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AND LOVING IT!
by l.satori AKA Laurie S.
Behind the Formica counter, the attractive young brunette retrieved
the size 9E bowling shoes. A slim, white-haired customer admired the
hour-glass figure of the attendant, making a point of noting the nametag on
her blouse. After thanking 'Nikki', the man ambled over to the Bowlerama
management office. When he knocked, there was no answer. The thin man,
dressed in beige slacks and a bright green golf shirt, opened the door
tentatively. After a quick glance around the small, neatly kept office, he
stepped over to the desktop computer and pushed the on button. Then he
extracted the Zip desk from inside of the multi-colored bowling shoe and
inserted it into the Zip security obsessed agent, long accustomed to
keeping face-to-face secrets in CONTROL's Drive. The Cone of Silence,
keyed in a simple encryption logarithm. In a few moments, the casually
dressed senior citizen had accessed the secret-file.
"Good morning," said the Chief of CONTROL. The clarity of the
computer's full motion video image was really quite good, although the
glare from the Chief's shining bald head merged some of the colors.
"Good morning Chief," replied Agent 86, Maxwell Smart, forgetting that
this Zip disk information was not like an interactive telephone
conversation.
"Agent 99 has been working undercover in the south of France at a
private laboratory, which is owned and operated by KAOS. This lab is at
the forefront of genetic research into gene therapy and human cloning. 99,
a linguist fluent in French, worked in Provence as a lab technician. Just
before she was discovered and captured, 99 was able to report that KAOS had
found a way to clone human beings. What is very disturbing is that KAOS is
ready to replicate humans on a massive scale. More importantly, through
their gene therapy research, 99 believes KAOS is prepared to cause
worldwide sterility of the human species. The sterility drug would be
introduced through the drinking water. To supplement that line of attack,
KAOS will even seed rain clouds as a means of distributing this powerful
drug. Once this is accomplished and everyone is sterile, KAOS will sell
its cloning services to the people at an enormous price, making KAOS the
world's dominant evil empire, even ahead of Microsoft. Your mission is to
stop KAOS and save the world."
A photo of a handsome, dark-haired, middle-aged man flashed up on the
computer screen.
"This distinguished looking gentleman is Dr. Marcel Devereau, an
expert on genetic engineering. KAOS was able to exploit this scientist's
need for money. Dr. Devereau was deep in debt, unable to continue his
life's work after the French government cut off all of his research
funding. When the grants dried up, KAOS offered to pay off all his debts
and provide a free ride for all of his research projects. Dr. Devereau
jumped at the opportunity. Now, we must gain control of Dr. Devereau's
discoveries. In order to do that, we intend to exploit two of
Dr. Devereau's weaknesses. First, he is addicted to gambling and secondly,
he regards himself as God's gift to all the beautiful women of planet
Earth."
Photos of Dr. Devereau cavorting with sexy, beautiful women on the
beaches of the French Riviera flashed up on the monitor.
"If you are wondering why KAOS doesn't just sell the antidote to
counteract the effects of the sterility drug, Agent 99 believes that the
chemical analysis of even a small sample of the antidote would quickly be
replicated at generic drug prices. So, KAOS offers cloning as the only
solution to the sterility plague. Rather than face certain extinction,
KAOS believes mankind will pay dearly for KAOS to 'send in the clones' to
replace natural childbirth."
Max needed some time to absorb this.
"Is there anything that you need to have clarified, Max?"
"Just one thing Chief. What did you say after 'Agent 99 has been
working undercover'?"
The computer image of the Chief seemed to skip for a moment. Then the
message from the Chief was replayed in its entirety.
After Max had seen the message for a fourth time, the stern face of
the worried Chief continued.
"Since your usual working partner, Agent 99, has likely been captured,
I have taken the liberty of assigning you to work with Special Agent 69,
Charlie Watkins Jr."
"Wait a second Chief, you mean to say Charlie Watkins had a son?"
As if anticipating Max's reaction, the Chief continued. "I know you
will remember Charlie Watkins, because he performed an unforgettable
striptease at your bachelor party, before you married 99. Well, Charlie
Watkins, in spite of the fact he was a gorgeous female impersonator, was
married. He fathered a child. Charlie Watkins Jr."
"I remember beautiful Charlie Watkins had the hottest chassis this
side of the Ferrari Plant in Maranello, Italy. How am I to contact Charlie
Watkins Jr., Chief?"
The Chief appeared to have anticipated Max's question. "I want you to
go over to lane 12. There you will contact Agent Larabee. Now, one last
thing before you go. Recently, we have lost a large number of our field
operatives. So be careful out there."
Then the Chief appeared to mutter something under his breath. A lip
reader would have interpreted it as "I hope KAOS has a cure for
Alzheimer's."
The Chief's digital message was replayed again for the increasingly
forgetful Max.
A few minutes later, Agent 86 left the manager's office and walked
over to lane 12 of the almost inactive bowling alley. Not very many people
were there at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. In fact, only lanes 1 and 2 were being
used by some group that were dressed in purple Cineplex Odeon uniforms.
Looking around, Maxwell Smart was unable to spot Agent Larabee
"Psst, Max. Over here."
Max searched once again, unsure of where the voice had come from.
Finally, Agent 86 looked over at the face of Agent Larabee, sticking out of
the bowling ball return chute.
"Oh, Larabee, there you are," replied Max.
"Not so loud, Max. We've lost a lot of our very good agents lately
. . . Pretend that you're bowling. It will look less suspicious."
"All right Larabee, although not too many people bowl by themselves
. . . You keep talking Larabee," said Max as he picked up a red, white and
blue bowling ball.
"The Chief wants you to pick up the airplane tickets. Go over to the
Cunningham Travel Agency, which is located next door to this Bowlerama."
Max took two steps, swung his arm back, then another step as his arm
swung swiftly forward, releasing the heavy ball with a loud thud as it hit
the polished hardwood floor. A few moments later, the ball slid to the
right and wobbled along the right gutter.
"Max, you are to pick up your airplane tickets and fly to Nice, France
this afternoon. Once there, you will catch a train to nearby Monte Carlo,
a mere half-hour away. After checking into the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel,
you are to contact Agent Charlie Watkins Jr. at the Baccarat tables in the
Le Casino de Monte Carlo at 9 p.m. Monaco time."
There was a loud thud, and Larabee's head shuddered for a moment, then
slipped from view. A red, white and blue bowling ball came to rest where
Larabee's head had been.
"Sorry about that Larabee . . . I'll see you later," said Max, wincing
in sympathy for what would be a large painful bump on the back of Larabee's
head.
Max headed over to the shoe rental counter to return his shoes of many
colors to the delightful Nikki, his first contact. At the same time, the
group from the Cineplex Odeon was returning their shoes, which, Max noted,
seemed to coordinate well with their purple outfits.
One tall, athletic-looking fellow was holding a bowling ball. When he
spotted Max, he suddenly whirled into action. He went into the typical
bowler's wind-up, and purposely whipped the ball towards Max. The other
Cineplex workers scattered as if anticipating an explosion.
Max skipped over the fast moving ball, ran to his left and leapt over
a row of padded seats.
BOOM! A bright flash and the thunderous explosion ripped apart the
bowling alley.
With such a high intensity blast, Max wondered if Agent Larabee was
all right.
Quickly bouncing back up and brushing off some ceiling tile debris,
Max ran toward the exit, pulling the laces of his special bowling shoes as
he ran. He tossed the bowling shoes in the direction of the Cineplex
workers and charged out of the front exit.
KABOOM! Another massive explosion blew the roof off the bowling
alley.
Max, dazed by the blast, got to his feet much slower this time and
dusted himself off once again. Holding his thumb and forefinger about a
half-inch apart, he observed, "Missed by that much!"
Turning back to the site of the former bowling alley, he cracked, "The
old bomb-in- the-bowling-shoe trick works again! I never did like
Cineplexes. Their screens are too small and the popcorn is too expensive
. . . They must be a KAOS front. As for the bowling alley, I hope Agent
Larabee got out safely. Larabee? Oh Larabee? Where are you Larabee?"
It was a good half-hour of searching before Maxwell Smart found an
unconscious Agent Larabee. His condition was not good. It looked like he
would need to be in intensive care fore a few days. Two months in the
hospital, and Larabee would be as good as new.
After another half-hour of searching, Smart found the airplane tickets
to Nice among the remnants of the totally obliterated Cunningham Travel
Agency.
CHAPTER TWO
In the fading twilight, the taxi wound its way up the steep roads of
beautiful Monte Carlo. The white stone buildings clung to their narrow
perches on the sides of a once treacherous cliff, now tamed by terracing.
Off to the west, the Royal Palace, sitting majestically on a high
promontory, guarded the entrance to the magnificent harbor on the Cote
d'Azur. Maxwell Smart looked off to the lights of the yachts tied up in
the harbor, wistfully wondering why everyone in the world couldn't be lucky
enough to visit this fabulous playground of the rich and dangerous.
This was his second time in Monte Carlo. The first time had been on
his honeymoon with Agent 99, some 30 years earlier. He dearly missed 99
and prayed that she was safe and unharmed.
Max wondered how much things had changed since his last visit. Now
semi-retired, Max had been pulled out of his life of leisure by the lure of
danger. 'And loving it,' he thought to himself. Occasionally, when
stretched to the limit by outbreaks of evil and violence and chaos all over
the world, CONTROL activated some of its stellar retired agents. Max, last
on the list for recall, was reluctantly pressed into service by the Chief.
To improve the chances of success, Agent 86 was to be teamed, on this
important mission, with CONTROL's top operative, Agent 69, Charlie Watkins
Jr. Watkins would focus on Dr. Devereau while Maxwell Smart might create a
diversion to distract KAOS from the real threat.
At the entrance to the stately Le Casino de Monte Carlo, Smart tipped
the cab driver, and slammed the door shut. Unfortunately, Smart, being
Smart, forgot to extricate his fingers from harm's way, and he yelped in
pain when the shutting door crushed his little pinky finger.
As the cab started up, pulling Smart along with it, Max quickly opened
the door, shaking loose his aching pinky, but he was unable to close the
cab door. As the car pulled out into traffic, the free-swinging door
whipped about. Suddenly, it was smashed off its hinge by a white stretch
limousine speeding in the opposite direction.
The Japanese criminal organization, the Yakuza, cut off part of the
pinky finger of newly pledged members, as a rite of passage into the evil
empire. Smart, perhaps, would have preferred to cut off his finger rather
than suffer this terrible, crushing throbbing pain.
Smart held up his little left pinky to his face as if raising a
teacup, and then sucked on it.
Smart quickly bounded up the broad stone steps, and scurried past the
uniformed doorman, into the foyer of the casino, his throbbing finger
ballooning up to double its normal size. His left hand looked like it had
two thumbs.
Immediately, Smart headed to the washroom. At a sink, Smart stuck his
throbbing finger under some cold running water, until he noticed in the
mirror, astonished and angry looking faces of a handful of well-dressed
females. Smart was in the ladies washroom! As nonchalantly as possible,
he sauntered past the upset women as he remarked, "Sorry about that,
ladies. My mistake."
One belligerent beauty, swathed in a long, flowing, sequined evening
gown, clubbed him with her handbag. She must have been carrying a gold bar
in her handbag. That hurt!
Still smarting from the clubbing and the finger mangling, Agent 86
cooled his 'new thumb' under a cold stream at a sink in the gentlemen�s
washroom. It had been an eventful 5 minutes, and he hadn't even made
contact yet with Agent 69. A quick glance at his CONTROL issue Timex watch
told him he had only 5 more minutes to his 9 o'clock rendezvous.
At the foyer entrance to the main floor of the casino, Smart looked at
the signs. Fortunately, the Roulette, Baccarat, Craps, Black Jack, Slots
and other signs were in a universal picture symbol language. Smart headed
to his right, past the ubiquitous one- armed bandits, the Black Jack
tables, the Roulette Wheels, and finally to the more exclusive Baccarat
tables.
Pausing for a moment, Smart adjusted his polyester tie and tucked in
his Arrow permanent press shirt. He looked about. The Baccarat tables
were in a special cordoned off area. A casino employee controlled access
to these high-priced tables. Smart wondered if he should go forward and
sit at a Baccarat table. He had no idea what Special Agent 69 looked like.
Would he or she be there?
A bevy of beautiful ladies were gathered about one Baccarat table. A
handsome man, wearing a tuxedo, sat with three large stacks of ten
thousand-franc chips. Smart recognized the handsome devil as Dr. Devereau.
Agent 69 had to be close by.
To Devereau's right sat a waif-like blond, right out of the pages of
Vogue Magazine, a Kate Moss look-a-like. She was dressed in an
eye-catching white lace material that allowed one to see the glowing
healthy skin beneath the dress, but covered up just enough of her anatomy
as to meet the casino's dress code for propriety. To his left, sat a fiery
redhead. She appeared resplendent in a glamorous, shimmering silver gown,
that hugged her every 'crook and nanny'. Three other equally gorgeous
girls stood behind Dr. Devereau. Smart wondered if Agent 69 was any one
of these five fabulous foxes.
Across the table sat an elderly, distinguished gentleman, perhaps an
aristocratic Brit. Beside him, surmised Smart, probably his middle-aged
wife, attired in a pink taffeta dress. A young, bearded Italian gentleman,
wearing a white tuxedo, could that be Charlie Watkins Jr.? Right age.
Suddenly, all eyes looked up from the table, looking past Maxwell
Smart. Smiles of delight or looks of envy appeared on their faces.
Curious, Maxwell Smart turned around, bouncing off a blur of blond
hair, gold fabric and soft creamy flesh, the collision knocking both of
them to the ground.
Smart immediately bounced back to his feet.
"Pardon me, ah . . . " began Max, but he never finished the sentence.
His jaw dropped almost to the ground.
Before him lay a breath-taking blond, buxom, beauty. Perhaps the most
beautiful female he had ever seen. More lovely than Claudia Schiffer, Elle
Macpherson, Naomi Campbell. Even more physically attractive than his
gorgeous 99.
"Let me help you up," said Max hurriedly, as he reached for her with
both hands.
She grasped Max's extended hands as he tried graciously to pull her
up.
"Aieee!" she cried out as Max let go of her. She flopped down hard on
the tile floor.
Max shook his swollen pinky finger in searing, aching agony.
"Sorry about that," apologized Max sincerely.
An angry expression creased the absolutely fabulous face of this
golden goddess. Her haute couture gold gown by Givenchy luckily had not
ripped as a result of the two falls.
"Please, don't help me up. I can manage myself," she said with a
touch of annoyance.
"A thousand apologies," said Smart.
"I was feeling very lucky tonight, until I bumped into you
. . . Mister . . .?"
"Smart, Maxwell Smart, at your service."
The glowing, perfect skin of this young, ravishing beauty radiated
warmth and affection at the sound of Max's introduction. Her face lit up
with delight, before remembering that she was in a crowded casino, possibly
surrounded by agents of KAOS.
"I am Charlene Watkins, although my good friends call me Charli, like
the perfume," she whispered in a breathy, soft, sweetly seductive voice.
Agents 86 and 69 stepped away from the Baccarat area, toward a nearby
bank of slot machines.
Smart thought back to the Chief's digitized message from the manager's
office at Bowlerama. 'Charlie Watkins . . . had a child - Charlie Watkins
Jr.' Max wondered, was it possible for a female impersonator to name his
daughter Charlie Watkins Jr.? Or was Agent 69 an incredibly beautiful
impersonator like his drop-dead gorgeous father?
Smart snapped out of his train of thought when Charli gently caressed
Max's left hand, looking lovingly at Max's swollen digit.
"Ah Max, no wonder you let go of me. That must have hurt when I
grabbed your hand . . . Here, let me kiss it better."
Special Agent 69 eased Max's swollen member into her mouth and sucked
it gently; her soothing lips and tongue bringing a heartfelt healing touch
to bear upon the hyper- sensitive body part.
Max groaned with relief. It really did feel better. Even 99, at her
very best, didn't have this sweet, saliva-enhanced, therapeutic touch.
Charli's skin, lips and tongue were so sensitive, soft and gentle, Max
decided immediately that Charli had to be 100 percent woman. If 99 had
been captured and killed by KAOS, Max could not think of anyone else he'd
rather spend the rest of his life with.
Pangs of guilt struck Max. Feelings of lust at his age? 'I may be
old, but I'm not dead,' he thought to himself.
How could Maxwell Smart even think of another woman while his wife
might have been captured or killed by KAOS? Max tried to think about how
much he missed 99's presence. But, for some reason, his instinctive sixth
sense told him somehow, some way she was all right. He believed that with
his whole heart.
Feeling the need to steel himself against his thoughts of infidelity,
Max instructed his brain to believe that Charli, like Charlie Watkins Sr.,
was really a male CONTROL agent, adept at the art of disguise. Beneath the
bountiful bosoms, the flowing blond hair, the marvelous classical facial
features, the deep blue pools of her limpid eyes, the high cheek bones, her
aquiline nose, her soft sensuous pouting lips, her shapely, long, perfectly
formed legs and gorgeous golden gown, lay a cock and balls very much like
Max's own dangly bits.
Once again, looking at Charli�s perfect unblemished complexion, Max
thought that is ridiculous. She is a beautiful woman! There is no denying
that! I am a professional and I will behave in a professional manner until
the mission is over. Or 99 will kill me.
The internal pep talk seemed to get Max back on track.
Dr. Devereau, the mad scientist, surrounded by beautiful women, was
the target. He was the key to destroying KAOS's plan for world domination.
The consequences of worldwide sterility would be devastating!
Fortunately, Max and 99 already had had a son (one that mercifully
disappeared from television screens after less than 13 episodes).
"Charli, did you know that Dr. Devereau was sitting at that Baccarat
table?" asked Max.
"Well, Max, I'd better get to work," she purred to Max, in her
seductive, captivating tones.
"Perhaps my young grasshopper, you should let the more experienced
Maxwell Smart handle this."
"Max, do you know why the Chief assigned me to this case?" asked
Charli, as she playfully tousled Max's hair. "I am an expert in the art of
mathematical prognostication in games of chance. In other words, I'm a
card shark."
"Well, I'm banned from ever setting foot in Las Vegas . . . although
that has nothing to do with my card playing skills," replied Agent 86. "It
was all over a small misunderstanding about nuclear bomb testing."
Charli stroked Max's head as if he was a little puppy dog. In her
open-toed high heels, Charli was taller than Max�s 5' 10".
"Also, you might have noticed that Dr. Devereau is deeply interested
in the opposite sex. He prides himself on being the stud of the scientific
world. Envious CONTROL scientists suspect that Dr. D has developed a
pheromone that drives the women wildly horny. It creates an insatiable
sexual appetite. As proof, the CONTROL scientists point out that Dr. D
enjoys his sexual escapades with a bevy of the most beautiful girls in the
world. And the group of girls don't seem to mind sharing him. That is most
unusual."
Charli paused, looking around at the clanging, clinking, whirring,
brightly-lit slot machines, to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, before
continuing.
"In fact, his hedonistic pursuit of pleasure led him to do research
into birth control methods. This was the primary motivation for his
revolutionary discovery of a way to temporarily prevent fertility, and
later on, a potent drug that causes sterility in both females and males.
This is the catastrophic serum that KAOS will exploit to hold up the world
for ransom."
"That is one evil scientist, Charli. Do you think you're up to the
challenge?" asked Smart cautiously.
"I believe I can resist Dr. Devereau's mesmerizing pheromone-enhanced
charms. Also, I know I can seduce Dr. Devereau, if he is anything like all
the other men I've ever met. Once we have him in our control, we could
persuade him to provide us with an antidote. Then, KAOS's plan for world
domination would collapse."
"A brilliant idea my dear!" enthused Max.
"Here Max. This card will get you into Suite 511 at the Monte Carlo
Grand Hotel. Do you know where that is?" asked Charli as she placed her
spare access card into the inside pocket of Max's suit. A playful
adjustment of Max's tie and his up close look at Charli's enticing bosoms
tested Max's resolve in remaining faithful to 99.
"Actually Agent 69, I have the adjoining room."
"Wait for me at the hotel, perhaps inside the closet would be best.
I'll bring him back to my suite for some fun and games. Then, I'll order
some champagne from room service. While we are drinking, I'll slip a
paralyzing 'date rape' drug into his drink. Then, we'll have him right
where we want him. We'll tie him up, a little sodium pentathol, that
effective truth serum, and some skilled interrogation. Hopefully
Dr. D. will reveal the antidote's formula. Failing that, my highly
advanced scientific skills of interrogation include some persuasive torture
techniques."
"Wow! You're telling me CONTROL taught you how to torture suspects?"
"No. To pay my way through university, I worked part-time as a
dominatrix. It paid my full tuition."
CHAPTER THREE
Beautiful Charli Watkins gracefully glided toward the exclusive
Baccarat section of Le Casino de Monte Carlo. The velvet rope barrier
disappeared before her regal approach. All eyes turned to appraise her
awe-inspiring form.
Dr. Devereau signaled his pulchritudinous companions to make room for
this appealing guest. Dr. Devereau offered Charli a chair beside him. His
envious quintet of beauties was dispatched by a dismissive wave of his
hand. Charli sat down beside Dr. Devereau, with a gentle touch of her
delicate hand on his excited thigh; it was simply her way of saying thanks
for his courteous, welcoming gesture.
He smiled and said in a deep baritone voice, "Good evening. My name
is Dr. Marcel Devereau. And I am most happy to be blessed with the
opportunity to meet a lady of your charm and immense beauty."
Charli beamed brightly and replied in a breathy voice, "My name is
Charlene Watkins, but my close friends call me Charli, you know, like the
perfume."
"Yes, that is a heavenly scent. And you are heaven sent."
Charli smiled appreciatively at Dr. Devereau's corny line. She
thought she would let the unsuspecting doctor do all the work. Men enjoyed
the thrill of the hunt. Little did Dr. Devereau know the she was the
hunter and he was the prey.
The others at the Baccarat table were ignored as the eyes of Charli
and Marcel became locked in a 'lust at first sight' embrace.
Charli pulled out 20 ten thousand-franc notes from her Gucci purse,
the equivalent of $31,000 US. What the heck! It was seed money provided
by CONTROL to entice 'the fly' into Charli's web. The large denomination
notes were pushed down into a money slot and disappeared beneath the
table's green felt surface. A dealer, attired in a black tuxedo, counted
out 10 ten thousand-franc chips, 10 five thousand-franc markers plus
smaller and smaller denominations until Charli had her full complement of
chips.
Charli placed a five thousand-franc wager in box number 5 opposite her
seat.
The Brit sitting opposite was passed the shoe. He was now the banker.
The banker passed the caller cards out of the shoe. The caller, one of the
three dealers, placed the cards in the appropriate numbered boxes on the
table, ranging from one to fifteen.
In Baccarat, a winning hand is 9. Face cards count for zero. Under
the rigid rules of Baccarat, players must draw a card if their first two
card totals are 1-2-3-4-5-10 values. If card totals exceed 10, the 10 is
subtracted. For example, a two-card total of 14 translates to a 4.
Players must stand on 6 or 7. An unbeatable two card total of 9 is called
a natural, while 8 is the second best hand and is also called a natural.
The two other dealers at the table pay off the winning bets and collect
from the losers. The casino derives its cut from 5 percent of the bank
winnings. Rather than collecting 5 percent of the bank winnings after each
hand, the house keeps a record and takes its share each time a shoe is
depleted of cards.
The banker has another set of guidelines to use when a player takes
his/her third card. Generally, the banker stands on 7, 8 or 9. He draws a
third card only when his hand ranges from 3 to 6 and will lose to a
player's three-card total.
While the rules can be confusing for neophytes, none of these players
lacked experience.
Dr. Devereau had a two-card total of 6, the Italian, Tullio, a total
of 5, the Brit gentleman a 13 or 3 and his wife a 7. Charli had 8. The
young Tullio drew a 7, giving him a total of 2, a bad hand. The Brit's
wife, Emily, stood with her 7. The dealer, Austin, took a 9, giving him 12
altogether, which equaled 2. Austin the banker and Tullio had a draw. The
dealers paid off Emily and Charli, while collecting from Dr. Devereau.
And so it played out for the next hour or so. Charli and Dr. Devereau
won more than their share of the hands.
All through the evening, under the table, Charli played footsie with
Dr. Devereau. Charli wondered if this was the right tactic.
At one point, while the shoe was being passed to another player, she
let her exquisitely manicured hands brush over Dr. Devereau's crotch. He
was as hard and tall as a Bonsai Redwood tree.
Charli knew that her pheromones or, perhaps it was her body heat,
seemed to stimulate Dr. Devereau. She let Dr. Devereau believe his
pheromones were influencing her, exciting her just like sexciting foreplay.
The British couple decided to call it a night after suffering some
major reversals.
Tullio packed it in after his stint as the banker when he lost a large
amount to a suddenly aggressive Dr. Devereau.
Now, there were only Charli and Dr. Devereau left.
The shoe passed to Dr. Devereau. He became the banker.
After four more hands where they each took turns winning, Marcel and
Charli decided to increase the stakes.
"Let's play one final hand. Winner take all," offered Dr. Devereau.
"Ah, I'd like to Marcel," said Charli demurely, "but my pile of chips
is a lot smaller than your pile."
"Well, my darling Charli, I have a proposition for you."
He cupped his hand over Charli's left ear and whispered his message.
"Oh, you would hold me to that kind of promise, you naughty boy?"
"Charli, I adore your amazing beauty. I am infatuated with your
luscious body."
Charli whispered a counterproposal in Dr. Devereau's ear, with a
suggestive, gentle caress of his neck.
"I love it! That's what I call a win-win situation!" enthused
Dr. Devereau.
One very large pile and one medium sized pile of chips were pushed to
the corresponding numbered boxes on the Baccarat table.
Dr. Devereau passed the cards to the caller who, in turn, placed the
cards on the table for both Marcel and Charli.
"A natural!" screamed Charli jubilantly. Her combination of 7 and 2
gave her an unbeatable 9. Charli was the victor! She walked away with
about 600,000 francs or $93,000 US. However, as far as Charli was
concerned, Dr. Devereau was the real prize!
CHAPTER FOUR
Dr. Marcel Devereau escorted sexy, seductive Charli Watkins back to
her suite at the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel.
The secret, whispered, extra condition Charli threw into the
winner-take-all pot was the loser would have to acquiesce to any of the
winner's sexual demands in the bedroom. Dr. Devereau happily agreed to
this win-win situation. He would enjoy having sex with Charli under any
circumstances.
When Charli inserted her access card into the electronic door lock,
she hoped that Agent 86 was in the closet, safely out of sight.
With relief, Agent 69 glanced around the unoccupied, spacious,
luxuriously appointed chambre. No sign of Max.
An eager Dr. Devereau grabbed luscious Charli, kissing her savagely.
She returned the kiss with matching vigor, wrapping her arms and legs
around an aroused Marcel.
Max, sitting on the floor of the closet, could hear muffled smooching
sounds, but was unable to see very much through the shuttered twin doors.
When the two lovers came up for air, Charli briefly pushed Marcel
away.
"Wait a moment, Tiger. Let me call room service and order a bottle of
Dom Perignon. Then, while we are waiting, I can change into something more
comfortable."
"My sweet Charli, you think of everything! Extended foreplay can
build up to an unbelievable climax. We both will have an orgasm to last
the ages." Marcel gave Charli a playful kiss. "You know, Charli, you are
quite different from all of my other women. They would never have paused.
With my heightened pheromones, they would, right now, be ripping off my
clothes. Their insatiable appetite for sex would be wild and animalistic!
You have amazing self-control! Vive la difference! Extended foreplay will
be a refreshing change."
Max, in the closet, muttered, "You've got that right. You don't know
how different Charli is from all the other girls."
Charli picked up the phone and dialed O for the operator. Switched
over to room service a few moments later, she ordered a chilled bottle of
the hotel's finest champagne. And she specified, within fifteen minutes or
forget it. Her authoritative tone was met with a reassuring response.
"My precious," said Marcel, "I need to freshen up in the bathroom.
Can you pardon me for a few minutes?" asked Marcel as he gently held
Charli's hand, bending down to kiss it. He noticed that she had several
decorative silver rings on her delicate fingers, but no diamond marriage
ring.
"Why certainly, Marcel. It will give me an opportunity to pick out
some sexy lingerie. Then, after you are done, I can freshen up and change
too. Good."
"Tres bon."
Marcel disappeared into the marble-floored la salle de bain.
Immediately Charli bounded over to the closet. When she opened the
shuttered doors, Max almost crowned her with the butt of his gun. Luckily,
Charli's quick reflexes saved her.
"Max, don't hurt me. I'm one of the good guys. Remember?"
"Sorry about that, Charli," replied Max with an awkward look down at
his aching feet that were now asleep from the long hours cooped up
awkwardly in the closet. "I thought at first you were the evil
Dr. Devereau."
"Max, quiet down," hissed Charli. "Marcel is in the bathroom. I need
to get out some seductive, hot lingerie. Can you give me a hand please?"
"Sure Charli."
"See the black leather bag at the back there. I need that one."
"Okay, here you are," said Max as he handed the very large, heavy
leather Cartier bag to the scheming Agent 69.
"Now, not a peep out of you, unless I scream your name Max . . . and
don't be too surprised if you hear Marcel scream."
Max, left in the dark of the armoire, wondered what she meant by that.
Moments later, a refreshed, invigorated Marcel Devereau emerged from
the bathroom, naked from the waist up.
Charli gave him a strong hint of things to come, pressing her soft,
pillowy breasts up against the broad, muscular, hairy chest of the
delicious Dr. Devereau. A delicate kiss on the lips, and Charli
reluctantly pulled herself away, to go and change in the bathroom.
While Charli freshened up and changed out of her dazzling gold
Givenchy gown, there was a knock at the entrance to the suite.
The champagne had arrived.
One of the uniformed hotel staff wheeled in the cart holding a large
vessel with the Dom Perignon on ice.
Marcel tipped the deliveryman generously. Then, he turned up the
glasses on the cart, and, after removing the foil cover from the top of the
bottle, inserted the corkscrew. Now, it was primed for popping.
He sat down on the nearby four post king-sized bed, complete with a
white satin canopy covering. Marcel calmly removed his shoes, socks and
pants.
To help pass the time, Marcel wandered over to the large picture
window. He surveyed the magnificent view of the ships and smaller vessels
in the harbor below. He could see his own sailboat, La Bomba, lying in
wait for his return. He doubted that he would sleep there tonight.
The door to the bathroom suddenly opened.
Out stepped a dominant vixen dressed in long hip-length, shiny, black
vinyl boots. She wore a studded leather collar around her neck. Her tight
leather bustier emphasized her prominent, high breasts and tiny waist, plus
her flaring hips and bewitching buns. The studded leather wristbands
suggested more kinky pain. Her slender fingers with the immaculate nails
held a long, leather whip. An evil smile graced the heretofore-angelic
visage of agent 69, Charli Watkins Jr.
"Ah," croaked Marcel. "My sweet angel of mercy."
"Onto the bed, Marcel!" ordered Champagne Charli. "Now!"
Charli expertly snapped the whip, almost biting Marcel in the crotch.
"Sacre bleu!" blurted Marcel, as he leapt backward onto the soft bed.
From inside her high hip-hugging boots, Charli extracted four thin
leather straps. Swiftly, before Dr. Devereau could change his mind, she
tied the arms and legs of submissive, sniveling Marcel to the four brass
bedposts.
"Oh please don't do this my love. I adore you Charli, but please
don't torture me."
"Are you a man or a titmouse?" berated Agent 69.
Next, sweet Charli went over to the dresser, fumbled around for some
nylon stockings, then returned to the bed. She placed her sumptuous female
form on top of Dr. Devereau's struggling body. She could feel his strong
erection through her thong gaff and leather bustier. She probed the depths
of Marcel's mouth with her sensuous tongue. The deep wet kiss seemed to
last for minutes.
Suddenly, there was a crash and thud behind her from the direction of
the closet.
"Max!" Charli screamed.
Maxwell Smart had fallen asleep standing up. He had collapsed through
the loosely latched closet doors.
"What the hell's going on?" screamed a panicky Marcel Devereau.
A dazed, somewhat stunned Smart stumbled to his feet.
After composing himself, he asked, "Would you believe I am Charli's
jealous husband and I just dropped by to check up on her?"
An incredulous Dr. Devereau paused to consider the intruder's
explanation. "No."
"Would you believe I am the hotel detective?" offered Max.
"No."
Approaching Charli and the helpless Marcel lying on the bed, Smart
snatched the nylons from Agent 69's hand, jumped onto the bed, and shoved
the balled-up nylons into Dr. Devereau's mouth.
"There, that should hold him for awhile."
"I won't be able to interrogate him if he's gagged up."
"Well Agent Watkins, I don't think we can very well let him yell and
scream for help, can we?"
"Ah Max, it was just getting interesting," whined Charli. "He had
just fallen into what I like to call Charli's Web . . . I didn't even get a
chance to use my whip on him. He would have told me everything willingly.
He has true submissive sex slave tendencies . . . Are you sure you didn't
interrupt us because you were getting jealous?" asked the sassy, sexy
dominatrix.
Max's response was the expression of wide-mouthed incredulity. "No
99, I mean 69, I was not in the least bit jealous of the mad Dr. Devereau,"
declared Maxwell Smart in his distinctive, high-pitched tone.
"You know, my father told me about your bachelor party many years ago.
He said you really seemed to enjoy the striptease. You kept looking at
Charlie's crotch, wondering if she would take it all off," teased Charli as
she wrapped her legs around Max's legs. "And when you and daddy went
undercover to infiltrate KAOS's Pussycat Club, you couldn't take your eyes
off daddy's cute tail. In fact, my dear daddy feared you were going to ask
him out on a date."
Charli's hands worked at loosening Max's tie, undoing the buttons of
Max's shirt, and pressing her provocative thrusting breasts up against his
chest.
"Charli, you're a very sexy lady and I like you a lot, but my heart
belongs to 99. So, please don't take this any further."
Charli paused, "Are you sure Max? Are you sure you don't want me?"
she purred.
"Yes, I'm sure . . . although Charli, my neck, shoulders and lower
back are really aching from being cooped up in that closet for the last
three hours. Would you mind giving me a deep, sensuous, therapeutic
massage?" Max asked hopefully. Max waited a few seconds. "Ah, not a
chance huh?"
"Not on your life," boomed the deep male voice of Charlie Watkins Jr.,
Special Agent 69. "I don't go for half-measures. You must have me
confused with CIA operative Felicity Shagwell!" In a huff, Charlie Watkins
Jr., with a sensuous wiggle-waggle of her hips and tempting buns, glided
over to the bathroom, slamming the door firmly shut.
Again, Max's expression could be characterized as a look of
incredulous disbelief.
Max was a straight heterosexual. Yet he found Charli to be highly
desirable. The inner struggle was beyond his comprehension. Perhaps
sexual behavior simply wasn't rational he decided. It was instinctive.
The urges were driven by hormones, not logical thought.
A moment later, the Chief and Agent 99 came crashing through the front
door of the hotel suite, with guns drawn.
"Oh Max, thank God you're safe!" screamed an excited 99, as she rushed
up to embrace her husband. Then, she noticed the tied-up Dr. Devereau,
lying vulnerable and exposed on the bed. The leather straps tying his
extremities to the brass bedposts and the balled-up nylons in his mouth
puzzled 99. "And I see you've got Dr. Devereau." Was there some kind of
kinky sex going on?
"99, Chief, am I ever glad to see you. I thought both of you were
either dead or captured. What happened? How did you escape?"
"Max," began the Chief, "At CONTROL headquarters, we believed there
was a traitor in the organization. So we led you to believe that we were
MIA, missing in action, but we were never in actual danger. We thought
that you could flush out the traitor by having him or her attempt to
eliminate you."
"Thanks Chief . . . I think. So it was the old
fake-out-the-traitor-by-lying trick, eh. So, who's the traitor Chief? It
couldn't be the beautiful Charli Watkins, could it?" asked a suddenly
alarmed Maxwell Smart. He hoped he hadn't fallen into lust with a double-
crossing spy!
"It turns out that we could trace the leak to the lady who worked at
the shoe rental counter at the Bowlerama. A notorious double agent named
Nikki Knight. It seems she set up a few of our top agents for liquidation.
But luckily, a freak explosion completely demolished the Bowling Alley,
plugging our leak. In fact, Max, we would have been here a few hours
earlier, but our airline tickets seem to have been destroyed by that same
explosion. It completely wiped out Cunningham Travel, our CONTROL owned
travel agency. By the way Max, you'll be happy to know that agent Larabee
is making a fine recovery. He's been in and out of a coma, but it looks
like he's finally turned the corner."
"Good old Larabee!" said an upbeat Smart. Max was about to open his
mouth to take credit for the termination of Nikki Knight, but thought
better of it. Who needed to fill in more reports? Besides, he didn't want
Larabee to know Maxwell Smart was the one that put Larabee's life at risk.
The bathroom door swung open.
"Hi everyone!" squealed Charli with delight.
"Hello!" chimed 99 and the Chief.
A scantily clad Charli Watkins emerged from la salle de bain, dressed
in a see- through red teddy. All signs of the dominatrix gear had
disappeared. Smart checked over her drop-dead gorgeous figure, the large,
dark nipples on her bountiful bosoms, Charli's tiny 23-inch waist, and the
thick triangular patch of hair between her legs.
"Max, how could you?" screamed an astonished Agent 99, as Smart gave
Charli a look of unadulterated lust. At least, that's what 99 thought it
was.
Charli snuggled up to the bewildered Maxwell Smart.
"Max, who is this? You're not married are you?" asked Charli, as she
gave 99's toned, trim figure an admiring appraisal from the top of her
thick, luxurious brunette mane down to the pink, enameled toe nails poking
out of her sandal style footwear. "Whoever she is, she's one luscious
babe."
99 took some comfort in the compliment, but at the same time felt
threatened by this beauty's obvious affection for Max.
Charli's right hand caressed Max's cheek. Charli's left hand reached
down to the front of Max's pants, unzipping his fly.
"Wait a second 99; this is not at all what it seems. While Charli was
out here seducing Dr. Devereau, I was hiding in the closet. Charli tied up
Dr. Devereau, I came out of the closet, Charli went in, and then you and
the Chief came in and . . . Would you believe Agent 69, Charli Watkins,
isn't really a beautiful girl. I mean Charli is really a drop-dead
gorgeous female impersonator! She, or rather he, is just trying to play an
embarrassing joke on the both of us."
"And loving it," teased the mischievous Charli in her sexy, sultry
vixen voice, as Agent 86 struggled against Charli's attempt to pull down
Max's pants.
THE END