Ming

MING

©2005 by C.A.Smith

In collaboration with a real, live Ming

whose fantasy inspired the story.

Chapter 1

Was it bravery or boredom that had made her do it? Ming certainly wasn't the gambling kind. Or, at least, never had been. And she was not kinky! Not really. Not her real self. Not counting the stuff Lyle had brought into her life. But she wouldn't have done those things if it weren't for trying to please him . She just went along with it. Although she couldn't in all honesty deny that it turned her on. Some of it. Well, most of it, actually. Was it her fault that her body responded with huge orgasms? She had no control over that. She didn't want it to happen, but it did. And who could blame her for craving more of it, for letting him do those disgusting things to her when it led to such shatteringly delicious results?

"You need to come out of your shell," he had told her.

Well, she had certainly done that .

It had started out as their own private play, but it wasn't long before he made it obvious that if she hoped to continue their relationship she would have to start going with him to his "Club." Be his partner. His submissive. Expand their play to include his friends. And she had to admit she had agreed to it of her own free will. Partly out of curiosity, of course. And partly because her long suppressed wild side had been longing to break free, take risks! But the biggest part, the deal sealer, was her fear of losing him if she chickened out. He was too good a catch to let slip away just to preserve her preconceived notions of modesty.

Lyle didn't share those notions. He openly scoffed at her parent's old-world sense of decorum. Made it clear that he considered modesty and virginity useless traits. Worse than useless: unattractive and pretentious. What he valued in a woman was sensuality and a single-minded desire to please her man. In other words (words he never actually spoke, but clearly implied), if she wanted to keep the handsome Dr. Lyle Bach as her boyfriend (not to mention her dream of a more permanent arrangement), she needed to chuck her pre-Lyle concepts of propriety and adopt his.

So she did.

It wasn't so hard, actually, except for the first time she had to strip naked in front of a room full of people, then hang chained up and helpless as he hung things from her tits and stuffed things up her vagina for their amusement! But she got used to it. In fact, truth be told, it was probably the embarrassment of doing such intensely private things in public that made her orgasms so explosive.

Still, none of that was anything like this! This was monstrous! It made her tremble to think of it! It made her sick with fear. But it also made her damp.

There was a darker possibility as well that might explain why she had agreed to this new madness. Perhaps it was just her perverted way of expressing an anger she did not dare put into words. She had agreed, after all, as part of the lifestyle she had entered into with him, that Lyle was free to fuck anyone he so desired. He had made it clear that he didn't believe in monogamy and would not restrict himself to any one sex partner, nor should she, either. She had swallowed her pride and bought into it. Why not? She was young, sexually overheated and crazily in love.

But free love for all concerned was not how it played out in actual practice. As it turned out, he alone, as "the loving Dominant" in their relationship, would choose all the alternate sexual partners for both of them. In short, he could fuck every woman who struck his fancy and was willing to drop her panties, including God knows how many, nurses, colleagues, patients and casual pick-ups at God knows how many of the bars he popped into on the way home. Ming, on the other hand, was required to wait until it pleased him to offer her to a dinner guest or to one of the guys at the Iron Feather Club. Often she was presented in trade for some other woman's favors. Sometimes she (or more specifically, her cunt) was merely collateral in a poker game.

In fairness, sometimes the loan of her body worked out well for her. Some of the guys at the Club were hot! Two in particular, Jason and Kyle, made her leak rivers! Just thinking of them — their thick, curly hair, their hard muscular bodies, their mouths on her lips and throat and breasts, their teeth nibbling at her nipples — always made her tingle. But most of the Club doms were overweight louts breathing stale tobacco at her as they pumped away, oblivious to her discomfort and unconcerned that merely loading her little Asian vagina with semen did nothing to stir her own feminine libido. They assumed she had closed her eyes to enjoy the feel of their cocks slamming into her, hoping it would go on and on. When, in fact, she was hoping they would cum soon and get off her. When, in fact, she was trying to distract herself from the squishing and slapping at her crotch by envisioning Lyle's sweet square face and remembering his gentle touch. When, in fact, she was nursing a deepening resentment of the love he squandered on his many easy conquests, on the busty bimbos who clenched his manhood in their hot, wet twats and moaned in an ecstacy that he should have been providing her . That was rightfully hers!

Was that why she had taken this insane chance? Her desperate jealousy? Was her acquiescence just a ploy to win back his full attention? Well, of course it was. He named the tune and she danced to it. He hummed; and she — gowned and bejeweled, or naked and demeaned — danced.

Would taking this risk bring back the old loving Lyle? Was his promise worth anything? Would he really change? Winning the draw might or might not result in recapturing Lyle's wholehearted affections, whereas losing was a definite end to everything. There would be no going back. Death is permanent.

More than that, if she lost, hers would be no ordinary death. She had already witnessed what they did to three young women on three earlier occasions, three pretty girls who had also gambled. And who lost. Maybe they, too, had been trying to salvage a souring relationship. Maybe they, too, thought holding on to their lovers was a prize worth risking all to win. Perhaps they, like her, were reassured by the fact that the odds were greatly in their favor. Or maybe, like her, they found themselves strangely excited by the risk, whatever the outcome.

Was that why Ming hadn't put up more resistance? Did she get as much a rush out of the possibility of losing as the hope of winning? Was she that crazy?

At the beginning, of course, it seemed relatively innocuous. A harmless agreement to an enigmatic invitation backed by a thrilling promise. She remembered the conversation well.

"You've really been enjoying yourself at the Club lately, haven't you?" he had asked, his wilting rod still entrenched deep within her, slippery now with their combined juices.

"It's okay." Her gradually slowing heartbeat made her voice quiver.

"It's okay," he mimicked, licking her upper lip and the side of her nose. "Don't give me the 'it's okay' act. I've seen your eyes sparkle with lust and heard you scream."

"Women can fake stuff, you know."

"They can't fake the stuff that pours out of your pretty little love canal while you're getting worked up. Did you know you cream when I tie you up? You cream harder when I flog those firm little Chinese tits or cane that tawny ass or those shapely thighs." He ran a hand over her breasts and belly as he talked, letting it trail down through the little black furry patch. "You cream most of all when you're chained down to a mattress to be a whore toy to a bunch of horny bikers." He quickly clamped his mouth over hers to stanch the automatic protest before it could move from her dark almond eyes to her lips. "So don't give me that 'it's okay' shit," he whispered into her mouth, holding his lips firmly against hers, ready to bite off her words, letting his fingers slip between her labia, still slick from love-making, replacing his withdrawn member while stroking her still wet and swollen clit with his thumb, giving her little after-thrills. "Admit you like it my exotic little sexpot. Admit you enjoy watching me get hard binding you up and mistreating you like the lovely little Oriental slut you are. Say you love it!"

He lifted his face a millimeter to let her answer, feeling her lips brush his as they moved, her breath still slightly tinged with the fragrance of the ejaculate she had swallowed earlier.

"I love you , my darling."

"Not good enough, Ming. I cannot accept your profession of love for me unless you also confess to loving the places I take you and the pleasures I share with you. How can you love me if you do not love doing the things that give me pleasure? I love you, my sweet little Chinese tart, because you are different. You are daring. You wholeheartedly submit yourself to my desires. You give yourself without hesitation to the things I enjoy. You submit your beautiful, exotic body to whatever uses I desire because it turns me on and makes me love you beyond all reason. You know that the Iron Feather Club is one of my greatest pleasures and that in joining me there as my fully submissive partner you have given me great delight! So tell me you love it, too."

"I love it."

"You love what? Spell it out."

Ming squirmed under his weight, pretending to attempt escape, but he pinned her down. She sighed in surrender.

"I love to make you happy," she said. "Going to the Club makes you happy. So I love to go the Club with you."

"And if there were more I wanted of you? Other places I wanted to take you?"

"Whither you go, I shall go," she responded, vaguely quoting some famous remark she'd read somewhere.

"There is a place I want you to go. Want to take you to. It's very important to me. Will you go?"

"Of course. Where is it?"

"It's not so much a place as an organization. It's called the Millennium Group."

"What do they do? Is it more BDSM?"

"No. Quite different. It's a secret group. They meet quarterly for a banquet."

"So what's so secret about a banquet?"

"They do scary things at these banquets. Exciting things. But quite . . . illicit."

"Drugs? I won't do drugs."

"No drugs."

"So what's so scary?"

"I won't tell you. You'll see for yourself. If you agree to go."

"I've already agreed to go. But why won't you give me some clue as to what goes on that makes it so scary, and . . . what did you call it? Illicit?"

"I have my reasons."

"So maybe I'll change my mind. Maybe I won't go. Maybe I'm already too scared."

"You'll go because you love me. You'll go because it's what I want. Because if you go it will demonstrate that you are the girl I thought you were when we first started dating. When you moved in with me."

"I've always given in to you on sexual stuff, yes. And the bondage and discipline. Because I love you too much to say no to any of it. Even screwing other guys, since that's what you want. And only because you want it. But now you're talking illegal stuff. That's what you really mean, isn't it? Illicit means illegal. And when you say it's scary . . . well shit, that could mean anything. It's scary enough being tied up and helpless. What does this kind of scary involve?"

"Don't you trust me, Ming?"

"Yes, I trust you. You should know that by now, dammit! How often have I hesitated to do what you ask?"

"Because trust is a vital component of love. If you don't trust me, you don't love me."

"Jesus, Lyle!" She turned away so he wouldn't see the tears forming. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I love and trust you that I haven't already done?"

She knew it was the wrong question the instant it left her mouth. He couldn't have asked for a better setup.

"You can prove it by going with me without asking any more questions."

She sighed in defeat. Fear had become a standard ingredient in their relationship. Perhaps the most exciting part. She knew she was just blowing smoke. He knew it, too.

"You know what I think of monogamy," he said, clutching her to him and rolling on to his back, savoring the feel of her breasts pressing down on his chest. "So let me make this promise: if you have the courage, and if you love me enough to take this step into the unknown, I will from now on not so much as look at another woman. I promise. It's that important to me. Please, Ming, tell me you'll do it. That you'll attend the next Millennium Group banquet, no questions asked."

She doubted his sincerity about giving up other women, but she was intrigued.

How could a banquet be so important?

"Okay," she murmured as he caressed her back. "You know I'll go. You know I can't resist an offer like that. But please, tell me something about this group. I'm not asking you to reveal any deep, dark secrets; just a little something so I'll have some idea what to wear, how to prepare myself mentally."

"It's a worldwide organization that began in your parents' neck of the woods. Thailand, I think."

"My parents are Chinese."

"Whatever. The point is, they do something that no other group does. It's extremely erotic and exciting, and therefore illegal. That's all I'm going to tell you. But I stress again: this means everything to me, Ming. So if you decide to back out, I'll find someone who will. But you're the one I want. Please! It's what I want for us."

"It's not BDSM?"

"Not at all."

"I won't be whipped or chained up or made to do stuff?"

"Nothing will be done to you that you don't volunteer for. Only one thing will be required of you: that you eat what's served. And I promise: it will be delicious."

"What's the scary part?"

"I told you. You'll find out."

And indeed she had!

Lyle had not deceived her. It was not a BDSM group. She was not restrained or hurt in any way. The people were interesting, the activities were fun and the sex (lots of sex!) was entirely consensual and mostly in private rooms. The dinners were delicious, just as he promised. She was the only one who threw up (and only at that first banquet), but everyone was very solicitous and assured her that vomiting was a common reaction for first-timers. She soon got over her squeamishness.

Ming would have walked away from it all the instant she saw the first dead girl, but it was already too late. Lyle had seen to that.