Ranji watched her stare. “You really like me?” she asked.
“Of course. I’m jealous. You’re so sexy. I love your colour, and your figure.”
“I’d better get dressed quickly, or we’ll be late for the Irishman.”
“Irishman? I thought he was Chinese.”
“Oh, it’s just his name. Yhee Lu Pat, Paddy Yhee, The Irishman. Same person, and the same evil bastard. But we’ll be all right. The taxi driver’s been told to stay and wait, and telephone Papi if we’re not out in an hour. Now, let me get dressed and we can go.”
Ranji brought a sleeveless choli from her case. “Look at this. I had it made just for times like this.” She held it up for Sherry to admire. The choli was white and silky. There was very little to it, and it seemed too small to restrain breasts like Ranji’s. “It’s stretchy. You wait until I get it on.”
She pulled it up onto her shoulders and around her breasts. There were four silver hooks and tabs at the front that left her cleavage open. She fastened them and settled her breasts comfortably in their confinement. “There! What do you think?”
The white stretchy material cuddled her exactly, and the blackness of her nipples showed clear where they tented the fabric. Her breasts looked even more nakedly on offer than they had been before. “Ranji! You can’t go out like that! All the men will want to touch you.”
“Of course they will. That’s why I had it made from stretchy material and not some boring old cotton drill, but my sari will cover them, more or less.”
She had a white and gauzy sari, a single light length of printed muslin with stylised flowers in purple, grey and black at its hem. Ranji deftly tied a ribbon around her waist and started to tuck the sari into it. A quick weaving of her outstretched fingers formed the pleats and she tucked them in too. She wound the tail around her and threw it over her shoulder, pinning it to the choli.
Sherry smiled at her transformation. “Houri!” she said. “From a distance you look like a proper Indian lady but when you get close enough, well, this Irish man is going to love you.”
“Probably,” said Ranji, “and if he’s got the energy, he will probably want to love you too. Come on, let’s go.”
An elderly Sikh driver waited by the black and yellow cab. Sherry felt embarrassed by his white beard and moustache. She just knew his grandfatherly eye could see through their sexy clothes, but he held the cab door open for them without comment and drove them out onto Holland Road.
The Irishman had his lair in the Telok Blangah industrial estate. The taxi wound into the labyrinth of Government rental workshop units, crowded with vans and people. Amid the chaos, welders cut steel on the workshop concrete aprons and fabricated complex steel structures. The cab worked its way to an anonymous four-storey concrete terrace. They drove past the busy workshops on the ground floor and stopped at a small door at the end marked ‘Fire Exit, Keep Clear’. Inside bare concrete steps led up and the girls started to climb.
Ranji was breathing heavily as they finally reached the top and put her hand on Sherry’s arm to hold her back. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to go in panting.”
“What are we going to do? Is this another lesson?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know what Papi’s promised him, so we’ll just have to do what he tells us. I’ve heard he’s quite conservative about sex, but you can never tell.”
Sherry felt increasingly uneasy. She had finally adapted to the idea of flute playing lessons. She no longer felt uncomfortable playing with strange flutes under Ranji’s critical eye, but this afternoon seemed to go beyond that.
“Why are we doing this?” she whimpered.
“I’ll tell you later. Now, smile and let’s go.” Ranji pushed the heavy fire door open and went in.
They stood in a long room. In front of them a strip of worn carpet ran under frosted windows, into the distance, diving into a corridor and away. On their right the large room was filled with rows of desks, all facing the windows. At each desk sat a Chinese girl, working on papers, like a university examination room. Rows of black heads and white blouses, all looking at them.
Ranji spoke to the nearest girl and she jumped up to lead them on. Sherry followed Ranji, aware of the whole room watching them. As they reached the corridor, she looked back. Expressionless Chinese faces stared at her. She hurried after Ranji. At the end of the corridor, the girl gestured for them to wait and went through the door marked ‘No Entry’, closing it behind her.
“Those girls,” whispered Sherry, “they looked at us like dirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. Most of them wish they could be like us. Which would you prefer, flute-playing or working in there?”
The door opened again and the girl waved them in. “Mr. Yhee will see you now.”
Inside a secretary sat in a small office, an older lady with curled hair. Beyond her an open door. Ranji led the way.
The Irishman’s office looked huge. It filled the whole width of the building. On one side, a long conference table of solid rosewood sat on heavy carved pillars. On the other, Mr. Yhee had made himself an alcove from packed bookshelves. His desk was black and modern, decorated with telephones and a computer. A carved name block announced him as ‘Yhee Lu Pat’ in Roman characters, and presumably the additional Chinese characters said the same. This touch added to the impression that an office, no matter how grand, was not Mr. Yhee’s natural environment.
Yhee was a small man seated in a big black chair behind his desk. At first sight he looked Chinese, but as Sherry looked closer his long nose and wavy hair made her uncertain. Mixed blood, perhaps. He watched them closely as they crossed the carpet and came to stand in front of his desk. He gestured them down into the armchairs facing each other in front of him. Sherry found herself sitting uncomfortably low, with Yhee’s desk above elbow level. She had to look up to talk to him.
“So,” he said in a sing-song voice, “Miss Ranji and Miss Sherry. Very good. Very pretty. Now, speak to Bombar first.” He picked up a phone and dialed.
“Mr. Bombar. Yes. The girls have arrived. Yes. Maybe, not bad in a cheap sort of way. Yes. I shall insist on it. Now I give you Ranji.” He thrust the phone at Ranji and Sherry listened to another half conversation.
“Yes, Papi. No, she’s dressed very well. I shall, Papi. Don’t worry, Papi, we shall be good. Yes, Papi. See you soon,” and she handed the phone back to Yhee who hung up.
He looked at them and chuckled. “Very beautiful. Now we shall have a very interesting time, no?” Sherry liked his smile and relaxed immediately.
“First, what will you drink? Beer, whisky? No, no tea. I shall give you my very best cognac.” He opened a compartment in the bookshelves behind the desk and Ranji grimaced behind his back. They listened to the sound of ice and glasses. There was a click and soft Chinese music filled the room. He brought them two tumblers of ice and cognac, and went back to sit behind his desk.
He raised his glass to them, and they sipped together. The cognac tasted strong and rich, almost making Sherry cough. “Now, ladies, what are you going to do for me?”
Ranji smiled at him and said, “We are here to do anything you want, Mr. Yhee.”
“Very good. Very, very good. In that case, I would like you to dance for me. Together. Just stand up and dance.”
Sherry found herself holding Ranji and trying to find a rhythm in the Chinese music. “Mmmmmh, sexy Sherry,” whispered Ranji and reached around her with both arms to pull her closer. Over her shoulder, Sherry could see Yhee watching them closely. Ranji felt live and exciting in her arms, and her exotic perfume filled Sherry’s senses. They continued swaying and Yhee came out from behind his desk, to lean against it and sip his cognac. Sherry felt Ranji’s hand slip upwards, drawing her dress up, exposing her bottom. Then Ranji turned her as they swayed, turning her back towards Yhee. A shiver ran through her and she fought to remain calm as they slowly rotated.
She heard Yhee clapping as Ranji exposed her. He came nearer, still clapping. “Bravo, bravo. Let’s take her dress off, Ranji.” Sherry held her arms up as the two of them bunched her dress up and lifted it over her head. Yhee took it and threw it onto his desk. “Dance some more!” he ordered.
Resigned but excited, Sherry danced slowly. Ranji held her away now and turned to allow Yhee to look between them. She felt his eyes on her nudity. Ranji lifted one hand above her head and spun her round, showing off everything she had to Yhee. She blushed and her ears burnt.
Perhaps Yhee sensed her embarrassment, or perhaps he had seen enough dancing. “Come over to the conference table,” he commanded. He took Sherry’s hand and led her over to the other side of the room. He pulled back one chair as a step and said, “Sit on the table.”
Sherry climbed up and sat down with her legs hanging down. “Move into the middle of the table,” he said, “and open your legs. So we can see you.”
Sherry shunted backwards and brought her feet up. She felt uncomfortable sitting on the flat surface wearing high heels. She let her legs fall open as he wanted. Yhee and Ranji stared at her centre.
Yhee pushed Ranji to a chair and sat down beside her. They looked at Sherry like an exceptionally succulent pig served at a banquet. “Now, play with it,” said Yhee. “I want to see you make yourself come.”
Sherry was horrified and looked at Ranji in alarm, but got no help from her. “Yes, Sherry, show us how you do it.”
“I—,” she started, but no more came. She tried to reach between her legs but her hand refused to move.
“Do it!” said Yhee sharply.
Ranji frowned at her and nodded. She forced herself to reach lower. She pressed her fingertips flat over her clit and started a circular motion. She rubbed automatically, hardly feeling what she was doing. Ranji and Yhee had leaned forward to watch her closely. Ranji had reached into Yhee’s lap, but Sherry could not see her hand below the table.
Incredibly, Sherry found she was wet. Her rubbing had done nothing for her, but she was wet. The discovery cheered her a little. At least Yhee would see she was trying to do her best. She rubbed unhappily, and searched in vain for the golden thread that would lead to her orgasm.
Yhee had become agitated. He moved restlessly in his seat, looking at her pussy and at Ranji beside him. He jumped to his feet and started to pull Ranji’s sari from her shoulder.
“Wait!” she called and fumbled with the safety pin at her shoulder. “Now, you can unwrap me.” Yhee pulled on the sari and Ranji turned to allow him to destroy the pleats and toss it onto the table. She unhooked her choli before he could reach it and let it fall loose. Yhee dived for her breasts and gripped them roughly. Ranji put her hands behind her and let the choli drop to the floor. Yhee forced her roughly back against the table and bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth.
Sherry watched in growing horror as Ranji’s head fell back and her black hair brushed the table. Her face looked distorted and she was biting her lip. Yhee lifted his head to look at Sherry. “Keep rubbing!” he ordered, and took Ranji’s other breast into his mouth. She restarted her pretence of self-pleasure and watched as Yhee thrust his hand under Ranji’s crotch and manhandled her sex. Ranji moaned at his onslaught. Yhee had turned into a violent, forceful animal.
Yhee suddenly stood up and spun Ranji around to face the table. He pushed her towards Sherry. “Suck her!” Yhee was out of control. Moving blindly, Ranji searched between Sherry’s legs and she leaned back on her hands to help. She did not want to disobey Yhee. It would be too dangerous.
Ranji’s hands went under Sherry’s thighs to grip her and she pulled herself into Sherry, nuzzling her pussy. Sherry looked over her friend’s back at Yhee. He was fumbling with his fly and Sherry caught a flash of white as he released himself.
Sherry had the detached feeling that she was watching herself star as an actress in a movie, a horror movie. Yhee hurried to pull on Ranji’s hips and sink his prong into her. He drove it home with a bump that pushed Ranji against her, and then settled to a slow thrusting that left him time to watch.
Sherry followed his eyes down to Ranji’s head working between her legs. She had never seen Ranji like this. She was wholly focused on licking Sherry’s pussy, apparently ignoring Yhee and his slow thrusting. Ranji’s tongue probed and searched around her clit, changing to long licks up and down her whole sex and then back again to frantically burrowing round and under her clit. The attack was too intense for Sherry and she knew that she would not come.
Yhee had a withdrawn expression on his face and his eyes looked heavy. With each thrust, he pushed Ranji against her pussy. The only sound was Ranji’s panting and licking.
Yhee opened his eyes and looked at her. “You come now,” he commanded.
Sherry was desperate. In another circumstance, another atmosphere, she might have enjoyed Ranji’s licking, but now it felt too strong, too mechanical, too impersonal. She could not come, and Yhee’s order made things worse. She would have to pretend. She closed her eyes, started to pant and to rock her hips against Ranji. Thinking her efforts were bringing pleasure, Ranji immediately accelerated her licking and burrowed her face deeper into Sherry’s crotch.
Eyes closed, Sherry concentrated on her rocking and panting and then, out of nowhere, it started to happen. Ranji’s tongue stopped being an irritant, and instead delicious sensations welled up inside her. She could feel a wave of pleasure taking over. She was going to come. She stopped thinking and gave herself over to the hungry mouth that ravaged her.
As her orgasm struck, she was vaguely aware of Yhee calling out “That’s it, she’s coming. Harder! Finger her as well!” Ranji’s fingers were there, pushing into her and pumping in and out. Her climax came in waves, overwhelming her, taking her mind. In her delirium she called out for Ranji to stop, to give her peace, and she tried to close her legs.
Finally she started to return. Ranji had sucked her clit into her mouth and was gripping it between covered teeth. Her fingers were thrust deep into Sherry, still and rigid. Ranji was being thrown against her by Yhee’s thrusting. When Sherry opened her eyes, Yhee was nearing the end of his run. His thrusting grew hard and rapid, his face looked strained and desperate to come. With a loud groan he reached the end, his head thrown back, his muscles taut as a bowstring, and he clung to Ranji’s hips. The three of them were statues in a monument.