AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you for reading GAMINE AND GAMBLER. Selecting a category was difficult because of several different genre overlaps. Those who have read other Literotica stories of mine may recognize Nicholas Kane and the Sheikh from ANNALS OF POTENTATE III, WHERE WOMEN WORHIP THE SERPENT and THE PHANTOM PILOT. Although those stories take place in different centuries and on other planets, the Sheikh and Kane characters are the same people in GAMINE AND GAMBLER. Five Eight and his Literotica fictional universe sincerely hope all of you are in range of Cupid's bow this Valentine's Day.
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Tracy Somerset's breasts trembled sweetly when she bent over the crap table. As she placed a fistful of paper money on the green felt one of them almost wiggled free of the décolletage of her evening gown.
Nicholas Kane, confirmed ass man, damn near got converted to a tit man on the spot by those sensational mammaries. Tracy, beautiful daughter of plantation owner Colonel Terrence Somerset, also possessed a deliciously developed backside, a distraction as big as her breasts. But Kane was working and could only pay those assets minimal attention. If he blew this assignment he'd not only lose the Sheikh's money he gambled with so freely, but his life.
Should he run afoul of the men managing the tables they'd hang him faster than a runaway slave. If they didn't, the man in the gray uniform at the bar would.
Despite the danger Kane couldn't help himself, eyes darting to steal one more glimpse at Tracy. The brown tops of both nipples were visible above her plunging bodice. Only the erect tips poking through the silk prevented the dress from sliding down around her slender waist. Her gown must have cost her old man a pretty penny, so sheer Kane had imagined he could see through it. The champagne-colored material fit tight as a drumskin around her hips. The young lady deigned not to wear a bustle, or undergarments either.
Kane, like every other man and woman in the casino of the riverboat, had seen the dark triangle of Tracy's pubic hair when she'd made her entrance from the promenade deck at sunset. The blaze of light behind her streamed through the thin gown and rendered it nearly invisible.
Definitely nothing under that dress except Tracy, Kane thought when she strutted buoyantly into the casino.
One grande dame had uttered loudly enough for him to overhear the withered hag drawl, "Such a pity Colonel Somerset's daughter has all that blonde hair on her head, but that scraggly black bush between her legs."
Kane had grinned, as had others privy to the jealous old biddy's remark.
Even with her long locks and obvious womanly charm, a hint of the gamine lurked in Tracy. She had a head of hair, elaborately coiffed and curled, unfurling around her delicate shoulders and down her back. She had a big bodyguard too, a stone-faced bloke in a fancy Confederate Army sergeant's uniform. He remained a discreet distance behind his charge and probably no one took much note of him. But Kane did. He needed to; the bully outweighed him by fifty pounds and stood half a foot taller than him. Kane watched the man park himself at the bar where he could survey the width and breadth of the gaming room and intervene should anyone approach Tracy with bad intent.
She'd ignored the bodyguard and everyone else in the casino, sweeping over to the crap table like Kane had known she would. Earlier his source of information told him dice was her game. When she'd placed her money on the table the boxman exchanged it for stacks of chips and Tracy joined the game. For the first hour Kane acclimated himself with the way she played. He also noted Tracy did not drink mint juleps. She partook of whiskey and hectored a colored indentured servant to bring her drink after drink. She drank a lot, but won a lot. People began to drop out of the game. Kane stayed. The stickman continually slid chips in front of the girl until she'd amassed several untidy teetering pagodas of them.
She seemed quite self-absorbed and impressed with herself, especially her hair. Between rolls she fussed with it incessantly, combing her fingers through the curls, repeatedly glancing at her reflection in the big mirror behind the bar, admiring her perfection. Tracy was doubtless as proud of her lustrous tresses as she was those breasts of hers she kept shaking and jiggling around. Kane couldn't find it in himself to begrudge the aloof wench one iota. A veritable feast for the eyes: every man in the casino obviously wanted to lift up the hem of her gown to bury his love muscle in the warm tightness of the shimmying bottom she wagged about as much as her tits; likewise every woman present wanted to bury a dagger between them.
Lust and jealousy, reflected Kane with an ill-concealed smirk, the age old maladies of the human animal. But he was different, not that he didn't want to fuck Tracy senseless. He did. The only difference was Kane was going to get to have his way with the little slut; the men clustered around the roulette wheel and card tables were not.
Her bodyguard met Kane's eye, but Kane remained unworried, the brute watched everyone at Tracy's table closely. Kane kept his face blank as he thumbed a wooden match alight and lit a thin cheroot, exhaled a nonchalant cloud of blue smoke. While replacing the small box of matches in the side pocket of his black velvet frockcoat he palmed a pair of loaded dice. He tucked them into his burgundy cummerbund unseen and rested his now empty right hand casually on the carved lip of the mahogany dice table.
Sweat filmed on his forehead and above his upper lip, easily explainable by the heat of the room should anyone be paying him undue attention, or the Confederate sergeant at the bar suspect anything. The fellow was not Kane's sole cause of concern. The men operating the Mississippi gambling ship would kill him for cheating, just like Colonel Somerset's goon if Kane touched a hair on the head of his only daughter. Kane didn't need to cheat for money; the Sheikh always funded him well. He just needed to beat Tracy and put her in his debt somehow.
A damnable dangerous game he played that evening.
His turn to roll the bones again came around and Tracy bet a dozen chips that he'd crap out. Conceited shit, acting like a bloody queen as if those around her were her subjects and, as such, beneath her. She noticed Kane; licking those swollen pouting lips of hers and favoring him with a sly glance now and again. He guessed her crotch was wet indeed from all the attention she studiously ignored. In his lifetime he'd tumbled enough wives and daughters to know the female of the species found him attractive. For the last quarter century more women than he could count had kept his cock coated with saliva and vaginal secretions. Unlike Tracy he tried not to act snobbish, not always succeeding. But Kane didn't take his good looks for granted and worked to maintain them. The Sheikh employed him because of them too, among other things.
The game continued. Tracy finished another whiskey and dispatched the beleaguered servant to the bar for another. She appeared sober and very much in control. When the dice went out of play for a minute Kane decided to employ a spot of charm.
He smiled a smile just shy of a leer across the table at her and essayed some polite banter. "You play well, Miss Somerset. It's my misfortune to have you on the other side of table this evening."
"I always play to win, sir," she answered without a glance his way.
"As do I," he said with brash confidence.
She condescended to look at him. "You have me at a disadvantage."
Kane stared pointedly at the flesh barely contained in Tracy's bodice. Christ, he couldn't wait to sink to the hilt in the tight declivity sweetening itself between her thighs.
"How so, Miss Somerset?" he asked her with great deference.
"You know my name but I don't know yours." She gave a quick nervous tug to her décolletage as if just then noticing her nipples on almost complete display. A fine sheen of perspiration shone in the valley of her breasts.
"Forgive me if I've been forward in speaking your name. You're Colonel Somerset's daughter, I thought it common knowledge. Since you've come of age you've already made an impression from New Orleans to Charleston."
"Thank you, sir, but I still don't know your name," she said, her tone arch.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am." He stuck his cigar back in his mouth to free his right hand to reach across the table and shake Tracy's. "Nicholas Kane, at your service."
His gesture and subdued words had the desired affect. The girl actually smiled. "I thought I knew most of the riverboat gamblers on the Mississippi. But you're not from these parts, are you? Not with that English accent."
