I stopped at a liquor store to purchase a pint of cheap bourbon.
The man behind the counter was older and he eyed me up and down with obvious relish, but I ignored him. I was dressed for sex, with a skimpy red halter top that barely contained my breasts. My left nipple was visible and I resisted the urge to cover it, feigning indifference beneath the man's rude stare. My tummy was bare and around my hips I wore a short skirt, cheap and constructed of black vinyl with a pink thong beneath that. My legs were bare and I wore a pair of stiletto heels, only two inches, but even that seemed ludicrous to me. I'd tried on a pair with four inch heels and nearly broken an ankle; my taste in shoes had never extended to such things.
They had their uses though, and those shoes pushed my ass out nicely in one direction while thrusting my pert breasts out the other. I wore too much makeup and I felt like a clown, although it seemed the clerk didn't think so, but he'd hardly glanced at my face until I'd paid him for the whiskey. He carded me just to find out my name. I got back into my car, a leased corvette, and picked up the map sitting on the passenger seat beside me. I was in Mission Bay and La Jolla wasn't very far away, just up the freeway a few miles. I had some time to kill as I wanted to arrive towards the end of the evening shift.
I'd been to San Diego once before, but only briefly, so I wasn't entirely familiar with the city. I much preferred Europe to the United States, although most of my contracts were in America. It was an easy country to work in, even in the aftermath of September Eleventh. You could still get away with murder in the States, but that was true anywhere really. America just made it so much easier and I was well practiced in the arts.
My mother had been a true geisha and mistress to Mr. Yamashita as a young woman. After my birth he'd arranged for her marriage to a certain Mr. Fuchida, who worked as a mid-level executive for Mr. Yamashita's company. Mr. Fuchida remained diligent and attentive to his new family and over the years Mr. Yamashita had ensured the man's continued success. As a child, from age three onwards, I'd been taught the customs and rituals of the geisha, as well as martial arts, herbalism, and Japanese alchemy. I possessed a real talent for such things and a faculty for languages and mathematics. When I turned seven years old, I'd been introduced to Mr. Yamashita and we spoke at great length about my future. He asked me penetrating questions and my answers had pleased him, enough so that he took my virginity that night and I didn't resist him. Nor did I resist when I was not returned to my parents, but given completely by Mr. Yamashita to a Western woman, a new mother to love me.
It would be nearly ten years before I saw my parents again.
I was not the first or only one of his children to be enrolled in Mr. Yamashita’s program, if you could call it that, but I was his most successful to be sure. Mr. Yamashita had it in mind that he would have someone near him bound by more than money or honor, but by blood as well. Someone who could handle his most private concerns with efficient discretion, as he liked to say. As soon as I was able, however, I'd slipped my bonds and entered the world at large, foregoing all contact with my biological father for several years. I was rebellious, I suppose, and willful as a daughter must be, and to his credit Mr. Yamashita understood that. He indulged me patiently until at last I returned to him, in a manner of speaking. I accepted his employment, for brief periods, jobs much like this one, and I became aware of his desire to draw me closer.
This contract, the one with Foxtrot, would strengthen our relationship further and there would come a day when Mr. Yamashita would offer me a place at his table. My own plan was to accept the inevitable only when it was to my greatest advantage to do so. I would make myself invaluable to him, a necessity upon which he relied, and use that to assure my own future. I would never succeed him as head of his company, nor would he ever acknowledge me as his child publicly, but there are layers of power hidden and secret from the world, where reality is forged by the will of individuals who do not exist for ordinary mortals. They are like gods living in shadow.
I would be content with that
The facility was modern and simple, with a winding drive up a short hill and into a well lit parking lot. Three buildings stood there, constructed of steel and blue tinted glass. The main building, closest to the parking area, held administration offices. Behind it, on the left and right respectively, were a theoretical laboratory and a biochemical research laboratory. The theoretical lab had been designed for computer research, simulations and data analysis in a bio-free environment. The biochemical lab was a level three facility, certified by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It was a hot lab, meaning there were biological and chemical agents hazardous to humans present. It was where animal research for Mary was conducted on chimpanzees.
I pulled into the lot quickly, parking my yellow corvette half on the curb and sideways near the main entrance. I stumbled out, dragging my crumpled and unfolded map behind me as I made my way towards the glass doors. I giggled and smiled and adjusted my tits with one hand, bumping hard into one of the doors when it failed to open automatically as I'd plainly expected it to. I swore at it, shouldering the glass open and then grinned at the man in the blue security uniform who was standing behind a counter.
"Excuse me," he narrowed his eyes, having long since put his newspaper down. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, God!" I rolled my eyes. "Yeah!"
He appeared to be in his forties, barrel chested and a little heavy, I thought. His large belly strained at a couple of the buttons on his shirt. He smiled at me, looking both amused and curious as I walked towards him in my heels, still holding the map and tugging at my short skirt. I'd taken a large mouthful of bourbon and spit it into my hand, then combed my wet fingers through my hair. So far as perfume went, it was cheap but effective.
"Uh, are you okay?" He was standing and shaking his head.
Behind him there was a hallway, turning left and right with a bank of elevators at the center of the intersection. The admin building had a basement and three floors. I very much wanted to go down that hallway.
"I was looking…Is this San Jose?" I frowned and pulled my map over my head with a flourish, slapping it down on the counter.
"San Jose? You know!" I giggled drunkenly and started singing. "Do you know the way, hey! San Jose!"
"Uh, you're not even close," he laughed at me. "What you have to do is…"
"I need a bathroom." I bit my bottom lip and looked around. "You got a little ladies room in here?"
"Uh, what's that?"
"I'm gonna pee." I leaned forward, breathing into his face. "Can I pee here?"
"No, you, uh…Jesus…" he licked his lips.
"I bet they're down there, huh?" I started walking towards the hallway and the elevators.
"Hey! Miss…Uh, lady…Hold on, you can't…" He left his station and I walked quickly, pressing my right hand between my thighs.
"Which way?" I stood near the elevators looking left and right as he caught up a second later. "Don't grab me!"
"We need to return to the front and, uh…"
"What if I grabbed you?" I giggled and reached for the front of his trousers, pressing my hand to what could only be a semi-hard penis.
I could have disarmed him then, put him on the carpet rather easily, but that wasn't the point.
"Uh…No…" he laughed and still held my arm, trying to pull me along, but I was resisting.
"Ohhhh…You're packing a big…gun, officer!" I gave him a squeeze and a grin. "You wanna watch me pee?"
"No, please, Miss…Enough…"
"Please? Oh please…Just a bathroom! Don't make me pee outside!"
"Uh…" he looked over his shoulder at the deserted lobby, "...Okay, it's there…That, way come on…Just use the bathroom fast, okay? I'm not supposed to let you do this."
"You're my hero!" I giggled and he was actually pulling me towards the ladies room. "You saved me!"
"Yeah, yeah…Okay…There, just hurry up…"
I laughed and waved my fingers at him as I went inside, feeling the wall for a light switch and finding it. I washed my face and hands and just frowned at myself in the mirror for a moment. I waited until his patience had run out, which wasn't very long at all, and there came a sharp rapping on the door followed by his muffled voice.
"Hurry up, lady…Come on…"
It was a nice bathroom, so far as such things go, and generous with three stalls and an equal number of sinks. There was a closet near the door and finding it unlocked, I stepped into it carefully, keeping the handle turned as I pulled the door closed and leaned my head near it. I had my Colt in my right hand with the safety engaged and now all I had to do was wait about twenty seconds.
There came another knocking, the man's voice once more, this time warning me that he was coming in to get me. I heard the door open and then his footsteps on the tile; his voice was close, coming through the closet door as he walked past it.
"Miss? Hey…Where are you? Are you okay?"
I stepped out quickly and stood about three feet behind the man when I pressed the muzzle of my weapon to the back of his head.
"Not a fuckin' word. Move your hands away from your body, that's it, slowly. Now get on your knees…Slow, real slow…"
"Shhh…" I pressed the steel harder to his skull. "Now put your hands together, behind your back, interlock your fingers…Tighter…Keep them just like that…Cross your ankles…"
I grabbed his handcuffs off his utility belt, keeping that gun against his head the whole time while I cuffed him. I removed his gun then, ejecting the clip and putting his weapon into my purse.
"How many more guards are there?" I asked, staying behind the man and when he tried to turn his head I tapped him hard with the barrel.
"There's just me," he lied.
"You sure?" I moved my Colt, jamming it hard between his legs, pointing upward and pressing the muzzle against his balls. "I'll fuckin' castrate you if I have to ask three times. How many guards are there?"
"Don't shoot! Two!" he answered after a second's pause. He was sweating. "I mean one, me and another guy, there's two of us. I swear."
"Good," I nodded. "And the other guy, where's he at?"
"I don't know, uh…I don't!" he jerked as I pressed harder with the gun. "He's the rover, he walks around."
"When's he check in?"
"Every half hour, he…He has to show up at the desk," the man cleared his throat. "You want me to, uh, call him? I got a radio…"
"No," I laughed. "That wouldn't be too good for me, would it? When's he due? Don't lie to me."
"On the half hour," the man sighed and I glanced at my watch. I had about ten minutes, this hadn't taken very long at all.
"What do you want?" The guy tried turning his head again.
"I want to free the monkeys!" I giggled and pulled my gun away. "Don't go anywhere."
I grabbed his radio and left the bathroom, walking back to the lobby. I put the radio behind the counter and picked up my map, using it to conceal my Colt. I stood in the center of the lobby then, looking around like I was lost and bored and expecting someone to help me out. I had to wait all of five minutes before the other guard showed up, coming in through the main doors.
"Excuse me, where's…" He'd looked at me first, since I'd made a point of being noticeable, and then he'd looked for his partner naturally.
"Hi!" I smiled brightly and rolled my eyes, stepping towards him. "I'm so lost!"
"…Miller?" he finished and he looked a little smarter than his friend maybe. "Don't move!"
He was going for his gun, but mine was already in his face as I let the map fall away with a thin rustle.
"Hands on top of your head now," I told him and this was a dangerous game, but I did love it so. "Slowly…That's a good boy…Now turn around to your right, slow…Slow…Stop…Hands behind your back, interlock your fingers…And good…Kneel down…Carefully…Cross your ankles…"
"What do you want? Where's Miller?" he asked as I handcuffed him.
"He had to use the bathroom." I pulled his gun from its holster, ejecting the clip. "Is your supervisor on speed dial?"
"What?" He turned his head as I walked towards the security station.
"Your supervisor. What's his phone number?" I asked slowly, putting my own gun down.
I jacked the slide on his nine mill, losing the round in the chamber and set that aside as well. I did the same with Miller's, retrieving it from my purse and emptying the chamber before setting it down. I put my own gun back in my purse, I wouldn't need it anymore, and in truth I'd never needed it. Not with those two guys.
"Uh, it's uh…Dennis, um…Number nine…Autodial number nine."
"Dennis, huh?" I shook my head and picked up the phone. It was ten thirty-three on a Thursday night and Dennis was about to get unhappy.
"Yeahllo…" he answered on the fifth ring, sounding sleepy.
"Dennis?" I asked.
"Yeah, who's this?"
"I'm Miss Fuchida, the new Project Security Officer and I am holding both of your guards hostage."
"I don't understand…What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're about twenty minutes away from being fired." I hung up the phone.
"You…You're the new security officer?" The guy on his knees stared at me.
"Pretty good drill, huh?" I smiled at him.
If I were really doing my job I would have fired all three of the men, the two guards and their supervisor. Unfortunately I needed to keep everyone exactly where they were until I'd assessed who was involved in Foxtrot and who wasn't. It had been a fun little exercise anyway and it was only mildly disappointing how easy it really was to penetrate the facility. In my experience getting inside such places was the simple part; knowing what to do with the access, that required some real thought.
My girls were kneeling by the door when I arrived home, at the house provided for me by the company. There was a permanent maid who lived there, a Japanese-American named Annette, and she would already be asleep in her room. I'd previously explained what I required of the woman, which was very little. I was bathed and fed a light dinner by Ivy and Hemlock and after they joined me in my bed. I'd made it clear that their place was with me.
My two beautiful Bonsai.
Ivy, the female, lay on her back with her pale legs spread while the other, Hemlock, licked and kissed the hairless slit beneath her mouth. The child's sex was small and pink, with the mere suggestion of a clitoris budding at the top of her smooth cleft. She had tiny, thin labia and Hemlock spread them with her fingers carefully so that she might tickle the delicate interior of the girl's pussy with her tongue.
I had Hemlock's ass raised, on her knees with legs spread slightly, and I played with her cock and balls while I mouthed the child's asshole. She tasted sweet and clean, the way they always did, and I coaxed her to open for my tongue, to let me into her tiny rectum and taste my precious lover completely. Hemlock's penis grew hard beneath my fingers, thick as my thumb and not much longer. She was uncircumcised and I played with her velvet foreskin, pulling it back to reveal the immature glans hidden within. She was so sensitive, shivering at my touch and rocking her delightfully round tight ass against my kisses.
We played like that for some time, until I'd opened the girl's anus enough to get some bit of my tongue inside her. Hemlock seemed close to orgasm and that amazed me as she was so young and I wouldn't have suspected either of them capable, but the human body is a remarkable device and these two in particular were sexual creatures, shaped and educated to just this purpose. I let her go reluctantly, for I very much wanted to watch them fuck and I urged Hemlock to mount her sister then.
She did as she was told, quickly and with a shy smile over her shoulder, as if unaccustomed to being allowed so much personal pleasure. I sat back, rubbing my cunt slowly, fingering myself as I watched the girl's penis press into the tiny slit of her sister. Ivy welcomed her sibling happily, with a kiss and a glance at me. I reassured the child with a smile of my own and then she closed her eyes, tilting her head back as Hemlock's small, but remarkably hard penis pushed inside the girl completely.
It didn't take long, a couple minutes or three at the very most, before Hemlock began to tremble, thrusting quickly and then suddenly stopping with her cock thrust as far into her sister as possible. She was cumming, spraying her incestuous seed inside Ivy and I moaned with perverse pleasure at the sight of them. They stayed like that for several minutes, until it occurred to me that they were waiting upon my direction and I smiled. I put Hemlock over her sister's face, so that Ivy could clean the cum from her sister's cock and balls and thighs.
I took the girl's pussy for myself, spreading her little cunt and seeing her pink and red and pooled with milky sperm. She had not been penetrated very deeply of course, and her sex held Hemlock's spend much like a smallish tea cup waiting to be sipped. I enjoyed that quite a bit, lapping up fresh cum from the girl's pussy and swallowing it with pleasure. I took my time and made certain that I cleaned the child well. I used my finger, just one as she was very small inside, to explore the girl's vagina. Ivy had no hymen, of course, and I assumed Mr. Yamashita had seen to that personally. She was tight inside and hot, the walls of her pussy clamping down on my finger hard, as if suckling upon my digit like a newborn.
If Ivy had lost her virginity to a man's cock, I thought it had only happened once, for she seemed entirely unspoiled and I withdrew my finger slowly and immediately pressed it against Hemlock's anus, driving my finger quickly into the girl while her flaccid cock pressed into Ivy's suckling mouth. I tickled her immature prostate, my finger long enough inside the child's small body to reach that peculiar pillow, and it was a joy to finger the girl's ass thoroughly, savoring the warm tightness within. I continued to play with Hemlock's ass like that, while she turned and moved and brought her mouth to my aching nipples.
Ivy had moved between my legs and she'd bring me to several orgasms before we were through. Her particular pleasure was fisting me, I think, in my pussy or in my ass, but especially my ass for some reason. I wouldn't complain about it, however, because she was so talented with her mouth and fingers that it never became uncomfortable. Ivy had such tiny hands anyway and once the girl had one inside my rectum she would make good use of it, moving her fingers and rotating her fist, and making me pant with delirious rapture as I came hard beneath her attentions.
Could anyone blame me for falling in love with my two slaves?
When Hemlock's penis had grown hard once again, I moved her so that she was straddling my body. I held her perfectly round ass in my hands and she rubbed herself against my tits, her cock sliding over and between them, jabbing into my firm flesh at times, and leaving small trails of precum across my feverish body to cool in the night air. She was masturbating against me and I held her that way, guiding her with my hands squeezing her pliant buttocks, watching her little cock moving against my body. Her pinkish scrotum, so tight and smooth, and hairless of course, played across my skin and she seemed amazingly soft there.
Ivy was in my pussy with her hand by then, fucking me with it the way she didn't with my ass. She could fist my pussy easily; pulling her small fist out slowly and then shoving it back inside quickly with a curiously wonderful stretching sensation. It was good like that and I had to lift my hips to meet her, fucking myself on her hand and urging the child to do it faster and deeper, to work her arm into me until I could feel her delicate fingers curled and pressing against the bottom of my sex.
We were going to cum, Hemlock and I together, which seemed madly appropriate. She began grinding her ruddy penis against my tits and I slipped a finger once more into her ass, jabbing inside her hard so that I might bring the girl off more quickly. I teetered on the edge, biting my lips and moaning, rocking my body as Ivy fucked me with her forearm buried inside my cunt halfway to her elbow. She'd found the soft pillow of my cervix with her knuckles and she knew that I especially liked to feel her fist rotating there. The miniscule ridges ratcheting across my tender flesh drove me to new heights of ecstasy and when Hemlock finally came, shooting her hot semen across my left breast, painting my nipple with it briefly before her balls slid wetly across the stain, I was cumming as well.
Some minutes later I cradled my two young lovers to me, closing my eyes as they licked my body clean, gathering Hemlock's orgasm from my heaving breasts and sharing it occasionally with silent, giggling kisses. I felt tired and dreamy and I asked them if they were happy, for it seemed important to me just then. I had to open my eyes to see their serious nods and I eyed them sharply, warning them that I wanted the truth always, a lie would be punished severely, but the truth only rewarded. I asked them again and again they nodded, bowing their heads as best they were able, and I nodded as well, satisfied in my belief that they were content.
I smiled and held them tightly, waiting for sleep to take me, and I wondered at this seduction. I'd never worried over another's happiness before in my life, and it was a strange, but not entirely unwelcome sensation. I wondered if this was how Margaret had felt towards me and that brought a sigh because I hadn't thought of her in a long time. Too long.
1988 - Las Vegas, Nevada
My new mom wouldn't let me leave our rooms for a week, and then two weeks. All of our meals were already cooked, even though we had a kitchen, and someone would knock on the door, bringing it in on a little cart. I could eat whatever I wanted. I liked that a lot and it was good too. Mostly we spent a lot of time talking. I called her Mom all the time by then and I didn't think about my first mom or dad too much anymore. But I dreamed about them a lot. Mom told me it was okay to dream. But we wouldn't talk about them. They were dead and so was the little girl they’d had.
I didn't know what she meant. That was me, wasn't it? But Mom said no, she wasn't me, because I was Wendy now. I'd been asleep a long time and just dreamed I was that other girl. It sounded funny, hearing her say that, but after a while I thought maybe my mom was right. I could barely remember some stuff, like my old bedroom. I couldn't remember if the walls had been pink or yellow. Every time I tried to close my eyes and remember it, my old room was just black and white.
We lived in Las Vegas, Mom told me one day. I'd asked her before where we were, but she wouldn't tell me, and then one day she did. We looked out the big windows at it. We were up pretty high and everything looked small. It was morning and we'd just had a breakfast of pancakes and bacon from our magic cart. We weren't alone, of course. Izawa-san was with me, my sensei from the Dojo in Kyoto where I'd spent two hours every morning and three hours every afternoon since I could remember. He'd come with us to this strange place and he was Ninja and very old. I remember he would beat me severely if I was inattentive. I didn't like him very much, but I loved Nomuri-san. She was my tutor and old like Izawa, and I drank her lessons like a sponge.
They were both very proud of me.
"We live in Las Vegas, Wendy. Do you know where that is?" Mom looked at me and I shook my head. "It's a magic place, where you can do whatever you want to."
That made me laugh and Mom laughed too.
"Do I have to go to school?" I asked her.
"No, Wendy. Your school is here, with me. I'll teach you everything you need to know."
“Even magic?” I giggled.
“Especially magic, Wendy.” She was hugging me, just a little with her arm around my shoulders. “The best kind of magic in the whole world. You’ll see.”
"I heard it, but I didn't believe it," the man said. He was old, but not really old. Thin without being skinny and dressed nice, with neat black hair and sunglasses.
Mom had told me were going to have company. It was a long time after we started living in the hotel, maybe as long as year, but maybe not. He was the first visitor we'd had, so far as I knew, and Mommy didn't seem real happy about it. She'd told me not to say anything. Not a single word, no matter what I saw or heard. I found that disappointing because my English had improved greatly and I was eager to speak with someone in that language. I spoke with Mom and Nomuri-san, and the maids of course, and other people around the hotel, even guests occasionally when I went swimming or to the gymnasium, but this man would be a guest in our home. I wanted to impress him, and my mother as well, but I would only obey her wishes.
"What if he says hello to me, Mommy?" I'd asked.
"Just look at him," she said.
"What if he asks my name?"
"Don't tell him."
"Because that way he'll never forget you," Mommy smiled and it made me giggle a little, wondering how he'd ever remember me if he didn't even know who I was.
Now that he was here I found it easy not to say anything.
I sat on one of the big chairs, wearing a kimono with my face scrubbed pink and my black hair pinned with a sandalwood comb, like I was going to a shrine. Izawa-san would bring me to a Shinto shrine sometimes, so we could call upon the kami for guidance and strength. Nomuri would attend with us as well, but never my mother. I would offer silk ribbons for my parents and pray that they would remember me.
Mom said that she and God had an understanding. "I stay out of His way, and He stays out of mine," she'd told me the one time I'd asked about it. I didn't really understand that, since my sensei had always told me that there are many gods and they are everywhere, in all of us and everything around us. So how could He stay out of the way? But I didn't ask that. Mom could get a little mad if I asked too many questions about silly things like God.
The man sat on the sofa, looking at me through his dark glasses and I looked back, staring at myself in the twin black mirrors which covered his eyes. Mom sat down close to me, in another chair, and she'd stroked my hair for a moment, reassuring me that it was okay, but I think she was more frightened than I was, which seemed funny because Mommy was never scared. Perhaps she was only nervous.
"Well, now you know," Mom shrugged.
"You're going soft Maggie. I thought you were all ice and here you are..." the man smiled, "...vulnerable."
"You think so, Sanderson?" Mom laughed softly.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" He leaned over the coffee table, his elbows on his knees and I just looked at him, remembering what my mom had said. "Don't want to tell me, huh?"
I gave him the barest shake of my head, but that was all he needed.
"Did your mommy tell you not to tell me?" He smiled like he knew a secret and it frightened me a little. I glanced at Mommy, but she was sitting back, legs crossed and her arms resting easily on the chair, like she didn't care at all, but she was very nervous inside.
I nodded, just a little.
"Okay. That's okay then," he nodded too, like we'd come to an agreement. "Cute kid." He was looking at my mom again. "You have a nice thing here. A real deal."
"What's the job?" Mom asked, ignoring his words. "You didn't come all the way out here just to see her."
"No, I didn't." He smiled at me. "I'm glad I did though." He looked back at Mom, sitting back on the couch and crossing his long legs. "Khalil al-Wazir. You know the name?"
"I know it," Mom answered.
"He's going to be in Tunisia. Three days, arriving on the 15th, then he goes to Tripoli," the man tilted his head slightly. "We don't want him to make it that far."
"That's big game," Mom licked her lips. "PLO."
"There's a premium. Three hundred kay," Sanderson said.
"You're taking contracts for the Mossad now?" Mom laughed. "This is a bad business. Iran-Contra isn't enough for you guys?"
"Nobody knows but me and you, Maggie. I'm just the messenger." He jerked his head at me. "You got a little something now, something worth keeping. Think about it."
"Take your time..." the man was getting up, "...I'll have a cigarette outside." He gave my mom a little smile and moved to the balcony, opening the big glass door and stepping into the cool Nevada night.
I liked the balcony, although I was a little scared of it too. We were really up high and sometimes I dreamt I was falling off of it, but I always woke up before I hit the ground. In the daytime it was hot outside, but at night it was nice, and sometimes me and Mommy would just sit there, listening to the city below us and looking at all the bright lights blinking on and off. We talked sometimes, and sometimes we didn't. Sometimes, a lot of times, Mommy would just hold me, kissing me until I fell asleep, or she got sleepy and took me to bed. We always slept together, naked mostly, and I'd become used to it. I'd become used to her and it made me happy.
I didn't say anything. Mom was thinking, I could tell. Her eyes stared at the wall, and her fingers and thumb on her right hand rubbed together slowly. She didn't know she was doing it, but when she was really thinking hard, that's how I could tell. I just sat quietly, kicking my feet a little, and wondering what they'd been talking about. Some of it had been about me, and some of it seemed to be about me, but wasn't. I knew that much, but I didn't know what it meant.
"Beautiful night out there." The man was coming back and I turned my head to look at him. He stood in the doorway, between our sitting room and the kitchen, behind my mom.
"I need five hundred. Three up front, I'll take a note for the rest on delivery." Mommy didn't look at him, she was looking at me. "Six passports too. Three for me, three for her. Not American."
"That's it?" the man asked as my mom turned her head to look at him.
"This comes out and I'll come looking for you," she told him.
"This comes out and you'll need a shovel to find me," he chuckled. "It's always nice to see you, Maggie."
He left without another word and only after the door was shut and locked did Mom seem to relax. She poured herself a drink from the bar and put some orange juice in a glass for me, and we sat on the balcony without speaking for about fifteen minutes before she patted her thighs, calling me over with a smile so I could crawl into her lap.
"Hey! Guess what tomorrow is?" She rubbed her hand under my dress, feeling my little tummy.
"What?" I smiled, squirming a little because her fingernails tickled.
"Tomorrow is your birthday!" She kissed my nose. "Bet you didn't know that!"
"Tomorrow?" I laughed. "My birthday isn't tomorrow!" I thought she was teasing me. Tomorrow was Halloween, October 31st.
"It is now, Wendy. It's your new birthday from now on," Mom kissed my lips gently. "And we can do whatever you want tomorrow."
"Anything?" I widened my eyes. "Can we go to Circus Circus?"
"Sure we can go to Circus Circus." She moved her hand up, working her fingers across my eight year old nipples the way she liked. My dress was a little tight though and Mommy used her other hand to unbutton the back of it.
"Can I have a pony?" I smiled, knowing she would say no to that, and I shrugged my shoulders out of my dress as Mom loosened it.
"Of course you can," she laughed softly and pressed her face against my neck, nuzzling me and making me giggle. "It's your birthday."
And then she was kissing me, the way she liked with her tongue in my mouth, wiggling against mine softly. Her fingers played with my nipples, which were flat and soft, not like hers at all. Sometimes I wished I was older, but Mommy didn't care, she told me she loved my body just the way it was. She had taught me how to kiss her back and I did, pushing my tongue into her mouth and then turning in her lap so I could spread my legs around her waist as we sat in the deck chair. It was comfortable like that and Mommy moved her hands down my back, to feel my small butt under my bunched up dress.
We kissed for a long time, mostly with our lips and mouths, but later Mommy kissed my body, my nipples especially. She liked to bite sometimes and at first it had hurt and frightened me, but I'd grown used to it by then and I liked it mostly. She would suck on them too, like she was trying to make them grow, and that always felt good. I kissed hers as well. Mom liked it when I undressed her, as much as she liked undressing me, and she'd watch my little fingers as I unbuttoned her blouse. She never wore a bra and I'd open her shirt like a birthday present, smiling and giggling sometimes because it was fun. Then I'd kiss her boobs and her nipples, doing it the way Mommy had taught me, getting better at it every time.
Later, Mommy brought me to bed, carrying me easily, although she usually complained that I was getting heavy. She was only teasing though. I was still very small and she was strong, much stronger than she looked. Mom put me on the bed and finished taking off my dress, then my shoes and socks and panties until I lay there naked, looking up at her and laughing. She took off her own clothes then, dropping her skirt and taking off the funny leather holster around her thigh. She'd been wearing it because of the man and I was glad she hadn't killed him. She'd told me she might and I'd believed her.
When Mommy joined me on the bed, we kissed again, touching each other all over. Sometimes Mom liked it when I touched her breasts, other times she wanted me to touch her cunt, which was the word she always used. I hadnt known what it meant at first, but as my English improved I understood that it was a vulgar word and I'd blushed when I'd heard her say it. But my new mom liked it and wanted me to say it as well, especially when we were in bed together.
"Kiss mommy's cunt now, Wendy...Mmmm...Kiss it for me..." Mom pushed me down and I did my best.
I was still learning though and Mommy would tell me what to do sometimes. Pushing my head one way, or pulling me another way. Telling me to use my tongue or my lips, or my fingers sometimes. Other times she would just lay there smiling, watching me and letting me do whatever I wanted. I liked the way she tasted, especially after I did it for a few minutes, or when she got really excited, because her scent and flavor became really strong then. Like those funny juices that are all different kinds mixed up. Sour and sweet and tangy all at the same time.
Mommy held my head, playing with my black hair which was now almost as long as it had been the day Mr. Yamashita had given me to her. Mom's hips were moving and I just licked her mostly, playing between the lips of her cunt and sometimes sucking that part she called her clit, because Mom really liked that. She grew excited and it was even exciting me, except I was too little to get truly aroused. Mom said that would happen soon though and I couldn't wait. I wanted to share what Mom was feeling as she rocked her hips and pushed her cunt against my face, giving me her funny juice so I could drink it. She moaned and bit her lips, telling me I was her little cunt lapper and her baby whore, whatever that meant. I wasn't too sure about some of the things Mom said.
When she was really feeling good, that's when Mommy would pull me to her, kissing my lips and pushing her tongue inside my mouth so she could taste herself on me. She'd squeeze my body between her legs, moving her cunt up and down against my thigh sometimes, or between my legs, against my own little pink cunt, and that felt pretty good for me too. I liked it when Mommy did that. She told me that was when we were really making love, when she was fucking me with her cunt. It made me wet too and I could almost imagine it was my juice that was running down my hot skin, mine and Mommy's mixed together because we were making love.
1991 - Las Vegas, Nevada
I was sitting across from Izawa-san, naked but for a thin cotton robe belted loosely around my tiny waist. We had our legs crossed and our hands resting easily on our knees, looking at each other across three sticks of sweet incense burning with scarlet smoke. It was cool in that room, one of the bedrooms of our suite, but all the furnishings had been removed years before. It was empty and white and the afternoon sun streamed warm through the large windows to my left.
My mom was there, standing quietly against the wall to my right and I could see her plainly, although my eyes were fixed on the old man in front of me. I could sense Nomuri-san as well, my teacher, who was sleeping in the next room. I was aware of the newlywed couple fucking in the room directly beneath us, and the maid pushing her cart slowly through the hall outside. I knew where they were, what they were feeling, even what they were thinking to some extent. All of them were open to me, except the old man who had been my sensei for almost nine years, since I'd been three years old and he'd given me my first lesson. It had been instruction in how to properly bow.
He was a shadow to me, empty and dark and I would appear the same to him, or so I hoped. We'd been sitting for one thousand two hundred and twelve heartbeats. Just over eighteen minutes and I could sense my mother's impatience. She appreciated Izawa-san's skills, but she didn't understand them, and so she had little interest in anything but the results. She couldn't see the contest being fought, only a very old man and an eleven year old girl staring at each other.
Without thinking of it, or anticipating my decision in any way, I brought my left hand up to grasp the folding fan which had suddenly appeared as if from thin air. I opened it with a flick of my wrist which also served to bring the fan's corrugated blade in a deadly arc through the old man's throat. My motion was so fast that the only thing my mother saw was that I suddenly sat with an extended paper fan just behind my right ear, my left arm across my body now. My sensei was dead, I thought, but he merely nodded and I realized he'd anticipated my attack and moved out of the way. I hadn't even nicked him, which was more disappointing than it should have been.
"You moved too quickly," he said gently. "You must catch the fan. Let it fall into the world before taking it."
"Hai." I lowered my head, accepting his critique. I had been moving too soon and he was correct, as always. Anyone else in the world would have been dead, but I hadn't been trying to kill anyone else, I'd been trying to kill Izawa-san, and so I'd failed.
"Where did that come from?" Mom asked as I rose slowly, bowing once more and perfectly before leaving my Master to prepare his afternoon tea.
"Our bedroom." I looked at my mom. "It was on your dresser."
"I know where it was." She glanced at Izawa-san and then looked back at me. "How did it get here?"
"Magic," I shrugged and then smiled, not understanding her confusion.
She followed me as I left the room, moving towards the kitchen. "Explain it to me, Wendy."
"Explain what, Mother?" I began fixing the tray, laying the fan upon it, folded now and harmless.
"How the fan got from our bedroom to your hand, what do you think?" She almost laughed, but it was her frustration being voiced. She'd always been a practical woman and understood only practical things. It was why God was a mystery to her, I thought.
"The fan exists in my mind," I said, trying to find words to describe the indescribable. "I just moved it, called it, kind of."
"Called it," Mom stared at me. "And you can do this...With anything? Anytime?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "If I know where something is. I really have to think about it though."
I continued preparing the things I would need for Izawa-san's tea, arranging everything perfectly, for there is a harmony that must be found in all things, arrangements which serve the world best. The smallest disruption would spoil the whole. The tea ceremony was a celebration of that harmony, of proportion and agreement. By performing it correctly, seeking to be perfect in my movement and attitude, I honored both my teacher and myself, as well as the world around us. It was where my strength was born and my mother should have been far more interested in that, I thought, than the rather simple trick of calling a fan from one room into the next. Without such discipline as the tea ceremony required, the fan would have remained on her dresser forever.
"Show me," Mom insisted and I knew it was useless to argue with her and I didn't want to lose my center to such emotions.
"I'll try," I said after a moment's hesitation. "What do you want me to..."
"I don't care...A gun, the Browning in the nightstand," Mom answered quickly and I nodded, finding the weapon with my mind.
I knew exactly where it was and I could feel it. The shape of the gun. Its weight. I could smell the oil and acrid scent of gunpowder. I held it clearly in my head and visualized it in my right hand as I stood there. It wasn't in the nightstand, I told the universe, the weapon was with me. It was always with me, right here in my hand. That other gun was an illusion, a ghost of the real one, the gun beneath my fingers. The gun I held up for my mother to inspect.
"Okay," Mom said and she was wide-eyed and frightened suddenly and I held the gun out to her, offering it because I knew she found comfort in such things, but she refused to take it.
"You said this was a magic place. Remember?" I smiled, kissed her cheek, and set the gun on the counter, picking up the tray carefully and composing my thoughts.
1995 - Richmond, Virginia
She came home with someone else, a stranger. I was wary of strangers, we both were, and she should have known better. I was in the kitchen, mixing some orange juice, and I looked up as they walked into the living room, watching them across the breakfast bar that separated us. The stranger was a man, mid thirties maybe, a little heavyset with a receding hairline and brown eyes. He had a gun in a shoulder holster, left side, under his suit coat. He was nervous, but not frightened. Feeling a little sure of himself probably and he was a salesman. I took all that in as naturally as breathing.
"Hi Mom," I called out, opening the refrigerator and putting the orange juice on the shelf. I bent down a little and opened the plastic drawer labeled 'fruit' where the .38 was stashed.
"Hey, Wendy," she smiled and it was okay.
If she'd called me anything else, like honey or sugar or darling, I'd have come out Annie Oakley. I breathed a little sigh of relief. I had a date that night and I didn't want to break it for some asshole like that.
I walked out of the kitchen carrying a glass of orange juice and leaned up against the wall. I was just in panties and a t-shirt, but I didn't care. "Who are you?"
"Peter Goodhue, meet my daughter, Wendy," Mom introduced us, smiling just a little, I thought. "Mr. Goodhue is with the government, dear." She was taking off her heels.
"A pleasure, Wendy." He sounded like he looked. Overpaid.
"No shit. Ours or theirs?" I stared at him and he shifted slightly, looking at me just long enough to get a hard-on. He liked his girls young.
"His," she shrugged. "Let's get on with it." Mom looked at me and I rolled my eyes, leaving my juice on the breakfast bar.
I followed them into the den and Mom flipped a light switch and then closed the door behind me. There weren't any windows in that room. I hated it. Mom pointed at the sofa against the right wall and the Fed sat down. My mom took a Queen Elizabeth chair opposite the guy, with a little coffee table in between. There was another chair, but I just stood there, watching.
"Okay, what do you want?" Mom leaned back in her chair, smoothing her skirt as if she were already bored. I walked over to stand behind her, my hand drifting down to rub her shoulder gently.
"You've been contracted for Javier by the BRSM, the Moestravka Group. We want you to reconsider your involvement with the Belyorussian Solidarity Movement. We are prepared to buy your contract from you at cost, plus 10% for your...Inconvenience." He licked his lips and looked at us, his eyes darting back and forth. "The Special Representative of the Secretary General is under the protection of the United States government until the current crisis in Russia is resolved. If you attempt to fulfill your contract, if you try to assassinate Javier, neither you..." he looked at my mom and then turned to stare at me, "...nor the Witch, will survive, I assure you."
"I see," Mom reached up and patted my hand, still resting on her shoulder. "And you need an answer, when?"
"Now." His apologetic smile was insincere.
I shot him in the chest twice, and once on the head, just above his left eye. The silenced Browning was a quiet gun, or as quiet as a gun could be. It still sounded loud in that little room.
"So much for my date." I lifted the pistol to my nose, rather liking the unique smell of a freshly fired gun, and adjusted my panties. They’d ridden up a little high.
"Sorry dear," Mom sighed and looked at the guy bleeding all over our sofa. "Let's get out of here."
The guy, Goodhue, might have tried to take us, but I doubted it. He was just a messenger and now he'd deliver one for us. We packed quickly, efficiently, and within a few hours we were on our way to Madrid. I didn't care about politics, but I was just fifteen years old, what did I know about it? Maybe Mom did, but I don't think so. She didn’t really care. It wasn't money either. We had enough of that, I knew. Mr. Yamashita was paying my mother a great deal of money to teach me, so it was something else. The joy of killing, I suppose, dumb as that sounds.
Most people can't stand killing. Oh, give them a reason, give them enough hate, and they'll do it. Train them enough, give them a sense of duty and patriotism, and they'll do it eagerly. But regular people, going on with their regular lives, they couldn't kill anyone. Not while they were talking to them calmly, smiling and sharing a drink, kissing perhaps, or making love. It takes something else, some deeper fire to burn that cold.
Killing Goodhue hadn't made me feel anything. Mom had given me the signal and I'd pulled the trigger. Probably the guy thought he was safe, sitting there with a woman he knew was unarmed and a little girl who was more obviously so. But I was the Witch. I could do magic and in the blink of an eye I'd made a gun appear. I hoped he'd died with some appreciation that he'd been killed by the best.
We got off the plane and found our luggage, hailed a taxi, and went to our apartment in the hills overlooking Madrid. We hadn't been there in over a year and Mom thought it would be safe, for a short time anyway. I opened the bay windows in the bedroom, and just sort of flopped on the bed. It was warm, but not hot this time of year, and the breeze felt nice. I could smell the lemon trees outside.
"Would you like something from the market, Wendy? Something special?" Celeste asked me. She was the old woman who lived downstairs and kept our apartment clean while we were gone. She'd been a Basque Revolutionary for many years, right after the Spanish Civil War, and still knew a lot of people. Franco thought he'd killed her, some forty years ago or something, but Celeste was a survivor. She'd taught my mom quite a few things and they were very close to each other.
"No thanks, Madre." That was what everyone called her. She nodded and slipped slowly out of the apartment, closing the door behind her. My mom came into the room a minute later and lay down next to me. We were both tired.
"We'll relax a couple days and then start," she said softly. "Thursday I'll go to Escalanté, call our friends from there and set up a delivery." She sighed and I rolled over, putting my hand on her breast and squeezing it gently. "Saturday, we'll move and..."
"Shhh..." I smiled. "Enough, Mom, just rest now." I kissed her cheek and brushed a lock of long blonde hair from her green eyes flecked with gold.
"I love you," she turned her head, smiling at me.
"Me too, Mom," and I kissed her harder then, my tongue slipping eagerly into her mouth.
We enveloped each other, our arms encircling and squeezing. Her breasts pressed against mine, and we both regretted our clothing, but didn't want to take the time undressing either. So we just kissed, and ran our hands across the soft fabrics of our blouses and pants. I felt her fingers cupping my sex though the leather hipsters I wore and I humped her hand slowly while I massaged the firmness of her ass, trapped beneath her designer jeans. We made love that way, without ever getting truly physical, and yet it seemed somehow more intimate. The closeness and denial of loving each other through the thin protection of our clothes was erotic and interesting.
"Like a couple teenagers," Mom grinned at one point, both of us flushed and breathless.
"One of us anyway," I laughed too and we kissed until Celeste cleared her throat.
"If I were anyone else, you'd be dead," the old woman frowned. "The both of you."
"If you were anyone else, we wouldn't have come here, Madre." Mom disentangled herself and smiled so sweetly that the old woman could only shake her head and walk away.
But her point was taken and I leaned over the bed slightly, reaching awkwardly beneath it to feel the Uzi 9mm that was lying on the floor. I picked it up and lay back on the pillows, checking the clip and then the bolt. Safety off and ready, the way it needed to be. I'd keep it close because the old woman hadn't been lying. Spanish police, Interpol, CIA, NSA, DSS, RSP, ESS...Any of them could come through that door. A regular alphabet soup waiting to eat us up, I smiled to myself.
"What's so funny?" Mom had sliced a couple oranges and put them in a bowel. She picked one up, sucking on it as she sat there on the bed.
"Nothing." I put the gun down and picked up a piece of orange. "Just wondering why the world has to turn."
"You mean Sanderson," she nodded and shrugged. "He does his job, that's all. When this is over, a year from now, he'll have a contract for us and all this will be water under the bridge."
"He's not going to be happy about that Goodhue guy."
"He should have known better." My mom spit a seed into her hand and tossed it out the window. "Goodhue wasn't his boy anyway, he was State's, and I don't give a shit what they think."
"I don't know." I didn't really understand the politics of it yet. "You think it's safe? Maybe we should skip Russia. We could just hang out here for awhile."
"Well..." Mom seemed to think about it.
"Or how about Greece?" I was biting her nipple through her top, using my teeth on her while I giggled. "We could go to that island..."
"Which one?" Mom tossed her orange slice away and sat up, grabbing her t-shirt and lifting it over her tits.
"Sapphos," I stuck out my tongue "We can walk around nude on the beaches there, all the women do it."
"Oh really?" she laughed and shook her blonde hair free. "How do you know?"
"It's in the Fodor's book." I put my mouth back on her breast, sucking her tawny nipple hard into my mouth and pushing her back to lie on the bed.
"Mmmm....We'll have to return the money," Mom sighed, brushing my black hair with her fingers.
"Not if something happens to them," I smiled up at her, both of my hands around her tits now, squeezing them hard. "One phone call and we could be free."
"Did that guy spook you?" Mom narrowed her eyes at me.
"I just..." I shrugged, "...I have a bad feeling. They know who we are, what we're doing, where and when...Doesn't that seem kinda bad?"
"Since you put it that way," Mom smiled at me. "Greece, huh?"
"Please?" I opened my mouth wide with a smile and dragged my teeth across her soft skin slowly. "Pretty please?"
I wasn't being any smarter than my mom was; she had been worrying over Goodhue and what he'd said all the way across the Atlantic. I was just echoing her thoughts out loud and now Mom had a legitimate excuse to back out of the job. Even if Mom had made her decision while Goodhue was still alive, it wouldn't have saved him though. Being forced to back out of a contract was bad for business, it made you unreliable and suspect. People wouldn't be happy the man was dead, but they'd understand why it had happened and that was probably the reason they'd sent him anyway. A guy like Goodhue was easy to replace.
"Alright." Mom was reaching for the hem of my own t-shirt and we'd be undressing each other completely soon. "We'll have to go through the, hmmm...The French, I think."
"DGSE?" I gave my mom a doubtful look.
"Yeah," she smiled as my small, fifteen year old breasts were pulled free, my pinkish nipples already hard with excitement. "If you want something fucked up..."
"...Ask the French to do it," I giggled and then changed my voice, giving her an innocent look. "I want something fucked too, Mommy."
"Oh?" she arched her back as I thumbed her nipples playfully. "Does my baby girl need her little pussy kissed?"
"Uh-huh," I nodded seriously, staring into my mom's eyes. "Will you kiss it for me, Mommy? Will you make it feel better?"
"Let me see it," she breathed, reaching for the buttons on my pants, undoing them slowly while I straddled her body on my knees.
"Ohhh...Mommy..." I sighed, finding her pussy with my mouth while she tongued mine, We were side by side, with our arms around each other, eating cunt as if we were starving. It was always like that for my mother and I, starting slowly and telling ourselves we had all night, but once we began, our hunger became insatiable.
I gripped my mom's ass hard, pulling her sex against me so I could draw her greasy labia between my lips, sucking her pussy into my mouth and washing the soft folds of skin with my tongue. She moaned into my pussy as I felt her spreading my own sex wide, giving her stiff tongue entrance into my hole and she split my moist canal easily that way. After seven years together, Mom and I were very good for each other and our orgasms would come quick and effortlessly. I was terribly infatuated with the women by then and I had little doubt that my surrogate mother loved me.
Our time together in Spain and a week after in Greece, bathing nude in the clear Aegean sea as she'd promised, were our last days spent together alone. I was returned to Mr. Yamashita less than a month later on my sixteenth birthday, Margaret's long contract finally complete. When she left me, I was everything my father desired and more, but my heart was broken then and I promised myself I would never love another.
But now, half-asleep and remembering, or dreaming perhaps, I realized that I was in love again. Mr. Yamashita had taken me from one mother and delivered me to another, and later switched them once more as if I wouldn't notice or care. Mr. Fuchida and his wife had welcomed me home and I'd honored them as a daughter should, and Mr. Yamashita had used his influence to get me a contract with the Chinese. He wanted to test me and judge for himself my skills and I'd left him soon after, searching for the woman and unable to find her, venting my frustration in the ruthless excellence of my work.
Now, back once more, Mr. Yamashita had presented me with my Bonsai and as I held their sleeping forms to my body, I wondered if Mr. Yamashita had understood what he was really giving me...A second chance at love.