A Card

After the woman in the courtyard went inside the house, Bond's surveillance job once more descended into mind-numbing dullness. A female cook or housekeeper crossed the courtyard, heading for an attached building. A large black man with two German shepherds passed through. But the woman from earlier in the day did not reappear. And there was no sign of Lamarque.

When the sky began to cycle through the ambers and violets of a setting sun, 007 left his stakeout to shower for an excursion to the casino in town. He doubted very seriously if he would encounter Lamarque, but perhaps the masturbating young woman enjoyed gambling. Since the casino, and the town itself, was much smaller than many others on the French riviera, he felt casual business attire would be more in place than a tuxedo. So, he opted for a double-breasted navy blue blazer with brass buttons, a folded white handkerchief in the breast pocket, a pale blue silk tie, and white slacks.

Upon entering the Casino, Bond walked past the bar, descended the three steps into the game room, and purchased three hundred pounds of chips (four thousand Francs). Turning to face the large room that occupied over half of the ground floor, a smile slowly spread across his face. For there, sitting at the Chemin de fer table, was the young woman from the morning. Strolling towards the table, riffling his stack of clay chips, he saw that the shoe belonged to her. Her wager was for one thousand Francs, but so far the seated players had only covered five hundred of the amount. So Bond, as an observer, was now allowed to bid.

"Banco," Bond said in a firm, clear voice. As the player placing the largest bet - five hundred Francs - he would represent the others and be dealt the cards.

He won the hand. And several others. But only when the shoe had been passed to the brunette. Finally, when she had run out of tiles and Bond had departed for the bar, she left the table to join him. "Pardon me," she asked in a very noticeable French accent, "But do you have a light?"

Bond used his gold lighter to ignite the cigarette that she held to her lips "After what you did to me at the table," she said between puffs, "I have no money even for matches."

"In that case," he reached into a side pocket of his navy blue blazer to pull out a book of matches with his hotel's logo on the cover, "you can have these."

She lifted her eyebrows when she saw the name, "You staying there? You don't believe in roughing it, do you?"

"Yes, Room 506," he replied, summoning the bartender. "Let me console you by buying you a drink."

"The spoils to the victor," she answered. "Anyway, I would like to prove the French can lose as graciously as the English. Also, I am curious. You didn't bet against anybody but me, why? Each of the four times I had the bank, you called 'Banco' and each time you won."

"I wanted to catch your eye," Bond replied and then asked her what she wanted to drink.

"Couldn't you have found a way that would have been less expensive to me? I mean," she gestured to the stack of tiles on the bar next to Bond's elbow. "It doesn't amuse me to lose five thousand Francs, you know. And I will have a cognac, please."

"There you are," Bond slid the tiles towards her, "Now you can smile again."

"I don't think I should accept these," she said, yet she could not resist the urge to lift and caress the clay rectangles. "It does not seem... how do you English say... it does not seem sporting. However...." she slid from the barstool and picked up the tiles. "There is a way around this question of honor. I shall play roulette with these and if I am successful, we shall split the winnings."

As she headed for the roulette table, she called back, asking if he was going to join her. Bond's response was that he did not think he could stand the suspense. Sometime later she returned. From the expression on her face, it was clear that she had not won. When she confirmed that she had lost, 007 told her, "As long as you do not lose that smile."

She was able to conjure a sad, rather rueful one. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, he extracted an envelope. "There is a little favor you might could do for me, if you would."

When he handed her the envelope, she saw that there was only a name Lamarque. "But it has no address," she said. He replied that he thought she knew where to find him. As Bond arose to depart, she placed a hand on his forearm. "Wait," she said with that French accent of hers, "Let me at least offer you a small gesture of thanks." She, too, stood up. "Come. Take a walk with me in the gardens."

The front of the casino faced the street, of course, but there were three sets of double French doors that let out to a garden in back. High shrubs and fragrant flowers mingled with the carefully tended grass. Wrought iron benches were distributed at random. Some looking out onto the ocean, others discreetly tucked away among the ferns and bushes. It was to one of these benches that she led him.

When they sat down, her right hand reached out to rub over his crotch. "Not saying that it is worth the full five thousand francs, but it is the least I can do."

Bond quickly glanced around, but all he saw was green and darkness. The woman laughed, "You English, you are so... provincial. Why do you think they have this garden?"

After unbuttoning his blazer, Bond leaned against the bench, resting his elbows on top of the back. The young woman was fast and efficient, soon having his pants opened and his half-hard cock hauled out of the fly of his boxers. As she stroked it up and down, coaxing it into a full-blown erection, she smiled up at him, watching the expression on his face. She used a twisting motion of her wrist, moving her clenching fist not just perpendicularly, but also with a slight side-to-side movement.

Even after she had it fully stiff, standing up straight in the moonlight, she continued to pump on it, working and massaging his meat stick. Then she leaned over, lowering her head onto his lap, getting ready to play the skin flute. The warm wetness of her mouth engulfed him, and as she closed her lips around his cock, she began to suck. Her hand and head moved together, suckling and squeezing his cock. She made wet, gurgling noises as she blew him. Sometimes she would lift her head to lick and lap the tip, slopping his knob as she kneaded and squeezed the shaft.

With her other hand, she reached inside the fly of his boxers, seeking out his balls. As her head bobbed, she cupped and fondled his scrotum. Occasionally she would shift around on the bench, redistributing her weight as she sucked him off. With the loving attention she was giving his pleasure pole, Bond soon found himself getting ready to bust his nut. "I am going to cum," he warned her, giving her a chance to pull off if she did not want him to sperm her mouth.

Instead, she just tilted her head to the side to roll her eyes up at him, humming an hmm-mmn to acknowledge what he had said. Then she returned to a perpendicular position and flailed away fast and furious. Her head rising and falling at full speed, eager to get the pay-off she had been working for. Her long hair waved out around her like a flag in the breeze as she sucked and stroked and squeezed.

Bond extended this arms to grip the iron rail of the back of the bench and arched his back, lifting his hips off the seat as his cock exploded. The brunette kept going up and down, like a madwoman, sucking hard as volley after volley of his dream cream filled her mouth. She swallowed rapidly, drinking down all of the salty protein punch he was serving her, ingesting the heavy load of nut yogurt.

When his orgasm finally subsided and his cock started to soften, the young woman slowed her actions, finally lifting her head and giving the end of his depleted pecker an affectionate kiss.

Dabbing at the corners of her lips with the finger-tips of her right, she pulled her left hand from inside of his boxers. She reached up and extracted the white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his navy blue blazer. Carefully and delicately she wiped down the now limp and drained cock, petting it with respect as she cleaned him off. "How was that, mon cheri?" she asked as she shoved the soiled handkerchief back into its pocket.

Bond nodded his head in a half-daze. His impulse was to grab the nape of her neck and pull her in for a kiss, but he was not certain of the proper etiquette concerning an outdoor blowjob from a woman whose name he didn't even know.

Suddenly, she arose from the bench, and scurried back inside the casino. When Bond followed a few minutes later, she was nowhere to be found, so he assumed that she had left for the evening.