88
Bond sat down in one of the easy
chairs and automatically set about taking an inventory of the room, paying
particular attention to the location of the doors and windows; though obviously
not in a threatening situation he couldn’t help himself but do this, years
in the Secret Service had seen to that, it was a procedure he always went
through on entering a strange room in case he should have to make a quick
exit, and it was a policy that had paid dividends on countless occasions. Bond had just
completed his examination of the room and was admiring the flight of pot ducks
winging their way up Mrs Snockers' chimney breast when he heard the sound of
footsteps coming downstairs and seconds later Gloria Snockers entered the room.
Immediately the very last thing in the whole world that Bond wished to do was
make a quick exit.
As apt as Divine
Bottom’s name had been it was not as appropriate as that of Gloria
Snockers. She was quite simply the possessor of quite the most magnificent pair
of breasts that Bond had ever had the privilege to set eyes on. And it was
indeed a privilege. All men are either leg men or tit men, and Bond himself had
always been a leg man, considering a nice pair of breasts to be a bonus rather
than the main requirement in his women, but there was no way on earth that
Gloria Snockers’ breasts could be looked upon as a mere bonus. Unfettered
by a bra, thrusting against the thin cotton of the snow white top she was
wearing, each breast was thrillingly separate, although, as with fine antiques,
they were much more desirable as a pair. The breasts were large, but not too
large. Bond just knew that underneath the skimpy top her nipples would be like
two bright red cherries; they were certainly the size of cherries. The shape of
the breasts was perfection itself. If Michelangelo himself had forsaken all his
works of art and devoted his entire life to sculpting a perfectly shaped pair
of breasts he could not have shaped anything finer; the perfect concave curve
down to the nipple being matched in sweeping elegance by the convex curve down
to the underside of the breast, the whole breasts themselves tilted so that the
nipples pointed slightly upwards. Bond could see that a man could easily have
hung his hat on one of the breasts and his umbrella on the other. But what a
criminal waste of such a beautiful, wonderful pair of breasts that would have
been. Breasts such as these were not for hanging a gentleman’s hat and
umbrella on, they were for gazing upon, fondling, stroking, gently squeezing,
licking and sucking.
“Hello, I’m
Gloria,” smiled the girl.
