounded towers at the juncture of the wings to the main building. Ming had seen such ostentatious palaces in Europe and Asia, but never in the U.S. countryside.

Two couples sipping from cocktail glasses sat in lounge chairs on the balcony over the portico watching the arrival of the Mercedes. A burly man with only a trace of neck awaited them. His attire consisted of a bright red polo shirt that revealed massive arms, black pants packed to the bursting point with thick legs and a pair of black running shoes with the Nike logo. Lyle stopped the car where the man could simply reach out and open the door for Ming. He held it open but said nothing to her as she climbed out of the car. His eyes were cold, his demeanor somehow frightening. He closed the door and turned his glare on Lyle who had also climbed out of the vehicle. The man nodded without changing expression.

"Dr. Bach." His voice was oddly high pitched for such a huge body. He had apparently used up his quota of salutary conversation because he said nothing more. Simply waited for Lyle to exit the car, then slipped into it and drove it away.

It was at that point Ming had realized there were no other vehicles in view. She could hear laughter and conversation from inside the mansion and the two couples were still on the upper veranda, but there was no sign of how anyone had arrived. Belatedly she looked to see where the burly man was headed with Lyle's Mercedes, but saw only its rear bumper as it disappeared around the far end of the mansion.

She had little time to ponder the mystery because her attention was quickly lured away by the details of her surroundings. The mansion (she could not think of such an awesome structure as a mere "house") seemed to be set in the midst of a vast and lavishly appointed golf course. In fact, on a distant knoll, nearly hidden by the lush foliage of an ornamental garden, she spotted a greens flag. It was a golf course! As if on cue, another couple came trundling around the garden in a golf cart.

Lyle had taken her hand and was leading her up the great expanse of steps to a pair of bronze doors at least twelve feet high that marked the main entrance. The doors swung outward as they approached, as if triggered by a motion detector like those at supermarkets and Wal-Marts. Maybe they were.

The interior was as fabulous as the outside facade and grounds. She found herself staring open-mouthed at an enormous rotunda reaching up to a dome well above the third floor. An elegant marble staircase fanned out to collect visitors on the main floor and guide them upwards to the second floor landing before spiraling off to both sides for a stately double access to the third floor. The lower walls on the first level were adorned by alternating hand-carved doors and paintings. The paintings were larger-than-life portraits of men and women in classical poses, mostly nudes and all of an erotic nature. Ming felt herself being aroused by the vivid scenes. She wouldn't learn about the other gallery, the much larger one locked behind secret doors in the basement of the East Wing, until her second visit.

As she took it all in, a couple in casual attire headed directly toward them, the man grinning, the woman — hardly more than a girl — walking less steadily and looking flushed. Both held cocktail glasses and Ming had the impression that the girl had filled hers once or twice too often. She couldn't have been more than eighteen. Her light brown hair was in some disarray. Ming suspected they'd been making a little mid-day whoopie. The man — mid thirties she guessed — clapped Lyle on the shoulder.

"Hey, man! Glad you finally showed up. And this little stunner must be the legendary Ming."

He grabbed her right hand by the fingers and made a cartoonish display of kissing the back of her hand, but finished by licking her knuckles.

"Good to see you again, Max," Lyle said. "This is, indeed, the lovely Ming I have mentioned to you on other occasions. But let's not dredge up maudlin recollections of good times past," he added quickly, "when we have a whole afternoon and evening to create brand new ones. I see Brandi made it through the lottery. Been doing a little celebrating?"

"You bet!" Max said. "Guess who won it tonight!"

Lyle's face hardened a little. "Max . . . Ming is a newcomer. This is her first visit. She doesn't know all our little secrets yet. Okay?"

"Hey, I knew that!" He turned to the girl, who looked like she might tip over at any moment. "Isn't that right, Brandi? We're here to welcome the new lady and make her feel at home. Right?"

Brandi's focus, such as it was, slid over to Ming. "Mmm."

"So all I was going to say," he made an exaggerated excuse me for living gesture, "was that Kelsey won the jackpot this afternoon. You remember Kelsey, don't you Doc? Raymond's girl? Hot little number! Well, she'll be even hotter tonight."

Max sniggered. Brandi giggled. Lyle frowned and put an arm around Ming's waist. Began to turn her away.

"We're headed for the Perennial Garden," he said. "Catch you later."

Ming found herself being hustled away, all too clearly an unsubtle effort to get her away from Max's big mouth.

"So what's wrong with Kelsey, whoever she is, winning the jackpot, whatever that is?" she asked her lover.

He was leading her through one of the ornate doors, down a plushly carpeted hallway and out to a patio where several couples sipped drinks around a large pool.

"I don't want to sound like an endless loop," he replied, "but you'll find out soon enough. Max and Brandi have only half a wit between them when they're sober. They've obviously been celebrating her luck with a little too much gusto."

"Her luck at losing this lottery, you mean."

Lyle paused for a beat. "Do you love me, Ming?"

She drew in her breath.

He repeated the question. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do. You know I do. And yes, I agreed to come here with you and yes I'll be coming back again because I know you want me to and it's a condition of your loving me monogamously and I want that more than anything in the world and whatever the deep dark secret is here I'll go along with it because you want me to." She took a breath. "It's just . . . I just . . . I'm only human, Lyle. I'm nervous because I don't know what you're getting me into. But I promised you I'd do it and I will do it."

He examined the determined set to her jaw, then swept her up and kissed her. A prolonged, wet kiss. When he broke it off, his right hand was clutching her breast and they had drawn the rapt attention of three couples on the patio.

"So are you going to undress her and ravish her right here, or would you like to introduce her first?"

It was a woman's voice, but Ming hadn't opened her eyes fast enough to see who it belonged to.

"This is Ming," her lover announced. "She's new and a little tentative because she's not yet aware of the nature of our group. But she'll soon be one of us."

"Excellent!" It was one of the men. He stepped forward and offered his hand. "Welcome, Ming. I'm Tom. This is my wife, Katerina. She's from Ukraine and she's been a Permanent Guest now for two years."

A slender blonde woman of indeterminate age — somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five — drew closer and took a turn shaking Ming's hand.

"Welcome to Millennium Group, dear," she said. "I was afraid, too, when first here. But it is such lovely place. So much to do. Such wonderful dinner. And you get used to taking chance. It is exciting! You will see."

The others gravitated toward Lyle and Ming and soon a drink was in her hand. She was on her second bourbon and ginger ale when one of the couples doffed their clothes right there on the patio and jumped into the pool naked. Soon others had joined them. Ming instantly spotted the gleam in Lyle's eyes and knew what he wanted. The Iron Feather Club had long since inured her to public nudity, so she smiled seductively at him and began peeling off her sun dress. A few moments later they were both in their birthday suits and in the pool where an impromptu game of water volleyball had begun. It was not the kind of game where the score mattered, or anyone bothered to keep track. It was just a lot of fun and shouting and splashing around.

Over it all a man's voice boomed.

"Well, look who's here!"

A stentorian voice, full of itself.

Ming was just resurfacing from a failed attempt to reach the ball. She shook the water out of her eyes to see a tall athletically slim man approaching the side of the pool with a very pretty young woman in tow. The man had a typically Nordic look, but the conversion of his blond hair to silver was well under way. The girl was of Asian extraction, her swarthy skin tone a startling contrast to his pallid whiteness. She was much younger than he, young enough to be his daughter, although the racial disparity made that unlikely. They were both as naked as the volleyball players.

"Yo, Taylor!" Lyle shouted back from the other side of the net. "Come join us! Either team could use a ringer."

Taylor let go of the girl's hand and jumped in on Lyle's side of the pool. The girl slid into the water more gracefully and took up a position beside Ming. She was immediately loquacious.

"Hi. My name is Jade. Yours?"

"Ming. I love that name, Jade. It's so pretty. Suits you, too."

"Thanks. I picked it myself. My original name can't be pronounced by Americans. I was born in Taiwan. When my folks moved here, they changed it to Jenn. But I changed it again, to Jade."

"Wow! You're from Taiwan! So are my parents. Taipei. But you sound so American!"

"I arrived before my first birthday, honey. My mother divorced before I was two and married an American, so English is all I've ever really spoken."

"Where do you live?"

"Originally Sacramento, but I've moved around."

"When did you change your name? In school?"

The girl laughed as she reached up to stop the ball and poke it over to Ming, who slugged it back over the net with a small closed fist.

"No, not school. When I went to work for Lady Fox's Escorts."

"Escorts?"

"I was a working girl, sweetie. A call girl. How about you?"

"Me? No! I mean, I've never done it for money." Ming felt herself heating to scarlet in spite of the cool water, regretting her rude choice of words. "Not that I have anything against . . . working women. Why should I. God knows I've got nothing against sex, paid or free. If a girl's gonna put out for a lotta guys why not make them pay for the privilege? Right?" She was rambling, making it worse, but couldn't seem to stop herself. "I mean, I go to a BDSM club and get screwed by all kinds of guys. And that's just because my boyfriend wants me to. So in a way I guess I'm on call without getting paid for it. Better to get paid for it, right? I mean, I don't earn a helluva lot at my work, so I could use the extra cash."

She stopped, intensely aware of Jade's amused expression and embarrassed at her own vacuous blathering.

"I'm sorry," Ming said. "I'm making a fool of myself. It's just that I've never met an actual call girl. I didn't want you to think I'm judgmental about that sort of thing. Really, I'm not. Actually, I'm fascinated. Will you forgive me? Can we start over?"

Jade laughed. A light, musical giggle tinged with girlish glee. "You're cute," she said, and laughed again.

Ming was both relieved and taken aback. "Cute? Is that good or bad? Have I offended you? I didn't mean to. Really!"

"You haven't offended me, honey? Like, if I were sensitive about the issue, I wouldn't have mentioned it, okay? I mean, what the fuck difference does it make in this place, right? What we do here makes fucking for money seem like Sunday school in a nunnery, right?"

"What do you mean?"

Jade gazed at her for several long seconds, comprehension dawning visibly in her eyes. "Oh shit. You're the newbie, aren't you?"

"This is my first visit, yes. My boyfriend . . . that's him on the other team, the one your friend was talking to, Lyle . . . he talked me into coming here. But he won't tell me what you guys do here."

"Yeah. That figures. Don't worry about it, sweetie. It was the same here." She paused to return another ball, driving it to the far corner beyond anyone's reach. Ming was amazed at her skill. "Taylor insisted I come here. I had just agreed to be his mistress, which was a lot better than fucking five or six strangers every day when any one of them might be a cop or a psycho with a knife. I mean, Taylor's richer than God! And when he offered to take me on and support me in the style to which I wanted to become accustomed, it was like, Halleluia! No way I was about to fuck up that arrangement! But part of the deal was that I be his regular guest here. That was two years ago. And I'm still here. So far so good."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see."

"Christ! That's what Lyle keeps saying! Why won't anyone tell me what the big secret is?"

"Are you Lyle's mistress, or do you work?"

Ming suppressed her frustration at the obvious redirection, but went along with it.

"I work. Lyle and I live together, but I work for a restaurant in LA. I'm a chef. He's a doctor."

"You're a chef?" Jade's eyebrows rose in some kind of astonishment.

"Yeah. Studied in Paris and everything."

Jade laughed as though it were the most comical thing since Seinfeld.

"What's so funny?" Ming asked.

"Oh, nothing. It's just a little . . . I don't know. Ironic? You'll see soon enough. Your boyfriend, Lyle: you're hoping he'll propose, right?"

"It wouldn't hurt my feelings."

"You love him."

"Of course I love him."

"And you'll do anything for him."

"I even let him blindfold me for the whole damn trip here."

Jade giggled. "Me too. The first time. But I'm in too deep now for them to bother about that. Besides, I love this place. I always have fun here. I've especially come to love the banquet part. It stimulates the hell out of me. It's a much bigger high than sex. I guess I'm a thrill seeker by nature. I like risk. Maybe that was part of my getting into the call girl business. That and poverty."

Ming wanted to scream! All these tantalizing hints about the Millennium secret, but still no explanation! Ming had an urge to shake Jade, get her back on the subject! Ask what the hell was risky and thrilling about a goddamn banquet? But their conversation was interrupted by an extended, watery volley, as lengthy as it was exhausting. When a couple of the players begged off to go pee, the others hopped out of the pool to recover and reclaim abandoned drinks. Some wrapped themselves in towels. Others did not. Ming and Jade remained among the nude and found a table where they could continue their talk in the warmth of the sun.

"So you're a chef?" Jade said after refreshing her drink, a martini from which she had already consumed the olive. "That should give you a better head start than most of us had." Before Ming could ask what that meant, Jade rushed on. "The only carcass I'd ever seen up close was this guy who called the agency and asked for the youngest girl they had. That was me. So when I arrived — it was a motel room on Avenida de Mayo in San Diego — he had all this stuff laid out on the bed. A collar and leather harness, a butt plug with a red tail, whips, all that shit. I started to tell him no deal, I don't do submissive, when he says no, no! He wants me to be the dom. Ride him and whip him and lead him around like a dog. So we did all that shit for half an hour or so until he was ready to cimb aboard. But then, just as he reaches orgasm, he grabs his chest and starts gasping and turning blue! He's having this fucking heart attack while he's still inside me! Finally he collapses on top of me and lies there like a beached whale. I pry myself out from under him and shout at him to wake up, but it's no use. He don't respond. I didn't know what the fuck to do: call for help or run. I mean, I sure didn't wanna be there if he's dead and the cops arrive. And he looked dead as hell to me. So I called my boss at Lady Fox's and she told me to get the fuck out. Which I did. Turns out he was a state legislator. I'd a been plastered all over the media if I'd called for help. That kind of publicity me and Lady Fox's didn't need. I met Taylor shortly after. At first he was just another client, but he was nice and when he offered to take me away from all that shit, I jumped at the chance."

"You seem awfully young," Ming observed, the added alcohol loosening her curiosity. "How old were you when you . . . started escorting?"

"I was seventeen. My boss thought I was eighteen."

"So now you're . . . ?"

"I'm twenty."

"Jeez. You look, like, fourteen."

"I have good genes. My mom looks twenty-five."

"Forgive me for saying this, but I can't help wonder. Isn't Taylor quite a bit older than you are? Not that it's any of business."

"Sure he is. A lot older. But I'm not going to marry him, so what's the difference. He's as generous as a billionaire at the pearly gates, and that's all I need. Besides, he's plenty big where it counts when I'm in the mood for it. And when I'm not in the mood, so what? He fucks and I fake."

Ming laughed. "You live with him?"

"Hell no. He's married, honey. I'm strictly his mistress. His fuck toy. He's set me up in a gorgeous downtown apartment. But to be perfectly honest, my biggest value to him is my willingness to be his partner for these jaunts to the Millennium estate and their scrumptious barbeques. Now tell me about your BDSM experience. What was that about?"

Ming, light headed with three drinks and delighted with her racy new friend, put aside for the moment her doubts about the Millennium Group and launched into an account of her escapades at the Iron Feather Club. Soon they were both giggling at the more outrageous absurdities of BDSM play. By the time Lyle and Taylor joined them, Ming was into her fourth drink and had forgotten her fears.

Clothed again to ward off the hot sun, they spend the balance of the afternoon dabbling in golf, croquet, badminton and frisbee. Every now and then the delicious aroma of cooking meat wafted their way. Something she couldn't quite recognize.

"What is that wonderful fragrance?" Ming finally asked, as they headed indoors again and on into a large room filled with chattering couples. Her tongue was becoming a little slurry. "Is that our dinner?"

"Indeed," Lyle replied. "Would you like a little preview? A bit of an hors d'oeuvre?"

Before she could formulate an answer, a young woman in a red dress appeared with a silver tray. In the center of the tray was a delicate bowl of Japanese porcelain containing a paté. The bowl was encircled by a variety of crackers on a bed of parsley. Lyle took a sesame seed cracker, dipped out some of the paté with it and placed it on Ming's tongue. She chewed and swallowed.

"Mmm. That is good! What is it?"

"It's made from the same meat we'll be enjoying tonight at the banquet." He turned to the girl in red. "Candy. Ming here is a chef. See if you can purloin a small strip of the roast they're preparing for tonight. We'll see if Ming can guess what it is, despite the seasoning."

"Yes, Sir." She placed the tray on a side table and strolled smoothly away. Something in the way she looked at Lyle and moved told Ming that this girl was no mere servant. But she was glad for the hors d'oeuvres because she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and was famished. She had munched four more of them before Candy returned with a small plate containing a thin slice of meat about the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar. It was juicy, steaming and oddly colored — somewhere between the oyster white of pork and the dark red of filet mignon. A small fork lay beside the plate. Candy smiled serenely as Ming picked up the slice of meat with a dainty scoop of the fork and slipped it into her mouth.

"Well?" prompted Lyle.

"It's wonderful! Amazing!" Ming said as she swallowed the last of it. "And I still have no idea what it is. It's definitely not beef, or deer, or elk, or bison. It's not chicken, or turkey, or ostrich, or emu. In fact, the texture is wrong for any foul I know of. It might be pork, or veal, but the flavor is subtly different from either. Is it some sort of exotic animal?" Is that what this dark, illicit secret is about, she was thinking? They eat endangered species?

"In just about half an hour you'll find out, my sweet." Lyle placed his mouth over hers and worked his lips and tongue on hers in the way that always started her secretions flowing. In any normal social setting she would have pushed him away before her response became embarrassingly obvious to others, but this place was hardly normal. Tom was over by the windows with a hand up Katerina's skirt, and another man had his blonde companion backed up against the opposite wall with her dress top pulled aside so he could suckle her breast. Max and Brandi, the first couple she'd met on arrival, were visible through the archway to the vestibule walking up the grand stairway hand in hand and stark naked, apparently fresh out of the pool.

Candy, the girl in red, was offering Ming another drink.

"Thank you, no," she managed to say, waving it off.

But Candy didn't move.

Lyle held Ming's face in his hands, turned her to face him and looked straight into her eyes. "You need this one, sweetheart. Please take it."

"Jesus, Lyle! If I have one more drink before dinner, I'll never make it. I'll keel right over. Listen to me. I'm slurring my words!"

"I know. But this is a special concoction to help reduce the effects of all that alcohol. You don't want to fall into your plate at the banquet, do you?"

"No. I . . . a special concoction?"

"To help sober you up a little."

"Made of what?"

"Drink it. When you're sober enough, I'll tell you."

Suddenly she didn't feel like arguing about it any more. Her mind was becoming fuzzy. The words getting too hard to form. The hell with it! She took the glass and chugged it down. So there! The red-dress girl smoothly took the glass from her fingers as Lyle bent to Ming's mouth and kissed her. The room was spinning a little. When did that start?

From nowhere a feminine arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and gently guided her to another room, a quieter room. No din of conversation. No one was attempting intercourse against the walls or offering her snacks and drinks. Heavy drapes. Sofas with soft cushions. She sat down on one of them. Looked to her left. Jade was seated beside her. Smiling as though she knew something. What?

"So you're a chef. Fancy restaurant?"

Ming nodded.

"You go to college to learn how?"

With an effort Ming forced out, "UCLA. Culinary Arts. Then Paris." It was badly slurred. L's were so hard. Her tongue wasn't curling properly.

"Wow. Did you get to butcher the animals you cooked?"

"Some. In Paris. Learn the cuts. Mostly watched."

Lyle's concoction seemed to be clearing her mind a little, but it had done nothing for her ability to talk."

"So butchering carcasses is nothing new for you, right?"

"No. Been there. Done that." She giggled.

"Fresh meat. Fresh meat is best, right?"

"Abso . . . solutely." She'd have to avoid long words. "Yes. Fresh. Fresher the better."

"Ever cooked a whole animal? Like a pig?"

"Luau. Apple in the mouth." She giggled again.

"Rammed that rod right up their ass and out the mouth, right?"

"That's how. Has to be done right, though. Slow. Low fire. Keep turning, basting." The words seemed to be pouring out now of their own accord.

"What if I was to tell you that's what we're having tonight? A succulent spit roast with all the trimmings. Don't that sound great?"

"I love a . . . a good roast."

"And I'll bet you know just how it should be done, you being a high class chef and all." Jade put her right hand on Ming's nearest thigh and began drawing casual circles with the tips of her fingers.

"Has to be slow," Ming answered. The fingers soothed her, made her tingle. She forced out another few words. "Gotta have the right spices. Good stuffing." She felt the warmth of Jade's hand close over her thigh, the circles widening.

"And you've done that, haven't you? Cut it open and taken out all the entrails. Cleaned it out. Stuffed it."

"Yeah. Lots of times. Luaus."

"Then after it's roasted over the fire pit . . ."

"Slow. Gotta cook it slow."

"Yeah, slow. After it's slowly brought to perfection you present it on a nice big platter in the center of the table, right? So everyone can enjoy the sight of it, all golden and shiny from the bastings and the juices seeping through the skin. And the wonderful smell of it!" Jade's hand moved higher, approaching the critical juncture. "That kind of stuff, the whole carcass cooking and served on a spit, that doesn't bother you at all, does it." Her warm hand under the dress, sliding over silky skin. Closer.

Ming shook her head, making the world spin. She could barely breathe, much less talk. That warm hand under her dress was sliding upward. Closer. Then they touched the cleft of her sex, wiggled between the wet lips. Touched her clit. An electric charge surged through her pelvis and up her spine. She shivered. She wasn't into girl love, but her body wouldn't move to resist it. O God! She was enjoying it! But she mustn't! She liked Jade. But not that way! Yet she didn't want to hurt her feelings, reject her. So she let the fingers slide inside her. Let the fingers excite her. Let them become slippery within her. Allowed herself to moan in pleasure, the conversation forgotten, her body seized with spasms as the orgasms raced through her! Blinding thrills that made her buck and jerk. She heard herself keening!

Suddenly the fingers became still.

Settling down now. Momentarily satiated.

A man's hand on her shoulder. Familiar lips kissing her closed eyes.

Oh God! Lyle! And here I am with Jade's fingers up my pussy!

Yet she didn't move. Couldn't summon the energy. Didn't care. (Except for some part of her way back there who was mortified. Strange.)

A gong sounded. Distant. Deep throated. An exotic, irrefutable command. An invitation too majestic to resist. Too ominous to ignore.

Her lover's voice in her ear. Far away.

"Come along, Ming. Time for dinner."