"TAMARA TAKES A GAMBLE " ( Four Parts )

[esercito sconfitto]

TAMARA TAKES A GAMBLE

CHAPTER 1 : TAMARA CHOOSES HER SUIT

Somewhere along the Cote D’Azur, about 1978:

Nathalie slowly inhaled from the cigarette which she had scrounged from Raoul. Raoul had the hots for Nathalie and could generally be relied upon to provide the occasional cigarette or the odd Franc when Nathalie was short of funds. She knew how to drop her eyes and smile and hint that repayment might not be entirely in kind. Raoul always fell for it. True, Nathalie had allowed Raoul to fondle her once, but his inexperienced twiddling soon made Nathalie realise that she would be tuned into Radio Luxembourg long before she got anywhere near that state of squirming, toe curling, organismic delight for which she yearned.

The evening air was warm and a light breeze blew from the Mediterranean across the Cote D’Azur. Nathalie looked along the coast towards the twinkling lights of Cap Ferrat. She had heard there was to be a society function on the Cap tonight with the familiar menagerie of rich, famous and useless in attendance. She had been asked if she would like to go along this evening to help serve the guests, but she had declined out of loyalty to the Casino which employed her. Nathalie looked around. Her friend Camille usually joined her for a break around this time but she was nowhere in sight. Camille was responsible for serving guests on the second floor while Nathalie handled the first floor. It was a good job for tips as long as you didn’t mind the occasional wandering hand.

Nathalie flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette and frowned as it fell on the front of her uniform dress. She looked down to flick it away and then - everything went dark as a hood was pulled down over her head and a hand was clasped over her mouth to secure silence. Before Nathalie could come to her senses, someone had pushed her behind her knees and brought her to the ground. A wide band of material replaced the hand across her mouth and was rapidly wound around her head so she could neither see nor shout. Nathalie tried to kick out, but her ankles had been already been clamped by a pair of handcuffs and a pair of strong arms was turning her legs to force her to lie face down. Another pair of hands had grasped Nathalie’s arms and pulled them above her head. The first assailant was now sitting painfully on her lower legs to prevent Nathalie lashing out. She tried to cry out; Nathalie could feel the zip at the back of her uniform dress being pulled down. The dress was released and pulled upwards over her arms and removed completely. Her bouffant petticoats - part of the uniform – followed. Now Nathalie could feel her arms being pulled down behind her back and secured with another set of handcuffs. A hand moved slowly up her leg; Nathalie cringed and protested helplessly. Surely they weren’t going to take off her…
“Ouch!” Someone had just twanged her garter belt.

Nathalie was now lifted and carried a short distance. She heard a van door being slid back. Two pairs of arms lifted her into a vehicle and lay her gently on the floor before covering her with a blanket.
“Jeepers, she’s heavy” somebody complained.
Nathalie squirmed. She was convinced she had been kidnapped by white slavers. She had read about them in the erotic comic books which Raoul sometimes forgetfully left behind after one of his lengthy visits to the toilet. She could see it now: tomorrow she would be paraded at a North African souk in her bra and panties. No, correction: in her panties. Bidders would want to see her best features; well, her second best feature, anyhow. How much would she fetch? Would she be subject to Value Added Tax? Would she end up being cosseted in the Caliph’s harem or hired out to work the backstreet of Nice? She was keen to find out.
Something bumped into her, dragging Nathalie away from her thoughts. She could hear mmpphhing. Someone else was in the back of the van. So that’s what happened to Camille.

Sabine Dubois patted the steering wheel of the DS convertible as she waited for the lights to change. She leaned her head back slightly, closed her eyes and enjoyed the caress of the warm evening breeze. She was driving towards Cap Ferrat and the party held by Madame Laplage in honour of her daughter’s engagement. Sabine was to have travelled with her own fiancé, but he contacted her at the last moment and pleaded that he would be delayed by commitments at work but would be able to join Sabine at the party. He did not bother to explain that the commitment was tall, brunette and very accommodating. So Sabine persuaded her doting father to lend her the DS so she could make her own way to the party. Sabine had travelled to Paris the week before with her mother to choose a dress for the occasion and they had selected a very elegant, very expensive, strapless gown from an even more expensive store near the Opera. Sabine was very pleased with the dress and appreciated how it highlighted her best features. She glanced down as she casually fondled the fabric of the skirt of the dress. It was as soft as silk and felt very comfortable.

Sabine was so involved with her thoughts that she did not notice that the passenger door of the convertible had been quietly opened by a slim female figure which slid silently alongside.

“Darling! How wonderful to see you again!” cried the figure, kissing Sabine on both cheeks before jamming a Beretta in her stomach and smilingly announcing that Sabine should drive quietly on now that the lights had changed unless, of course, she wanted a spare belly button.

“Try not to fill your pants, Darling; I’d hate you to spoil that beautiful dress you’re wearing. Did Daddy buy it for you?” the figure taunted.


The DS was parked under some trees a little way in from the Aire de Repose where the car had stopped. There was a full moon and enough light for Tamara to examine the contents of Sabine’s handbag. A few feminine items; a few hundred Francs; keys: nothing of consequence. Sabine stood in front of Tamara with her hands behind her head, looking decidedly uncomfortable. The pose which Sabine had been forced to adopt intrigued Tamara, who began to wonder if Newton’s claim that apples, once released, would fall, should be put to the test as she had a mischievous urge to order Sabine to jump up and down on the spot to see what would happen.

Stop being frivolous Tamara muttered to herself. She pointed the gun at Sabine.

“Turn around”

“What are you going to do?”

“Turn around” Tamara repeated, ignoring the question.

Sabine slowly turned her back. Tamara moved forward until she was almost touching her prize; then, reaching up, she unhooked the catch at the top of Sabine’s dress. Sabine gave a gasp and opened her mouth to protest.

“Shh!” she was gently silenced.
Tamara slowly slid down the zip, taking far longer than was really necessary; her knuckles gently caressing Sabine’s spine on the way down while her victim gave a slight shudder. Tamara stood back to admire her handiwork. Under the dress Sabine was wearing a tight fitting, white satin foundation garment with - Tamara opened the bottom of the gap to check - a waist slip.

“Take off the dress. Oh, and don’t drop it on the ground: just place it inside the car. I don’t want it to get dirty.”

Sabine reluctantly complied.

“And the slip. I don’t want anyone looking at my panties. They can look at yours instead”

Sabine thumbed the waistband of the slip and pushed it down to her calves before lifting each leg in turn to release the garment. Tamara was pleased with the result. With the foundation garment Sabine was wearing a pair of lacy knickers and a garter belt. ‘How delightful!’ Tamara admired.

“Put your hands behind your back.

Sabine reluctantly complied.

Tamara began to secure Sabine’s wrists. She then produced a cloth which she had brought for the occasion and proceeded to gag her victim. Tamara was very close now to Sabine and she could smell the scent of the latest skin care products from a very expensive Parisian supplier. She nudged Sabine’s cheek with her nose and began to tease her ear with the tip of her tongue. Sabine made a muffled protest but was quickly silenced by a calm, reassuring Tamara.

“You’re very, very beautiful” Tamara cooed, then, lifting Sabine’s ear lobe on the tip of her tongue, she, very gently, very soothingly, began to suck.


In the darkness of the back street a decrepit looking H van was parked at the side of the road. Inside, a bored Melody reached under the carpet for the umpteenth time that evening and began to search. Her hand moved over a concealed object until she found what she was looking for. The object began to move. There was a moment of intense concentration from Melody, a slight noise, then immediately a muffled cry emerged from the carpet as Camille protested as the strap of her garter belt was snapped yet again.

“Do you have to keep doing that? Leave the girl alone.” Harmony reprimanded.

“Where is she? Tamara should be here by now.” Melody complained in return before hanging her head sheepishly. Harmony was quite right to reprimand her: Camille’s thighs must be quite sore by now. Melody made a mental promise to herself to give Camille a wedgie instead next time she felt bored. She would like that.

Harmony returned to her vantage point, peering out of a hole in the back door of the van. As if on cue, a pair of headlights lit up the street as a car pulled up behind the vehicle. Harmony was temporarily blinded as the headlamps were extinguished. The car door opened and a figure wearing a smart evening dress got out.

“She’s here!” Harmony cried and moved to open the sliding door at the side of the H van.

“Bravo! Glad to see it went alright, then” complimented Tamara as she examined the sisters in their recently acquired uniforms. “Did you have any problems?”

“No. Everything went as smoothly as we had hoped. No problems at all.”

“Good”

“I like the dress” observed Harmony.

“It’s great!” added Melody “Only one thing: don’t, whatever you do, sneeze. That would be unwise.”

Tamara smiled in agreement. It was a lovely dress, but as she was only too well aware by now, Sabine’s bust was slightly larger than her own and the evening’s forthcoming activities might prove perilous and present a hazard to her sartorial elegance.

“Where’s the former occupant?” asked Melody nodding towards the dress.

“In the boot of the car. Give me a hand: we will put her in the back with the others.”

Harmony and Melody moved to the back of the DS and waited while Tamara released the catch. The lid opened to reveal a young woman bound and gagged in her underwear. Melody gave a low whistle.

“I like her undies; do you think…”

“No!” Tamara interrupted. She knew perfectly well what Melody had in mind.

Sabine was helped out of the back of the car and was led towards the side door of the H van.

“She looks rather damp” Harmony observed “She looks as though she has been for a five mile run.”

Tamara smiled “Yes, she does look rather – er, enervated, doesn’t she? She has just returned from a rather exhausting and exhilarating voyage of discovery: finding parts of herself she never knew existed; but I believe she found it a wonderful, life enhancing experience, didn’t you, Darling?” Tamara put her arm around Sabine’s waist, pulled her gently to her and gave her a kiss and a hug before playfully lowering her hand slowly to pat Sabine’s bottom; then, very tenderly, helped Sabine into the back of the H van where she was secured by Melody and covered with a rug.

Melody and Harmony exchanged glances and smiled…

--- to be continued ---

TAMARA TAKES A GAMBLE

CHAPTER 2 : TAMARA WINS AT POKER

“You know what to do. We’ll meet on the first floor in ten minutes” Tamara gave her final instructions before returning to the DS. Harmony slid behind the wheel of the H Van and started the engine and slowly drove back towards the Casino before parking the vehicle in a discrete spot near to the rear entrance. Melody and Harmony got out and made their way to the back door and entered.

Tamara drove up to the front of the Casino and chose a parking slot which offered ease of exit. She closed the door of the car and walked boldly, but casually, up the stairs leading to the entrance. A doorman dressed in a uniform which hadn’t changed in the last hundred years greeted her.
“Good evening, Madam” he said in the half welcoming, half querying tone adopted by gate guardians.
“Good evening. Perhaps you could direct me to the meeting of The Daughters of Vallois” Tamara responded.
“Certainly, Madam. Room 101, first floor”
“Thank you.”
Tamara knew where the meeting was to be held, but sometimes it pays to plead ignorance. The Daughters of Vallois was a social group comprised of about a dozen young professional women who liked to do ‘good deeds’. Or so they claimed. It was a way to meet together, to get to know one another, to plot schemes to their mutual advantage, to devise new ways of scratching each other’s back, etc. They were inevitably rich and well connected and once a year they met at the Casino for a social gathering where they could wine and dine before engaging in a little gambling. They were invariably dressed in the latest designer outfits and they would be sure to be carrying lots of cash for the evening’s entertainment.
Tamara entered the Casino and made for the broad staircase which climbed to the upper floors. She was conscious that she was being followed by several pairs of hungry eyes which she hoped would be fed before it was time for her to leave. She turned into the corridor at the top of the first flight of stairs and made for the ladies’ restroom which was half way along the corridor. Tamara went to a cubicle, lifted her dress and underwear, and pulled the Beretta from the holster which she wore on her thigh. She checked the magazine before replacing the gun and adjusting her dress. The gun and holster was a present from Bruce. He teasingly referred to the Beretta as a ‘girlie gun’, just right for Tamara. He had kindly spent a couple of hours showing Tamara how to fit the holster to her suspender belt and got her to practice drawing the gun until she was completely competent in its use. Tamara looked at her watch. The girls should have had sufficient time to start work by now. It was time for her to join them.

The door to room 101 was locked. Tamara knocked gently. The door opened half an inch and an eye peered at her. The door was opened briefly and then closed and bolted, immediately after Tamara had entered, by Melody dressed in her new maid’s uniform.
Tamara was confronted by the sight of about ten very frightened, elegantly dressed, young ladies standing with their hands in the air. In the background was an equally worried waitress who had been interrupted serving the drinks.
“Sorry, Tamara, I couldn’t remember the French for ‘this is a robbery, take off your clothes’” spluttered an embarrassed Melody.
“Nor the English, it seems” muttered Tamara, glancing at the shattered carafe of water, the contents of which had soaked the table cloth. Melody had decided to try out the new silencer fitted to her PPK. It had had the desired effect of focusing the attention of the assembled members of The Daughters of Vallois, but had frightened the life out of Harmony who realised that her sister probably was the only person in the world who really could not hit a barn from the inside.
So, with a long practiced flourish, Tamara lifted her dress and unholstered her Beretta. She addressed her audience in fluent French (which she had polished at her very expensive Swiss finishing school).
“The charity for tonight, ladies, is me. My fellows in need will move among you to collect donations. You will deposit all your valuables and money in the sacks provided” Tamara paused for effect “And then you will remove those lovely clothes and place them in the laundry trolleys which you see before you.”
There were gasps of disbelief from her audience as her victims protested.
“Just think of it as a game of strip poker - which I have won.” Tamara reassured them. “Oh, and by the way, as a special treat, the last one to strip down forfeits her panties…”
This was a serious challenge to the solidarity of the Sisterhood. Two of the assembled ladies wore nothing but panties under their dresses and the threat of being completely exposed to the night air did not appeal. None wanted to be thought of as being utterly selfish towards the others; but, nevertheless, in these circumstances…
“…which I shall kindly leave pinned to the public notice board outside the Town Hall so that they may be collected later.” Tamara promised.
The room was suddenly filled with the hum of sliding zips as frantic fingers competed to avoid the star prize. The winner was a lady on whom middle aged spread had already began to encroach. Her zip had jammed, her fingernail broke and sheer panic had done the rest. She was still in her dress after the others had stripped to their underwear. Tamara gestured to the waitress:
“Give her a hand”
Which she duly did.
“And the panties” Tamara reminded.
Blushing furiously, the reluctant winner reached under her slip and struggled with her nether garments; they eventually emerged gasping for air and flopped exhausted around her ankles.
“Pick them up – and her handbag” Tamara ordered the waitress.
Tamara put the panties in the basket with the dresses and rummaged in the handbag. She found the item she was seeking, placed it in her pocket and threw the handbag back on the floor. Meanwhile, Melody and Harmony had been tying and gagging their victims. Tamara selected the two who wore the most attractive lingerie.
“Leave their ankles free for now: I have made plans for them”
The two young advocates looked at each other in horror. What could this fiend possibly want to do with them?
Tamara looked at her watch. They had been incredibly lucky: they had not been disturbed. She looked around the room. Her victims were now bound and gagged on the floor and should remain so until Tamara and the others had escaped.
“Get the lifts”
Just outside room 101 were two lift shafts serving all the floors of the Casino. Harmony wheeled the laundry baskets to the nearest shaft and pushed the button on each pillar to call for service. When the first arrived, Harmony pushed the laundry trolley slightly inside the lift to jam the door open. She gestured to Melody, watching from the doorway of 101, as soon as the other lift arrived. Melody quickly brought the other trolley and jammed the door of the second lift before returning to the room to help Tamara with her two specially selected exhibits who had began to struggle at the prospect of being paraded in public in their lingerie, no matter how pretty it was. After removing one of the trolleys, she leaned against the door to keep it ajar. The two victims were forced inside the lift and their hands, which had been tied behind their backs, were secured to the hand rail which ran around inside the lift.
Tamara waited until Melody and Harmony had begun their descent in the other lift with the two laundry trolleys before pressing the button in the second lift for the top floor and stepping out back into the corridor, leaving her two victims to their fate. She gave a friendly wave as the doors closed.
“’Bye! Have fun!”

Tamara descended the stairs to the ground floor. She was approached by a waiter.
“Can I get you anything, Madame?”
“Thank you. A vodka and lime, please. I shall be out on the terrace”
“Certainly, Madame”
Out of the corner of her eye, Tamara saw a lounge lizard slithering across the floor towards her. The oleaginous predator had almost reached her with his mouth open to speak when he was distracted by a ménage of peculiar sounds from one side of the room. Noises which suggested something untoward had happened. They seemed to be a mixture of gasps of surprise, muffled laughter and cries of horror. Tamara turned to look. The lift doors had opened revealing two very attractive young ladies in their underwear. Their squirming, and the fact that they were tied and gagged, suggested they were there against their will. The doors stayed open for a few seconds, slowly closed and the lift continued its journey, continuing to fulfil its intended role as a distraction device. Tamara’s would-be suitor immediately abandoned all ambitions in respect of his prey and headed towards the lift shaft where he elbowed his way to the front of a gathering throng of spectators eagerly awaiting the next performance. By this time Tamara had climbed behind the wheel of the DS and was thumbing the key. She drove gently from the car park and followed an H Van, which had emerged from behind the Casino, towards the direction of Nice.

The two vehicles drove a short distance to the next village along the coast and stopped in the square in front of the Town Hall. Tamara told Harmony to park the H Van in the slot reserved for the mayor’s car, thereby ensuring it would be investigated as a matter of priority the following morning. Tamara knew that the pursuit of crime would take second place once the mayor found he couldn’t park when he arrived for work tomorrow. The night’s haul was loaded into a Mercedes which had been parked nearby earlier in the evening, and Melody and Harmony climbed in the back of the H Van to change into their own clothes. Tamara joined them and examined the three captives to make sure they were not too uncomfortable. She spent a little time with Sabine, whispering words of support and encouragement before tucking the keys to the DS inside Sabine’s panties so she could find them when she was rescued. Tamara was sad when she realised that Sabine was damper than when she had left her earlier. Harmony swore later that Tamara had been in tears when she said goodbye to Sabine.

“Just one more thing to do” announced Tamara, pulling herself together. She retrieved the panties which the winner had discarded earlier, and reached in her pocket for the business card which she had taken from the handbag. She scribbled a few words on it, and then walked across to the public notice board where she spread out the panties and fixed them, together with the business card, to the board with drawing pins. She stood back to admire her handiwork. She was satisfied. Turning on her heel, she walked to the Mercedes where Harmony and Melody were waiting, and climbed behind the wheel.

The lights of Ventimille glimmered as Tamara slowly edged up to the border crossing point. An Italian immigration official approached the car as Tamara brought the Mercedes to a halt. Beaming broadly, he greeted the new arrivals. “Passports, please.”
Tamara gave him her special ‘I am a helpless, very attractive girl, who, if you play your cards right, will, at the very least, let you see her panties’ look.
“I am afraid we don’t have them with us. We were invited to a party at the last moment and did not give them a moment’s thought, I’m afraid, could you possibly forgive us?” charmed Tamara in her perfect Italian (which she had polished at her very expensive Swiss finishing school).
The official shrugged. “Well, I know you exist: I can see you, I can hear you, I can feel you – oh! Pardon, Madame: a moment’s lapse…What should you need a passport for? Besides, where would you keep it?” he asked, peering down the front of Tamara’s dress at her belly button, wishing that this was one navel engagement he could meet. But with that he waved them on.
“San Remo, next stop” laughed Tamara as she drove off.

--- to be continued ---

TAMARA TAKES A GAMBLE

CHAPTER 3 : FLORENT WINS THE JACKPOT

Florent X peered closely at the item pinned to the notice board. He wondered what the young lady had pinned to the board so late at night; he thought he ought to go and see for himself. He lifted the edge of the lacy item and took a deep breath. He gave a chuckle of approval.
“Nice. Expensive, too. Now why should that young lady pin someone’s panties to a notice board in the middle of the night? Must have been quite a party.”
Florent, un vieux moustache, veteran of Syria, Indo China, and all the decent banzibars in Algiers, had been awoken by a noisy H Van from his dozing in the doorway of the café. Through half opened eyes his curiosity had been aroused by the antics of three ladies who seemed to up to no good. Not that he cared about that; he was no friend to the authorities and if three lovely young ladies were up to mischief, what was it to him? He remained where he was until the Mercedes had gone, then emerged from his resting place and ambled across the square. He was soon joined by his mate George.
“What do you think, George?”
“Um. I reckon there’s a chilly lady out somewhere tonight.” His bleary eyes focused on something pinned to the panties. “Look: there’s a card: it’s got something written on it.”
Florent also met the challenge of focusing his eyes. “It’s a business card. Got someone’s name on it. See, somebody has written something else as well.”
They both peered closely.
“Please…return…to…handsome…reward …paid.” Florent read out slowly. “What do you think?”
George scratched his three days’ growth.
“Well, I suspect the lady would like her panties back. I am sure she would be thrilled. Besides, it says ‘handsome’ reward mark you, not any sort of reward”
“You’re right. You don’t come across handsome rewards every day of the week.” and with that, Florent carefully unpinned his trophy together with its card, took another deep sniff of expensive perfume, and stuffed the items in his pocket alongside this month’s dog end collection.

Florent stood in the dock in the magistrate’s court. Last night had ended in an altercation with some youths who couldn’t cope with the smell from the barmaid’s apron and had very unwisely tried their luck with Florent. One had ended up in the village fountain, another face down counting weeds in the flower beds, while the third had been thrown through the window of the tourist office. Florent had taken great care to avoid the boulangerie next door, for he knew he faced getting lynched if he had dared to deprive the villagers of their next morning’s croissants. The local policeman waited in the shadows, enjoying the entertainment, and when it was all over and it seemed safe to emerge, he arrested Florent and escorted him to his favourite cell.

Magistrate Amelie Dugros was exceptionally bad tempered this morning. No one was spared her vitriol, not the policeman who couldn’t get his note book open in time, nor the advocate who yawned at the wrong moment, and certainly not Florent who was at the target of a flood of curmudgeonly bile. Florent pleaded guilty, but asked the Court to exercise its discretion in view of the provocation he had received. Although his honour was more than satisfied, he felt, when the list of the injuries received by the other side were enumerated. Magistrate Amelie Dugros was unimpressed. “Fined five hundred francs” she concluded “How are you going to pay?” she demanded.

Florent straightened his back. “Your Honour” he began “I am a man of great expectations” he claimed, now thumbing his jacket lapels in the way he had seen the hero do on the cinema screen. “The other evening, I had the very good fortune to find an exceptional treasure. It was pinned to the notice board outside the town hall.” With that, he put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out the pair of white lace panties, now smelling more of cigarette butts than perfume. “Attached to this delightful garment was this card” He held it up for all to see. “It reads ‘Please return to Amelie Dugros, Magistrate. Handsome reward paid.’ Not a reward, note: a handsome reward. So, Your Honour, I…”
But Magistrate Dugros was no longer listening. She appeared to be in the throws of what, in more genteel times, was known as ‘an attack of the vapours’. She was deeply flushed, cringing away from the world around her, trying to hide her head in her arms and wailing inconsolably. Thrilled, she was not. But everyone else was; so that was alright, then.

Later that day, Florent stood in front of the desk sergeant as he signed for the return of his belongings. The police officers, traditionally dour and aggressive, seemed unusually buoyant. Florent picked up his wallet. It felt far heavier than when he had handed it over for safekeeping. Puzzled, he opened it. It was stuffed with 100 franc notes. Mouth open, he looked at the sergeant who returned the look with the gaze which one reserves for people who are about to ask stupid questions.
“What about the fine…?” Florent began.
“Paid” was the abrupt answer.
“But…”
“Eh alor?” the sergeant shrugged dismissively and waved Florent towards the exit.

In truth, once Magistrate Dugros had been assisted from the courtroom to recover, and Florent had been returned to the cells, an imaginative and extraordinarily grateful advocate had proposed that such an event should not go unrecognised – nor unrewarded. Magistrate Dugros was universally detested and the sight of her discomfort when her panties were so publicly displayed would remain etched in the collective memory forevermore of those present in the courtroom at the time. The advocate had heard through the grapevine that a colleague, very pretty but exceptionally pushy and a strong believer that ‘glass ceilings’ should be shattered by pioneers such as herself – in short, a veritable pain in the butt – had been stripped down to her underwear (very lacy and delightfully exquisite by all accounts) following an armed robbery on the function she was attending at the Casino. Not only that (so the story goes) she and a colleague were tied to the inside of a lift which travelled up and down for the best part of half an hour, pausing at each floor in turn. Apparently, the staff did not know how to stop the lift; at or least, that is what they claimed. It was generally agreed that it could not have happened to a nicer person. The advocate had also heard a strange story about one of the victims losing her panties, but at the time he had dismissed the claim as pure fantasy; the type of incident dreamed up by imaginative story tellers, but now it seems it was true after all.
So the hat was passed round the courtroom and everyone contributed handsomely. So the fine was paid – there was a lot left over - and Florent became the toast of the town. So everything ended well.


--- to be concluded ---

TAMARA TAKES A GAMBLE

CHAPTER 4 : TAMARA GETS TRUMPED – IN SPADES

A few months later, Tamara was invited to attend the Cannes Film Festival as a guest of a producer whom she had got to know quite well. Tamara had walked from her hotel at the back of the Boulevard de la Croisette and had paused to admire the handprints cemented into the pavement outside the Palais des Festivals. A pair of elegant shoes appeared in her line of vision. Tamara looked up: about three yards away stood Sabine. Tamara froze. Had she been recognised? She was wearing dark glasses, but Sabine had been very close to Tamara on the night of the robbery and would be unlikely to have forgotten what she looked like. Sabine was now looking at Tamara curiously.
“I hope I’m not going to regret this…”
“Hello” Tamara ventured, deciding to take a chance “How are you? I never expected to see you again, but I’m glad we’ve met.”
Sabine stared back as if not really believing the evidence of her senses. She had noticed Tamara before Tamara saw her, and recognised in her a resemblance to her assailant, but had almost dismissed the possibility, that it might actually be her, from her mind, concluding that the chances of meeting her again must be extremely remote. Nevertheless, something, other than pure curiosity, had drawn Sabine to take a closer look.
“So it is you.”
“Yes. I was invited to the festival but I am a little early for the celebrations so I thought I’d have a look around.” explained Tamara “And you?”
“Papa dropped me off so I could do some shopping and …”
“Why don’t we have coffee together?” Tamara interrupted.
Sabine shrugged “Why not?”
Tamara led the way to a café which overlooked the sea and selected a discrete spot away from the other clients. They began to talk, it was difficult at first, given the circumstances, and conversation revolved around feminine small talk, but gradually the ice was broken when Sabine explained what happened after she and the other girls had been left in the back of the H Van. After about an hour Camille had managed to loosen her bonds and she freed Nathalie and Sabine. Camille and Nathalie were able to get dressed in their own clothes which fortunately had been left behind, but Sabine’s dress had been taken by Tamara, so she remained in her underwear. Then Camille went to get help, but this was very early in the morning and nobody was around. Eventually she almost tripped over somebody lying in a doorway, drunk. She rifled through his pockets and found a few coins (she had also found a pair of lady’s expensive panties, but we’ll gloss over that) which she used in a pay phone to call Sabine’s father who came out immediately to collect her. It had been very traumatic for them. Nathalie and Camille survived quite well and got a few dates on the strength of their stories – suitably embellished, of course. They even sold their story - even more embellished with suggestive illustrations - to a men’s magazine for a tidy sum. Sabine had limited herself to confiding in a few friends but even so she felt that their interest was driven more by schadenfreude than altruism. Eventually, she grew tired of telling her story to wide-eyed girls who were wetting their panties with proxy excitement, so she gave up in the end and just got on with her life.
“Thank you for returning the dress, by the way.”
Tamara smiled. She had had the dress cleaned in Italy and returned by post to Sabine.
They continued to talk and found that they were attracted to each other in some perverse way. When Tamara suggested they had lunch together, Sabine didn’t require much persuasion.
“But what about the festival?” asked Sabine.
“Oh…it can wait - and so can he!”


Tamara had a good view from the top floor of the hotel; she could see clearly the isle St Marguerite in the near distance. But equally, anyone on board one of the boats in the harbour could see Tamara – as long as they had a telescope: and some of them undoubtedly would be scouring the windows of the apartments overlooking the harbour to see what they could find; and if anyone had seen Tamara, they would certainly have paused for a better look, for Tamara, her body glistening with perspiration, was standing with her hands clasped behind her head, wearing only a pair of knickers. Very exquisite, very expensive knickers.
Tamara was unsure how long ago she had been ordered to adopt this pose: was it ten minutes? Fifteen? Five? She had no idea. It had started when Sabine had picked up Tamara’s Beretta, which had been left on the table, and jammed the muzzle in the small of Tamara’s back. The pattern of events which followed almost mirrored those of the night of the hold-up, but the roles had been reversed. Sabine had been very precise and firm in her instructions to Tamara: hands behind the head; legs slightly apart; turn and face the window. Warming to her role as captor, she had slowly ran the barrel of the Beretta several times down Tamara’s spine before clasping the zipper of her dress with her thumb and forefinger and sliding it down to her waist. Sabine had then stood back to admire her handiwork for a few minutes before ordering Tamara to take off her dress and go and stand by the window in her slip. Sabine had taken her time after that, to ensure that Tamara felt the same humiliation that she herself had experienced on the night of the robbery. Each item of clothing was selected in turn and ordered to be removed slowly until Tamara was left standing solely in her knickers. Sabine had not been simply a voyeur: she had made sure that Tamara experienced fully the humiliation of her vulnerability. Sabine’s hands were everywhere: she had started by hunting for Tamara’s ‘G’ spot; finding it, she had reduced Tamara to a huddled, squirming knot of helplessness; and then, prodding Tamara upright with the Beretta, mercilessly conjugating her way through the rest of Tamara’s alphabet. She had focused particularly on stimulating the tactile tissue of Tamara’s mammalian glands, using a calm, delicate up-and-down movement rather than the twiddling so favoured by men. Tamara could not help but be impressed: Sabine’s finger tips had explored Tamara in a way she had never dreamed possible: it was sheer heaven: even her very expensive Swiss finishing school had not covered the subject to this depth in the extra mural practical studies which they had offered and she made a mental note to write to the principal to suggest a few enhancements to the syllabus.

Tamara was now very damp and began to shudder. Sabine’s finger tip was now circumnavigating Tamara’s navel. It was exquisite: Tamara crossed her legs and squeezed; her knees buckling while her back arched forward in as she squirmed in response. Sabine moved even closer and began to tease Tamara with her tongue; her finger tips beginning to explore again. She gripped the waistband of Tamara’s knickers and gently pulled. Tamara shuddered convulsively.
“It’s Pay Back Time, Miss Fancy Pants: Pay Back Time in Spades! Drop them.”
Which Tamara did.
.
Tamara opened her eyes as the rays of the late afternoon sun, released from their cloud cover, flooded into the room. She pushed back the sheet and emerged into consciousness. She turned to her side and breathed in the soft perfume which marked the presence of Sabine who was still asleep alongside. She smelt warm, clean and welcoming. Tamara resisted an urge to put her arm around Sabine to cuddle her and decided to let her sleep on; besides, she needed another shower.
The idea had begun to form in Tamara’s mind over the salad, it had matured during the main course and by the time they were drinking coffee, she was ready with her proposal.
“I was thinking” she began “they say vengeance is a dish best eaten cold”.
Sabine looked puzzled. “So they say.”
“So how would you like to do to me what I did to you: get your own back as it were? I think it would make you feel a lot better about what happened.”
Sabine was still puzzled.
“Come back with me to my hotel and I’ll explain. We haven’t far to walk. Waiter! Bill please.”

Back in the hotel Tamara poured the drinks while she explained her idea. It was quite simple, really: they would exchange roles. Sabine started to take a keen interest: she had one or two ideas of her own she would like to try out. So she agreed. Tamara removed the holster containing her Beretta and showed Sabine how to wear it. She didn’t spend quite as long on the demonstration as Bruce had when he first fitted it to Tamara, but it was very enjoyable showing Sabine, nevertheless. She took the precaution of removing the magazine and clearing the breech: she didn’t want any mishaps, nor did she want to end up dumped somewhere in her underwear. Then she gave Sabine her head. There were a few faltering moments while Sabine lost her inhibitions but she eventually warmed to the task and the rest, as they say, is history; or, as Tamara explained, ‘therapy’.

Tamara quietly crept over to the shower cubicle, closed the door and turned on the water. She adjusted the temperature and let the warm water flood over her body. She was barely aware of the door sliding open as Sabine came in to join her. They looked at each other without speaking, then Sabine, using a bar of soap, began to get Tamara into a lather for the second time that day.

Sabine and Tamara grew to become very close friends and Tamara eventually became godmother to Sabine’s eldest daughter: she even sponsored her for a place at a very expensive Swiss finishing school.

THE END