Note- This is inspired by the many erotic novels from the seventies and erotic fiction that appeared in men's top-shelf magazines published in England by publisher Paul Raymond.
xxx
Chapter One.
Zardania in Eastern Europe, 1972.
The insistent click of the film projector started again and as the screen lit up, an electric guitar riff played out.
"The makers of Manikin Cigars have one aim in life. To bring you sheer enjoyment."
A long-legged blonde in a soaking wet shirt and black bikini bottoms appeared as the male voice spoke. She traipsed through a thick jungle and waded in a stream as the music grew louder. The young model looked into the camera and then turned her back as she shed her white shirt. She jumped into the water and laughed as she splashed about topless.
"Sheer enjoyment, from Manikin Cigars. From one of Britain's leading cigar makers.
The film ran out and made a flickering sound.
"Tiffany, ah yes, my beloved Tiffany. Soon, my sweet. We shall meet very soon."
The obese middle-aged man turned in his seat in the darkened room and clicked his fingers twice.
"Again, run it again." He ordered in a thick Eastern European accent.
The man faced the medium-sized movie screen once more as an unseen aide tinkered with the 8 mm film projector and the film clattered into life over again.
x
London.
"So, I have to meet up with Uncle Arthur at noon to discuss this mysterious proposal. How exciting!"
"Tiff...please, stop talking."
The twenty-year-old blonde stunner was naked on her hands and knees on her bed in her dominantly pink bedroom. She was conversing with her steady boyfriend Ray, who was busy screwing her from behind. This is our titular heroine, Tiffany Jones. Fashion and nude model in the vibrant and heady seventies. She was a product of the time, managing just the proper combination of vulnerability and sexuality. Admittedly, Tiff was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but the youthful model made up for her lack of grey matter with her happy-go-lucky attitude and enthusiasm. The nicest thing about the girl was her niceness. The striking blonde was always in great demand by most fashion magazines and advertising companies for their television commercials. She currently resided in West London and shared a flat with her cousin Jo.
"I...I'm close." Ray screwed his eyes shut and tried to quell his impending climax.
Tiffany studied her newly manicured nails nonchalantly and puffed out air to lift her brow-length fringe.
"Don't force it, Ray. Slow down and count backward from fifty."
Tiffany yawned and looked at the alarm clock on her bedside cabinet. She and Ray had been fucking doggy style for about three minutes at the most. About average for her humdrum sex life with the up-and-coming photographer.
"Can't hold...back! AGH!"
Just as Ray began to ejaculate the blonde beauty yelped.
"Crikey! It's eleven! I must get ready!"
Ray gasped as his girl got up and his shining cock came out of her pussy and slapped back onto his belly with a sloppy pop. She hurried into the bathroom and began to run a shower.
"Tiffany! You could have waited another minute!"
Ray moaned and wanked his dribbling prick in frustration at his ruined orgasm and looked down at the tiny pool he had left on the pink sheet. Tiffany returned in the buff with a wet towel around her head, a few strands of hair matted to her damp shoulder. Ray was again in awe of her spectacular figure as she stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Slim and long-limbed she had medium-sized breasts with hard nipples that stuck out like two bullets. Her lengthy strawberry-blonde tresses usually reached halfway down her slender back and ended just above her firm bottom. She looked at her brown-haired lover with her light grey eyes and tilted her head slightly to the left. Blessed with high cheekbones and a permanent pout he sighed and fell in love with her all over again.
"Ray, I simply don't have the time. Anyway, Jo will be back soon."
The willowy blonde took off her towel and dipped her head forward before whipping her long hair back over her shoulders. She sat at her vanity table and began to brush it while she looked at herself in the mirror. MI6! What on earth do they want with me she wondered? She surveyed her dream room with the abstract paintings on the walls, discarded multi-colored patchwork bedspread, and the scatter cushions that were now dumped on the rug.
"Oh, and Ray. Could you be a darling and change the sheets? Bit icky."
x
The 1960s counterculture movement had rapidly undone many existing social taboos, and divorce, extramarital sex, and homosexuality were increasingly accepted in the Western world. The event of legalized abortion and over-the-counter birth control pills also played a major factor. Western Europe was in some ways more progressive on sexual liberation than the United States, as nudity in film and on TV had been gradually accepted there from the mid-1960s, and many European countries during this time began allowing women to go topless in public places. Tiffany had reached puberty in the swinging sixties and had embraced the era with open hands. And open legs. Dreaming of a glamorous life as a model who traveled the world had soon become a reality for the unblushing young blonde.
"Zardania! Flipping Zardania! Why, there's not even a beach. Nobody wants to holiday in that dump. I want to go to the Bahamas."
Wilson massaged his temples as he watched Tiffany take a bite out of her second hamburger. They were at the back of the Wimpy Burger joint on Oxford Street as her Uncle, 'something' in the Ministry, related the story.
"Please, my dear. Just listen."
Her fifty-year-old Uncle rubbed his oversized nose and huffed.
The 1970s was seen as a 'pivot of change' in world history, focusing especially on the economic upheavals that followed the end of the postwar economic boom. It was characterized by frequent coups, domestic conflicts and civil wars, and various political upheavals. In the second half of the sixties, the British Government had taken more of a backseat role in the Cold War, but there was still a need for the SIS, the UK's Secret Intelligence Service, also known as MI6. The organisation secretly worked around the world to make the UK safer and more prosperous.
Which was where Uncle Arthur came in.
"Where on earth is it anyway?"
"East of Romania. Well, it's true. The President of the People's Republic of Zardania, Boris Kabal, is besotted with you and watches your television commercial you made last year for 'Ever Dream Mattresses' every night. We have his rooms bugged so we know this for a fact."
"Right. The commercial is with me naked under the sheet on the bed. That was a good one. Sure you won't have a burger?"
The winsome blonde held up her half-eaten bun with tomato ketchup running down her slender fingers.
"Thank you, no. He will be coming to England in person for the very first time for a trade deal. We also know that he is here to arrange a purchase of a special consignment of weapons he needs to quell the simmering revolution in his country. At the same time, his revolutionary enemies also seek arms to rise against him. We need your help to locate the cache. We don't want him corrupting his fellow compatriots in England."
"Can't you just get James Bond?"
Tiffany beamed from under a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and took a sip of orange juice through a coloured straw.
"He wouldn't look good in a bathing suit. Doesn't have the legs. No, Kabal wants you specifically to be his poster girl for his tourist campaign. He wants his country to attract visitors when he has total power. Once you're in his domain, you can find out the location of the guns. You'll be doing us a heck of a favour."
