Tatiana Romanova

When Tatiana first arrived in London, she and James Bond were inseparable. But due to the nature of his work, his long absences, his sudden disappearances, the two eventually drifted apart. At the same, after her de-briefing by MI6, the Government had found her a job as an assistant to a Professor of Russian History at Oxford. With Russian as her native language and her clerical skills from being a cipher clerk in the Soviet Army, it was a job for which she was imminently qualified

However, she had another skill set. Originally she had been a ballerina, but had to give up her hopes of dancing in the Bolshoi Ballet when she grew one inch taller than the maximum permissible height for girls.

It was the combinations of these two talents, her Russian and her dancing, which caused MI6 to reach out to her nearly a year later. A senior SPECTRE operative, Russian by birth, had taken up residence in the French Riviera, just outside a city with a casino and several night clubs with dancing girls.

At that moment, Tatiana and two other dancers were doing a routine on the small stage of the intimate club. When the music suddenly stopped, the three girls were to remain completely still until the music took up again in five seconds. It gave the audience a chance to ogle them unhindered by any movement.

Like the other two dancers, Tatiana was wearing a pair of high heel shoes, black dress gloves, and a derby. Other than that, they were totally nude. They stood there facing the audience, their hands held up at shoulder height, palms facing outwards, and feet eighteen inches apart. Her bare breasts rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath a bit, and the thought that this did not seem much of a return for all those years of hard work and study at the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet.

The music resumed and the naked girls were again prancing about the stage, buttocks flashing, bare breasts bouncing. At the end of the song, their quick departure towards the backstage area was followed by a round of applause.

Quickly Tatiana slipped into a bikini, one other girl into a pair of panties and bra, and the third just put on a set of bikini bottoms, no top. As other performers danced, these three would join the other dancers who were not up on stage as waitresses. Of course, if a customer invited a girl to join his table, she would eagerly agree. The girls got a commission on each drink of watered-down tea, and hustling drinks was where the real money was.

"Tatty, Tatty," a somewhat pudgy, middle-aged man called out to her in a distinct British accent, the type so prevalent within the Foreign Service. Tatiana had seen him from the stage, but she did not want to approach him. He had to call her. Otherwise, it would look suspicious. For the man was her contact from the British Embassy in Paris.

"Reginald!" she exclaimed when she approached the man's table. "It has been a long time. What can I get you to drink?"

"Too long a time," he agreed. "Bring me a gin and tonic and whatever you are drinking."

With the speed and experience of working the club for the past two months, Tatiana had completed the task and settled into one of the bent wood back, cane seat, dining room chairs of the club. They made small talk. Bought another round, served by another waitress. Once a waitress/dancer had 'hooked' a customer, she did leave his side until she had extracted all the cash she was able to. After what Reginald deemed to have been a reasonable amount of time, he asked her if she wanted to join him for a private drink.

There were four small rooms, not much bigger than closets, lining the wall opposite the bar and at right angles to the stage. Tatiana waved their waitress over and Reginald ordered the required bottle of champagne.

When the waitress returned with a tray, two glasses, and a demi-bottle, she said, "Room Three."

Tatiana took charge to the tray after Reginald had given their waitress the money for it, and the two sojourned to Room Three. The bottle was un-corked, the drinks poured, and Tatiana settled in between Reginald's spread legs, her bottom pressing into his crotch. When she felt him attempting to untie the string straps of the top, she turned her head to tell him, "That will be extra, you know."

"Oh, come on Tatty," he whispered, "This is official business."

"Then leave the top on," she whispered back. "You can relay your message without manhandling my tits."

With an exasperated groan, he dug into his pocket and gave her the necessary bank notes. Once Tatiana had removed her top and placed it on the bench beside them, Reginald cupped a breast in each sweaty palm, squeezing and manipulating them. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he whispered, "Anything new to report on Lamarque?"

She arched her back while continuing to grind her backside against his groin. She lifted one arm to reach around, grabbing the back of his head and turning her face so that her lips were touching his ear. "No. That lackey of his, Raoul Godeau, comes around sometimes. But he's cheap and not much of a talker."

By now, Reginald had a raging hard-on, just aching to get out of the confines of his pants. Tatiana's tight, shapely ass was bouncing around like a yo-yo, rubbing him off.

"A couple of times a week," her lips brushed his ear as she spoke sotto voce, "I sunbathe on the public beach that borders his house's private beach, hoping he will see me and take notice." There was a wide damp spot on the front of his pants, and getting wider and wetter as more pre-cum oozed from the tip of his erection. Tatiana could feel it with her bare leg and grimaced at the sticky yuck. "I have even deliberately strayed onto his restricted beach, but his Negro guard with those two vicious dogs always chase me off."

Hearing the way he was breathing and the intensity of his groping her boobs, she knew he was close to cumming. "Do you have anything else for me," she murmured softly, "Or should I go ahead and finish you off?"

Tatiana turned her head so that now he had access to her ear. They did not know if the room was bugged or had spy-holes, but with the high-risk game they were playing, they took no chances. The charade of a horny businessman out of town, away from his wife, with a money-grubbing floozy, they performed to perfection.

"Just that," Reginald panted in her ear, "Just that Lon... London wants you to, oh my goodness... to report in person as soon... as soon as you can."

"Is it an emergency?" she whispered, prepared to leave that day if necessary.

"Not as ur... urgent as I am right now," Reginald's own hips were rotating, grinding back into Tatiana's mind-warping teasing. "They... they know you need to... to clear time off with your Boss, but...Oh, fuck, Tatty. Do me. Just do me!"

Snapping her hand away from the back of Reginald's head, the long-legged, blonde, topless dancer leaned forward, her hands on her knees. As if on a pogo-stick, she bounced up and down, wiggling her hips from side to, pressing back into him crotch.

Throwing his head back, his mouth hanging open, the overly-stimulated Civil Servant finally found his release. His imprisoned cock twitched and jerked, as he emptied out his load of gooey spunk into his underwear. The ever conscientious Tatiana did not cease moving her ass until the panting, wrecked, depleted Reginald told her to.

Rising to her feet, she collected her top and kissed the sweating middle-age man on his forehead. Not that she was particularly fond of him, but they had just shared his orgasm, so that should count for something.

Slipping on her top and she headed for the door, eager to get a damp bar-rag to wipe the pecker-snot from her left thigh that had seeped through Reginald's pants. She thought that this was vastly different from the first time she had worked with MI6 and James Bond. The thought of that tall, elegant, charming rogue brought a smile to her face.