Life as a New Hire Ch. 21

"What did you do wrong?" Marsha inquired.

"Buffy?" I passed the buck.

"Three possible choices: Cáel elevates every sexual encounter he is in to unforeseen levels making him indispensable to any happy home.

I have a feud with the head of Havenstone HQ's SD - Elsa, and Cael chose me over her.

And thirdly, he physically molested Elsa to orgasm," Buffy finished.

"Ugh..." I sighed. "Wasn't sure you knew about the last one."

"I own you," Buffy scolded me. "Get used to it."

The psycho-bitches all chuckled. I was back as undisputed Head of House Ishara - because a bitch owned me. Yay democracy. I could give a futile stab at trying to convince Odette not to spill every detail of my sex life to Buffy. That would be unfair. Buffy scared me and I had an actual chance of not dying at her hands. Odette would be pâté.

Making my way back to Aunt Stella was a relief. She was back to being a Nyilas; stoic, thoughtful and level-headed.

"Cáel, what is going on here?" she took me by the forearm while being quietly insistent.

"Dad was murdered and I'm going to kill the people responsible," I replied. "Vér a vér - blood for blood," I translated.

"Can you possibly win this feud?" she asked next.

"See those women I've been hanging out with?" I started to explain.

"Do you mean that street gang who look like they are ready to start a fight, your mother's ten sisters, or those...three...I can only see two now...odder than the rest of the women?" Stella cut to the heart of the matter.

"Ten!" I gulped.

"Yes. They all have come by and talked with me; very polite. They remind me of octopi - looking somewhat harmless with a fiendish intellect cleverly concealed behind their eyes," Stella informed me. Oh yeah, crab-fisher-folk and octopi didn't get along.

"They are also all soaked in evil," I cautioned my last living kin, "just so we are clear."

"Of course," she nodded. "That have that off-kilter, squirrelly look your mother always had."

"Some people think she might not be dead," I sighed.

"She's not," Stella patted my hand.

"Your father once told me that if he was ever killed, I was to take you in until your mother showed back up for you. That is all he ever said on the matter. I was not sure why she pretended to die - until today when I met the rest of the family - the ones not killed in that freak Arctic Sperm Whale Hunting accident."

I felt like Uncle Lumpy had rammed his monster fist through my midsection and ripped out my spine. I couldn't think of why my mother would...ah shit. My dad, who had been a giant in my life, rose to ranks of the titans in my love and respect. He earned that status in that moment for not hating me with all his heart for most of my life. I had driven Mom away.

Not an ounce of resentment, or anger, had ever shone through. As I grew up, all that addictive crap that Granddad had woven into my genetics must have started to kick in. I may have looked different, but I had his eyes. I could only imagine what that conversation between Mom and Dad must have been like when she decided she had to go.

They had shared nine years of bliss. Before my grandfather's madness overtook her once more, she had to leave me, thus my father. Dad couldn't have created the cover story, but the daughter of Cáel O'Shea would have done it effortlessly. My father sat there, month after month, paying off a debt he'd never earned so that when they came looking it would all make sense.

When someone jumps in front of a bullet for you, you know they've given up everything for you. My father had bled inside for fifteen years, gone down swinging with a floor lamp in his hands, for a wife he would never see again - not even knowing if she was alive, or dead - and a son who didn't know what price his father was paying for his son's safety. I patted Aunt Stella's hand and wandered past the faceless well-wishers.

[Akkadian] "Vengeance is my fire that consumes my enemies. Let those we tread in my dust eat their ashes."

"What was that?" Javiera caught me off guard. Nicole and Street were keeping up with her.

"It is Assyrian," was my abrupt answer.

"What does it mean?" Street pressed.

"It means I hate, Special Agent of the FBI Street Moslin," I glared through teary-eyes. "I hate that certain people breathe. I hate that they block the sunlight from touching the ground. I hate that people take other people's lives for granted - you included, Butt-Monkey."

"What does that mean?" he tensed up and leaned in.

"It means I'm not stupid. It also means I can have the life's diary of any person I can think of on my tiny little desk in a week's time," I glared right back.

"Are you threatening me?" he sneered.

"Mr. Nyilas did no such thing," Nicole defended me.

"Perhaps Mr. Nyilas can clarify what he did mean," Javiera studied me. Like Nicole, she knew something had twisted the proverbial life into my already wounded heart.

"I meant that the rest of you assume civility as a right," I reigned in my fractured emotions.

"Hunting wasn't always going where you pleased, tracking down a helpless prey, slaughtering it and taking that trophy," I continued. "Hunters have forgotten that once there were bears, wolves, lions and other hunters who took exception to such liberties. They have forgotten that it was often more efficient for the other predators to track him back to his lair and take him as he walked out of his cave, still thinking the world obeyed his rules. People need to really examine who we are and what are true role in life is.

What we are and what we choose to be is part of the philosophical war in the human psyche. Between the hunter, who roams, and the farmer, who is tied to one place. The invader, who seizes what he wishes, and the supplicant, who surrenders up part to save the rest. And, the solitary man, free from control yet unsafe, and the tribesman, controlled yet dwelling in shared security. We are torn," I finished.

"Nice obfuscated flourish to cover your ass," Street mocked me. Javiera yanked him around so that he was facing her.

"What is your problem?" Javiera hissed.

"He is guilty as sin and behaving like some 1920's Mafioso," Street reposed. "He doesn't scare me." I laughed at that.

"Whoa," I chuckled. It was painful, but I did it.

"You keep sliding down the old smart-o-meter, don't ya, Street?" I shook my head. "You have knuckle-dragged your way right out of the game. I am now asking you to leave my father's wake. I'll give you a minute then I'm sending in the 'little girls' squad to show you the door."

"I am here to protect a Federal Attorney," Street glared.

"She can leave, or stay - her choice," I offered. "Javiera has been firm yet polite. She's certainly not been insulting to me and my guests."

"Special Agent Milson, please leave. Your official services are neither required, beneficial nor desired," Javiera dismissed the guy. Street looked angrily offended then left.

"So, which penitentiary are you sending me to?" I asked Javiera. Nicole arched an eyebrow.

"It depends on where I think my promotion will take me," she mused.

"Have I missed something?" Nicole inquired.

"Well, we can't have intercourse while I have him under investigation and I am going to arrest, indict, and convict him," Javiera answered.

"Not on my watch," Pamela shifted seamlessly through the crowd. "I take from the description that you are the new number one watchdog. I'm not glad to meet you. Stop trying to be Cáel's match. You don't know the kind of contest you are getting into."

"Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition," Javiera countered.

"Did you use a man to make a feminist argument?" I regarded Javiera. "Timothy Leary," I added for Pamela's benefit.

"I prefer George Carlin," Pamela noted. "He - correctly - thought everyone was incompetent."

"You must be Cáel's white shadow I keep hearing about," Javiera extended her hand.

"Cáel," Pamela turned to me, not shaking the proffered appendage, "do I come across as a lesbian? I am curious because women are always asking for my name and trying to touch me."

"I wouldn't know," I sighed. "I've never looked at you as a sexual being. Normally, you so freak me out my balls crawl up inside my body and I start looking for the closest exit."

Total lie. Pamela felt more like family to me than Aunt Stella. Certainly more than my 'TEN?' O'Shea aunts and Lumpy...if he was still bumping around.

"I've seen the size of your ginormous nut sack, Cáel," Pamela chortled. "Said retraction is physically impossible." Seeing Nicole and Javiera's confusion. "We shower together (sigh). We have communal showers at Havenstone."

"That's rather egalitarian," Javiera commented snidely.

"What? Havenstone is going to build a shower complex for the grand total of three men that still work there?" Pamela engaged her. "I don't think so. Cáel, as fun as this distraction has been, I need you to do something for me. I want you to meet a friend."

"You don't have any friends," I reposed. "Except for me and I am hardly honored by the distinction." Again, total lie. Pamela was one of the three people in my life I considered to be a true friend. Timothy, my rock-solid, hard-working gay tattoo artist roommate, Odette, my passionate, young post-high school girl looking for more in life, and Pamela - my soul mate, if Ishara would let me have a soul.

Rachel started following us as we left the main room. Charlotte was watching the front doors, Tiger Lily was with our car, and Mona was most likely roaming the back. The unexpected destination of our quest was the third floor bathroom. I didn't recall having to 'go' until I arrived.

"There you go," Pamela presented me the door.

Rachel peeked in first, did a quick poke/scan, then gave me the nod before retiring. I went in and took a pee, trying, and failing, to put together what in the hell Pamela was up to - no hand towels to dry off with. I opened the armoire and a folded-up Miyako handed me said bathroom accoutrement.

"Does this make you a 'ninja in my closet', or 'a closet ninja'?" I asked.

She uncoiled herself from that awkward position. Since it was completely unnecessary, I caught her.

"What are you doing here?" I continued.

Miyako started off with a name in Japanese adding, "told me you wanted to meet in private."

"Okay, I missed the name," I worried.

"Ummm...it translates over to something like 'Frosty, the Snow-white Gremlin'," Miyako stated. "She said you wanted to see me. I am neither a ninja in your closet - it wasn't your closet, nor am I a 'closet ninja' as no ninja is classified as a ninja. That defeats the purpose of being invisible warriors."

I put the Nipponese beauty down, sat on the edge of the tub and wiped my hands on the towel.

"Have you ever thought about a normal life outside of this...madhouse?" I posed.

"Yes," Miyako nodded. "I see normal people living normal lives, free of the mortal fears of my daily existence and I am envious at times."

"I have my Oaths to consider, Cáel Ishara. There is my family that nurtured and trained me. Leaving the Families would be a death sentence, plus we have a host of enemies. Any life I would have would be on the run, short, nasty, brutal and violently final," she related. That didn't help much.

"Legendary Daimyos raze a dozen mighty castles. Legendary Fathers raise a dozen happy children," was the saying she gifted me with as a smile traced across her lips and her eyes shone with compassion. I doubted 'raze' and 'raise' were that close in Japanese, but I went with it.

"So why are we here again?" I sighed.

"Your friend said you wanted to speak with me, yet it is now clear that is not the case," Miyako reasoned. She could have left, accepting the deception of what it was. Instead, "Do you wish to see my wound? I had it looked after by your 'Mona'," Miyako offered.

"Sure," I allowed.

She started off by removing her dark, shark-skin jacket. She folded it, placing it across the toilet seat (top down). Her shirt came next - a plain white number. The bra followed. This was a lot of work for a leg wound, not that I minded. Her bra was unspectacular which highlighted her breasts all the more.

Her mammaries were a solid, high-twenties B-cup, with the bases being perfectly formed hemispheres and the tops being finely sculpted convex slopes to the areolas.

"You have certainly seen more attractive women," Miyako stopped and studied me.

"Yes, I have. I'm soaking up the experience of being with a below average one for a change," I nodded. No, I wasn't letting her get away with the 'I'm just a girl' game she was playing.

"You are scalding me with your wit," her eyes scolded me.

"I make up for it by being a wicked bridge player," I met her dancing light with my own renewed mirth. Off went the shoes and down came her pants. Yep - full front, pink lace panties up front and a thong in back. Wiggling out of her underwear didn't take a second.

The standing split so she could dangle her wounded appendage in front of my eyes was exceptional and new.

"See," she commented softly. "I had my wound tended to by your medic."

"It looks somewhat inflamed," I pointed out. Miyako's eyebrows flinched.

"Yes, starting right here," I kissed her big toe, "and here," the first toe," and so on. Miyako was strong in the enduring, athletic way of all competitive (and combative) gymnasts. She patiently held her standing split pose until I tired of the pretense, and the neck crick I was working on as I licked her vulva, and pulled Miyako's sex box up to my face.

I should have recalled that at age three, the ninja masters had her swinging through trees like a Gibbon. Miyako leaned back and back and back until my penis was just above...below her ear. I was a bit taller than my Nipponese Ninja so she opted for a hair covered (nice, silky locks) hand job. I quickly taught her she wasn't in the bush leagues anymore.

So, I couldn't catch a tomahawk with any part of my anatomy that wasn't a hand. I could find a girls G-spot inside of two minutes plus another to figure out what kind of tongue/finger motion was the most pleasurable and she was my toy to play with. I would never tell Miyako that. She'd do something horrible to me and it would be a week later before I even figured out what it was.

Miyako was a bad little ninja kitty. She orgasmed quite vocally. I was happy right up until Rachel burst in ready to kill somebody who wasn't me. By the look on her face as she drank in the scene, she might have wished to kill me after all.

"It is all my fault, Rachel," Pamela spoke up from behind. "I set them up."

Thankfully, Rachel backed out so she could give Pamela a good-sized piece of her mind.

"That was very pleasurable, Ishara-sama," Miyako flexed back up until she rested with her thighs on my shoulders, her hands in my hair and her eyes looking down into mine.

"We aren't done yet," I began kissing her lower abdomen. Happy killer-ninja babe.

Miyako helped me undress. Actually, she damn near tore off my clothes. Remember, ninja aren't Geisha and Geisha don't put out anyway. Cheap, or not-so-cheap, sex is what prostitutes are for in the Land of the Rising Sun. I worried about squeezing into her vagina. Miyako vaulted onto me. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she guided her tight body downward, her sex perfectly targeted to join with mine.

"Ugh...tight," I coughed softly. By the closed eyed look of concentration, she was coming to that realization too. She started trying to wiggle away.

"I did this wrong," she moped. I wouldn't let go.

"How about we stay like this for a while," I offered.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist and nestled in. We stayed that way for several minutes then I gave her a slight 'thump' up. She slid up my shaft then fell back down.

"Oh," she purred. She kissed my shoulder. Another bounce - more kissing.

Before long, we were humping and sweating away. She made these cherished little chirping noises I was now associating with climax.

"You can scream into my chest in order to keep quiet," I suggested. She nodded - more kissing and licking along my shoulders and neck. She was close.

The breath and vibration of her howl tantalized my pectorals. An unwelcome side effect was...

"Tight..." I gasped. "Too tight." Her legs and arms had constricted like a python around my body. She immediately eased her grip the coasted back through her erotic release.

"That was very pleasant, Ishara-sama," Miyako whispered to me.

"You should come to my home sometime and meet my grandfather," she murmured.

"I think I would do better with your grandmother," I countered.

"Oh no," she insisted. "Grandmother is wicked. My grandfather is a gardener. The first thing she would ask you was if I was still a virgin and if I wasn't, she would insist you marry me."

"But you weren't a virgin when I met you," I complained.

"She knows that. As I said, she is a wicked woman," Miyako explained. "Are we done?"

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

"Oh goodie!" Miyako exclaimed and off we went. Apparently full-blooded ninja got out as much as full-blooded Amazon - not a lot.

When we eventually exited, Miyako was sublimely graceful, I was glad I had washed and toweled off, Rachel was...displeased and Pamela was Pamela.

"Good job, Stud. You knocked her up like a good boy should," Pamela patted me on the back.

"It doesn't really work like that," I muttered.

"I have faith in you. Now, in twenty-eight days you have to impregnate the other two so we have the Nine Clans in the bag. I heard you made a good impression on the Earth & Sky - another plus, and...I still think your O'Shea Aunts are going to go wonky when they get a whiff of you, so let's be prepared for you sexing up one, or two, before we head home tonight.

"You are despicable," I grumbled to Pamela. Rachel clearly agreed.

"A little poetic license - I thought I saw some Pussy...I did, I did," Pamela struck back.

"I am glad you are family," I glared at Pamela. "Otherwise I might ask Rachel to hurt you and that wouldn't be fair to her." Pamela laughed joyously as we made our way back to my father's wake.