Gemini Triad: Prologue

Author’s acknowledgement and a short note… a plea, actually:

First and foremost, I want to thank the Lit members who cast their votes and made Chapter 2 of Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples the Interracial Story of the Year. This is an honor I never expected to come my way when I first began posting my humble offerings.

Even more, I want to personally thank all of my readers who voted and made it Story of the Month for December, which put me in the running for Story of The Year in the first place. Without you, I (in fact all writers here at Literotica) would just be another hack writer in search of approval. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Secondly, I’m taking a real flyer here, submitting something “just a little outside” the confines of my customary offerings, which have all been in the Interracial Love category… so far. So, please, help me out here with some feedback on this opening prologue.

Prologue:

Gemini deposited her suitcase on the bed and appraised her new quarters.

The polished mahogany furnishings; the furniture’s upholstery, the drapes, even the flocked wallpaper all in intricate weaves and patterns of pale yellows and tangerine, ivory and rose, peach and coral, dusty mauve and a soft robin’s egg blue made this bright and airy bedroom/sitting room a pleasing sight for sore eyes. Even more pleasing was the fact that just this half of her quarters was easily three times larger than the “clothes closet” she had spent the night before in. This bedroom’s queen-size, four-poster bed alone would have left her with no room in which to move around last night.

Gemini snickered. With this bed she was standing alongside in the previous night’s dinky, low-rent motel room, she would have had to remove the door to the miniscule bathroom in order to pee… without standing, something she only did if it was requested of her.

With the entire east wall of the bedroom, as well as the high ceiling above her head, both being mirrored wall-to wall, her room appeared three times as… as roomy as it actually was, which was very comfortably roomy indeed. Through a partially open door on the other side of the bed, she glimpsed the cavernous expanse of a large walk-in closet. What was in the rest of her luggage—which was still outside in the trunk and on backseat of her car—wouldn’t fill even half of one of its hang bars. Added to this, she was going to have to do some serious shopping in order to fill even one of her bedroom’s two long mahogany dressers.

Like a delighted little girl, Gemini pirouetted several times, catching fleeting glimpses and flashing images of her new surroundings. Oh, yes, this spacious bedroom/sitting room was far more to her liking.

She stopped and looked across the room. At a right angle to an overstuffed couch (the back of which was the demarcation line between the bedroom half and the sitting room portion of her new quarters) there was a comfortable-looking recliner with an end table and reading lamp beside it. A large roll top computer desk—with a state-of-the-art computer already setup on it—sat across from this intimate grouping and a wide-screen plasma TV hung at eye level on the wall. All the amenities a personal assistant could want, or really needed in order to comfortably wile away her leisure hours.

From the amount of late afternoon light pouring through the peach-colored, floor to ceiling drapes, almost the entire west wall of her sitting room was, apparently, glass. She walked over, opened the drapes and found herself looking out at a low-walled garden terrace, lush with ferns and potted trees. Scattered about the terrace were numerous chase lounges, chairs and umbrella tables. Across this third floor garden terrace from her quarters was another glass wall. Another bedroom apartment, similar to her own?

Wandering around her private quarters, idly tapping her manicured fingernails on the brand new computer’s previously untouched keys, running her fingertips across the glass-smooth surface of her highly polished mahogany coffee table, caressing the velvety-soft velour of her couch with her delicate hands, Gemini decided she was going to like it here… very much. She just hoped her new employers liked her half as much as she was in love with this simply “to die for” apartment.

Stepping through a glass-beaded archway, she entered her bathroom. It was all creamy marble and the plumbing fixtures were a glistening gold. She hiked up her short skirt, pulled down her filmy silk panties and sat on the toilet. A step-up garden tub, a glassed-in shower stall, twin sinks set into an expansive antique marble counter, the marble toilet she was presently peeing into and a matching bidet along side it. What more could a girl possibly want in a private apartment?

Using a couple of folds of toilet tissue to pat herself dry, Gemini flushed the toilet and snugged her panties up tight. She caressed the front of her panties tenderly and whispered, “I think we’re going to like here, little girl. Very, very much.”

She stood in the archway and surveyed her own room once more. A beautiful garden terrace right outside the sliding doors of her tastefully decorated and luxuriously furnished sitting room, a provocatively feminine bedroom, an elegantly expensive bath… This whole setup was not only a bit… overwhelming; she was being quite well paid to occupy it.

This private apartment was more than she could have ever dreamed possible growing up in the dirty, poverty-ridden slums of Macau. She would never go back to that. Never! She would make her new employers like her; she would make herself invaluable to them… regardless of what it took. She had done degrading things just to stay alive; she could do even more degrading things—if that’s what it took—to live like this for the rest of her life.

All she had to do was keep a small “personal” secret from her employers and she would be home free. She would do it. In order to continue living here, in the lap of wealthy, civilized comfort, she would have to.

*

Early that evening, Gemini was asked to draw a hot bath for her employer. “Then go tell Domino to join me?” the woman added.

“Yes, Solitaire,” Gemini answered and hurried upstairs to draw her employer’s bath.

As her personal assistant—and apparently her personal maid, too—Solitaire was the person Gemini was directly responsible to and Domino was her daughter. The master of this sprawling, three-story Victorian/Tudor/Medieval mansion (whom Gemini had yet to meet face to face) vocally sounding Caucasian and Solitaire being a ravishing, milky-skinned redhead, Domino—being a caramel-colored beauty in her early-twenties—had to be from a previous mixed race marriage, or an illicit affair.

But these two things—addressing her employer by her first name (not ma’am or madam, but being instructed to keep their relationship on a first name basis) and the mixed race of Solitaire’s daughter—weren’t the only “strange” things about this house. The ghostly, breathless voice over the intercom (all Gemini had, so far, been exposed to regarding the master of the house) sounded to be as old as Methuselah and that Solitaire herself couldn’t be more than in her late thirties were a couple more oddities. It was all very strange, but Gemini didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable about any of it.

In fact, Gemini found Solitaire to be a very alluring woman. And Solitaire’s daughter, Domino? That young lady was one sweet little chocolate chip.

The hot water running into Solitaire’s huge garden tub, Gemini hurried up the west staircase to the third floor and knocked on the door to the private quarters she had seen across the garden terrace from her own. “It’s unlocked,” a melodic voice called out from inside. Gemini opened the door. Domino was lying across her bed, reading. “Solitaire wants you to join her, Domino,” she croaked with a dry throat. The girl was wearing only a pair of black panties. The crotch of those skimpy panties being snugged up between the girl’s dusky asscheeks, the taunt mounds of her youthful buttocks were clearly defined beneath the straining satin material.

“In her bath, I presume,” Domino inquired, without looking up from her book.

Gemini had to force her eyes away from the girl’s alluring buttocks. “I assume so.”

“Tell her I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.” Domino lifted her pretty face, smiled, and blew a kiss across the room. “And that’s for you, Gemini.”

Gemini shakily closed the door and exhaled a sigh of relief as she rushed down the stairs. She had gotten out of there none to soon. The front of her panties was moist from simply gazing at her employer’s daughter’s seductively pantied ass. On top of that, Solitaire had requested that her daughter join her in her private bath. Could it be that her alluring employer and her employer’s delectable cocoa-complexted daughter were both lesbians?

Gemini was herself a lesbian… but in a decidedly “different” sort of way.

Solitaire was already reclining in the tub when Gemini got back. The tub was mounded high with fragrant soap bubbles, so she couldn’t she the lower extremities of woman’s body, but what she could see was breathtaking… a beautiful pair of mature, rose-capped breasts, their pinkie-size nipples engorged with hot blood, and soooo invitingly mouth-watering. Solitaire took one of her hard nipples between her thumb and forefinger. “Like them, Gemini?” She tweaked and worked the nipple like she was masturbating a small cock. “They always get like this whenever I’m naked.”

Gemini felt the telltale twinge inside her panties and almost groaned aloud. “Please,” she pleaded under her breath. “Please… Oh, please, God, please don’t let my little secret be exposed to the lady of the house. Please!”

Domino came into the bathroom, still attired only in her skimpy panties. No more than 5’6”, 110 pounds—at the most, Solitaire’s mocha-skinned mulatto daughter was what any man or boy (or same-sex-oriented girl, for that matter) in his (or her) right mind should be wet-dreaming about on a nightly basis. With the auburn highlights in her dark, shoulder-length hair, her slate-blue eyes, full, sensuous mouth and thin nose, her dark-nippled 34C breasts, slender waist and slim hips, Domino was, simply put, a knockout… but in an oddly boyish sort of way.

All of which did not make Domino any less desirable to Gemini. An undeniable point of fact was that Solitaire’s daughter was not a hot little chocolate chip; Domino was one very delectable, mouth-watering caramel treat.

“You may be excused now, Gemini,” Domino said while nonchalantly slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. With her back to Gemini, Domino skinned off her panties and twirling them on her middle finger, she peeked over her shoulder and smiled seductively. “Unless you’d care to join us?”

“I… I think not,” Gemini wheezed. She wanted nothing more than to strip herself naked and join both of them in the huge bubble bath, but she didn’t dare. Solitaire and Domino were surely lesbians—there could be no doubt of that now. Not only were they both lesbians, they were the kinkiest sort of lesbians imaginable; incestuous mother and daughter lesbians. And she had just been invited to join them. She wanted to, badly. But, if they discovered her “secret”…

“I’ll… I’ll be up in my room, Solitaire,” Gemini said haltingly and backed out of the bathroom. “If you… or Domino should need me for anything else.”

Exerting nearly impossible control of herself, Gemini somehow managed to walk out of Solitaire’s bedroom, then damned near twisted her ankle racing upstairs. Once safely in her bedroom—with the door locked behind her—she dashed into the bathroom, literally ripped her panties off, and squatted over the bidet. She then took her rock hard “clitty” in her fist and beat it furiously.

A bit confused? Good! That means this evasive teaser did exactly what it was intended to do: to obfuscate while, hopefully, enticing to you read further.

* *

The result of a furtive coupling between a young Thai girl and her forbidden French lover, Choi had been born (out of wedlock) in Macau in 1978… with a penis. But, even before entering puberty, Choi knew there was something different about himself, something that didn’t feel… right. The source of his prepubescent bewilderment seemed to be rooted in the male appendage between his skinny legs; somehow, it was all wrong. There was a strong sense that it didn’t, or shouldn’t, belong to him. A voice inside his head kept saying that this was because he wasn’t who he was.

Think that sounds confusing to you, a supposed adult? Try making any sort of sense out of it when you’re only seven or eight years old.

By early adolescence, Choi had just about figured out what was so completely wrong about him. It was just as the strange voice inside his head had been trying to tell him all along; because he wasn’t who everyone thought he was. Everyone—including his family—saw him as a boy, but inside, Choi knew himself to be a girl. At a time when a person’s sexuality is already in a tumultuous flux, Choi had the added burden of emerging sexual identity to deal with… an issue that’s hard enough to deal with at age twenty or thirty, even into one’s forties. But, a boy of fourteen or fifteen, along with the physiological changes already taking place inside as well as outside of him, attempting to cope with the certain knowledge that he should have been born a girl…

Imagine overhearing your father repeatedly telling your mother that. “He’s too pretty to be a boy”. Tumultuous flux, physiological chaos paled in comparison to the chaotic emotions raging unchecked inside Choi. And, if things for Choi weren’t already bad enough, in the span of roughly thirty minutes, the height of newly discovered ecstasy came crashing down on the poor boy’s head.

The very first time Choi decided to act on what he knew to be the truth about himself, his father unexpectedly arrived home early. Catching his effeminate son “in flagrante delicto”. (Essentially, that’s Latin for being caught in a very compromising position) the enraged, father had grabbed his faggot son by the throat and literally thrown him out in the street—with the admonishment to never again darken the family’s door with his despicable presence.

Barely into his teens, all Choi owned were the clothes on his back—his sister’s school clothes—and with no real friends, and now without any home, or family left to comfort him, life had looked dark and bleak to Choi. However, the gods of chance had decided to smile on poor Choi. Fate came in the form of a pimp—a sharp-eyed “entrepreneur” who, upon seeing Choi dressed as a girl, with his delicate feminine features and innocent doe eyes, realized that he had a potential gold mine in this pretty, naive “lady-boy”.

The “kind-hearted” pimp took Choi under his wing—as it were—and that very night, Choi became a boi-pro—a young male prostitute, working the back alleys of Macau for his new “Daddy”. Choi and the pimp quickly became comfortable with this twisted father/son working arrangement. Choi was at last being seen for who he truly was; a girl, and the pimp had a very talented boi-toy to play with, one who was going to make him a lot of money on the street.

By his late teens, Choi no longer needed to wear wigs to convincingly look the part of a girl; his black hair had grown down past his shoulder blades into a luxurious raven cape. Also, his effeminate features and slender frame had become even more feminine. Choi no longer thought of his out-of-place male appendage as a dick, but as an overly developed clitoris; his boi-clitty.

At age eighteen, pretty “lady-boy” Choi no longer plied his/her “special” trade in the back alleys of Macau; but now “escorted” out of some of the fanciest, most upscale hotels across the bay in Hong Kong. Choi looked the part, he dressed the part, he felt the part, he lived the part and, aside from being too flat chested, until he skinned off his skimpy panties there was virtually no way his/her clients could tell that Choi wasn’t 100% female. Of course, the majority of the clients Choi escorted hadn’t contracted for a “real” woman in the first place and for those who had, once Choi had their hard cocks in his/her voracious mouth, they really didn’t give a royal fuck that “her” clit looked an awful lot like a hard dick.

Having discovered that he could not only please a woman, but enjoyed being intimate with a woman almost as much as he got off being taken by a man, or by several men’s cocks at the same time, Choi had yet to be rejected by one couple that had hired his escort services. It was actually funny seeing the startled look on the wife or mistress’s face when he finally exposed his special “clitty” to them. Their shock dissipated quickly, however, and all of them couldn’t wait to see their man being intimate with a good-looking young lady, who just happened to possess a very nice dick. One matronly British wife—while her comatose husband had been snoring loudly beside them—had even whispered to Choi that it had been a real joy watching her husband suck cock for a change. “And what turned me on the most,” she had confessed, while pressing a thousand dollar bill into Choi’s delicate hand, “is that I think he got off on it even more than you did, dear.”

Two changes radical altered Choi’s world in this eighteenth year of his life.

The first change was a joyous alteration; for his birthday, Choi’s pimp had paid to transform him from being a flat chested girl into a nicely chested young woman. Choi had wanted to go larger, but after admiring his/her alluring reflection in the mirror, he/she’d had to agree that larger breasts would have looked out of place on their diminutive body. 5’ 4” and 98 pounds at age fifteen, Choi hadn’t gained an inch or put on an ounce since. If anything, his slender frame had become even more feminine in the last three years and 36C or 38D tits would look almost grotesque on her/his chest. Besides, when viewed in the mirror, with “her” shoulders back and “her” head up, “her” new 32b titties, with their perky pink nipples, did complement “his” six inch (when fully hard) boi clitty perfectly.

The Hong Kong doctor who had done the breast implants had told Choi that, if he wanted to undergo a complete transformation, he would have to travel to Thailand where there were highly qualified surgeons who specialized in sexual reassignment. The bad news had been that it was a terribly expensive procedure, especially for a foreigner.

The exorbitant cost (a minimum of $20,000.00 American) had, of course, been a serious consideration to the pimp in Choi becoming a “full” woman. But, after weighing the pros and cons of having “her” boi-clitty slit open and the muscle tissue, cartilage and male urethra removed, then the empty flap of skin tucked up inside “her” to provide “her” with a realistic vagina, Choi him/herself had decided that the answer was to be, “No.” The procedure was irreversible. And, would having a vagina and realistically sensitive clitoris make “her” any more of a woman than “she” already felt herself to be? Truth be told, Choi rather liked her/his “special” clitty just the way it was; it set “her” apart from the female whores who had three holes for men to shoot their hot cum into. “Her” unique clitty made “her”… extra special.

And, with that decision, pretty lady-boi Choi ceased to exist, giving birth to sultry, alluringly feminine Gemini.

The second change in newborn Gemini’s life had been heartbreaking, but proved to be unexpectedly beneficial for her. Her pimp-daddy—who now had a stable of 12 seductive lady-boys—died of a massive heart attack not three weeks after his first and most favorite “girl” had returned to escorting. He had been grossly overweight and anyone could have predicted this happening sooner or later, but the surprise… the overwhelming shock had been him leaving his entire estate (his swollen bank account, his stable of exclusive escorts, his opulent gated mansion in Kowloon) solely to his favorite; Gemini. There had been, quite understandably, some general animosity concerning this unannounced turn of events, but after hiring a personal bodyguard—a gigantic, hard-muscled, stone-faced black man—any potential insurrection to Gemini’s legitimate authority was quelled, and quelled quickly.