Hong Kong

Fiona considered her options.

“Even,” she said, at long last. She was standing in a fan-tan parlour in Sheung Wan, a densely populated Hong Kong neighbourhood full of gambling halls, brothels, opium dens, strip clubs, Szechuan restaurants and every other kind of vice and indecency, looking at a number of red beans scattered across a wooden board. The croupier stood to one side, watching expectantly.

“Are you quite sure?” Lady Evelyn asked.

“Positively.”

“In that case, I declare myself satisfied with odd.”

The croupier began to rake in beans, four at a time, until only three were left on the table. Fiona’s face fell.

“Fan-tan,” she said, “seems a bit silly.”

“Perfect for a silly girl like you,” said Evelyn, cheerfully. It was a warm night in Hong Kong, and the noisy casino played host to a motley crew of gamblers, grifters, cads, fops, rakes, out-and-out pirates and ladies of the night. Many of these had gathered around the fan-tan table to watch the ladies duel, shout advice and lay side bets on who was going to win. “You know the stakes, Fiona.”

“Perhaps there’s another bean we’ve overlooked? Or did you count one twice?”

“An Englishwoman never welshes on a bet, of course.”

“Of course not,” said Fiona, coldly, peeling out of her modest Victorian travelling dress, and laying it on the floor next to her shoes. She was now down to nothing but her corset and bloomers. The former barely contained her creamy tavern-wench cleavage. The latter was lace-trimmed, embroidered with tiny roses and surprisingly abbreviated for Victorian underwear, clinging to her hips and exposing a modicum of thigh. “Are you quite satisfied?”

“Of course,” said Evelyn, studying her nemesis closely, with an amused gleam in her eyes as she took in the blushing blonde’s discomfort and the way the white cotton of her undergarments clung closely to her curves, “an Englishwoman never takes off her dress in the middle of a Chinese casino, either.”

“Then I shall prove you are no true Englishwoman. This time I choose… odd.”

The croupier methodically raked in the beans, four at a time. Fiona’s eyes were glued to the rapidly shrinking pile, feeling the moment of triumph of disaster come closer with every scrape of the rake. The crowd watched hungrily, eager to see who was going to be humiliated next.

The last bean was flicked away. Leaving the table bare.

“No!”

“Too bad, Fiona. Zero is even, as I’m sure all true Englishwomen would agree.”

“Well, I can hardly deny the laws of mathematics, but this is most outrageous! You can’t possibly expect me to… to…”

“To welsh on a bet? It would hardly surprise me in the least.”

Fiona’s hands flew to the laces of her corset, glaring angrily at her smirking tormentor. Her right arm flew to catch her buxom breasts as the undergarment fell free, preventing the leering crowd from getting more than a glimpse of her strawberry-pink nipples. She stood in just her bloomers, topless, fuming with the indignity, tits spilling over the tops of her arms as the sailors, pimps, soldiers, con-men, vagabonds, waitresses, musicians, common thieves, women of loose morals and aristocrats from Victoria Peak in bad disguises made their feelings known, with wolf-whistles, cheers and cries of “I say!” and “Steady on!”.

“Even,” she snapped.

“Again? After what happened last time?”

“Just spill the beans, you… you harlot!”

“But, Fiona, if you lose…”

“An Englishwoman never backs down from a challenge. I’ll have you yet!”

The croupier, calmly, tipped the beans out on the table and began to rake them in again. Evelyn watched him work, that irritating smile still at play in her face, as if she didn’t have the slightest doubt about the outcome. Fiona held her breath, feeling her heart pound in her chest. She had to win this time, she just had to, as sure as the Lord in Heaven smiled down on pretty young Englishwomen like her! For should she lose…

“Ah,” said Lady Evelyn. “Three beans left. Another point to me.”

Fiona’s face had gone very red. She cast her eyes round despairingly at the rough-hewn, bawdy and undeniably common crowd who occupied the floor of the Chinese casino, representing a diverse mix of races and genders, but all of them united by a healthy eagerness to see pretty young Englishwomen put to the blush. No help from that quarter. Lady Evelyn raised one meticulous eyebrow, and said “Fiona, I believe you know the score.”

Fiona took a deep breath.

Fumbling with one arm, not wanting to let go of her breasts, she undid the laces of her bloomers as rapidly as she could. Lady Evelyn was watching her with **** interest. Fiona could feel her whole face burning, the blush creeping down her neck, as she peeled the unfortunately tight bloomers down her hips and off her thighs, baring first her peachy bottom and then just a brief flash of the golden tuft between her legs before her hand flew like a striking cobra to conceal the last bastion of her maidenly modesty.

She kicked the bloomers off her toes to join the pile, and stood on the elevated platform that held the fan-tan table, before the raucous crowd, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

“Look at me,” Evelyn said, sweetly.

Fiona, hands clasped firmly to her breasts and sex, standing naked on the casino floor with her bottom bare for the world to see and the last shreds of her dignity drifting away on the warm Hong Kong night air, **** herself to raise her head and meet Evelyn’s gloating gaze. “Very well,” she said, keeping her voice as level as she could, doing her best to ignore the cackles of laughter and the indecent statements in Chinese. “You win this round, Evelyn. How lucky for you.”

“Lucky?”

“Fan-tan is a game of pure chance. The odds are only one in sixteen that you would beat me four times in a row, and I suppose such possibilities must eventuate from time to time.”

“But, surely, if we play again, I’ll keep winning?”

“You clearly have no grasp of mathematics, Lady Evelyn.”

“I’m on a hot streak,” declared Evelyn. “I’d happily challenge you again, Fiona. But, alas, you have nothing else to bet with.”

Fiona hesitated. Surely, this was an opportunity to get her own back?

“Let’s raise the stakes,” she commanded. “If I win the next round, Evelyn…”

“Yes?”

“I want everything you’re wearing.”

“Take off my clothes in the casino, in front of all these grubby plebians? I couldn’t possibly! Anyway, what happens if you lose?”

“Would you accept credit?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then,” said Fiona, mustering up all her courage, and trying not to think about the dozens of cheerful Oriental eyes currently ogling her backside. She had a fifty percent chance of winning, after all. And then she could walk out of the casino fully dressed, leaving Lady Evelyn behind to squirm. “I shall pay a forfeit.”

“A forfeit of what kind?”

“Up to you.”

The beans were spilled and raked. Fiona, who had chosen even, failed to restrain a whimper as it became clear to everyone in the casino that only three remained on the table. “Good luck again,” she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Indeed,” said Lady Evelyn, smiling politely. The croupier, who had the ability to count large numbers of small red beans with **** rapidity, as well as the ability to quickly scoop five beans up in his rake instead of only four, and who had been paid a large sum of money by Evelyn only that afternoon, remained carefully impassive. “Now, I’m a little bit new to all this gambling business. Forfeits are supposed to be terribly embarrassing, aren’t they?”

“It is a common practice,” admitted Fiona, cheeks pink.

“Hmm. But how on earth to embarrass you? Well, let’s keep things simple. Do the Dance of the Seven Veils for us.”

“But I don’t have any veils!”

“Then it will be the Dance of No Veils. Do it anyway.”

“But, Evelyn,” wailed Fiona, hugging herself tightly, at her wit’s end. “I can’t do the Dance of the Seven Veils in the middle of a Chinese casino, in front of all these people, with no clothes on!”

“Why not?”

“It will be terribly embarrassing!”

“I do rather think that’s the point, dear.”