Sitting in a booth with Cass at the Hard Rock Cafe in Tokyo, Sam couldn’t help but recall the little details of the night before. With the competition the next day she knew she’d be better off thinking about what was ahead; but like the first time you see a Van Gogh painting-- it’s hard to think of anything but orange. It felt really good to be here. Not exactly like being in a church but having the relics of music surrounding her was certainly a reassuring comfort. The video system was playing Tusk and an early 80’s Stevie Nicks was proficiently twirling a baton. Sam smiled.

          “You look a million miles away,” Cass commented over her lunch.

          “Sometimes there just isn’t anything more perfect than a burger and fries,” Sam replied with a grin. “It can just be the most perfect thing in the world. This shake isn’t half bad either.”

          “Spoken like someone remembering sex,” Cass replied dryly, a knowing smile on her lips.

          Sam had to grin right back at her. It really couldn’t have been a better introduction into the ways of pain, though she suspected she was getting the much toned-down preview. The first thing Cass had shown her was fire. She drew a pattern of alcohol on Tiffany’s nude torso then after lighting a q-tip dipped in alcohol with a match, touched the swab to the still wet stripe on Tiffany. A blue glow erupted moving across the chef’s body. Cass’ blood red, perfectly manicured nails contrasted vividly with Tiffany’s tanned skin as she followed the blue flame with her hand to make sure it extinguished. She turned to Sam next. It wasn’t something she saw as much as she heard and felt. There was a distinctive thrum and pulse of heat that emanated across her belly as Cass lit the fire. Then Cass did it on her arms, legs, between her breasts, her back. Sam felt in tune with her skin in a way she’d never been before; she was astounded at the turn-on it provided. Things didn’t stop there.

          Next Cass lit two white candles. With graceful movements of her wrists, the flames danced around each other, heating the candles and dropping molten wax onto Tiffany’s back. Sam could hear the faint sound of flame and the distinctive hiss of arousal as the wax splattered onto the chef’s back. When it had cooled, Cass instructed Sam to pry the wax off with her teeth, which she did, surprised at how turned on the other woman was getting from it.

          In minutes the roles had been switched and Sam was experiencing the burn of melted wax. This time Tiffany held the candles. At the first splash of molten wax Sam had no idea what to think. Her brain was processing pain and her senses were in overdrive. There was another splash, and then another. The searing was tunneling into her reaching some dark recessed place she didn’t know she had. There was another splash and something turned a corner. She didn’t feel turned on…she felt angry.

          Some reserve of rage got ignited somewhere and she felt the urge to dominate. She was furious. She turned over, not waiting for anyone to nibble the wax away from her body. She grabbed Tiffany by the shoulders and using a strength she didn’t realize she had, she forced the dark haired woman onto her back. From the corner of her eye she could see Cass quickly extinguishing the candles but in that instant didn’t care if they burned down the whole hotel. Her back burned and she wanted to hurt someone.

          Looking up into green eyes with pinpoint pupils Tiffany spoke in a soft, soothing voice. “Sam, Samantha, it’s okay.” At first Sam didn’t understand what she was hearing, she just wanted to violate someone, Tiffany actually, the one that caused the white-hot fire. With searing force she kissed Tiffany, her teeth scraping those of the other woman.

          “Holy fuck,” Cass muttered. Without thinking Samantha just moved, her body her hands, it was like she was everywhere over the brunettes body, her skin. She could feel muscles clench and flex and Tiffany tried to steady her. She did not want to be steadied, she did not want to be calmed down; she wanted revenge.

          “Tiff…” Cass said cautiously, a note of genuine concern ringing in her voice.

          Tiffany shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said hurriedly. “Let her do this.”

          “Don’t fucking talk to her,” Sam growled. Roughly Sam grabbed a handful of hair and pulled. “Look at me!” Tiffany winced but gave Sam her undivided attention. A part of Sam had no idea what she was doing. She knew the dynamics of their personalities. Cass and Tiffany were ‘tops’ and she was a ‘bottom’. There was a partner that led while dancing, and it sure as hell wasn’t her. But that wasn’t what she wanted now. She was going to call the shots. She was going to be passion’s architect. Fuck them both. Sam also realized that the two of them knew this. They’d discussed “safe words” Sam had chosen “Ompa Loompa” since she knew if she said it they’d bust up laughing too hard to continue having sex anyway. She hadn’t heard the word, and she could feel Cass behind her draping the straps to the harness around her waist that held the dildo in place.

          With arms strong from rock climbing, Sam grabbed both of Tiffany’s wrists with her hand and pinned them over the larger woman’s head. If she’d had nails they surely would have cut into the other woman’s skin. Releasing the dark tresses with her other hand she roughly grabbed Tiffany’s neck, her thumb resting below her jaw and putting pressure on her throat. Not just a little pressure, she put some weight behind it.

          In hindsight Sam was relieved that they’d decided to do their experimenting naked. Had Tiffany been wearing pants it would have been next to impossible to stay in control and get the larger woman undressed. But in the moment all Sam saw was a woman below her, willing to be taken. Pushing forward roughly she entered Tiffany and blue eyes went wide with surprise mixed with pain.

          “Fuck,” she gasped, “What the hell did you put in there?”

          Cassandra chuckled, reclining on the bed, ready to enjoy the show. “Mr. Flamey.”

          Sam pulled back and pushed forward again. She moved her hand over the chef’s windpipe and threatened to choke. “What the fuck did I tell you about talking to her?” she demanded.

          Tiffany winced again and returned her undivided attention to Sam. Her breath caught. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

          Fueled by pain and rage Sam continued. She took short strokes at first then pushed farther and father in. Even in this state a part of her mind was waiting for the safe word, another part of her fully aware that Tiffany’s arousal was fighting to catch up to hers.

          “Fuck me.” Tiffany breathed quieter still.

          Sam’s face leaned in, her soft lips brushing the full mouth beneath her. “I will do what I want, exactly how I want.”

          Their eyes locked for a moment and then Tiffany looked away. “Yes,” she gasped.

          Shoving the chef’s face to the side, and getting better leverage on the bed with her now free arm, Sam leaned in and started to lick, kiss and bite her lover’s neck. She could feel the pulse quickening beneath her tongue, the heartbeats coming harder and more quickly with every push. Her rage started to dissipate as she realized that there was no resistance to the dildo moving in and out of Tiffany. The blue-eyed woman was turned on and Sam knew it was because of her. She released Tiffany’s hands and felt strong arms envelope her, holding her close and pulling hardened wax from her back.

          Endorphins already high, there was more overload pounding on neural pathways as wax was pulled free from sensitive skin. When the wax was gone, she felt short nails drag across slightly burned skin, enraging her once more. Furious she pumped harder, determined to make Tiffany feel as overwhelmed as she did.

          Clearly that was what Tiffany hoped. She began to gasp loudly, a keening wail starting at her entrance moving its way up the chef’s entire body. She screamed as she came, clutching Samantha to her in a vice-like grip. Sam stopped her movements and collapsed onto Tiffany’s chest. Before she could collect herself the phone in the room rang and Sam could hear Cassandra talking on the phone in Japanese.

          “That’s enough you two,” She said, amused. “Management thinks someone just died up here. I had to tell them I dropped my suitcase on my foot. If you can’t be quieter, you’ll have to go fuck in the woods.” With her head buzzing with thoughts too jumbled to make sense, Sam settled down on top of Tiffany and drifted to sleep.

          Sleeping was one arrangement that Sam was surprised she’d taken to so readily. From time to time she enjoyed spending the night in her own bed, in her own apartment alone, but for the most part, she enjoyed the warmth and security provided by sleeping in between two of her favorite people. Tiffany had a king-sized bed so the question of space was never an issue. There was room for the three of them to stretch out as much as they’d liked. Interestingly enough they slept the same for the most part in that king as they did in her antique full bed at home. She was fortunate that her body temperature ran colder than that of her companions and she rarely felt overheated. Cass was the most active sleeper, on occasion waking Sam up in the middle of the night by kissing her on her shoulders or the back of her neck. With arms and legs curling around her, she found it interesting that Tiffany and Cass never touched each other. That realization had hit home on this trip. Unless Tiffany was using Cass as an instrument to bring the food critic pleasure, the two of them never touched.

          The sounds of Fleetwood Mac faded and a Garbage video started. Shaking herself from her reverie Sam brought herself back to the Hard Rock Café and looked back at Cassandra over milk shakes and French fries. She looked around at the comforting surroundings and decided she was going to push this new experience as far as she dared. Something got started and she wasn’t in any mood to have it end just yet. “Cass, I need you to take me shopping.” She announced. “I have something special in mind.”

          Four specialty boutiques later, Sam and Cass had finished shopping and returned to the hotel suite laden with shopping bags, accessories and a very exhausted Visa card. Sam had just enough time to put her purchases out of sight in the closet before Tiffany returned from Fuji Studios. Cass demurely requested some time alone to bathe before the three went to dinner that night.

          There was something incredibly graceful about the way Tiffany Schrade walked. With confident steps she strode into the room and sat on the couch. For her informal sessions at the studio she’d been favoring jeans and soft sweaters. Today the dark grey low cut sweater brought out the vivid blue of her eyes. Sam realized she’d been mesmerized; staring at the chef for a good minute before realizing that Tiffany was looking at her intently.

          “Do you want to talk about it?” Tiffany asked quietly.

          “Last night?” Sam asked.

          Tiffany smiled. “We could start there.”

          Sam walked across the room and sat down next to Tiffany on the couch. She ran a nervous hand through her short tousled hair. “I can’t explain it. The wax hurt and something went off in my head and I wasn’t thinking.” Sam glanced down and fiddled with the emerald ring on her index finger. “Was it okay?” Her hands couldn’t stop moving when she was nervous.

Tiffany put a strong arm around Samantha’s shoulders and pulled her in close.

“It was totally okay. But if you didn’t like what was happening, why didn’t you use the safe-word.”

          Sam shrugged. “I didn’t want to be safe.” She considered her next words carefully. “Were you okay not being in control?”

          The chef couldn’t help but smirk. “Who says I wasn’t in control?” Softening some she added, “I don’t know that I could handle that all the time, but it was nice.”

          “I might do it more.” Sam mused.

          “You’re welcome to try,” Tiffany replied.

          Cass finished her bath and strode into the room wrapped in a towel. “What are we up to tonight, kids?” she asked surveying a number of different outfits she had neatly hanging in the closet.

          “Have you been buying even more clothes?” Tiffany asked, realizing that Cassandra’s wardrobe had indeed multiplied.

          “Duh.”

          “We’re going to need a shipping container to get all your shit home.” Tiffany groused.

          “We’re going to need a shipping container,” Cass replied mimicking Tiffany in a way that was most unflattering.

          Sam chuckled inwardly. Only Cassandra could so clearly say, “fuck you” without uttering the words. Considering that the battle was the following afternoon Sam decided that something fun might help Tiffany relax before the challenge the next day. “We’ve been in Japan for two weeks and haven’t seen a single karaoke bar.” She said, enthusiastically.

          “You’ve got to be kidding,” Both Tiffany and Cass said in unison.

          Cass shrugged. “I was hoping to cover you in candle wax and then watch you kill Tiff, but watching her embarrass herself in a room full of Japanese businessmen is almost as good.”

          Tiffany shook her head emphatically. “I’m not singing Sam.” She warned sternly.

          “Of course not,” the food-critic assured her without skipping a beat.

          There was a club walking distance from the hotel that Sam had noticed on her way back from the gardens. It was closed at the time, but open now and full of businessmen on their way home from work as Cass had predicted. The food wasn’t half bad and the sake was decent. Deciding on a more casual evening than the black outfits they’d worn previously; both Sam and Tiffany wore jeans and sweaters. Tiffany in the soft gray sweater she’d had on at the studio and Sam choosing something in a soft green cable nit. Sam opted for a smart pair of boots, and Tiffany sneakers. Cassandra wore a casual dress and cashmere sweater. As before, everyone quieted down when they entered the club.

          Once again Cassandra took charge, buying a round of sake for the crowd and asking them to continue. Her mastery of the language was evident and a few men began to talk to her excitedly. Clearly everyone wanted to hear the Americans sing.

          It took awhile for Sam, Cass and Tiff to relax enough to entertain the idea. In the meantime they listened to a number of songs get butchered. With the arrival of American women, the karaoke shifted to a number of songs they should have known. Beat It was almost impossible to recognize. Sam sighed inwardly when Edward Van Halen’s guitar solo arrived and the singing stopped, if only momentarily. The Eagles didn’t fare much better and Desperado was attempted by a man nearly too drunk to stand. Sammy Hagar’s Mas Tequila  was bungled to such an extent that it had all three women downing sake to keep from laughing.

          “Why is it that the drunker a person gets the louder they feel compelled to sing?” Sam asked in dismay.

          “What?” Tiffany asked, loudly. And then chuckled at her own joke. Sam shook her head. Tiffany could be a lot of fun drunk. Granted she was a lot of fun all the time, but drunk she relaxed ever so slightly.

          Not all of the performers were tragic. All three women were impressed by a young man’s version of Mack The Knife. Several men leaned over and asked Cass to dance and she politely declined. Finally three men got up and did a classic Beatle’s number, This Boy (Ringo’s Theme). From the first note Samantha was enthralled.

That boy took my love away,

He'll regret it someday,

But this boy wants you back again.

Distracted by a gentle tap on her shoulder, Sam looked at Cass for clarification. “Dance with me?” Cass asked quietly, looking pointedly at a small space of open floor in front of them. The song and harmony were just too good to refuse, so Sam relented.

That boy isn't good for you,

Though he may want you too,

This boy wants you back again.

          “Aren’t they going to find this odd?” Sam asked while gently swaying with Cassandra. “We’re the only women in here and we’re dancing with each other.”

          “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Cass reassured her. “It’s not like many of them will remember in the morning. As if on cue, Sam felt another gentle tap on her shoulder. This time an attractive man in his early 30’s looked at her hopefully with his hands outstretched. Cass gave her a gentle shove, “Go on, Sam. Live a little.” Sam could see another man waiting as Cass turned to him. Without much choice in the matter Sam took the man’s warm hands and began to dance.

          It was all very universal. Their feet moved in tandem and the man kept a respectful distance. Sam had to admit that he was a very decent dancer.

Oh, and this boy would be happy,

Just to love you, but oh my,

That boy won't be happy,

Till he's seen you cry

          The young man managed to dance with Sam through the bridge when there was another tap on the food critic’s shoulder. Her partner took one look up at the vivid blue eyes peering down at him and decided that retreat was the better part of valor. Tiffany took hold of Samantha with just a touch of possessiveness.

          “Jealous, Ms. Schrade?” Sam asked teasingly.

          Tiffany shrugged, a small smile cracking her lips. “Maybe a little.” She spun Sam as the last verse started. “Are you complaining?”

          It was Sam’s turn to smile. “Not at all.”

This boy wouldn't mind the pain,

Would always feel the same, 

If this boy gets you back again.

This boy. This boy. This boy.

          The song finished and Cass bowed to her partner. Sam found her previous partner in the crowd and did likewise. She then gave Tiffany a quick hug.

          “Thank you,” she said.

          A short man came up to Cass and started talking animatedly. Both Tiffany and Samantha looked over to see what the problem was.

          Cass chuckled, a low sexy chuckle that tended to make Sam’s pulse race. She conversed back and forth with him for a moment, but the man seemed adamant, in a charming sort of way. There was something unassuming about him, but insistent at the same time.

          “It seems that Shincheiro feels that since he and his two friends entertained us with a song, the least we can do is sing one for them.” Cass explained, shooting an amused glance to Tiffany.

          “And you told him ‘no’,” Tiff replied.

          “Actually, not as such,” Cass continued. “In fact I totally see the man’s point and I think we should sing something.” She winked at Sam. “Come on Tiff, you’ve got a good voice, I hear you all the time in the shower when you think I’m not home.”

          Tiffany’s eyes flared but the next thing she knew all three women were on the stage looking over the list of songs they had to choose from. “Can it at least be in English?” Tiffany asked.

          Without consulting her companions Sam saw the perfect song and made her selection. She knew they both knew it, and she hoped that it would give the other patrons of the club something to join in on. In moments the music started.

Hate New York City

It's cold and it's damp 

And all the people dressed like monkeys 

Let's leave Chicago to the Eskimos 

That town's a little too rugged

For you and me, you bad girl

Neither Cass nor Tiffany joined in but that didn’t deter Samantha. She sang the slow opening to the song as she’d done a hundred times in the car zipping over Mullholland Boulevard in her convertible BMW. It might have been the sake but Tiffany laughed and joined in on the verse, her deep voice providing a rich counterpart to Samantha’s. With a grin Cass joined in as well to the cheers of the karaoke bar patrons.

Rollin' down the Imperial Highway 

With a big nasty redhead at my side

Santa Ana winds blowin' hot from the north

And we was born to ride

Roll down the window, put down the top

Crank up the Beach Boys, baby

Don't let the music stop

We're gonna ride it till we just can't ride it no more

From the South Bay to the Valley

From the West Side to the East Side

Everybody's very happ 

'Cause the sun is shining all the time

Looks like another perfect day

I love L.A. (We love it)

I love L.A. (We love it)

As she’d hoped when the song came to the crowd joining in with ‘we love it’ the drunken patrons were more than happy to oblige. There was a thunderous thrum of foot stomping and the words with varying degrees of accents. Cassandra had a hard time not busting up with laughter.

Look at that mountain

Look at those trees

Look at that bum over there, man

He's down on his knees 

Look at these women

There ain't nothin' like em nowhere

Century Boulevard (We love it)

Victory Boulevard (We love it)

Santa Monica Boulevard (We love it)

Sixth Street (We love it, we love it)

We love L.A.

I love L.A. (We love it)

I love L.A. (We love it)

I love L.A. (We love it)

          Like a great concert where you can feel the vibrations of the bass guitar pushing against your sternum, Sam could feel the vibrations of the cheers and clapping as a tactile sensation, not just an auditory one. In some ways it reminded her of the thrum of the fire against her skin. As the three left the club she could feel the happiness radiating from her companions and for a brief moment in time Tiffany and Cassandra seemed to be at peace with one another. To Samantha it was a perfect evening and she hoped it would put her lover in the perfect frame of mind for her competition in the morning. With a smile on her face as they walked to the hotel, Sam considered that there were worse religions than music.

*****

          The next morning Samantha was escorted to her seat in the Royal Box in the studio at Fuji Television where Iron Chef was filmed. She’d been on the set of cooking shows before but was still impressed by the size and grandeur of the studio. The two cooking islands already had pots of water boiling, ready for whatever the theme ingredient may be. Sam could see hundreds of bowls, baskets and assorted cooking dishes. On the pantry side where the food was kept there were dozens of different meats, fish and poultry as well as fruits and vegetables of every description. Western vegetables as well as Japanese were well represented and there was another huge assortment of cheeses, milk and other dairy products. Sam found it impossible to think of an ingredient that she didn’t already see available. An entire table was filled with various bottles of wines and sake and the spice table simply made her drool with envy.

          “A thousand Yen for your thoughts,” a low voice said and Sam was drawn out of her reverie. Cass sat next to her in the Royal Box.

          “How is Tiffany?” Sam asked.

          Cass grinned. “Not as nervous as I’d like. I was hoping she’d fall flat on her arrogant face, but she’s pretty collected, relaxing in the green room. Not even hung over, the bitch. She’s still got some bruises you left on her neck the other night so I covered them with makeup. I suggested she put on some lip-gloss and she emphatically replied that she doesn’t do gloss,” she added with a wink.

          Cassandra was dressed smartly in a sexy black business suit. She would be serving as Tiffany’s translator for the battle. Sam had her doubts as to how effective that would be. The black power suit and spiky heels contrasted so strikingly against her creamy skin and tousled blond hair. She wore blood crimson on her lips and nails and the combination of her perfume and gel she wore in her hair was intoxicating. The food critic found herself getting distracted just talking to her. She couldn’t imagine how the sous chefs could keep their eyes off of her and actually listen to Tiffany’s instructions with her low sexy voice. Sam felt a great deal of sympathy for anyone forced to concentrate after just meeting Cassandra Wilson.

          “She’s got a game plan worked out for a variety of courses. If it’s beef she’ll go one way, poultry another. Octopus is the only ingredient she’s really dreading. You know she hates to kill anything smarter than she is.” Sam rolled her eyes at Cass’ dig but had to chuckle in spite of herself. The truce from the previous night didn’t last until morning. Personally she was hoping that what ever the ingredient was, it would arrive to the ingredient stand dispatched. She wasn’t looking forward to watching any seafood meet it’s end.

          The panelists for the battle were ushered to their places. Sam had seen the show enough times to recognize the announcer Kenji Fukui, the commentator Dr. Yukio Hattori, the actress Keiko Sieto and a baseball coach Kazuyoshi Nagashima who everyone called “Jr.” Shinichiro Ota the floor reporter took his place as well. Sam couldn’t help but wonder if she may have encountered one of his relatives in the limo with Cass.

          The director came on set and motioned for Cass. “I’m off to check on the Ironic Chef,” Cass said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon sweetie,” she purred. “You have a big night planned.” Sam smiled inwardly; Cass didn’t know the half of it.

          A translator named Yoko Ito introduced herself and took the seat next to the food critic. She explained that she would be keeping her abreast of what was going on during the battle and tasting. While Sam would have preferred Cass, she could see why Tiffany needed her. They’d lived together long enough that Cass had picked up a great deal of cooking expertise and could keep an eye on the sous chefs to make sure they were doing things the way Tiffany wanted them. Sam’s translator was a young attractive woman with beautiful straight black hair. Sam couldn’t guess at her age, her quiet shyness probably making her seem younger than she was.

          The universal motions of a director asking for ‘quiet on the set’ were obvious to Samantha. The assistant chefs took their places and the actor playing Chairman Kaga took his place at the far end of the set. The backstage lights in the studio dimmed as the spotlights found their mark and the soundman was given his cue. It was show time.

          “Today we have a woman from the United States to show us the flavor of California, her home,” Chairman Kaga said, dramatically.

          Sam found it strange to her the masculine Japanese voice at one side of the studio and a few seconds behind, the soft feminine translation. The Chairman continued.

          “A favorite chef of many movie stars, let’s bring her out. From Le Bistro in Los Angeles California, Chef Tiffany Schrade!”    

          Two cameramen preceded Tiffany and Cass into the studio. Sam could feel the breath tighten in her throat. Tiffany looked stunning. This was a Tiffany Schrade Samantha Steele seldom saw. Even when cooking at Le Bistro there was often a casualness to her that was completely missing here. She was dressed in her chef’s whites from Le Bistro. Her black hair pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing an apron over her black leather pants. Tiffany knew she was irresistible in leather and had chosen this opportunity to flaunt that very fact.

          As she entered Kenji Fukui began his commentary. Yoko translated, never missing a beat.

          “Entering kitchen stadium with her translator comes the seasoned pro from Southern California. She studied in Paris and then returned home to forge her own unique style of California cuisine. She’s here to put Le Bistro on the map!”

          Tiffany came to a stop next to the Chairman. With Cass dressed in black standing just to the side and a little behind Tiffany, the chef seemed to glow in white. She shook Chairman Kaga’s hand and bowed slightly. Cass had coached her well.

          “Miss. Schrade, you are a long way from home, how are you feeling today?”

          “I feel like a million bucks,” Tiffany replied smoothly, flashing a grin of sparkling white teeth. “You have a beautiful kitchen stadium, I am honored to cook here. I will do my best.” She gave another little bow.

          Cass translated as the chairman kept his eyes on Tiffany.

          Yoko nodded approvingly. “Your friend is very polite,” she said.

          Chairman Kaga spoke again, “We are very happy to have you. Le Bistro has a good reputation, may you represent it well. Let us meet the Iron Chefs who will answer your challenge. I summon Iron Chefs!”

          Three podiums rose from the far end of the studio and Mercers Morimoto, Chen and Sakai rose into view. “So lets hear who it will be?” the Chairman asked.

          Tiffany spared the briefest of glances to her translator and spoke in a loud clear voice. “Mr. Sakai if you please!”

          The director yelled “cut” and the action halted.

          “You’re kidding me!” Cass blurted at Tiffany, shocked.

          Tiffany smiled and cast another glance to the far end of the studio where the Iron Chefs were stepping down from their podiums. “I knew you’d butt in as soon as I named one.” She said. “Morimoto looks exhausted. What did you do to that poor man?”

          Sam followed Tiffany’s gaze and saw that indeed, the Iron Chef: Japanese had dark circles under his eyes and looked a little worse for the wear.

          “I was trying to help you, you ungrateful hag.” Cass sputtered. Clearly relieved, the unselected Iron Chefs took their places in the royal box. It took a few moments for Chef Saki to take his place at the end of the studio across from Tiffany.  Cameramen repositioned themselves and when everyone was in their places the director called for action and the Chairman continued.

          “We have a visitor from the West who specializes in French California Cuisine. I tried to think of an ingredient that may be a challenge for her. How would she fare with Kobe Beef or Umeboshi? But I can be a selfish man. She is known for cooking a special dessert in her restaurant that people like to watch. I decided I would like to try that. But that is not all. There is something else, and I would like to have savory dishes in addition to desserts. Unveil the ingredients.”

          In a plume of dry-ice smoke, a platform rose from the dais supporting a huge vat of a dark brown liquid and a variety of bananas. Then her translator announced, “The theme ingredients are chocolate and bananas.” Tiffany nodded.

          Sam was surprised at the choice. She didn’t really know what to expect, but the show was very famous for large quantities of very expensive ingredients. She’d seen battles with truffles, fois gras, caviar or even huge chunks of tuna. Chocolate and bananas seemed a little underwhelming.

          “The chef’s have 15 minutes to decide what to make.” Yoko explained.

          It was indeed strange to watch something being filmed when you were used to seeing the edited version on television. Time seemed to slow down. Cassandra casually leaned against the counter, chatting amiably with the sous chefs. It was obvious that they seemed smitten by her and intimidated by Tiffany. Inwardly the food critic found that ironic. In many ways Cassandra Wilson was the more frightening of the two. But it was part of her job to put people at ease and not part of Tiffany’s.

          The director called for places, a grip adjusted some lighting and Chairman Kaga took his place. “Action!”

          With a big grin the Chairman gave his customary call to battle. “Allez Cuisine!”

          Tiffany bowed to Saki as the two headed up to the stand to get their ingredients. Saki smiled, clearly appreciating her manners. Sam recognized several kinds of bananas; small monkey bananas, ripe and unripe Taiwan bananas, brown bananas and plantains. Quickly Tiffany selected several bunches, the monkey bananas, plantains as well as some of the Taiwanese variety. As she carried them back to her cooking station, she told one of her assistants to get a large bowl full of the melted chocolate.

          Yoko translated the introductions that Kenji Fukui made of the two panelists and the commentator Yukio Hattori. The actress Keiko Sieto and baseball coach Kazuyoshi Nagashima had both been on Iron Chef a number of times but had never experienced a battle with an American challenger.

          “Will she be slowed down by waiting for translations?” Sieto-San wondered.

          “I met her American translator earlier, she speaks fluent Japanese. I don’t think that should be a problem. But I don’t know how well she is versed in cooking for the Japanese palate. That may be more of a handicap,” Dr. Hattori replied.

          Sam smiled at the answer. Tiffany had spent nearly two weeks finding out as much about the Japanese palate as she possibly could. If this was the Iron Chef’s assessment he could seriously be underestimating his opponent.

          Tiffany stood motionless for the briefest of moments, a black sharpie marker in her hand. She hovered over a blank piece of paper and started to make notes. Sam couldn’t see what she was writing but did see a line down the center of the paper. The chef nodded at Cass but turned to face her two assistants as she spoke.

          “Yoshi, I want you to start with the stuff on this side of the page and Asura to do this side.” She pointed to her menu. “If you have any questions, please ask me. I’m going to start with some chocolate frozen bananas. We’re going to do roasted bananas with herbs. I’m making Capt’n Crunch crab cakes with fried plantains and a whitefish in banana leaves. Asura, please start the rice cooker and get some mango, pineapple, red onion and cilantro and start breaking those down, I’ll show you how I want them cut. Yoshi, please start a base for vanilla truffle ice cream. When you finish that I’ll have you make a batter for chocolate molten cake. Any questions?”

          Tiffany looked at each man as Cass translated. The two men nodded and quickly started on their assigned tasks.

          Yoko started to translate what the commentators were saying and Sam held up a hand to stop her.

          “Actually, I think I’ll skip the commentary if you don’t mind.” She said, as politely as she could. “It’s confusing enough to watch and listen, without hearing so many different things.”

          Her translator nodded in understanding. “I will let you know if they say anything particularly interesting.” Sam smiled in thanks.

          With efficient movements Tiffany was peeling bananas, quickly slicing them and within the first minutes of the battle, half inch slices of banana had been dipped in the chocolate, some rolled in almonds, some left plain and placed on a rack which was put in the freezer. One assistant came back from the ingredient stand with a large amount of thyme and the other assistant started the ice cream custard. Tiffany next turned her attention to sautéing some banana slices in a mixture of butter, sugar, vanilla bean and rum. In moments they were finished and awaiting their placement in a chocolate cake batter. Before the ten-minute mark had passed small chocolate cakes with a slice of sautéed banana inside had been prepared in circle molds, waiting for their turn in the oven. Without missing a beat Tiffany checked several items off of her menu and headed up to the pantry area. She returned with a large handful of Tahitian vanilla beans.

          Already delicious scents were wafting up from the cooking stations below and it was making Samantha hungry.

          “Tiff, this guy wants a word with you,” Cass interrupted as Tiffany was making a slice into the skin of several monkey bananas. “He wants to know what you think of bananas.”

          Tiffany shrugged. “I enjoy eating them, they’re fun to cook with, I’ve no complaints.”

          Cassandra smirked, “There are so many things I’d like to say...”

          “If you’d just translate, I’d be grateful,” Tiffany warned.

          After a brief exchange with the floor reporter, Shinichiro Ota, Cass asked another question. “Are you worried about making a savory dish with dessert ingredients?”

          Another shrug “Not really,” she said with a sly grin.

          “Your friend is very cunning,” Yoko commented to Sam. “She is not letting Saki-San know what she will be making.”

          Sam nodded, “Or she hasn’t totally figured it out herself,” she said quietly.

          Cass translated one final question. “He wants to know what your concept for today is?”

          Tiffany paused for a moment in thought. “Oh Christ!” Cass explained and said something to Ota-San. The man nodded and moved to the Iron Chef’s side of the kitchen.

          “What the hell did you tell him?” Tiffany asked, annoyed but trying to stay focused inserting a pat of butter and vanilla bean into the sliced monkey banana.

          “I told him that your concept was to highlight the different moods a banana can take. That you’ll use different textures and flavors to demonstrate all that it can become,” Cass offered with a winning smile.

          The chef shrugged. “That’s surprisingly articulate for you, thanks Cass. What else did you say.”

          Cass shrugged. “I told him that you couldn’t cook and talk at the same time so he’d have to come back later.”

          “Bitch,” Tiffany murmured and focused on her bananas once more.

          The bananas with the vanilla beans were then placed on a grilling pan. Tiffany watched them as she prepared her next dish. When she’d turned them once she added the large quantity of thyme and covered the pan with a wok lid. The food critic in Sam told her that would be Tiffany’s opening salvo. It would be something in between sweet and savory that would provide a nice introduction to the sweetness and simplicity of the banana. Smoking fruits with herbs was popular in France and beginning to get traction in the States. Sam wondered how the bananas infused with the flowery scent of thyme would be received.

          Tiffany headed back to the pantry area and Sam watched as she examined a selection of fish. She walked back and forth, and finally selecting a couple of monkfish, headed back to her station. Her kitchen knives moved like silver glints of steel as she quickly cut into the fish producing nice filets of rich white meat. This more than anything else spoke to her skills and experience as a chef. Every cut was confident and no movement was wasted. As she watched Sam’s mind started to drift. Something about the way Tiffany wielded steel moved her. It was a raw display of power that was undeniably sexy. She started to think about the evening she had planned and wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into.

          “Hattori-San just commented that Ms. Schrade could juggle knives!” Yoko asked excitedly.

          Sam looked at her in surprise. While she’d known Tiffany and Cass for about six months, she’d never seen the chef do that. “I’ve never seen it,” she replied. “But I wouldn’t put it past her.”

          Cass must have picked up the comment from the commentators. “Tiff they’re asking about the juggling.”

          The chef smiled and shook her head. “Tell them it’d be rude to do while I’m cooking. I’m not Bobby Flay, I’ve more respect for the kitchen than that.”

          Cass translated and an appreciative chuckle went through the audience. As Sam watched it was easy to be mesmerized by the bright silver flashes.

          Her translator gasped and drew Sam from her reverie. “Schrade-San is using cereal!” Yoko said, surprised.

          Sure enough, Tiffany helped herself to a box of Cap’n Crunch cereal from the pantry. In fact there were a number of breakfast cereals she’d brought with her from the States. Immediately Mr. Ota was at her side frantically asking Cass what she was doing.

          Without waiting for the translation the chef spoke. “Tell him I’m making Cap’n Crunch Crab Cakes with pineapple, mango, banana relish and fried plantains. I can’t chill them as long as I’d like so we’ll put ‘em in the blast chiller right before frying and hope for the best.”

          “He thinks you’re nuts,” Cass replied when she’d finished translating, taking a sip of white wine she’d poured for herself.

          “Did Ota-San tell you that?” Tiffany asked, mixing some crab meat into panco breadcrumbs and crushed breakfast cereal.

          The blond shook her head. “He’s being polite, I think he said ‘daring’, but he means ‘crazy’.”

          Tiffany grinned to herself. “This from a show that has brought you ‘cod roe ice cream’.”

          Sam looked over at her translator and smiled. “I’ve had those crab cakes,” she said. “They’re fantastic.”

          The more intense the cooking became the less Sam could hear what was being said on the floor. Tiffany was incredibly focused, as was Cass for that matter. The hooker managed to stay out of the way of moving pots and pans and still make Tiffany’s requests and the sous chef’s comments well known. Occasionally Cass made some sort of comment about Tiffany’s cooking, but it was clear the chef was ignoring her housemate’s suggestions.

          “Your friends Japanese is very good,” Yoko commented to Sam with a nod to Cassandra. “Her Japanese is much better than my English I’m afraid.”

          “I think your English is very good,” Sam reassured the shy woman.

          Midway through the battle Yoko touched Sam’s shoulder and indicated an approaching cameraman. “Ota-San is coming over to interview you.”

          Sam nodded. She’d been warned ahead of time. Sinchero Ota sat down in the empty seat next to her. He directed his questions at her and Yoko translated. It felt like a surreal kind of stereo. She was sure to keep her eyes focused on the reporter when she answered.
          “I understand you are a food critic from California?” He asked.

          Sam nodded. “Yes, and I am a friend of Schrade-Sans.”

          “How do you think she is doing so far?”

          Sam considered the question. “I think she is faring very well in a kitchen she is not accustomed to. She is staying focused and is making some incredible dishes I’m sure.”

          “Have you seen her juggle knives?”

          Sam laughed. “No, that would be a first for me too if she does that later.”

          Ota-San smiled. “Would you like to wish her any encouragement?” He held the mic in front of her.

          Sam felt silly doing it but knew it was a custom. When she looked down at the floor, she could see Tiffany standing still. She’d been listening to the interview and was clearly curious as to what the food critic would say.

          “Tiffany,” Sam shouted, “let your culinary skills do the talking, do your best and it will be worth your while.”

          The chef nodded in appreciation with Cassandra laughing behind her. The hooker leaned in and whispered something to Tiffany that made her blush, but she quickly recovered and went back to cooking. Ota bowed in thanks for the interview, and Sam leaned back in her seat.

          “Well I’m glad that’s over,” she muttered.

          The rest of the hour was a complete blur as far as Samantha was concerned. So much was going on that it was hard to tell how the various components were going to be assembled into finished dishes. The base for the vanilla ice cream had been finished and before it went into the ice cream maker Tiffany added some finely diced black truffles. Sam figured that would cut the sweetness. She imagined it’d be paired with the molten chocolate cake for a lovely contrast of hot and cold. She also noticed a vanilla panna cotta take shape and head into the blast chiller. Sam blushed when her stomach growled. She realized now that breakfast would have been a good idea but the morning was consumed by activities that had little to do with food.

          The savory dishes were clearly the crab cakes and monkfish filets that were wrapped in banana leaves. That would probably be pared with a cream sauce that was taking shape and rice no doubt.

          “Asura, please get those cakes in the oven,” Tiffany said after a quick glance to her watch. “Yoshi, the herb-grilled bananas, please. Lets start plating.”

          When Tiffany began to do the plating the order of her courses became clear. Sam was correct with the grilled bananas first. It had a simple sparse look, the banana, a bit of grilled herb with two sauces in a ‘yin-yang’ configuration on a stark white plate. The first was a light caramel sauce with chopped roasted almonds and pistachios. The second was a chocolate and red wine reduction. Next came her two savory dishes, the crab cakes with a warm relish of pineapple, mango and banana, served with fried plantains and a banana sauce. Sam could feel her mouth start to water. Tiffany had a way of double frying plantains that made them heavenly. Again her choice of plate was simple and spare. She chose a white square dish, which contrasted with the round crab cakes. The monkfish wrapped in banana leaves was plated next. The tied banana leaf packet rested on a heated stone and the fragrance of ginger, cilantro, chili, and coconut milk wafted up to the food critic. She couldn’t smell the banana infused white sauce but it looked gorgeous. The first dessert was clearly the molten chocolate cake with banana. This was paired with a canal of vanilla truffle ice cream as she’d suspected and two slices of the chocolate coated frozen bananas; one with the nuts and one without.

          From the ingredients she’d prepared on a tray, it was obvious that she was going to do Bananas Foster for her final dessert and serve that on the vanilla panna cotta instead of ice cream. Sam decided that the choice had an element of calculation. The panna cotta would probably taste lighter than a second ice cream would, and it made more sense to serve the ice cream with the hot cake. It was a bit of a risk, the texture of panna cotta did not appeal to everyone, although she adored the dessert and would choose it over crème brulée every time.

          Artistically the dishes looked gorgeous. While Tiffany was clearly in the zone cooking, she wasn’t so overcome with her performance to overplay her plating designs. She never used gold or silver leaf feeling that decoration for decoration’s sake was a waste of time. She felt the same way about parsley. Each white plate had a slightly different design to it; it beginning simply then becoming more ornate with the savory dishes and then pared down to simplicity for the desserts.

          As the final seconds ticked down Yoko translated Fakui’s commentary.

          “The battle has been fierce,” He began his voice building with excitement like the last seconds of a basketball game. “Tiffany Schrade from California came here to make a point. Her ingredients are unusual and her style is her own. She picked Iron Chef Saki for a French on French battle and he has a few tricks up his sleeve as well. Bananas and chocolate, two ingredients perfect for a dessert but the Chairman wants savory dishes as well. Both chefs staying calm in the kitchen but it is up to the tasters now. That’s it, time’s out and the chocolate and banana battle is over!”

          Only with the ending buzzer sounding did Sam spare a look for the competitor’s dishes. Saki had spent his hour productively. Sam could see some little puffs of cream on a plate, a large banana gratin, fried banana ravioli in a white cream sauce with white truffle shavings. There was also a stuffed baked chocolate banana and banana crème brulée.

*****

          Ota-San and the cameraman approached the American chef. “You’ve finished your battle, how do you feel?” He asked, pointing the mic at Tiffany.

          Tiffany looked around at her plated dishes. “I think they’re solid,” she replied. “I did my best. This was a lot of fun; I had a really good time. I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

          “Did you communicate well with your assistants?” He asked earnestly.

          Tiffany glanced over at Cass, still sipping her glass of wine. “I had a very good translator and the assistants are total pros, it went great.”

          “Do you think you beat the Iron Chef?”

          Tiffany smiled warmly. “That is for the tasters to decide.”

          Saki-San provided similar comments saying the hour went fast and that he’d done his best. Then the director called “cut” once again.

          Next cameras were repositioned as the tasting table and backdrop were brought in. Sam still had an excellent view although she didn’t know how she’d manage watching five people eat feeling as hungry as she was.

          As if on cue, Cass joined her in the Royal Box with a sampler plate of the dishes that Tiffany had prepared. She’d also included some chocolate dipped strawberries that she noticed were not on any of her plates to be submitted for judging.

          “Can’t stay but a moment, they’re getting ready to taste but Tiff says she can hear your stomach growling from down there,” Cass said with a soft chuckle.

          “Thanks,” Sam replied.

          Cass looked at her own glass of wine, “I’d have brought you one but…”

          Sam shook her head. “I know, no drinking until tonight is over. I don’t want my blood too thin and bleed all over the place.”

          She watched as Cass descended the stairs and moved to stand at the end of the tasting table with Tiffany.

          As her first dish was served Tiffany described what it was. “This is a grilled monkey banana that has been smoked with thyme.”

          Cass translated and the tasters began to eat. Keiko Sito was the first to speak. “The subtle sourness is quite refreshing. The two sauces provide a very different tasting experience,” she said. “Very nice.”

          Asako Kishi, the well-known Japanese food critic was a little more direct, “This works very well, a perfect balance between sweetness and savory. Although I’m not as fond of the flowery taste of the herbs”

          Sam tried a slice from her plate and disagreed only slightly with the Japanese food critic. It was warm but the texture still firm. Sweet, but with a little bit of sour finish that served to cleanse the palate. The thyme didn’t bother her one bit. She found it refreshing.

          Tiffany gave a slight bow in thanks and signaled for her next dish. The crab cakes were served and the tasting panel looked at them with a bit of trepidation.

          “You included American breakfast cereal in this?” Chairman Kaga asked.

          “Yes. It gives an additional kick to the panco breadcrumbs.”

          This time it was the photographer that was the first to speak up. “I will be honest, I was expecting to not like this dish. I am not a fan of sweet breakfast cereals. But this is very good. I am surprised that I am enjoying this quite a bit.” Tenme Kano said in his very measured voice.

          The actress couldn’t help but chuckle, “She reminds me of Morimoto-San,” she said. “This is unusual and daring, but not overdone. The theme ingredient is still the star. It is hard for fruit to be center stage, but she’s worked it in such a way that you can still taste banana as the central ingredient.”

          Kishi-San also nodded in agreement “I must add that the plantains are fried to perfection. Very nice. You have much skill for one so young.”

          “Thank you Kishi-San,” the chef replied with a bow.

          Sam had finished her crab cake much more quickly than the others. While Tiffany and Cass had teased her more than once about being able to put away more food than her diminutive size would suggest, Sam couldn’t help herself. There was something so beautiful about the experience of tasting amazing food. It was one of her favorite indulgences. The crab cakes tasted as crispy and delicious as ever, with the crabmeat staying moist and tender.

          Chairman Kaga took a sip of the wine paired with the dish and nodded at Kazuyoshi Nagashima. “What do you think Jr.?” he asked.

          The baseball coach smiled. “I think this is very good. Wonderful texture and the wines that Schrade-San has paired with the dishes are fantastic.”

          Tiffany grinned proudly. “They’re all from California.”

          Her next dish was brought out. The small packages of wrapped banana leaves served on hot stones with rice and the white sauce. “I wanted to use the different elements of banana,” Tiffany explained. “The rice is a mixture of Japanese and California rice. An ‘east meets west’ kind of thing.”

          “The smell is so refreshing,” Asako Kishi commented as she untied the leaves and mixed the fish with the fruit relish and rice. “This is a very sophisticated dish,” she explained. “Very refined, something for adults.”

          “I don’t know,” Saito-San countered. “The sweetness of the banana, mango, red pepper and pineapple,” would probably be very appealing to young people.” She smiled warmly. “A very good way to introduce them to fish, or to eating light healthy meals. And this was so pretty to look at, we eat with our eyes before our mouths, this tastes as beautiful as it looks.”

          The photographer nodded in agreement. “A nice contrast of tastes and textures. Very controlled I think,” he said.

          “I think I would have preferred the fish served with the rice and tea,” Nagashima-San offered. “Don’t get me wrong, this is good, but with tea, it would be even better.”

          “That is a very good idea,” Tiffany replied graciously. “I will try that.”

          Sam was glad that Tiffany hadn’t taken the time to cut an extra filet of monkfish for her although after hearing the baseball coach she knew she’d have to try the dish and see if she agreed with him. She had to content herself with the warm relish, rice and coconut sauce that had her taste buds sighing with contentment. The white sauce and rice alone would be delicious rice porridge, which might have been a better strategy for the tasting panel.

          “I think we are ready for the desserts,” Kaga announced.

          The first dessert was brought out; the chocolate cakes with black truffle ice cream. After the first bite the baseball coach sighed contentedly. “The flavor of this dish is amazing. This is heaven.” He said.

          “I have to agree with Jr.,” the Tenme Kano added. “This is a wonderful contrast between warm and cold. The cake is very hot, but with a small spoonful of the ice cream it’s perfect. They mix in your mouth as the cake melts and it’s very nice.”

          Sam was very happy to see the food critic, Kishi-San grinning as well. “The balance of rum with the banana in the chocolate is also nicely controlled. I can tell you used a very good quality of rum, your care with ingredients shows in this dish.”

          “Thank you,” Tiffany said with a smile, bowing respectfully. “Kitchen Stadium has the best ingredients and it was fun to be indulgent.”

          Sam enjoyed the extra chocolate cake and some ice cream and once again had to concur with the tasters. She was happy to note that the rich chocolate did not overwhelm the banana and that the back finish of the dish was indeed banana. The ice cream was good, the truffles indeed adding an earthy element that left the taster ready for another sweet dish.

          For the final dish a small cart was brought out. The same type of cart Tiffany had used countless times at Le Bistro. She was about to light the burner when she was stopped by Chairman Kaga.

          “Perhaps you would indulge us now, by showing us your special skill?” The Chairman asked politely.

          “I don’t think you can do that on Japanese TV” Cass murmured with a smirk.

          A waiter brought out several knives on a red velvet cushion.

          “You’d better step back,” Tiffany warned Cass as she picked up three of the knives. “I could accidentally impale you.”

          “Oh spare me,” Cass countered with a dramatic roll of her eyes. Still she did as instructed.

          With the three knives in hand Tiffany set the bananas in a neat row, then she began to juggle. Sam was amazed. At first she just juggled the three knives, the silver edges glinting brightly in the staged lighting. Then she grabbed a banana off of the table and tossed it into the mix. Sam wasn’t sure how she did it but a tossed knife cut the banana cleanly in half. Keeping the blades moving she put down each banana half in turn and then picked up the next. She proceeded to slice all of the bananas that way and then set down each knife in turn.

          All four panelists, the chairman, the audience and even the cameramen burst into appreciative applause.

          “How long have you had that skill?” the Chairman asked awed.

          Tiffany shrugged, “I’ve always been pretty good with blades,” she offered, a tad embarrassed.

          Sam felt herself swallow, hard.

          Getting back to business, the chef lit the burner on the small cart and began to mix the brown sugar, vanilla bean, cinnamon, and butter. She added the bananas to the mix and in a few moments added the rum and banana liquor. The pan burst into flames and she sautéed for a few moments more. Then she plated each slice on a plate with the chilled panna cotta.

          “This custard is so good,” Sito-San said. “Are there eggs in this? Or egg-whites?”

          “There are no eggs, Sito-San,” Tiffany gently corrected. “Panna Cotta is literally ‘cooked cream’ in Italian. It’s milk and cream with gelatin; custard without eggs.”

          The actress nodded. “It tastes lighter than custard, very good. This would be lovely on a summer evening. Very romantic. A perfect dessert for lovers.”

          Tiffany nodded in agreement with a quick glance to the Royal Box. “Many couples at the restaurant ask for it,” she said.

          “Fresh and stimulating I’d say.” Kishi-San added. “The sauce and flavor is quite sexy.”

          As Kano-San finished his dish he smiled broadly. “Tactful and perfected. This was not a difficult dish to make; yet in it’s simplicity the skills of this chef are really shining through. The bananas were cooked to perfection. Understated and brilliant I think. This will be a tough match for Saki-San indeed.”

          With a final respectful bow from Tiffany and Cass, the two left the stage and stood off to the side as Saki’s dishes were brought out.

          Cassandra was actively translating everything to Tiffany as Yoko did for Sam but the food critic was only half listening. The Iron Chef’s first dish was a Thai style barbecued banana. Sam was unimpressed by the dark brown exterior of the banana skins, but the tasters seemed to be impressed with the flavor nonetheless.

          “Very nice,” Kishi-San said, smiling broadly. “This has a nice smoky flavor. Not too flowery, but very soothing.

          Sito-San nodded in agreement, “there is something very familiar and soothing to the Japanese palate with this dish. I realize it’s a Thai recipe, but I still get a sense of ‘home cooking’ out in the country from tasting it.” It was not what the American food critic wanted to hear.

          Next up was Sakai’s fried ravioli. It was heart shaped and he had added some of the chocolate to the pasta dough. While the flavor seemed to impress the panel the appearance did not, especially with Kishi-San. Sam was relieved.

          “Saki-San,” She began. “You’re normally so appealing with your presentations, but this brown color, well it just does not look appealing.”

          Saki bowed in acknowledgment, albeit stiffly.

          The photographer nodded in agreement. “I appreciate that you were trying to utilize chocolate in this dish. The flavor matches well with the sharp cheese. I am perhaps not as put off by the color, but perhaps a sauce that didn’t contrast so strikingly would have been better. This cream sauce is wonderful, but does not set off the color of the ravioli very well.

          His next course was the banana gratin. It had some semi-sweet chocolate chips. This time the panel seemed split between enthusiasm for the dish and ambivalence. Kano-San and Kishi-San found it too biter, while “Jr.” and Saito-San found it just right.

          Like Tiffany the French Iron Chef prepared two desserts. The first was a baked chocolate banana with little puffs of chocolate and vanilla-banana cream. Everyone was incredibly impressed with the flavor and plating of the dish.

          “Simply marvelous.” Was all Asako Kishi could find to say.

          “This is making me so happy.” Sito-San added.

          His final dish was a banana crème brulee, torched on top to perfection.

          There was discussion on the contrasts of the two “custards” one with egg yokes and the American chef’s without.

          “This custard tastes a bit heavier than the Challenger’s” the actress commented.

          “But the flavor of the egg is so soothing.” The food critic countered.

          “The crispy surface is very nice.” The baseball coach added.

          The photographer shook his head. “I don’t know. I think it will all come down to personal preference. The custard and the panna cotta were both masterpieces.”

          Sam wasn’t sure where the consensus lay. She saw Tiffany shrug at a comment Cass whispered in her ear, and figured they felt the same.

          The director yelled, “cut” once again as the judges finished filling out their ballot folders. They each handed them to an assistant who rushed off stage.

          For Sam it seemed like an eternity but was maybe fifteen minutes. The lighting was repositioned once again, the table set broken down and cameras arranged at the top dais of the cooking stadium. Dramatic lighting was set on each of the chefs standing at their new marks behind their cooking stations where they could see the judges walk in.

          When the director called for action once more, Chairman Kaga walked in with all four judges following behind. He looked at the camera and spoke.

          “Today we had a challenger from the United States; an unusual woman with unusual skill. She can juggle knives, but Kitchen Stadium is not a circus. Here victories are awarded on the perfected dishes alone. She battled our Iron Chef French who is a man of great skill. I suppose it should be no surprise then that our judges were split two to two and we will decide on total points. Now the verdict.”

          Tiffany blinked in surprise as the dramatic music started and the announcer’s preamble to the verdict began.

          “Today a heads-up French cuisine battle by two chefs at the top of their game.” Fakui began, his pauses hitting the timing of the music perfectly. “Challenger Tiffany Schrade from Le Bistro in Los Angeles California facing our Iron Chef Herouki Saki head on. With two theme ingredients instead of one, the chefs had more flavors to incorporate, more chances for a misstep. Judges are tied, total points to decide. Who takes it, who’s cuisine reigns supreme?”

          Chairman Kaga paused dramatically, looking directly at the camera when he turned ever so slightly to Tiffany. “The Challenger Tiffany Schrade!”

Sam beamed with pride and cheered as loudly as anyone in the Royal Box. She noticed that Tiffany looked surprised and bowed deeply to chef Saki when he immediately walked over to shake her hand vigorously.

Fakui-San announced the score as Cass shook her head in disbelief. “Kano-San voted 20 to 19 the challenger, Sito-San voted 19 to 17 the challenger. Nagashima-San voted 18 to 17 Iron Chef and Kishi-San voted 20-19 Iron Chef. The American Tiffany Schrade wins by one point!”

Sam followed the others out of the royal box and was met by Cass at the foot of the stairs. They’d barely managed to get near Tiffany as she was being ushered to another room for the post battle press conference.

“Congratulations.” Sam said, kissing the chef warmly on the cheek. “I knew you could do it.”

“I believe you said you’d make it worth my while?” Tiffany countered with a smirk.

“Don’t think I don’t plan to.” Sam called after as Tiffany was being led from the sound stage.

“See you at the press-conference?” Tiffany called back as they rounded a corner back stage. Sam pretended that she didn’t hear her.

“We’d better get going sweetie,” Cass said with a nod to the exit of the studio.

Sam nodded in agreement. “I know. She’s going to be hurt though, and I would like to see her press conference…”

Cass chuckled, linking her arm in that of the food critic as they walked to the exit. “I think you have to have a heart to be ‘hurt’ and I’m not certain Tiffany Schrade qualifies.”

“You and I both know that’s not true. It’s the stoic ones that fall apart when things don’t go their way.” Sam replied as they made their way into the balmy night towards the waiting limo.

“Trust me,” Cass said as she opened the door. “Once you have her tied up she won’t be thinking about you missing her lame press conference.” With a bashful smile, Sam hoped she was right.

*****

Sam lit the last of the candles and cast a casual glance at her companion on the bed. “It won’t be long sweetie,” she said softly, with a warm smile.

Cassandra didn’t say anything in return, the gag tied around her mouth made intelligible speech impossible. The blond shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. The leather strap that connected the restraints on each of her wrists was threaded through a collar around her neck. It didn’t look comfortable, but to Sam’s estimation, it looked sexy as hell. The long black clingy dress and shiny black stiletto heels didn’t hurt either. The prostitute’s ankles were tied together with vinyl tape.

The door to the hotel room opened and Tiffany entered. Sam could tell from the way the chef walked that she was pissed. Sam knew she would be. She’d wanted to stay for the press conference, to enjoy Tiffany’s victory with her, but she’d made a choice: Get the preparations in order for her private victory celebration or stay for the press conference and return to the hotel together. Sacrifices had to be made and the press conference was it. She was pressed for time as it was, even with Cass’ help getting dressed. She’d had the good fortune of the whole morning to prepare the room and had left specific instructions with the bellboy regarding the chilling of the champagne. Even so, it was all she could do to get herself ready and Cass restrained before they’d gotten the call that Tiffany’s limo was approaching the hotel.

Tiffany Schrade took two steps into the room and froze. Her eyes adjusted to the candle-lit darkness as the door closed silently behind her. As the last bit of artificial light was cut off from the hallway she could see the open door to their bedroom with Samantha sitting regally in a dark leather chair. There was something different about Samantha, something about her posture, her bearing; Tiffany wasn’t sure what it was.

Before her eyes fully adjusted to the dimly lit room her keen sense of smell told her things her eyes did not. The first was the fragrant scent of flowers. There was a gorgeous spray of colorful blooms on the low table of the suite’s main room. She took another step towards Sam and detected another arrangement. A vase of fragrant red roses sat on the floor next to a small table by Sam’s chair. The second scent she detected was the unmistakable smell of silicon spray; a substance used to achieve a gleaming sheen on rubber fetish-wear. The pupils of her crystal blue eyes dilated as she looked at Sam. She was just about to tell herself that she was imaging the scent when she saw that Sam was wearing rubber; a great deal of it.

For the briefest of seconds the chef wondered if she’d walked into the wrong room. Sam didn’t look like herself at all. Tiffany was about to speak when movement from the bed distracted her. Clearly she was in the right room, but now nothing made sense: Cassandra Wilson was not one to be tied up.

“What the…” Tiffany stammered.

“Have a seat,” Sam purred, indicating a chair across from her.

Tiffany walked the rest of the way into the room as her eyes adjusted to the candlelight. Now she could make out the details of Samantha’s new persona.

The food critic was dressed more like a dominatrix than any other noun that came to Tiffany’s mind. She wore platform boots that laced up her calves. Small points of candlelight reflected off the highly polished surface. Molded black rubber stockings continued up the food critic’s legs with a hint of black garter showing below a shiny black short PVC skirt. Above the skirt Sam wore a rubber corset with long rubber gloves. In one hand she casually held a black riding crop. She wore no jewelry save a delicately spiked collar around her neck. Her short blond hair was slicked back. The severe style more than anything making Sam look like someone else entirely. With eyes adjusted to the light, Tiffany could see blood red lipstick and dramatic eye makeup that made her green eyes sparkle even in the limited light available.

When Tiffany Schrade had walked into her hotel suite she’d been annoyed; exhausted after a taxing hour cooking, tired from the press conference and hurt at being abandoned by her friend. With legs less steady than she’d like to admit she took the few steps needed and sat in the chair as requested. No longer tired, no longer hurt and certainly no longer annoyed, she was curious as to what the food critic had planned.

“Like what you see?” Sam asked casually as she gracefully crossed one rubber-clad leg over the other. She absently tapped the tip of a boot with the riding crop.

“I do.” Tiffany whispered.

Sam smiled, a genuinely affectionate warm smile. “You’ve got a decision to make my dear. Pick up the napkin.” The food critic nodded to the table in-between the two chairs with the vase of roses sitting next to it. An ice bucket with a bottle of champagne sat on the table next to a silver tray covered by a white linen napkin.

Tiffany lifted the napkin and her eyes flashed on the glint of metal. There was a scalpel still in its sterile packaging, a bottle of alcohol, several cotton balls, some gauze and first-aid tape.

“We’re going to play a game Tiffany,” She began in a voice that was commanding and assured. “You’re going to give me something I want, and I’m going to give you something you want.”

“You have my attention,” Tiffany said quietly, blue eyes locking into green.

“I thought I might,” Sam acknowledged. “You see, the thing is this… you get a rush from control. I’ve had a couple of weeks to really try to wrap my head around that. Obviously I’ve known you for six months, I’ve seen you master a kitchen, I’ve seen you render the taste buds of countless people helpless to do anything but submit to your will. Hell, I’ve been helpless to do anything but submit to your will. You’ve made me come so hard I was certain I’d go mad from the sheer bliss of it. But tonight is different. I’m going to submit to your will, I’m going to let you cut me, I’m going to see what that rush feels like. But I’m also going to feel the control. I’m going to bend you to my will. You are going to surrender to me and in return I’m going to give you everything you want.”

“The fact that I’m not a bottom could be inconvenient,” Tiffany replied carefully.

Samantha chuckled softly. She had planned for this. Like a masterfully played chess match, she’d looked at things from Tiffany’s perspective and had devised a way to up the ante until her lover couldn’t do anything but put all of her chips into the pot.

She stood and tapping the crop absently against her thigh and moved to stand behind Tiffany’s chair. After a moment she carefully put her rubber clad hands on the chef’s shoulders. Even through the material Tiffany could feel the warmth of Samantha’s skin. There was also a hint of powder mixed with all of the other scents that only served to arouse.

“I’m not asking you to be a bottom Tiffany. Not in the way that you’re thinking of at any rate. I don’t want you to be anything but unadulterated you. Here’s the catch; you’re going to put on a show for me Tiffany Schrade.” Sam leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You’re going to get me so fucking turned on that I won’t care that getting my skin sliced open will hurt. There will be so many endorphins rushing through my blood that I’ll scarcely feel what that blade will be doing to me. You are going to show me just how much you want me, how much you want that control. Just exactly how much you want all of it.”

Tiffany smiled. “Sounds good, so far,” She admitted. Then added, “So what’s Blondie doing here?”

The chef could feel the gloved hands leave her shoulders and could sense that Sam was turning around. Back to back Tiffany sat and Samantha stood. After a moment, Samantha answered. “Cassandra is you’re canvas,” She said simply. “That is how you’re going to show me.”

“Whattt!” Cass’ agitated muffled voice could clearly be heard from the bed, although the rest of what she said was unintelligible. Sam thought she caught a few expletives, but they were fortunately as muffled as the rest of her protest.

Tiffany stood up, ready to protest and turned around. The air no more than filled her lungs to speak when she was silenced. She was facing Samantha’s back. The food critic was a vision in shiny black from her platform booted feet to the edge of the corset, which came to just below her shoulder blades. Her creamy pale skin contrasted dramatically with the glistening black PVC and was accented by glints from the six needles that were pierced through her skin.

‘Holy fuck!’ Tiffany thought. The chef could feel her heart start to beat faster as her arousal ratcheted up another notch. Her body tightened somewhat south of her stomach. She cracked a smile. Samantha was playing this game well. Keeping herself in check she slowed down for a moment and decided to put a few facts in order. She more than realized that this was why Sam and Cass had left Fuji Television immediately after her victory had been announced. Not only had the food critic changed clothes, but she’d allowed Cassandra to pierce her skin with needles and then had tied the other woman up. She also realized that Sam’s version to Cassandra of the evenings’ activity was clearly different from what Tiffany was being told now. That didn’t surprise the chef. No way in hell would Cass have allowed herself to be tied up if she knew it was for Tiffany’s amusement. The chef also realized that she was looking at the main component to the change in Sam’s demeanor. The self-control required to sit and talk and maintain one’s composure with six four inch surgical steel needles pierced in one’s skin was not minimal. No wonder her posture had been perfect, the slightest movement would pull painfully at pierced skin. Tiffany could scarcely believe that Sam had been able to tie Cassandra up with the needles in place. She must have a very high pain threshold and told the hooker one amazing story.

As Samantha breathed her back moved ever so slightly. That movement alone was enough to make the reflected candlelight dance on the shiny steel surface. The needles were carefully placed three on each side, about an inch apart, piercing the skin that covered the trapizous muscle over the shoulder blade. There was a space of about 4 or 5 inches in between the two sets of three where it seemed the food critic was intending to be cut. While Tiffany was used to Samantha looking beautiful, it was indeed a brand new kind of beautiful that she was exhibiting at this very moment.

Feeling in control of herself once more, Tiffany reached out and with gentle fingers lightly touched the exposed skin stretched over the needle. She heard Sam’s breathing catch, and her heart pumped faster still. It was a delicious feeling. She could hear the deafening sound of blood pumping in her own ears and felt another clench at her center. “I don’t think Cass wants to play,” she said, determined to keep her voice casual.

Samantha turned to face Tiffany, sea green eyes looking up into blue. “Then this will indeed be a challenge for you.” She said quietly. “You’ve enjoyed Cass and I going at each other more than once. And I know Cass has watched the two of us numerous times. Probably even when we thought we were alone. I want to see what that’s like. I want to watch.”

Cass let her opinion be known, with another string of unintelligible, but undeniably hostile words.

Tiffany glanced at the hooker and smiled, her white teeth contrasting with the red of her lips. “Is there no end to the kink you’re picking up on this trip Samantha?” she teased softly, returning her gaze to her lover. “You’ve been burned, spanked, you attacked me, we scandalized an entire karaoke bar and now you’re into voyeurism… What’s next? Home-made porn?” She glanced around the room as if looking for video cameras.

Samantha smiled in return. Her end of the deal was nearly sealed, now it was going to be a matter of convincing Cassandra. “I like to think that there is more going on here than voyeurism and porn,” Sam countered. She moved to the bed and with one graceful finger traced the length of the hooker’s prone body. “I know what Cass’s skin feels like,” She threaded her rubber clad fingers through Cass’ hair and gave a gentle tug. She walked back over to Tiffany and drew the same elegant finger down the length of the chef’s face, coming to rest upon her lips. “I know what you taste like and you’re both fucking hot. As it happens I enjoy looking at beautiful women, especially when I can vividly relate to exactly what they are experiencing.” Looking at Cass once more she ran her hand down the front of her corset, over her breast and let her hand come to rest on the side of her hip. “Show me the down side?”

Sam was sure she’d seen a gleam of hunger in the prostitute’s eyes. Samantha ran her tongue over her crimson lips and then the food critic turned dominatrix settled into the leather chair vacated by the chef. She crossed her legs regally. She had an excellent view of the bed.

Tiffany cast a sidelong glance to her restrained housemate. “Can I just smother her and entertain you with necrophilia instead?” The chef asked dryly. That set off a new stream of muffled expletives from the captive.

Sam tapped her boot again with the crop. “I’m interested in sexy,” she warned her voice actually showing a hint of danger. “Not Survivor.” She shrugged and then winced before recovering her composure. “If you don’t think you’re up to it…”

The chef’s head snapped towards her. The challenge had met its mark. Now Sam decided to raise the stakes one final time. “Before you get started you may remove the needles.” She said simply.

Tiffany stared at her, clearly trying to make up her mind. By force of will she was blocking out whatever angry words the prostitute was saying. Tiffany knew if she took the needles out, there was no going back, she’d be committed to give everything that was being offered as well as receive it. That included the tricked, tied up, gagged and very angry woman on the bed. She looked at Cass. There was no denying the woman was beautiful. She looked back at Sam as if really seeing her for the first time. The food critic never ceased to amaze the chef. Just when she thought she knew all about her, something new was revealed.

Sam could not fathom what she saw reflected in the chef’s eyes. For a moment she was scared that Tiffany was contemplating saying ‘no’. Her cheeks began to color as it dawned on Samantha that she hadn’t planned for that possibility. She didn’t have a back up plan and she was quite certain that the embarrassment of being rebuffed might in fact kill her.

The chef moved closer to the chair and knelt on one knee. She was looking up at Sam, her blue eyes searching her lover’s face. “Are you sure that this is what you really want? I don’t have to--”

The food critic smiled, relieved. Tiffany was offering to give her what she wanted, but giving her an out if she changed her mind about the cutting. She was certainly closer to a ‘yes’ than a ‘no’. A rubber encased hand reached out to delicately trace the planes of Tiffany’s face. “I do believe I’ve grown terribly fond of you, Tiffany Schrade,” Sam said gently. “But I’m not changing my mind. This is the deal if you want it. All or nothing.”

It was Tiffany’s turn to smile. “Any ground-rules?” she asked.

“I care about you both,” Sam said, seriously, glancing at Cass tied up on the bed. “You know me, you know what I like and what I don’t.” Sam considered that it might not have been necessary to say, but she said it anyway. She didn’t want the guilt she felt at misleading the hooker to compound itself by having the woman humiliated. Few things turned Sam off quicker than humiliation. “One last thing,” she added, withdrawing a small card from the cleavage in her corset. She handed the card to Tiffany.

“120?” Tiffany said, reading the card.

Sam nodded. “When you finish with Cass that is the number of minutes you will wait until your head spins with colors you’ve never seen before.”

Tiffany looked at the neat printing on the card one more time. “Then I’d best get started.”

Looking down at Samantha’s back, Tiffany could see the rosy pink hue of her lover’s skin. She marveled again at the smaller woman’s self control and composure. Unable to resist, she reached out a hand once again to gently touch the distended skin over the needles. As before, the food critic inhaled sharply.

“Do you like it?” Tiffany asked as she slowly withdrew the first needle.

Samantha considered the question long moments before answering. “It’s a rush, a very heady rush,” she said as the next needle was removed. Without being asked she’d handed Tiffany the alcohol bottle and a cotton ball. She winced a little as the alcohol was applied. “My head is kind of swimming, like after a few glasses of champagne. I like it, but I don’t think I’d like it all the time.”

Tiffany nodded. “It’s got a way of creating clarity, focus,” she said. “Not that you aren’t focused anyways.” She put three needles on the silver tray and started on the other side. As she touched the next needle she was sure she could feel the current of Sam’s body running through it. The needles were warm, having conducted the heat of the food critic’s body. Tiffany felt the air heating up around her. “Any other surprises you’ve got in store for me tonight?” She asked conversationally.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” Sam replied.

With a sigh as the last needle was removed, Sam leaned back in the leather chair, settling herself to watch the show. Tiffany deposited the rest of the needles on the silver tray. Then stood and approached the bed. She glanced at the scalpel in it’s blue packaging and at the small dots of blood on the used cotton ball. How bad did she want this indeed. She turned around and looked at the prostitute. The lust she felt was not reflected in the prone woman’s eyes, rather white-hot anger. That would have to change.

From her perspective, Sam had a front row seat. Cassandra’s wrists were confined in black leather restraints that had a strip that ran through the metal ring in a collar around her neck. A red ball gag was tied around her mouth, her makeup not overdone adding to a look of vulnerability. Sam knew she was anything but, but the look added to the sexiness of her prone position. She wore a clingy long black dress with the slit up one side and six-inch stiletto heels. Sam reached out with her crop and touched the play button on the CD player. Soft music filled the room, no vocals, just instruments to match the candlelight.

Tiffany approached the bed carefully. She was dressed as she had been at the studio. Leather pants over black boots and her chef’s whites with the Le Bistro logo delicately embroidered on the front. She opened the buttons on her shirt to reveal the soft t-shirt Sam had bought her at the Hard Rock Café.

Cassandra was staring at the chef intently, Tiffany recognized the look and approached the bed carefully even though there was no way the prostitute could kick her. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran a slow languid hand up the prostitute’s prone body. Cass said something unintelligible, but the angry tone was unmistakable.

The blond woman jerked at the restraints furiously as Tiffany straddled Cass, settling herself over the prone woman’s hips. At this point there wasn’t anything Cass could do. “Shhh” Tiffany soothed as she ran gentle hands over the prone woman’s body; over her torso, her breasts and up and down her arms Tiffany touched with feather light finger tips. “Come on Cass. This could be worse,” she reasoned. “My touch isn’t all that bad.”

Sam could see that this was indeed having the desired effect. The food critic knew all too well the electricity she felt on her skin when Tiffany touched her like that. The type of touch that you want to last for hours, and at the same time, desperately want to become something more. After long moments Tiffany leaned close to her housemate.

Sam could see her whisper something in the prostitute’s ear but couldn’t make out any of the words. Brown eyes flashed over to Sam then returned their steady gaze to Tiffany.

There was something intriguing about seeing the two of them together, Sam decided. They were a world of contrasts; the yin to each other’s yang. Tiffany’s black hair cascaded around her face, blending into Cassandra’s platinum blond locks. With a casual toss of her head, Tiffany shifted her hair to the side of her face away from Samantha, giving the food critic an unobstructed view.

As Samantha watched, Tiffany placed a series of soft kisses along the blonde’s jaw-line and exposed neck. The first couple of times Cass flinched then seemed resigned to the touch. The prostitute moved her head to the side, allowing for better access. Sam smiled; Cass had the most beautiful neck. She had graceful lines of tendon and muscle with the most delightful hollow space where her collarbones met. Samantha enjoyed kissing the blond woman’s neck almost as much as the blond woman enjoyed being kissed there.

Without warning Tiffany stood and walked a couple of steps to the bureau across from the bed. She didn’t speak as she removed her chef’s jacket and picked up a tie to bring her long black hair into a ponytail. She glanced at Sam one more time before taking off her boots. “Any requests?” she asked not trying to hide the lust from her low husky voice.

“Surprise me,” Sam replied in a voice equally dripping with sex.

With her hair pulled back, Sam had an unobstructed view of her lover’s face. Her expression was unreadable which Sam had to admit made the whole scene sexier still.

Tiffany climbed onto the bed her leather-clad legs straddling the woman in the dress once more. With a light touch she caressed the skin of Cassandra’s exposed arms. Lightly touching up one then down the other once more. Fingers moved to the blond woman’s neck and she lightly traced the planes of her jaw and throat. “You want this off?” she asked softly running her index finger over the ball gag in the blond woman’s mouth. Cassandra’s head nodded once, very slightly. “Then move your hands,” Tiffany commanded.

There was enough play in the leather strap that connected the prostitute’s wrist restraints that she could move her hands to a position just above her head. A secondary rope was attached to another “d-ring” in the back of the collar that was tied to the bed. Cassandra had some limited movement, but she couldn’t untie herself and she couldn’t get off the bed. Tiffany positioned herself so she could hold onto both of Cassandra’s restrained hands with her left, and with her right hand undo the buckle on the gag. Tossing the gag off the bed, Tiffany lowered her mouth to Cassandra’s lips before the prostitute had time to say anything. For long moments Samantha watched them kiss noting the exact moment when Cassandra began to respond, encouraging the chef to kiss her more deeply. Sam was certainly surprised when Tiffany sat bolt upright with a yelp of pain, her hand reflexively going to her mouth, which was bleeding.

“What the fuck did you bite me for!” the chef demanded.

Cassandra laughed. “If you’re going to play with fire, dearie, you might get burned.

Tiffany got off the bed and headed to the bedroom closet. She rummaged through the bags and suitcases on the floor of the closet and emerged with the hooker’s black leather bag of professional equipment.

“I was going to be nice about this,” Tiffany explained angrily as she went through the contents of the duffel. “You want to play hardball, that’s fine with me.” As she extracted several objects she looked meaningfully at her housemate. “This stainless-steel butt plug could have your name on it,” she said in a warning tone. “Oh look, nipple clamps, a flail, a paddle…”

“That’s my stuff Tiffany,” Cassandra countered calmly. “You think I’m afraid of it? Keep looking and you’ll find the electric nipple clamps. Ooh those are really scary.”

“Here we go,” Tiffany announced triumphantly, finally finding what she was looking for.

“An itty-bitty Swiss army knife?” Cassandra said, unimpressed at the diminutive knife the chef was holding. “She’s the one who wants to get cut, Einstein.”

Tiffany approached the bed with a sinister grin on her face. She opened the knife and looked pointedly at the prostitute’s shoes. For the first time a hint of fear crossed the hooker’s face.

“If your shoes and I got in a fight, Cassandra,” she said levelly, “which one of us will win? I’ve got an itty-bitty knife and they’re…ah, just expensive.”

“You wouldn’t fucking do that,” Cass countered, although the doubt in her voice was evident. She was not expecting this.

Tiffany shrugged. “But what’s a twelve hundred dollar pair of shoes when you make the kind of money that you do,” she offered. “That dress though,” her eyes traveled a bit higher. “I know for a fact that’s a Vera Wang original.” She closed the small knife and instead opened the itty-bitty scissors next to the blade.

“You cunt,” Cass spat. “You wouldn’t fucking dare!”

Tiffany laughed. It was a warm, friendly laugh. The kind of laugh you’d hear at a poker table with old friends. She sat on the bed, her legs outstretched, leaning against the footboard. She used the scissors to easily cut through the vinyl tape that kept her legs together. Next she put down the knife and removed one of the prostitutes black shoes and carefully tossed it on the floor. She began to massage the blond woman’s foot.

“Cass, I want you to think long and hard,” she said conversationally as strong hands worked the ball and heel of the other woman’s foot. “Think about how long we’ve known each other. How many dreadful things we’ve said to each other. How many dreadful things we’ve done to each other. What makes you think, for one second, that I wouldn’t cut the dress right off of you?”

“Sam wouldn’t…” Cass barely had the words out when the chef cut her off.

“Sam would find that sexy as hell, don’t you think?” Tiffany said logically. “Have you ever watched a woman rip the clothes off another? I’m guessing you’ve done it more than once. The news flash for you dear is that tonight Samantha’s in this for herself. Tonight I’m in this for myself. For one night we’re both playing your game, Blondie. We’ve both got goals we’re after that doesn’t have a provision for your feelings. I think you’d call this ‘seeing how the other half lives’. You can put our shit aside for tonight and enjoy yourself or I’ve got a closet full of clothes to fuck up when I’m finished with the one’s your wearing.”

“Is this how you get all your women?” Cass challenged. “With destructive threats?

Samantha smiled. While the hooker’s words were fierce, the food critic did notice how she’d replaced the foot that had been massaged with the one that still wore the shoe. Cassandra loved little more than being touched. Tiffany removed that shoe as well and began to massage the other foot.

Tiffany shrugged. “I usually only have to threaten the first time. After that they come back for more,” she added, “If you get my meaning.”

“You’re such an inarticulate clod,” Cass fumed.

Tiffany grinned again and Sam was under the impression that the chef was really beginning to enjoy herself. “Yeah, I really am.” She said as she began to massage the blond woman’s ankles and calves. “But I’m wearing leather,” she massaged a bit higher still. “And I’m in really fucking good shape.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the blond woman murmured. “Come here and kiss me.”

Samantha had no idea how the chef was going forge a truce with her housemate, yet she was watching it unfold in front of her. While the food critic had no illusions that it was going to last longer than tonight, it was clear that both women were serious about putting aside their differences for her enjoyment. Tiffany did as she was asked and spent long moments, her body stretched out over her adversary’s, kissing her deeply. The cut on the chef’s lip apparently forgotten, Cass snaked one of her legs over that of her companion to keep her close. Tiffany pulled back briefly and looked at Cass, then resumed the task of kissing her once more. For Samantha’s estimation, it was indeed as hot a scene as she’d imagined it could be. Probably moreso given the antagonistic fire that flared between the two.

“Untie me,” Cass demanded the next time Tiffany broke the kiss for air.

“Why?” the chef challenged.

“Because I can’t get your clothes off of you if I’m tied up, you fucking nit-wit.” Cass struggled against the restraint. “I can’t suck on your titties if they’re clothed, now can I? And how are you going to lick my titties, much less anything else, if they’re covered up by this insanely expensive dress?”

Tiffany smiled and leaned back on her knees. In one fluid movement she’d lifted the t-shirt off of her body and tossed it towards Sam. In another instant her bra was gone as well. “That’s one problem solved,” She announced happily.

“Oh come on Tiffany,” Cass protested, then after a moment’s consideration she lowered her voice. “I’ve got nails,” she husked. “Something that would feel pretty good against your skin. I know exactly where to touch you. I promise, no tricks.”

Tiffany watched Cassandra for long moments absently stroking the prone woman’s breasts before making up her mind. Having reached a decision she leaned forward, her left breast landing right at the hooker’s mouth as she began to undo the restraints. Cass took the hint and reached out a delicate pink tongue to lick the pierced nipple dangling before her. The nipple rings were a recent acquisition. This was her body modification from Truth or Dare. In moments bright white teeth had clasped onto the steel hoop and given a gentle tug. Tiffany hissed in appreciation.

Not completely distracted from the task at hand, Tiffany freed the prone woman and kneeled upright again on the bed. She carefully removed one wrist restraint and then another, massaging each wrist in turn to make sure her circulation was restored. Cassandra got to her knees as well and with the chef’s help slipped the clingy black dress over her head. Tiffany was not surprised to see that she wore nothing underneath. Now clad only in a black collar Samantha felt her pulse increase another notch looking at the exquisitely tanned and toned woman. While undeniably skinnier than Tiffany, her body was no less perfect. She didn’t have the muscles from long hours at the gym. Oh, she had muscles all right, but they tended to be less visible. Yoga was her passion and Cassandra Wilson was the most flexible person Sam had ever met. Still, the faint outlines of a six-pack could be seen on the blond woman’s abdomen; she certainly had muscles where it counted.

Once her dress was out of danger, Cassandra wrapped an arm around the back of Tiffany’s head and roughly pulled the taller woman to her. Bright red nails could be seen clenching a handful of soft black hair as she held the chef’s head still. With her other hand she unceremoniously reached for Tiffany’s leather pants and slipped her hand down the front.

“Jesus!” Tiffany gasped, pulling back a little.

“Don’t get all puritan on me Tiff,” Cass chided. “I’ve decided to do this. You’re hot, I’m hot, Sam is hot,” she added with a wink to the food critic. “As she said, there is no downside.” Before she could say anything else, Cass withdrew her hand from Tiffany’s pants and put two fingers on the chef’s mouth to keep her quiet. “Look Hon, if you want moonlit walks and puppies and hand-holding you can fuck-off. You’re not going to impress me Tiffany. If you want to impress your girlfriend and get her worked up and play with your knives, then lets move this the fuck along.”

“I was complaining that your fucking hands are cold,” Tiffany growled at Cass. She brought her hands to the smaller woman’s biceps. With a twist, the chef fell back on the bed, to the space Cass just occupied. Wrapping one arm around the smaller woman she continued the onslaught with her mouth and with her other hand helped Cass undo her pants.
          Watching from her vantage point Sam felt the ambient temperature in the room ratchet up another ten degrees. Or she realized, it could just be her own body temperature. There was no denying the supreme sexiness of watching the two women before her kiss and caress each other. Kissing was not something that she’d ever seen them do before and in some ways it was like watching the unstoppable force meet the unmovable object. Even from her position underneath the smaller woman, it was clear to Sam who was leading this dance. Tiffany’s hands were everywhere from long languid caresses to the occasional pinch and slap. Her mouth appeared to be everywhere as well. Cassandra’s breasts, neck, and mouth all seemed to be receiving equal attention. For her part the blond was keeping pace with the woman below her. Sam could see flashes of blood red nails as she lightly scratched Tiffany’s thighs, abdomen and arms. She used her teeth to pull on Tiffany’s nipple rings more than once, each time satisfied with the gasp of pleasure and pain she heard in return.

“Just how hot are you?” she challenged teasingly.

“Hot enough,” Tiffany grunted in reply, twisting to pin the smaller woman below her on the bed. With a firm hand she reached down to stroke the prostitute at the apex of her legs. “Apparently, so are you,” she commented, bringing two glistening fingers to her mouth.

“You’re making me hungry,” Cass purred, watching the chef suck on each finger in turn.

With a crooked smile, Tiffany turned, repositioning her body over Cassandra’s to the classic sixty-nine position. In tandem they each began to feast on the other and this time it was Tiffany’s turn to use her teeth to gently tug on the ring pierced through the hood of Cassandra’s clitoris. Sam had been particularly glad Cass had gone for that dare.

“Oh fuuuuckkk” Cass moaned, temporarily distracted from what she was doing.

“Concentrate Cass,” Tiffany warned, releasing the ring and burying her face between the smaller woman’s legs once more.

To Samantha’s estimation, it was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. She knew how Cass was feeling, having experienced Tiffany’s skillful single-mindedness herself. She also knew how Tiffany was feeling; being well acquainted with the prostitutes no less skillful but playful nature. Together they were indeed the perfect yin and yang; black hair and blond, quiet and loud, muscle and lithe gracefulness. At almost the same time each woman added fingers to the ministrations they were performing with their mouths. After long steady strokes both women seemed to be climbing higher and higher each wanting their own pleasure but steadfastly determined to see the task carried through to the end for the other. It was a very specific sort of discipline required to enjoy and give pleasure at the same time, and both women were masters of it. In the moment though, Sam knew it didn’t make it any easier.

“Harder,” they both grunted in unison as they provided the final strokes to send each other over the edge. Amazingly, both women clasped on to the other with their mouths as they came which served to muffle their own cry of rapture. Sam well knew that those vibrations would also serve to make the orgasms each was feeling that much more powerful.

For a few moments neither moved and all that Sam could hear besides the dulcet tones of cello music was the heavy breathing of her two lovers. Finally Tiffany rolled off of Cassandra and lay on her back, taking a couple of deep breaths.

“Magnificent,” Samantha breathed.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” the chef said dryly. Looking up at the ceiling.

Sam rose from her chair and walked the couple of steps to the bed. She kissed each woman in turn, noting the subtle differences in how each woman tasted. “That was perfect,” she said, simply. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this turned on in my life.”

Tiffany laughed and then looked at Sam seriously. “Unfortunately I’ll have to leave you in Cass’ care. If you don’t mind I’d like a shower before proceeding with our evening.”

Sam hadn’t expected that. “Is there something wro…”

Cass reached out and put her hand on Sam’s rubber clad leg. “I fear our chef is herself worked up enough that if you let her near a scalpel in this condition, you might be missing a vertebrae or two by morning.” Cass said as she ran her hand over the rubber surface of Sam’s leg. “I’m sure you can entertain me until our dear Tiffany has regained her composure.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the chef warned getting off of the bed. “I smell like you and it’s making me nauseous.” She was halfway to the bathroom when she stopped. Then she turned around and walked back to the bed. She kissed the prostitute tenderly and whispered, “Thank you.” She kissed Sam just as tenderly “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said.

When the bathroom door closed Cass propped herself up on her elbow. “You owe me dear,” she said her voice deadly serious.

Sam looked at her nervously. “I’m sorry about that Cass,” she began “I didn’t know what else to…”

“No, no,” Cass said, cutting her off. “I’m not interested in your apologies.” She looked pointedly in the direction of the bathroom. “That could have been worse. Tiff may treat me halfway decently for a week or two now.”

“Then what…”

“Tiffany was dead wrong when she said my wants are not on the agenda this evening,” she announced levelly. “My wants are never off the agenda. You make me blissfully happy and I’ll leave you two love birds alone so Tiffany can carve something suitably sappy into your skin.”

Sam could see where this was headed. She had to admit it was not unexpected.

“What do you want?” the food critic asked, awaiting the obvious answer. Honestly she was worked up enough that she probably wouldn’t settle for any other answer.

Cass laughed, a maniacal laugh that Sam had grown rather fond of. “Sweetie, go take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror. Then see if you can figure out what I want.”

“But I don’t…”

“Just do it,” Cass insisted.

Sam did as she was told and stood in front of the mirror by the bedroom dresser. She had to admit that she scarcely recognized the figure looking back at her. As she’d gotten dressed she was paying more attention to keeping on schedule than exactly how she looked. At Cass’ request she took a couple of moments to really look at herself. She had to admit that the color black did something for her. If pressed, she’d say she thought of herself as an upbeat, positive person. This look though added a hefty element of threat and danger that she’d never equate with her personality. The rubber gleamed, bright streaks and points of light reflecting off the surface. The form fitting clothes showed off her lean muscles and compact frame. She had a small waist, decent-sized bust, toned abdomen, legs and arms. While in her day-to-day life she’d call this look “fit” at the moment it maintained an air of threat. Her strong arms were now instruments of discipline and torture if she chose them to be.

She stood taller than she usually did and this added to her feeling of supreme control of everything, including the very air around her. After all, she’d just convinced two arch-enemies to make love with each other and it ended on a surprisingly tender note. If she could do that, then what couldn’t she do if she wanted to? So as she gazed at herself, she wondered what indeed did she want to do? As she considered she caught Cass’ reflection in the mirror. The prostitute was looking at her hungrily. She also glanced down and saw the open duffle of sex toys that Tiffany had pulled out of the closet. She began to question her own aversion, the thought of making someone do something, and punishing her if she wanted to. She considered that it may be a slippery slope, but that there were degrees to humiliation and Cass’ look in the mirror said she very much wanted to be dominated. By her. Sam turned around a new woman; her mind was made up.

“Hands and knees,” Sam commanded, striking the crop against her leather clad thigh with a crisp thwack.

With a smile on her face the prostitute complied. While a part of Samantha was feeling more than a little uncomfortable at the role she was about to assume for herself, she knew that too was part of Cass’ game. The food critic realized that the persona of dominatrix was probably not what interested Cass as much as pushing her into psychological territory that Sam was unsure or uncomfortable with. That was indeed one of Cass’ favorite indulgences, watching people grapple with things that scared them. There was little Cass wouldn’t consider if she could make someone push the envelope of their own psyche.

Sam rested a booted foot on the bed. Leaning over her knee she commanded, “untie it,” when Cass moved closer she added, “with your teeth.”

Cass gave her a quick wink and then set to the task. Halfway through Sam could see that she was slowing down. Her own temperature rising as she watched the woman submit to her will, she was angered at the delay. She tightened her grip on the riding crop and brought it soundly down on the prostitute’s backside. Cass gasped and picked up her pace with the laces. Sam hadn’t thought she’d hit the blond woman very hard, but a red strip did appear on lean backside. The pattern repeated itself with the other boot. Cass got halfway through and slowed down and Samantha gave her a sound smack on the other cheek. When the task was finished Sam stroked the red stripes gingerly, causing the prostitute to arch in bliss. She wasn’t sure of what to ask next. Deciding to stay on a theme, she pointed to her boot. “Lick,” she commanded.

Cass rose up onto her knees. “What if I say ‘no,’” she asked.

Sam reached into the duffle and extracted a set of nipple clamps. “Let’s try this again,” she said attaching the clamps to the prostitute’s nipples. “Lick.” She gave the chain between the two clamps a not so subtle tug. In an instant the prostitute’s head was at her foot, her soft pink tongue contrasting with the shiny black surface of the boot. Satisfied that Cass was taking her seriously she gave her next command “Take them off,” Cass immediately removed each boot in turn, setting them neatly by the chair. Sam was beginning to get into this. “Leave the skirt on, stockings next,” the hooker complied detaching each stocking from the black garter belt and unrolling each down the length of her leg. Each foot and calf was then massaged in turn. Samantha smiled; this sort of attention could prove addictive.

“Gloves next,” she demanded, trying to strike an indifferent tone in her voice. The small smile that creased the hooker’s lips did not escape the food-critics attention.

“What are you grinning at?” Sam demanded, danger threading her voice without effort. The crop came down again across both ass cheeks, hard.

Cass looked up, a bit surprised. “Nothing, mistress,” the prostitute replied softly.

“I didn’t think so,” Sam said and extended a toned arm so Cass could remove the glove. “Suck first.”

The kneeling blond took Sam’s hand in her own and wrapped her lips around each finger in turn, stroking them with her tongue and sucking expertly. When she’d finished she removed the other long glove the same way. As she worked Sam absently touched the clamped nipples with the tip of her crop. When she’d finished with the blonde’s nipples she lightly touched the crop tip to the three rosy stripes on Cass’ backside. Wanting to feel that strong tongue against her skin she moved her right hand up to Cass’ mouth once more and inserted her index and middle fingers. Immediately Cass began to suck, her expert tongue massaging the digits. Sam dropped the crop and touched the pink streaks lightly with her finger. The skin felt hot and the way Cass arched her back let her know she was enjoying the contact. “Does it hurt?”

Sam’s fingers were released from Cass mouth long enough for the hooker to answer. “No mistress. Your touch is divine, all of your touches.”

The food critic grinned and let her hand drift down from Cass’ ass to slip her index and middle fingers deep inside the woman on her hands and knees before her. She used her thumb to gently toy with the hooker’s anus. Sam extracted her other hand from Cass’ mouth and lightly tugged on the nipple clamps. With labored breathing Cass began to writhe back and forth pushing against Sam’s hand.

“Keep still,” Sam demanded; a request that was promptly ignored.

Sam withdrew her hand and spanked Cass’ ass, hard. She was satisfied with the sharp intake of breath she heard in response.

“We’re going to try this again,” Sam explained, moving to Cass’ bag of tricks once more. She withdrew a small set of anal beads and began to insert them one at a time into the prostitute’s ass. Intermittently, Cass sighed and groaned blissfully. “If you move, I’m going to stop.” Samantha warned.

“Oh god…” Cass murmured as the final bead was inserted. “That feels so good.”

“So good what?” Sam reminded her.

Cass sighed blissfully, enjoying that Sam had taken to her new role nearly as much as she was enjoying what the woman was doing to her body. “So fucking good, Mistress.”

“It’s going to feel even better if you behave,” Sam warned, taking a silicon dildo from Cass’ bag that she knew to be the prostitute’s favorite. She didn’t need any lube, the blond woman more than wet from her previous activities.

“Yes….” Cass groaned again as the dildo slipped inside.

Sam pumped a couple of times and when the blond woman started to move back she stopped and waited. Cass gasped; this was clearly going to take some concentration. Very slowly Sam pulled the dildo almost all of the way out and then forcefully pushed back in. The hooker gasped with delight but kept her body very still. Sam let her other hand drift down to the nipple clamps. With the dildo she would build up a steady rhythm and then slow down again. Cass gasped in frustration and then panted when the nipple clamps were removed and blood rushed to the sensitive nubs. The food critic played with each nipple in turn and then brought her free hand to the prostitute’s ass. As her left hand continued to pump steadily she slowly extracted the first anal bead.

“Fuck yes,” Cass panted approvingly.

Sam slapped her on ass cheek hard. “Not another word she warned,” knowing full well the self control it would take the incredibly loud woman to keep it under 100 decibels. She pulled out another bead and as she could feel the woman’s climax rising she began to pull them out more quickly the last one escaping as strong muscles clamped down on the dildo for a final, powerful shove. Sam shoved back sending Cass’ face into the bed where she did her best to stifle her scream of rapture.

She let her lover rest for a moment before gently pulling the dildo free and helping her to a more comfortable position.

Cass rolled over and looked up at Sam, a devilish grin on her face. One long elegant finger stroking down the front of Sam’s shiny black corset. “God, I love you in rubber,” she purred.

Sam smirked, a self-satisfied grin on her face. “I think I’m rather fond of the arrangement myself.”

Just then Tiffany emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered but looking no less turned on than when she’d left them. She looked Sam up and down, now wearing nothing but her PVC skirt and corset.

“Well that’s my cue,” Cass announced matter-of-factly. “I think I’ll treat myself to a nice long hot bath.” She kissed Sam softly on the mouth and winked at the chef. “Have fun kiddies.”

“Did you enjoy your stay at Casa Dominatrix?” Tiffany asked, a warm smile creasing her mouth.

Sam nodded. “I think I could grow fond of that.”

“Oh really,” Tiffany said, arching an eyebrow. “Just how fond?”

Sam put her arms around the taller woman and gave a gentle squeeze. “Not too fond,” she amended. “Maybe I’d like to see you in rubber sometime,” she said. “Pick up a few pointers.”

“Now you’re just flirting,” Tiffany replied, her voice sultry.

Sam shrugged. “Is it working?” She took the chef’s hand and led her back to the bed, glancing purposefully at the clock. “It’s 10:48 she announced. Perhaps you’d like to get started.”

Tiffany blinked. She’d forgotten the three numbers printed on the card.

 “Right,” She said. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice tender, still holding Sam in the circle of her arms.

Sam leaned her head against the chef’s chest listing to a heartbeat she knew nearly as well as her own and nodded. “If I can’t handle it you’ll hear me say Oompa Loompa.” Sam announced bravely. “I’m in good hands, I’ll be fine.”

Tiffany nodded and began to unfasten the laces to the corset Sam was wearing. “You look amazing you know,” she murmured.

“Mmm” Sam replied absently, soaking in the wonder of being held and undressed at the same time. “I’m glad you approve.”

The final lace undone Sam inhaled fully, the first deep breath she’d been able to take in some time. The added oxygen nearly making her head swim. Tiffany carefully tossed the corset to the leather chair and started on the skirt. It was removed and tossed onto the same chair as the corset. Tiffany stepped back from the food critic to appreciate her handiwork.

“I see,” she said surprised.

Sam chuckled. “Courtesy of Cassandra, she thought I was ready for a change.”

“From trimmed to shaved, that’s quite a change.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind?” Sam asked a little uncertain.

Tiffany shook her head. “Fuck no. Although I suppose Blondie is going to think I owe her one.” She shrugged looking appreciatively at her lover once more. “I can live with that. Lets just hope I don’t get the two of you confused now.”

Sam rolled her eyes and mimicking the tone Cass used frequently with the chef said “I’m not the one who’s pierced you clod.”

Smiling the chef extended a strong hand and guided Sam to the bed. She had to move the sheet, given the wet spots that were accumulating there.

Sam complied and lay down on her stomach. She patiently waited for what would happen next. The food critic could hear her pick up the silver tray and place it next to her on the bed. With a gentle hand she traced the small pinpoints left by the needles, happy to see that they were not bleeding. Tiffany then lowered her hand and gently traced the small tribal tattoo just above the crack of her ass. This had been her body modification concession to their Truth or Dare game.

“This has healed really beautifully,” she said appreciatively.

“Thank you,” the food critic replied.

Bringing her hand up Tiffany traced an area in the center of Sam’s back between where the needles had been. “Would you like it here?” she asked, her index finger tracing out a general area. Sam nodded as a breath caught in her throat.

“You’re sure?” Tiffany asked one final time.

Sam nodded once, now not trusting herself to speak.

The next thing Sam felt was the cold sensation of rubbing alcohol as it was applied with a cotton ball. Tiffany took a kneeling position next to Sam on the bed and leaning over the smaller woman started to cut.

Sam wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting, but was acutely surprised at the sensation. She knew the scalpel was incredibly sharp, sharper than an x-acto or cooking knife. She’d sliced her fingers many times, but this was a much more profound pain. After an instant the sensation ended. Sam resumed her breathing, only then realizing that she had stopped.

“You okay?” Tiffany asked.

Sam nodded still not trusting herself to speak. This felt very different from the pinpoints of white light she felt searing through her with the needles. This felt more like a ripping or tearing of her skin. She could only imagine the deep gaping gash that must have been opened on her back. As if reading her thoughts, Tiffany assured her.

“It’s a small cut, about a quarter-inch long, as deep as a solid scrape.” She said. “It always feels more dramatic than it is. When this heals, it probably won’t leave a mark.”

Continued - part 3

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