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.
Michael was still blown away by the house.
"So, Hiromi, may I ask what your husband did before he passed away?"
"Oh sure... He was in organized crime... You've heard of the Yakuza?" she replied evenly.
Michael froze.
"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" she laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Flowers... he owned... I guess I do now... hundreds of greenhouses around the world, and supplied flowers, orchids... even bonsai, like the one in the hall." She giggled again. "You should have seen your face!"
"Whew!" he laughed, thumping his chest to get his heart going again. "You got me good, there!"
"Well, I couldn't have you treating me like a china doll. You're here for a reason, and I need you to relax and be you. Humour is a great icebreaker," she whispered, pushing him onto his back and rolling on top of him.
She weighed next to nothing, like a kitten on his chest. There was something he didn't expect, though. Asian women, in his extremely limited experience, usually were not very well endowed in the breast department, but as she laid on him, he could feel the presence of a firm chest on his.
Hiromi gazed down at him, and he pulled her closer, kissing her pillowy lips gently. She tasted wonderful, and kissed him back, parting her lips to admit his tongue. Several minutes of hot, moaning, passionate frenching ensued, during which his hands explored her firm, muscular little ass.
"Your bath is ready," she whispered, breaking away from his lips and sliding off the bed. When he stood, she started to help remove his clothes, at least the parts she could reach. He was nearly eighteen inches taller than she was, so she concentrated on his lower half. She paused for a second, before pulling his obscenely tented underwear down to see what she was in for.
"Michael!" she giggled, grasping his huge pole with both hands. She could have used about four more to hold it properly. "I think we're going to get along just fine, but I could probably use a little tongue action before you plant this thing in my little pussy!"
"I'd be delighted," he answered, smiling at the thought of sampling her little honeypot.
"First, your bath," she laughed, leading him out onto the patio, where a deep, wooden barrel tub awaited him.
Hiromi helped him into the warm water, directing him to sit on the submerged seat. Once he was in, she knelt on the step, and lathered a cloth, reaching around his body to wash him.
It felt wonderful, and he began to wonder if he could somehow convince Miranda to do this for him.
All too soon, she was helping him out of the tub, patting him dry, and leading him back into the bedroom. He sat on the bed, and she quickly sat on his lap, pressing her lips to his again. She was a fabulous kisser, and Michael immediately put her on his repeat list.
"I can't wait any longer. Please take me Michael," she whispered, sitting up on his lap. She untied the sash on her robe, which was doubled around her narrow waist, karate style. He watched intently as she draped the silky garment off her shoulders, teasing him by concealing her chest. Finally, she smiled, and shrugged it off.
