Chapter 8: Deauville Days and Nights

“What were you doing in Milan,” I asked Yolande.

“Visiting a friend. What were you doing in Agadir?”

Her question caught me on the hop –how did she know I had been in Agadir – but I neatly recycled her question for by reply. “Visiting a friend.”

Two weeks had passed since the reassignment – the killing – of Aziz Ben Mahmood and I was now back at the Hotel Imperial Menton. Yolande had been surprised to see me yesterday evening as it was still the Season, in fact it was the first week of August, and she had expected Maurice and me to be at casinos or bridge tournaments until we returned to Menton in October and I reverted to being an employee of the hotel.

“Maurice was called away and I missed you so I’ve came back...”

“As a guest...?”

“No, I’m unemployed until Maurice returns in March. Have you any vacancies that need filling?”

She grinned, grabbed my hand and rushed me up to her room where I filled her vacancies several times until early the next morning when the Q and A began.

I was rather pleased with my self, and my speed of recovery, to have a sated and satisfied Yolande after experiencing two weeks of Leilah and Dihya’s strenuous and draining gratitude morning noon and night.Fortunately I had slept for most of the journey to Menton and that respite replenished my severely depleted sexual energy. I had left Maurice in Agadir surrounded by a clutch of young girls in his preferred age range and supposed he too will be ground down by gratitude. Before leaving we learned that Mullah Mohamed El Mahidi Medina had been dismissed from his post as leader of the mosque and also faced an Examination, accused of conspiring with Aziz ben Mahmood to swear a false oath on the Quran. To all intents and purposes that would the end of Mullah Medina’s career, and possibly his life. The Commandant of the Agadir Gendarmerie had also been removed from his post. The release of a man caught in flagrante with a man was a crime nearly as heinous as the flagrante itself. Aziz ben Mahmood’s son had been rearrested and his life was now in jeopardy and Aziz’s false witness had been for naught.

It was Imam Tariq El Sharif who gave us the news. He also suggested that the management of Mon Repos adjust their business plan when it came to intimate room service. “The money paid by men for intimate room service ... fornication in other words ... is given as a bonus to those volunteers who provide the service. The letter of the law concerning prostitution and the operation of brothels is maintained but we all know that the spirit of the law is being circumscribed. Sooner or later the authorities will twig and then you will be arrested for operating a brothel. I’m sure you have the wit to devise a plan that gives men sexual release and those who provide the release a living, without infringing the law.”

When Maurice returned to Menton at the start of the new Season in April Yolande and I ceased our fraternising and I returned to being a guest. I still couldn’t believe she was able to go from lusty lover to off limits Hotel Housekeeper in the blink of an eye but she was adamant that the no fraternising rule betwixt guest and hotel employee be maintained. I whinged about the situation so much and so often that Maurice got annoyed – he was generally the most equanimous of men.

“You need to sit down with Yolande and sort out your relationship once and for all,” he said. “She says she is married but has been separated for nigh on ten years. Why has she not divorced the absent husband if she is willing to have sexual relationships with other men? Tell her she must either piss or get off the pot!”

I was astounded at his vulgarity; it was completely out of character but he hadn’t finished venting his spleen. “You know nothing of her; where she was born, her family, her past or anything else that someone in your position, fornicating with a woman for the past four years and contemplating doing it for the rest of his life, should know. Seems to me you don’t really want to know her but just fornicate with her. A lasting relationship can’t be built on such a tenuous foundation.”

“There’s more than just sha ... fornication between us,” I said, cut to the quick he should think I was so shallow.

“Well in that case sit down with the woman and tell her how you feel and see if she feels the same. You will then know where you stand.” He looked at his watch. “But make it quick as we are catching the Marseille express at noon and then the TGV to Paris. Our centre of operations this season is Northern France, more specifically along la côte de la Manche.”

I didn’t get to speak to Yolande before leaving. The hotel was to be refurbished at the end of this season and Yolande was away sourcing hotel bedroom furniture in Milan. I assumed she had been on a fact finding mission concerning hotel bedroom furniture when I rang her from London.

Northern France is not my most favourite part of my homeland; in fact it is the least. The terrain is flat and uninteresting, as are the inhabitants. For much of the year it is cold, wet and damp, as are the inhabitants.

La Manche, which the rest of the world refers to as the English Channel and the English ‘the Channel’ is a stretch of water linking the North Sea with the North Atlantic Ocean. All three are cold, grey, and often extremely rough and yet people brave the conditions to sun (!) themselves on the less than pristine sandy beaches along the featureless côte de la Manche, dip their bodies into the freezing water and pay good money to do so. However these people also spend time and money in the casinos and it was the latter commodity Maurice and I were in need of.

I had spent a fair amount of money on my search for Heather and made quite a dent in my finances – although I considered it money well spent – and then travelled from London to Agadir on my own cent. Maurice was prepared to recompense me for the fare but I refused his offer as he too had dipped deeply into his coffers. The Hotel Mon Repos had been closed for six weeks yet the live- in staff needed feeding even with no paying customers coming through the doors and it was Maurice who provided the wherewithal.

The first stop on our itinerary was Dunkirk, scene of the Great Escape of the British Army in 1940 when they made a strategic withdrawal across La Manche leaving their French ally to deal with the advancing German Army.

The casino at Dunkirk was large and full of punters and Maurice and I built up a considerable pile of winnings during the two weeks it took security at the casino to realise there was a card counting, mathematically astute, memory man winning far more from the casino than was good for their bottom line. We also did well at the poker table, and although the the junior partner I played my part and kept my end up, which was the only end being kept up. Maurice and I had eschewed the pleasures of the flesh for the lure of filthy lucre, the filthier the better.

From Dunkirk we moved west along the coast stopping a week or two at the casino of choice and moving on before becoming too noticeable to the casino’s security. Occasionally I would break my celibate life for a swift, sandy consummation on the local beach with a female tourist. We wended our merry monetary way to Calais, Boulogne, Le Touquet, Dieppe, inland to Rouen before heading back to the coast at Fecamp, and Le Havre, accumulating cash at each stop. After crossing the River Seine at Le Havre the scenery changed and we encountered Normandy’s deep valleys, steep hills, bocage, and the world famous beaches of Sword, Juno, Omaha, Utah and Gold.

It was Bastille Day when we arrived in Deauville; the town was in a festive mood with its streets thronged with joyous, exuberant, and high spirited merry makers. Gaiety and geniality were alive and well and living in Deauville for at least one day. This bonhomie would give way to sore heads and empty wallets the following morning, but what the hell.

Maurice and I booked into a suite at the Deauville Casino Hotel and it was there, after a fine dinner, when we were surveying the main gaming hall of the casino preparatory to making inroads into the casino’s cash we first saw Frau and Fräulein Fürst. Of course at the time we had no idea of their names or nationality but Maurice’s eyes had lit up like a car’s headlights when he spied the younger of the two females seated at the roulette table.

“We don’t leave this hotel until I’ve bedded that girl!” he said. If he had had a moustache I’m sure he would have twirled it.

I was astonished by his words. Maurice’s preferred bed companions were in the age range of fourteen to sixteen years of age and had a demure, innocent, surface that merely hinted at something more carnal beneath. This particular girl may have filled the age requirement but she was blatantly transmitting waves of carnality, her Innocence, like her cherry, long gone. She had a heart shaped face, cornflower blue eyes, full red lips and long light brown hair hanging loose half way down t her back. Her tight white tee shirt emphasised her pert breasts and hardened nipples and the short black skirt her trim calves and smooth thighs. She was sex on a stick – ‘Come and lick me!’

There was already a crowd of men, young and old, trying to attract her attention but her companion, who could be either her mother or her Madame, gave them short shrift and several choice expletives that marked her as German. Three casino employees, large men with flat faces and even flatter noses, arrived on the scene and the hopeful swains-in-waiting were quickly persuaded to move on, allowing the ladies to lose their money to the casino without further interruption.

Maurice rarely if ever played the roulette tables, believing that all tables were fixed in the casino’s favour, but he strode up to the pair and sat in the empty chair alongside the older female. I went to join him but he gave the ‘stay back and wait’ signal. He leaned in to the older female and said something that I couldn’t hear but could see whatever Maurice said had seized the attention of the woman. After a few minutes of inaudible conversation between the two, she and the girl rose from the roulette table. Maurice, ever the gentleman, offered the older female his arm but I could see he would have much preferred to offer the young girl another part of his anatomy. The three walked over to me and Introductions were made.

The older female was Frau Helga Fürst and the young girl was her daughter Marlene. They were German and from the town of Magdeburg, which at the time was still in East Germany although fraternisation between the citizens of the two Germanys was increasing and unification was but a signature away. But where was Herr Fürst?

The previous November Yolande and I had sat watching TV transfixed as the Berlin Wall was dismantled by a horde of East and West Berliners.

“This is the beginning of a new era in Europe.” Yolande said.

I was less optimistic “It will all end in tears.” I said, fully expecting to see a troop of Soviet T 72 tanks arrive and blow the wall destructors to hell and back. They didn’t, of course, and Yolande was proved correct.

Unbeknown to us Herr Hugo Fürst was also viewing the event from his home in Magdeburg. Like me he had expected to see a troop of T 72 tanks arrive and blow the dismantlers to Kingdom Come but when they didn’t he saw the writing on the wall, or on what was left of the Wall.Herr Fürst was Deputy Chairman of the Magdeburg Branch of the Communist Party, a position of some considerable influence in the town. He was also a Major in the Stasi, the East German Secret Police, a man with considerable influence in the town and beyond. He could see how things could pan out for people like him when, as it seemed by the non-intervention of authority at the Wall, the inhabitants of East Germany would bring down not just the Wall but the government and along with it the feared and hated Stasi.

Hugo immediately packed his wife and daughter, but more importantly his several hundred thousand Swiss Francs and the access codes to Stasi off-the-books bank accounts in the Cayman Islands, into his official Zil 117 car and drove to Hannover in West Germany where he had several undercover Stasi agents. A handful of Swiss francs saw him safely across the border between East and West Germany. From Hannover he sent his wife and daughter to Paris with a hundred thousand Swiss francs (£37,000 – $60,000) telling them to buy whatever they wanted while he arranged transportation to, and housing for the family, in Cuba. Hugo then flew first to the Cayman Islands, where he transferred the contents of the Stasi accounts to his newly acquired account in the Turks and Caicos Islands, picked up a couple of local girls as travelling and bed companions and then continued his flight to Asunción, Paraguay.

Frau Fürst never heard from him again and after a month or two of no news realised she had been dumped. The Swiss francs had taken a battering and her only other asset was Marlene, her sex on a stick daughter. She set about pimping her as a live-in mistress to a rich old Sugar Daddy who would keep Marlene and herself in the luxury to which they had become accustomed, hence her presence in Deauville. When first approached by Maurice she thought her ship had come in. However, Maurice only wanted to rent Marlene for the week but was prepared to pay for the Fürsts’ accommodation in the Deauville Casino Hotel, assist Helga to win little but often at the vingt et un tables, and provide a lusty companion to keep Helga company at night when her daughter was being entertained by Maurice. Half a loaf being better than no bread at all and Helga accepted his offer. I, of course, was the lusty companion.

While Marlene Fürst exuded carnality, her mother sent out no vibes at all, at least none that I picked up. As I was to be her bed companion for a week I thought it important there should be some sort of rapport between us, but there was nothing. When introduced she gave me a tentative handshake and a piercing look from blue, merciless and mercenary eyes. Helga Fürst was in her late forties early fifties and wore Paris haute couture clothing that even Quasimodo would have looked chic wearing and Helga was nothing like Quasimodo, a few kilos overweight but not unattractively so. She had the same heart shaped face of her daughter but her hair was a darker brown and shorter, collar length and her lips a little thinner. Her silk Dior blouse indicated she had well shaped breasts, or at least a well-made brassiere.

Next morning the Fürsts moved from the dingy roadside motel where they had been staying to a suite along the corridor from Maurice and my suite in the Deauville Casino Hotel. The first lesson in acquiring casino cash was given by Maurice after a light lunch. He and Helga sat at the vingt et un table and Maurice advised when to twist, stick, or buy based on his card counting ability and his mathematically adept brain. Eventually, casino security would become aware of what was happening and put a stop to it but it would be several hours of gainful employment before Maurice was asked to desist training his pupil at the casino’s expense. By then Helga would have acquired a tidy amount of money and, as she was no fool, also the ability to do quite well at the game on her own. There were several casinos in Deauville, allowing Maurice and Helga to do their double act at a different location each day and be amply rewarded.

And what were Marlene Fürst and I up to while this was going on?

The first day Marlene and I accompanied Maurice and Helga to the hotel’s casino where they were to commence the lessons. Marlene browsed the banks of one arm bandits, where she insisted I stood up close and personal to her when she operated the arm of a one armed bandit. I could say ‘uncomfortably close’ but having a warm, soft, fragrant young girl hip to hip and thigh to thigh alongside you is certainly not uncomfortable, other than in the underwear department, and the young tart knew exactly what she was doing. She felt and smelt so delicious that I had an erection practically all morning, but fortunately she came prepared to do something about it.

Marlene won a pay out on one of the machines, and after the tokens had poured into the tray she made her move. She handed me the pile of tokens.

“Go change these at the cash desk, Professor, and then meet me in the ladies’ rest room; the second cubicle on the right.”

I looked at her open mouthed as Marlene pulled a printed sign from the tote bag slung over her shoulder. “And stick this on the cubicle door before you come in.”

The sign read ‘OUT OF ORDER’.

I hurried to the cashier desk, changed the tokens for francs and then, trying to look inconspicuous, approached the ladies restroom. I slithered through the door and stuck the notice on cubicle two before entering. I’ve not been in many ladies toilets, actually none at all, and was surprised by the amount of room and the furnishings. There was what looked like a dressing table type arrangement of a counter top up against a mirrored wall. Marlene was sat in a chair alongside the counter top and rose from her chair as I entered.

In a sequence of fluid moves I lifted Marlene onto the counter top, pushed her tight black skirt up around her waist, pulled her knickers down to her ankles, unzipped my fly, slid on a condom (the Fürsts had no medical documentation so Maurice and I ‘rubbered up’ when entertaining ) and then thrust into her. She was extremely tight but dripping wet in anticipation and I slid right up to the hilt. She gasped, wrapped her arms around my neck, scissored her legs round my waist and fastened her mouth on mine. We commenced the to and fro movement that leads to paradise. We moved as one, my thrusting matching her clenching. She pulled her mouth from mine to whisper. “Oh yeah, Professor. That’s how I like it,” before re-clamping her mouth to mine.

I had been introduced to the Fursts as ‘Professor’ Philippe Soissons, and for reasons best known to Marlene she had decided to use my ‘title’.

She moaned into my mouth as I increased the tempo and I felt her body responding to her impending orgasm, her vagina muscles clenching and relaxing as I thrust and withdrew – in and out. Marlene was the type of female who came early and often and soon she was bucking and writhing, her climax searing through her body, and she tore her mouth from mine to groan her pleasure. I stopped thrusting to allow her regain her breath, Teenagers have mega quick refresh times and soon she was back bucking her hips up at me and I reciprocated with my own thrusts. This time I did the clench and twist routine taught me by Jacquelynne of the House of Joy causing Marlene to shriek in pleasure and then suck my neck. I speeded up, her legs tightened around my waist as her second coming announced itself. I kept thrusting into her when she arched in ecstasy and loosed my load seconds after her climax. My flood met her ebb and we enjoyed a near simultaneous release. We both cried out in pleasure and for a moment or two luxuriated in the afterglow as we regained our breath. Eventually, reluctantly, I withdrew, removed the condom and threw it in a container that I saw already housed several used ones. ‘This must be a favourite place for a quickie’ I thought.