The casino was crowded. He was the only one dressed in a tuxedo. He felt out of place amongst the poker machines and neon lights.
Adelaide Crown Casino wasn't the same as those on the French Riviera. Instead of luxury, style and money, Crown was nothing but beer, poker machines and crass bogans.
He sighed. His life hadn't really been the same since he spent a drunken weekend fucking Miss Moneypenny and he never called her back. The vindictive power of the boss's secretary.
His assignment was simple. Contact the Australian agent, exchange information without the 'other side' finding out, and return home to London.
"Now, where could 'Kylie' be?" He thought.
Trying, unsuccessfully, to blend in, he roamed between the noisy poker machines. Each one seemed to be louder and more brightly coloured than the last. The noise and flashing lights gave him a headache. Several people stopped him and made drink orders. He nodded to each person and wordlessly pocketed the money.
He went to the bar.
"Whadill it be luv," the blousy barmaid asked. For a brief moment he considered a dry martini but he didn't think that was possible.
"Gin and tonic, a double, no ice, please"
"We got beer, light beer for gays and dry sherry for the "ladies". What are you?"
He sighed again. It was going to be a long night.
He was just about to order a beer when a young woman tapped him on the shoulder.
"Who does a girl have to suck to get a drink around here?"
He recognised the code phrase.
"Dip me in honey and throw me to the nymphomaniacs," she continued.
She smiled at him. He looked at her.
Her blue eyes complemented her blonde shoulder length hair. Her tiny cropped t-shirt barely covered her fantastic breasts. There was nothing but skin under the small bit of fabric. It had once been a band shirt but now it was just "Rolling", the Stones were long gone. Mick Jagger would have been proud of the way she filled her jeans. They were so tight it looked like they had been painted directly into her skin. Not that she would know who Mick Jagger was, as she was barely 25 and Mick was in his 80's.
"Do you have the 'stuff'? " he asked.
"Nah babe. Do I look like I'm carrying nuclear codes in these jeans?" She laughed as she spun around. Her peachy arse was ripe for plucking. "But I like the size of the hard drive you have in your pants."
She laughed. "We better get outta here. I don't like the way those guys at the pool table are looking at you."
"I agree. They're waiting for their drinks. Let's go."
He grabbed her hand and dragged her through the crowd towards the dance floor. The music was thumping and the strobing disco lights were cutting into his brain. He could feel the headache growing. Boston's " More Than A Feeling" would be stuck in his head for eternity. Unconsciously he started to hum.
Three large men in flannelette shirts approached. Three more were following. Effortlessly she spun to the left. Who could believe she could be so graceful wearing six inch cork wedges. They parted the crowd and made for the restrooms.
"Not that way, we'll be trapped! It's better in the crowd," he said as he stripped off his jacket and bow tie. Ducking and weaving their retraced their steps toward the darkness of the dance floor. Pulling her close to him, he leant over and hugged her as he searched for the thugs.
It was the barmaid that caught his eye. The champagne bottle in her hand had wisps of smoke coming from the neck. She threw it out towards the dance floor. When the bottle bounced he realised how dangerous it was.
Before he could yell "it's a bomb" the explosion erupted and he was thrown to the ground. With ears ringing, he picked up the limp body of the girl and ran to the exit.
Out on the street, the cold night air revived the girl. Helping her to her feet his eyes were drawn to her nipples growing firm under her tight shirt.
"This way," she cried as they ran through the dark streets. Sirens sounded behind them. On they ran. He followed her, two paces behind. He watched her tight bum as she ran. He wanted to hold those cheeks in his hands. "We need to get off the street. Do you have somewhere we can rest for the night?"
Turning down a dark lane she ran to the entrance of an old building. Opening the door of the ground floor flat, they tumbled inside. She pulled all the curtains closed before turning on a light. There was a single bed in the corner of the one room apartment. A door to the tiny bathroom was open. There was no kitchen, just a tiny sink.
She collapsed onto the bed.
"Did you get hurt?" He asked, sitting beside her.
"I don't think so," she replied. "I had my back to the blast. Can you check me for injuries?" She peeled off her jeans effortlessly. "I didn't feel anything but my adrenaline was pumping." Soon she was wearing only the tiniest of g strings, lying on her stomach on the small bed.
Her alabaster skin had no wounds but the first signs of a large bruise were visible around her left shoulder blade. Gently he massaged the area, her skin hot under his hands.
Turning on her side, exposing her full round breasts, she said "thank you, but is that blood on your shirt? You were closer to the blast than I was."
He stood to take off his shirt. It was torn in several places. Blood oozed from several small cuts. The results of the flying glass. Gently she used a damp cloth to clean his broad back.
He'd had worse injuries falling off his pushbike as a boy, but he didn't have a nurse like her when he was young.
Standing before her as she rested on the bed, she asked "is there anything else that hurts? Anything I can kiss better?"
Smiling, he undid his trousers. Smiling, she helped pull them down.
With both hands she caressed his growing shaft. Softly she kissed the exposed knob, her lips lightly touching the eye of his penis.
Remembering the code phrase needed to identify a friend, he said "Who does a girl have to suck to get a drink around here?"
Pausing she grinned and replied "Dip me in honey and throw me to the nymphomaniacs."
Lying back she guided his solid penis down to her dripping cunt. He grabbed the tiny g string and tore it completely apart. A coldness crept into his eyes as the tip of his erection toyed with her vagina lips. Her eyes were closed as she waited for his first thrust. All the pain of the night was forgotten as he entered her, gently stretching until every inch had pushed deep inside her.
She moaned. He grunted.
Her legs locked around him like a vice, holding him tightly. His thrusts became faster. She could feel the tension in his body growing. Passion ignited her thighs. Waves of excitement washed over her every time his balls slammed against her.
"Oh, fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck meeeeee!" She screamed in ecstasy.
She didn't notice his hand move. She never felt the cold stiletto blade touch the skin beneath her left breast. His final thrust coincided with the blade sliding into her heart.
Pulling out, he shot is load across her belly. His spunk mingled with her blood as he withdrew the stiletto.
"Fuck me, the dying words of a true nymphomaniac," he said to no one in particular.
Suddenly the door burst open. Standing with a gun in her hand was the barmaid from the Casino. The barrel was pointed at his navel. Keeping her eyes on his, she entered, closing the door behind her.
Taking one step towards her, he said "Who does a girl have to suck to get a drink around here?"
The barmaid glanced at his semi erect penis, a smile on her lips, but her eyes held no warmth.
