Most of you will never know me. I am the faceless one, the "everyday Joe" you pass on the sidewalk every morning, the nondescript neighbor that you feel obligated to wave to whenever our cars pass. Five minutes after an encounter with me, I'd be willing to bet good money that you can't remember a single distinguishable feature about me.

That is how I like things; you see, in my line of work, if you're remembered then you are as good as caught. In layman's terms, I am called an "assassin", but really it's too crude of a word for what I do. My work is a subtle form of art, a talent. I take money from people just like you, and I remove the person that is your most bitter enemy, your obstacle, or even your loved ones. You'd be surprised at who's been on my client list......everyone from cherub-faced mothers to the rich and famous has sought out my services for one reason or another. And sometimes, just sometimes if the money is right, I even work for the insane.

The old man definitely fit in that category. From the time he arrived in my office, I pegged him for a loon. He arrived in the company of his grandson, who happened to be a prominent figure in the Yakuza, the Japanese Mafia that was establishing its roots slowly but surely in America. I'd done business with his grandson on many an occasion. The grandfather had seen eighty years unless I missed my mark, and I was rarely wrong. His eyes were piercing in his weathered face, and the snow-white hair of his head was a startling contrast to his tanned skin.

Even though I'm sure he'd lived in America for over thirty years, he still wore the traditional kimono of his native culture. He spoke no words of greeting, merely marched up to my desk and placed a manila folder before me. His grandson helped him take a seat while I opened up the file. The thing was crammed with photos: Polaroids, professional quality, and even printed photos from some computer webcam. They were all shots of one woman, obviously my client. I looked up to find the old one watching me intently. "Kitsune," he remarked, his voice still thick with an accent.

"Kitsune? That her name?" I asked.

"No, kitsune," the old man repeated, his burning gaze falling down to the pictures. "Japanese demon. Fox fire." His grandson placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking a few words in Japanese to comfort him, then looked at me. "What Grandfather means is that he believes this woman is one of the kitsune. You Americans call them werefoxes, I believe." I stared at them both, the old man in his ancient garb, the younger man in the Armani three-piece suit.......both faces mirrored the same deadly calm and serious. I raised my eyebrows, not really sure if this was some kind of stupid joke. "Werefoxes? You mean, howl-at-the-moon, turn-furry-once-a-month type?"

"The kitsune has been around in Japan since the ancient times," the young man replied stiffly. I could see how hard he was trying to contain his rage at my glib remarks. "My family was given the sacred honor of ridding the land of the demons over three hundred years ago, and it has been passed down from father to son since that time. My grandfather is the last of our family to receive the honor, but he is too old now to hunt the kitsune. That is why he seeks your help."

I thought about making another smart remark, but I decided against it. The last thing I needed was a Yakuza boss pissed off at me, and I needed the business they provided for me. The old man took my silence as acceptance of the job, and barked at his younger companion in fluent Japanese. The grandson stood, and placed two objects on the desk before me. One of them was an ancient kitana, the polished wooden hilt and sheath carefully wrapped in a black satin shroud. I noticed several Japanese characters burned into the sword's handle; the family name, more than likely. The second object was a black professional briefcase.

I opened it and tried not to gape. There had to be close to ten million dollars, from a quick glance, nearly three times the amount I was normally paid for a job. The old man caught my gaze again, and his face was as unreadable as some ancient statue. "Use the sword to kill the beast," he said. "Only the purest silver blade can stop her fire." He stood, and motioned to his grandson. They both bowed slightly at the waist to me, and I found myself automatically returning the politeness. They headed for the door without another word; I was too speechless to stop them from leaving. The grandson was the last to leave, pausing just a moment to give me one final warning.

"Don't let the kitsune bewitch you," he said sternly. "She will use her mind and body to try and stop you. You mustn't let her draw you in." Then they were gone, leaving my office as abruptly as they had arrived.

I stayed awake most of the night, looking at the sword and the money again and again. I didn't really buy their story; I figured that the old man must have had some run-in with her and just needed her offed. The sword deal, well, that wasn't all that unusual. Some of my clients paid me a lot more just to make sure their target was killed in a certain way or with a certain thing.....call it a "calling card" of sorts. But their devotion to the legend piqued my curiosity, and so the next day I turned to the library to find out about this "kitsune".

It turned out to be very old indeed. The people of ancient Japan believed that a person could be possessed with the spirit of a fox. The "fox demon" would then encourage the person to steal things, to play tricks on others, to do things not normally associated with human behavior. Over time, the fox would claim their body, and they would forever more be able to switch between human and fox form at will. I pulled the file from my briefcase, staring down at the photos of the woman that was accused of bearing this terrible demon. She was a stunning woman, and I didn't have to be Asian to see that she was definitely different from most Japanese women.

For starters, she was tall, nearly six feet in height. Her hair was long and black, and she wore it free of adornments or style. In several of the full length pictures, I could see that it almost reached the back of her knees, tumbling down her back like a satin waterfall. Her skin was another oddity; instead of the normal caramel color which he found so appealing on most Asian girls, she bore the flawless milky skin of a Southern belle. There was one photo that was a shot of her face, caught in a moment of laughter. Her lips were full and painted a light pink, and her smile was incredible. Her eyes, so light brown they were almost golden, sparkled with her humor. It was a waste to kill such a beautiful girl, but then again, ten million dollars gave me the motivation I needed to get over my lust. I shut the file, and headed home to begin tracing her.

Nasumi Michinoka. She wasn't hard to find. Most beautiful women aren't, for people notice them everywhere that they go. With some well-palmed hundreds and the aid of phone books and the like, I soon had her address. She lived in a rural area of town, one of those pretty colonial-style homes that bordered on three acres of woodland. I camped just beyond her place, keeping a watch on her home through my surveillance gear. I wanted to get a layout of the house and its surroundings, so I could best plan my mode of attack. It didn't take long for Nasumi to return home; around six in the evening I watched her little red sports Miata pull into the driveway.

I didn't get a good glimpse of her when she made her way into the house, but I eventually was rewarded with a clear shot of her when I trained the high-powered binoculars on her bedroom window. The photos I'd studied weren't doing her justice, not compared to seeing her in the flesh. The contrast of her black tendrils of hair against that pale, smooth skin was more intoxicating than the sweetest wine. When you combined the slant of her luminous eyes and pretty mouth to the mix, it was a deadly combination. She left her blinds wide open while she changed into more comfortable clothes, and I watched as she began to strip. I couldn't look away now, not even if I had to.

Her nimble fingers undid the buttons on her blouse, shrugging the white silky material off of her shoulders and tossing it onto the floor. I feasted on the flatness of her pale stomach, and the way her tiny nipples strained against the lace of her bra as she reached around to undo the clasp behind her. The scrap of lacy fabric fell free, and her beautiful breasts sprang into view. The globes of her chest were small and high on her ribcage, the nipples a light pink and almost perfectly centered. Their erect nubs stood out like tiny pebbles, and there was a tiny freckle just beyond the pink ring of her left breast. I wondered if I could fit that entire mound in my mouth, including that little brown freckle.

Before her hands even made their way down to the button of her jeans, I was already growing hard in the confines of my own pants. The lower half she exposed more slowly, and she turned to the window, looking out over her land as she pulled the little metal zipper down. The jeans were tight, and she pulled them down over the slight swell of her hips, leaving only her pink-and-white striped cotton briefs covering her intimate areas. Nasumi seemed to take forever tugging the denim down over those long, long legs. Her thighs and calves were firm with muscle, and I wondered how tightly she would grip a man with those gorgeous limbs when she was hot and ready to be fucked.

I imagined it were me those powerful legs gripped tightly, pulling my cock deeper in her eager sex, a blush spreading across that pretty face as I made her moan. I snapped out of my fantasy, to find she'd already stepped out of her pants and was hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. My free hand went down and adjusted the erection straining my fly, unconsciously stroking myself through the cloth as Nasumi peeled down the underwear. I could just make out the shape of the lips of her pussy, crowned with a nest of glossy black curls that were neatly groomed in a perfect little triangle.

It had been a long time since I saw a woman with pubic hair, and I was surprised at how much it excited me more than a shaved pussy did. I could swear she looked at me then, straight out the window at the tree where I was watching her from. Her mouth curved up in a private smile, then she reached up and snapped the blinds closed. I shimmied out of the tree as best I could despite the massive hard-on I sported, then made my way back to the makeshift camp I'd created. It was a long time before my desires subsided enough for me to sleep.

That night, I dreamed of Nasumi. In my thoughts, she came to me, arriving at the mouth of my tent without warning and crawling inside. She was naked and smiling when she straddled me, and I was helpless to do anything more than twist my fists in the sleeping bag that I lay on. In the night, her skin seemed to reflect the moonlight like water, glowing the same shimmering white as a pearl. Her pale hands came down, pulled me up roughly to kiss her hungry mouth. Her lips were burning hot and divine, sucking on my tongue and mouth like no other lover ever had.

She only allowed me to feast on her mouth for so long before she pulled back, cupping her left breast in her palm and offering it to me. I sucked most of the tiny breast in my mouth, kneading and licking and sucking on the soft flesh. It glistened with my saliva when I pulled back, and I flicked my tongue over the erect bud until she was moaning softly. Nasumi tugged my hair, urging me over to indulge on her right breast, and as I treated it the same she reached between her thighs and yanked at my belt, freeing the catch on the buckle and fumbling with my zipper. Her hands plunged in the gaping hole, pulling out my fully erect cock, and my hips bucked up when I felt her smooth fist slide down over the engorged head and shaft.

"How can you kill me," she panted, and her accent was an aphrodisiac to my already-inflamed senses, "when you know this is what you want? I know you want to fuck me, I can see it in your eyes." Nasumi pushed me onto my back and smiled down at me, then got to a squat and changed positions so I was staring up at her firm ass and the dark pink slit of her sex. Her thighs and sex were smeared with her own juices, and I felt her breath tickle the knobby head of my dick when she spoke. "Lick me, suck me," she begged like a whore.

"Taste how much I want to fuck you, make me come." I felt her hand close over the base of my shaft, right where my balls joined, and then I felt her soft tongue, lapping at the salty clear fluid that was already gathered on the swollen tip of my cock. She cleaned it, her tongue dipping playfully in the small slit where the lubrication was gathered, before her wet mouth closed down. I'd never felt such heat, not the way it was when her lips slid down over the rim of the head and down to where her fingers lay. It was like the first time I'd ever had sex with a girl, as good as the tight, hot pussy of a high-school slut.

I was paralyzed for a moment with the sheer pleasure, as she made her way up again only to remover her hand and deep-throat me to my balls. I grabbed her hips and pulled them down, my tongue lapping at the dampened crease in her thighs, working in towards that overflowing flower in the center. When my lips first traced that eager, quivering slit, Nasumi let out a low moan in her throat. I wanted to take my time, but she refused me, working my dick faster and grinding back on my face. She practically drowned me, her hot liquids coating my chin and cheeks as I tongue-fucked her. Her pussy was tight, as I'd expected, and I almost exploded in her mouth when I felt her squeeze her inner muscles around my tongue, milking it like a little cock.

She was panting low in her throat, little moans that increased as she worked her throat and mouth over my hard member, and she pulled back to jack me off with her hand for a moment while she sucked one of my balls into her mouth, rolling it around before she claimed the second one. I wasn't going to last much longer, and I ran my tongue off of her sex and up to her little puckered anus, tonguing the tight brown hole with little flicks of my tongue. I used my right hand on her pussy at the same time, sliding my index and middle finger inside her, pistoning them back and forth in the tight sheath.

Nasumi pulled free of my cock with a cry, and she reached back and parted the cheeks of her bottom with her hands, nails digging into the milky flesh. She squealed something in Japanese, and then she came, bucking against me while her body exploded into a torrent of uncontrollable contractions. She rode her orgasm to the fullest, and then when she was done she looked back at me and smiled. "I'm waiting," she purred. "I know you'll make the right choice." Then her hot lips closed around me again, and I was pumping her face eagerly, feeling the churning start and the pleasure shocks overtaking me. I shot load after load into her moist mouth, the strongest orgasm I'd ever had, shouting out with my triumph. The sweet, white-hot ecstasy was enough to wake me from my sleep, and I awoke to find myself naked and alone in my tent, and my stomach and thighs coated in my own milk-white release. My whole body still quivering, I cleaned myself as best I could.

The next day, all I could think about was Nasumi and the dream. The experience had left me drained and vulnerable; never before had I ever let lust get in the way of business. I knew I had to either kill her tonight or she'd haunt my mind each and every night until I did. I watched her home all day, saw her leave for work and return eight hours later. Withdrawing the silver sword from my tent, I gave her an hour's time to get settled in for the night before I headed over to finish the job.

I had my lockpicks ready before I even got to the door, but was surprised to find the door was unlocked already. As silently as I could, I made my way inside and up the stairs towards the location of her bedroom. It wasn't hard to approach unnoticed, for every room but hers was bathed in darkness. I reached the door to her inner chambers, took my breath, and opened the door. Nasumi was there, and to my surprise she didn't scream or run. In fact, she looked to have been waiting on me. The room was lit only by candles, which covered the dresser, nighttable, and bookshelf. She was as naked as she had been in my dream, lying across the white satin sheets of her bed, staring up at me with her liquid eyes.

"So you're finally here," she murmured, and smiled when I drew the sword from its wooden casing, the blade shining cold in the candlelight. My hands were trembling, the sword tip wavering to and fro.

"The old man's sword, I presume?" She asked, and I nodded slightly. "Silver, then. Silver to pierce the breast of a kitsune." She laughed sharply, and got to her hands and knees, crawling towards me over the covers. "Tell me, will you be able to shove that blade into my heart, split me in two? All for ten million and the will of an old fool?" She cupped her perfect breasts in her hands, her fingers curling together in the center, right where I could push the blade into her like a knife through butter.

"A...Are you really a werefox?" I rasped, as she stood and started walking towards me. The closer she got, the more my will to kill her washed away. Nasumi reached out and touched the tip of the glimmering silver blade, running her delicate fingers over the cold metal.

She smiled again, this time sarcastically. "I am kitsune," she corrected. "Calling me werefox is like calling you a thug, it is a crude name. A kitsune does not need the moon to change, nor are they some great, slobbering, murderous beast. A kitsune is a beautiful strong fox, wise and cunning. I was possessed with my fox when I was twenty years old. I have now been alive for five hundred years, and will live for eternity as a youth of twenty. I do not harm people if I do not have to. I take things from those who are rich and unworthy, like the old man who hired you."

She smiled, pushing the blade aside and approaching me. "I keep those things for myself or give them to the ones in need, if the mood strikes me. I am not evil. But the so-called 'honorable' men like the one that you work for, they killed my people. Once the kitsune were plentiful, now I am the last. I left Japan and came to America, because there are not many here who would threaten me. Once the old man is dead, the kitsune will flourish." She reached my side, and touched my trembling chest, running her arms up to circle around my shoulders. "And I suppose I should thank the old fool, he has sent me the perfect mate."


"If I make you a kitsune, we would repopulate the world with our kind. You are the man I need.....you run in the night, you know how to blend in so to be unnoticed. You are strong, and you are not afraid to kill when you need to. A perfect mate, a perfect father for our children." Nasumi's golden eyes glittered with hope. "So you must choose. Kill me, and take the ten million the man has offered you. Or come with me, and I'll make sure you never want for anything again, and we shall be together in eternity." A long silence filled the room around us, but there really was no choice. I dropped the sword and gathered her in my arms, taking her with me to the floor in one swift motion. My dream was nothing compared to reality, as she tore at my clothing, freeing me from the confines of human restrictions. She rolled, pinning me beneath her, and I dug my fingers into her hips roughly as I slid within her depths, hard and ready. We fucked fast and furious, our groans mingling in the room.

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