Gemini Triad: Prologue

Gemini proved to be a shrewd, yet fair-minded businesswoman. Even though she’d had only a minimal amount of formal education, numbers, columns of figures on balance sheets came easily to her. She ran the escort service for three years—at an even more handsome profit than her penny-pinching pimp-daddy had—taking her share of escorts along with her “girls”, but with the unquestioned right to be more selective in her acceptance of customers.

However, by early 1997, Gemini could see the future rushing at her, and it wasn’t going to be a bright light at the end of the dark tunnel that the shining city of Hong Kong was irrevocably headed into. The Communists were scheduled to take over Hong Kong in 1999 and escort services, especially one specializing in seductive lady-boys, would not be tolerated in that repressive society. She sold the escort service and the mansion to her favorite (at a tidy profit, naturally) promptly packed a few bags, jammed her passport into her purse, and boarded a 727 bound for California.

Through well-connected contacts in still-British-owned Hong Kong and in Taipei, Taiwan, she easily landed a position with an upscale TS escort service in San Francisco. The johns she “accompanied” while with this exclusive escort service were, on the whole, wealthy, or famous, generally a combination of both. There were even several regular customers, with very recognizable faces, whose careers—had it become known that the clitoris of the stunning Eurasian woman on their arm was, in fact, a small male dick—would have been utterly destroyed.

It was a classy—if naughty, way of feeding her cum addiction, as well as being quite lucrative, but after less than six months of not having any real say in which customers she considered to be acceptable and which ones she didn’t wish to be caught dead with, Gemini was once more on the move. She could come and go as she damn well pleased now. She had gotten her U.S. Citizenship during her short stint as a TS escort. (Sucking off the right congressman, while fucking his screaming closet-bisexual wife in the ass can work absolute miracles.) She had more than enough liquid assets distributed in several different banks scattered around the expansive United States of America to last the rest of her natural life. She had an impressive portfolio of stocks and bonds that was being profitably managed by a financial expert who did not wish to be outted as someone who patronized TS escort services—without his wife’s knowledge.

Gemini spoke both Thai and French as a matter of her mixed parentage, but with Macau (and to a greater extant, Hong Cong) being international cities, she was also functionally fluent in English. She had become a voracious reader in Hong Cong and was picking up Americanisms like she had been born and raised in San Francisco. She was pretty and she was naturally witty. Like a chameleon, she could be as sweet and charming, as cute and perky as circumstances warranted; while behind closed doors, she could transform herself into the deceptively demure sexual wildcat that her customers invariably demanded that she be for them.

Essentially, Gemini had it all going for her. Or, did she?

* *

Feel a little more up to speed with this tidbit of character background? I hope so. Now, let’s jump out of the past and land a few days before this prologue opened.

With financial freedom and the survival instincts of a Macau alley cat, it wasn’t all that surprising that Gemini soon found herself becoming bored to the brink of tears doing whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, for as long as she wanted, and allowing those she deemed worthy of her favors to do her. She needed something else, something she could settle down with that had some semblance of permanence to it.

While wasting time at an exclusive Spa outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico (lounging by the pool, learning to play golf, “allowing” herself to picked up at the bar by all the superbly conditioned personal trainers—both male and female) she came across an intriguing advertisement in the Wall Street Journal. Wanted; personable young woman to be personal assistant to socially beleaguered lady of the manor. Proven acceptable; generous 6 figure salary, private quarters - with access to walled garden terrace, personal phone and unrestricted Internet connection, every other weekend off, two weeks paid vacation. Call 1-900-555-DOIT (3648) with references.

This sounded just too offbeat to be a real ad. What the hell was socially beleaguered? For no other reason than to satisfy idle curiosity, Gemini called the number on her cell phone and spoke to someone named Solitaire. She told the pleasant sounding woman a fair bit about herself—leaving out the secret in her panties, naturally. She confessed that she had no “official” references, per se, yet wondered if the lady of the manor would be willing to accept a face-to-face interview in lieu of references. This Solitaire person was, at first, reluctant, but when Gemini told her that she was in the vicinity, after a muted exchange the woman had with a hoarse voice over an intercom, this Solitaire relented and told her where the manor was located.

It wasn’t in Santa Fe (or what Gemini considered to be anywhere near where she was at the present time). But, asking her golf instructor about it later that afternoon, she was informed that it was just a “ways down the road” and that getting a decent start in the morning, she could probably be there the following afternoon. Apparently, in this vast American Southwest, a measly 400-500 miles was considered “in the vicinity”.

Gemini decided. “Why not!” It wasn’t as if anything was keeping her where she was. At the very least, it would be an adventure. And, if the lady of the manor rejected her, then it could be considered nothing more than a lark, leaving her free to drive on down the road until she found someplace else that felt right to her. The only drawback she could see was that she would have to keep the secret in her panties a strictly personal secret. She could do that. She had several vibrators and dildos, plus her own hands, and with the sky-high ceiling on her gold and platinum credit cards, an unrestricted Internet connection would provide her with limitless access to pornography of her unique persuasion.

Deceptively demure Gemini could do without a real cock to suck or fucking her boi pussy… at least for a little while… until she decided what she really wanted to do with the rest of her life.

Late the following morning (after spending the entire night sucking off and being gang-fucked by six of the best endowed personal trainers at the Spa) Gemini tossed her bags in the trunk of her car and headed off down the road. Getting such a late start, and not that accomplished at reading a U.S. roadmap, deciphering what all the confusing symbols and numbers meant, forced her stop for the night… in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The cheap roadside motel she spent a sleepless night in offensive to her more refined sensibilities—in the extreme, Gemini was back on the road with the rising sun directly in her eyes. She was beginning to think of this adventure in America’s sprawling southwest as an utterly foolish impulse. There was no glitz, no glitter, no life; only endless expanses of dirty brown and faded green emptiness.

Just as she was about to turn around and race back to the far more civilized confines of the Spa in Santa Fe, to her great relief, she saw the familiar …and certainly welcoming… glistening peaks of a major city dancing on the skyline. Unaware of what a desert mirage was, she yelped, “Thank fucking God!” and tromped down on the accelerator.

Three miles down the black asphalt; she was pulling over to the side of the road, flashing red and blue lights in her rearview mirror. “Where the fuck had he come from?” She hadn’t seen another vehicle all morning. Mad—mostly at herself—she had the presence of mind to have two more buttons on her filmy blouse undone and the hem of her short white skirt hiked up when the Highway Patrolman approached the driver’s door.

“In a bit of hurry this morning, ma’am?” the officer asked, his experienced eyes taking in the just barely revealed crotch of Gemini’s blue panties.

“More confused, officer,” Gemini replied sweetly. “I’m certain I saw a city up ahead, but it seems to have disappeared.”

The Highway Patrolman laughed. Tourists! Checking out Gemini’s cleavage, he explained what a mirage was and just how far it could project an image that was still miles and miles away. “Now, may I please see your license and registration?”

Reaching over into the passenger seat to fish in her purse, Gemini parted her legs, giving the officer a better view of her panties. “Am I going to get a ticket?”

“That sort of depends, ma’am,” he responded. This faintly Asian lady was sweet. Pulling over the image of an erotic wet dream like this honey made the long empty hours patrolling worthwhile. Nice tits. Damned nice tits. He especially appreciated the gratuitous display of her panties; the flash of electric-blue contrasted perfectly with her short white skirt and flimsy white blouse.

“Depends on what, officer?” she asked, handing over her license.

The Highway Patrolman memorized the name on her license for future reference. “Will you be spending some time in town, ma’am?”

“I hope to, officer.” Gemini replied then explained why she was headed this way.

“The cloister.” The patrolman knew the place she was headed; Le Mirage, the walled estate of that wealthy eccentric, way out on the other side of the city. The old recluse had a young, sultry wife and daughter who was a dusky-skinned treat that would make any man’s mouth water. The mysterious owner of Le Mirage had never been seen by anyone in town and the two women were only seen on the golf course. It was a crying shame… and such a fucking waste of two drop-dead gorgeous women.

He handed Gemini’s license back. “Well, if you get the job, maybe one night we can get together, ma’am. Pizza and beer on me.”

Gemini took in the now prominent bulge in the front of the good-looking officer’s trousers. She flashed him her most beguiling smile. “I think I would like that, officer.”

The patrolman gave her directions to the “cloister”, then cautioned her to slow it down. He grinned. “Try to at least keep this Jag under the speed required for lift off, ma’am.”

Gemini thanked the officer for not giving her a ticket and giving him her best come-on smile, she slowly pulled back onto the road.

“Sssss-weeeet!” The was no other more appropriate way to describe the hot piece of tail the patrolman had not given a ticket to. The smile she had given him had more than said they would get together and he was looking forward to their date. And, if things went right, after they polished off some pizza and beers, he’d be all over that sweet thing. With her sexy body and that angelic face, he had the distinct feeling it would be a night he would never forget.

“Policemen,” Gemini snickered as she roared down the road. It didn’t matter where you came across them—Macho, Hong Kong, San Francisco, the American southwest; they were all the same; show them some bare breast, flash them a little panty and they were putty in your hands.

Although, she wouldn’t mind spending a night or two with the officer she had so easily coned into not giving her a ticket. He had been a good-looking guy—in a rugged, cowboy sort of way, and the intriguing bulge she had detected in his kaki twill trousers promised he would have a very nice cock. And, once she had her talented mouth working on that nice cock, she was sure he wouldn’t mind at all that her clitty looked an awful lot like a small penis.

Following the Highway Patrolman’s directions, Gemini pulled up to the gates of Le Mirage several hours later. The gates swung open before she even reached for the intercom button and she drove up the tree-lined gravel drive at a slow pace. The wooded grounds of Le Mirage were both expansive and lush. In an arid country like this, water came at a premium and nothing bespoke wealth more convincingly, more ostentatiously than well-tended greenery.

Braking out of the trees, Gemini instantly understood the officer’s vague reference to Le Mirage being “the cloister”. The immense granite structure she was approaching wasn’t exactly Victorian, nor was it Tudor, but an intricate blend of the two architectural forms. Slightly curved—like a shallow quarter moon—instead of being flat across the front, the two story mansion did resemble a cloister. The two large, third-floor guard towers on each end of the curved structure, separated from each other by a low wall, actually gave Le Mirage an almost medieval gothicness.

Le Mirage was imposing, to say the least. For the first time since impulsively leaving Santa Fe, Gemini felt some mild trepidation as she got out of her Jag and approached the ornate oak doors of the mansion. How would this titillating adventure of becoming a lady of the manor’s personal assistant turn out? Would it be a pleasant interlude between nothing in particular and something yet unseen? Or drudgery she would quickly become bored with and be off toward another adventure?

Or, would entering the ominous portal of Le Mirage prove to be something else entirely?

To be continued…

All right, as you found out in my evasive opening, Gemini did indeed get the job of personal assistant, but what is going to transpire behind the granite walls and closed doors of Le Mirage? I guess we’ll all have to wait for what follows to find out. JL