For those who have followed this series from the start, please enjoy this new chapter. New readers might want to catch up on the first two, and acquaint themselves with Miranda, Michael and the ever expanding cast of women who enjoy Michael's... well, if you've read the first two, you already know.
As always, all characters are over eighteen. Have fun.
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Michael's phone pinged, and he fished it out of his pocket. It was a new phone, with biometric security, and he pressed his thumb to the sensor, unlocking it. The screen lit up, indicating that he should check his schedule for changes.
Miranda had bought him the phone to celebrate their success, and also because she was slightly concerned that someone who shouldn't know about their 'business' might find out. After all, what they were doing, while completely consensual, was technically illegal.
Okay... Maybe not just 'technically'. Sure, he wasn't standing on street corners, but it was still illegal.
Michael flipped through the screens, scrolling to today's date. There it was, a four o'clock appointment where there had been none before.
"Natalya Semenyova. Sounds like a Bond villain," he grunted, eating ravenously, refuelling after a morning of fucking Esmi Martinez's pussy and ass. She was still the only one to risk him using his huge pecker on her ass, and she couldn't get enough, insisting on it every time they got together.
Natalya would be his second 'first-timer' of the day, as he was headed for the first rookie in a few minutes. Hiromi Takara had called last week, booking a spot on what Miranda had called 'United Nations Day", joining Hispanic Esmi and the sultry French Solange Savard. Now, Russian Natalya filled out the schedule. Michael could almost see Miranda giggling as she booked her.
He typed a text message to Miranda.
What? No Swedish bikini models?
Seconds later, she replied.
; ) Sorry, not yet, but I'll keep my eyes open. Have fun.
***
Twenty minutes later, he parked in the driveway of a beautiful home. Very Japanese in style, with ponds and waterfalls, he was awestruck. He took the long, meandering pathway to the front door, where he wondered how to ring the doorbell, deciding to knock instead. He had no idea what to expect when the door opened.
Hiromi Takara stepped aside as she opened the door, bowing slightly. Michael returned it, self consciously, not knowing what to do otherwise. He took in her manner, very respectful and subdued, but she surprised him when she spoke.
"Hello... I assume you're Michael. Please come in," she said in a voice devoid of accent, but still somehow fitting for her stature.
She was... Tiny, like a doll. Maybe five feet tall on tiptoes, with shoulder length, raven-black hair and huge dark eyes, she smiled at him with ruby red, bee-stung lips. She was wearing a long, red silk robe, cinched snugly around her microscopic waist with a black sash and black trim. She was beautiful.
"Yes Ma'am. Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Takara," he answered, taking her offered hand, which was small, delicate, smooth and warm.
"Please, Michael... My husband passed away six years ago, and given what we are about to do, I think first names are appropriate. Call me Hiromi," she laughed, smiling again.
She took him on a quick tour, beginning with the kitchen. The house was like a museum, spotlessly clean, elegant and surprisingly inviting, with rich wood tones abounding.
"I would normally offer you some tea, but I don't think we need that much tradition, today. Something cool... a soft drink perhaps?" she offered. He thanked her, and watched her pour drinks for both of them.
"I'm sorry to hear about your husband," he said quietly, "were you married long?" He was fishing for information. She looked much younger than he'd expected.
"Twelve years. I was very young when we met, and he was much older than I. You were expecting an older woman?"
"Well, I suppose I may have been. I certainly wasn't expecting someone so young and beautiful," he complimented honestly.
"Neither was I!" she giggled. "So, I'm supposed to give you something to do, right?" She winked at him. Michael laughed.
Hiromi glided into the living room with him in her wake. She reached up on tiptoes, using the sides of her index fingers to lift the highest of the displayed katanas from its cradle. She turned to him, still with the sword resting on the sides of her hands, the traditional, non-threatening way to offer someone a deadly weapon. Michael took the sword, unsheathing it at her request.
He doubted Hiromi knew it, but he had a thing for samurai swords, marvelling at the workmanship.
"This is a remarkable piece," he whispered. "Very old, yes?" She smiled, nodding subtly. "Traditional tamahagane, beautiful hamon," he said, inspecting the blade closely. He could see the hundreds of layers that made up the folded steel. "Very beautiful. I should polish it before we put it back, to get my fingerprints off it."
Hiromi handed him the lightly oiled cloth, a slightly amazed look on her face.
"You're just full of surprises, Michael. I wouldn't have expected you to know so much about Japanese swords... and to anticipate your first 'job'. When you're done, put it back, and we'll find something else."
She led the way, stopping at a small, windowed niche in the hallway wall that held a beautiful bonsai tree, which she asked him to water for her, before leading on. She reached the end, and slid the shoji aside.
"You must be exhausted. I apologize for working you so hard," she said quietly, smiling wryly as she led him into the bedroom. She closed the 'door' behind them. "Sit please," she said, gesturing toward the large platform bed. She went across the room, opening the shoji on the outside wall, before coming back to sit beside him.
