<In the Get Smart television series, CONTROL agent Charlie Watkins was a master of female disguise. Played by actress Angelique Pettyjohn, she/he was a sexy, gorgeous undercover spy. Maxwell Smart found blonde bombshell Charlie, much to his chagrin, disconcertingly attractive. Written a few years ago, an updated And Loving It! is presented on Big Closet in honor of the Get Smart film release.>

CHAPTER ONE

Behind the Formica counter, the attractive young brunette retrieved the size 9D bowling shoes. After thanking Nikki, at least that's what her nametag said, the dark-haired gentleman ambled over to the Bowlerama management office. When he knocked, there was no answer. The thin man, dressed in beige slacks and a bright green golf shirt, opened the door tentatively. After a quick glance around the small, neatly kept office, he stepped over to the desktop computer and pushed the on button. Then he extracted the USB memory key from inside one of the multi-colored bowling shoes and inserted it into the USB port. The security obsessed agent, long accustomed to keeping face-to-face secrets in CONTROL's Cone of Silence, keyed in a simple encryption logarithm. In a few moments, the innocuous appearing middle-aged American had accessed the secret-file.

"Good morning," the Chief of CONTROL said. The clarity of the computer's full motion video image was really quite good, although the glare from the Chief's shining bald head merged some of the colors.

"Good morning Chief," Agent 86 responded. Maxwell Smart had forgotten that this digital clip was not like an interactive telephone conversation.

"Agent 99 has been working undercover in the south of France at a private laboratory, which is owned and operated by KAOS. This lab is at the forefront of genetic research into gene therapy and human cloning. 99, a linguist fluent in French, worked in Provence as a lab technician. Just before she was discovered and captured, 99 was able to report that KAOS had found a way to clone human beings. What is very disturbing is that KAOS is ready to replicate humans on a massive scale. More importantly, through their gene therapy research, 99 believes KAOS is prepared to cause worldwide sterility of the human species. The sterility drug would be introduced through the drinking water. To supplement that line of attack, KAOS will even seed rain clouds as a means of distributing this powerful drug. Once this is accomplished and everyone is sterile, KAOS will sell its cloning services to the people at an enormous price, making KAOS the world's dominant evil empire, even ahead of Microsoft. Your mission is to stop KAOS and save the world."

A photo of a handsome, dark-haired, forty-something man flashed up on the computer screen.

"This distinguished looking gentleman is Dr. Marcel Devereau, an expert on genetic engineering. KAOS was able to exploit this scientist's need for money. Dr. Devereau was deep in debt, unable to continue his life's work after the French government cut off all of his research funding. When the grants dried up, KAOS offered to pay off all of his debts and provide a free ride for all of his research projects. Dr. Devereau jumped at the opportunity. Now, we must gain control of Dr. Devereau's discoveries. In order to do that, we intend to exploit two of Dr. Devereau's weaknesses. He is addicted to gambling and he regards himself as God's gift to all the beautiful women of planet Earth."

Photos of Dr. Devereau cavorting with sexy, beautiful women on the beaches of the French Riviera flashed up on the monitor.

"If you are wondering why KAOS doesn't just sell the antidote to counteract the effects of the sterility drug, Agent 99 believes that the chemical analysis of even a small sample of the antidote would quickly be replicated at generic drug prices. So, KAOS offers cloning as the only solution to the sterility plague. Rather than face certain extinction, KAOS believes mankind will pay dearly for KAOS to 'send in the clones' to replace natural childbirth."

Max needed some time to absorb this.

"Is there anything that you need to have clarified, Max?"

"Just one thing Chief. What did you say after 'Agent 99 has been working undercover'?"

The computer image of the Chief seemed to skip for a moment. Then the message from the Chief was replayed in its entirety. Was the looping of the video clip intentional?

Once Max had seen the message for a third time, the stern face of the worried Chief continued.

"Since your usual working partner, Agent 99, has likely been captured, I have taken the liberty of assigning you to work with Special Agent 69, Charlie Watkins." The Chief's face faded to black on the monitor and was replaced with the picture of a very attractive gal. "On the screen you will see photos of some beautiful girls. The curvaceous redhead, the buxom blonde and the beautiful brunette, believe it or not, they are all Charlie Watkins. He is simply amazing."

"Wait a second Chief, I've heard a few CONTROL agents talk about Agent Watkins. They say he is a master of female disguise--he's supposed to have a gorgeous face and sexy gams." More photos of beautiful 'girls' flashed onto the screen. "Why Charlie Watkins is reputed to have the hottest chassis this side of the Ferrari Plant in Maranello, Italy."

"I know what you're thinking, Max. It's hard to believe Charlie is a guy, isn't it?"

"Quite amazing, Chief, but how am I to contact Charlie Watkins, Chief, especially if he's in disguise?"

The Chief appeared to have anticipated Max's question. "I want you to go over to lane 12. There you will contact Agent Larabee. Now, one last thing before you go. Recently, we have lost a large number of our field operatives. So be careful out there."

Then the Chief appeared to mutter something under his breath. A lip reader would have interpreted it as "I hope KAOS has a cure for Alzheimer's."

The Chief's digital message was replayed again for forgetful Max before the USB memory key self-destructed in a cloud of smoke. A shame about damaging the computer--Max had forgotten he was supposed to remove the USB memory key before it melted down.

After donning his bowling shoes and leaving his own shoes at the rental counter, Agent 86 walked over to lane 12 of the almost inactive bowling alley. Not very many people were there at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. In fact, only lanes 1 and 2 were being used by some group that was dressed in purple Cineplex Odeon uniforms.

Looking around, Maxwell Smart was unable to spot Agent Larabee.

"Psst, Max. Over here."

Max searched once again, unsure of where the voice had come from. Finally, Agent 86 looked over at the face of Agent Larabee, sticking out of the bowling ball return chute.

"Oh, Larabee, there you are."

"Not so loud, Max. We've lost a lot of our very good agents lately . . . Pretend that you're bowling. It will look less suspicious."

"All right Larabee, although not too many people bowl by themselves . . . You keep talking Larabee," Max said as he picked up a red, white and blue bowling ball.

"The Chief wants you to pick up the airplane tickets. Go over to the Cunningham Travel Agency, which is located next door to this Bowlerama."

Max took two steps, swung his arm back, then another step as his arm swung swiftly forward, releasing the heavy ball with a loud thud as it hit the polished hardwood floor. A few moments later, the ball slid to the right and wobbled along the right gutter.

"Max, you are to pick up your airplane tickets and fly to Nice, France this afternoon."

"You mean Nice as in niece, Larabee. Not Nice as in ice."

"Whatever," Larabee said dismissively. "Once there, you will catch a train to nearby Monte Carlo, a mere half-hour away. After checking into the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel, you are to contact Agent Charlie Watkins at the Baccarat tables in the Le Casino de Monte Carlo at 9 p.m. Monaco time."

"I understand Watkins is a master of disguise. How will I recognize him?"

"Just look for the most beautiful girl in the casino."

There was a loud thud, and Larabee's head shuddered for a moment, then slipped from view. A red, white and blue bowling ball came to rest where Larabee's head had been.

"Sorry about that Larabee . . . I'll see you later," Max said, wincing in sympathy for what would be a large painful bump on the back of Larabee's head.

Max headed over to the shoe rental counter to return his shoes of many colors to Nikki, his first contact. At the same time, the group of fellows from the Cineplex Odeon was returning their shoes, which, Max noted, suited their purple outfits.

One tall, athletic-looking fellow was holding a bowling ball. When he spotted Max, he suddenly whirled into action. He went into the typical bowler's wind-up, and whipped the ball towards Max. The other Cineplexers scattered as if anticipating an explosion.

Max skipped over the fast moving ball, ran to his left and leapt over a row of padded seats.

KABOOM! A bright flash and the thunderous explosion ripped apart the bowling alley.

Max wondered if Agent Larabee was all right.

Quickly bouncing back up and brushing off some ceiling tile debris, Max ran toward the exit, reaching down and pulling the laces of his special bowling shoes as he ran. Then he tossed the bowling shoes in the direction of the Cineplex workers and charged out of the front exit.

KABOOM-BOOM! Another massive explosion blew the roof off the bowling alley.

Max, dazed by the blast, opened his eyes. A roof beam had fallen right beside his head. Max got to his feet much slower this time and dusted himself off once again. Looking at his silhouette imprint in the dust on the ground and the position of the roof beam, Agent 86 had been very fortunate. Holding his thumb and forefinger about a half-inch apart, he observed, "Missed by that much!"

Turning back to the site of the former bowling alley, he cracked, "The old bomb-in-the-bowling-shoe trick works again! I never did like Cineplexes. Their screens are too small and the popcorn is too expensive . . . They must be a KAOS front. As for the bowling alley, I hope Agent Larabee got out safely. Larabee? Oh Larabee? Where are you Larabee?"

It was a good half-hour of searching before Maxwell Smart found an unconscious Agent Larabee. Just six to eight weeks in the hospital, and Larabee would be as good as new. 'Sorry about that, Chief,' thought Max.

After another half-hour of searching, Smart found the airplane tickets to Nice among the remnants of the totally obliterated Cunningham Travel Agency.

CHAPTER TWO

In the fading twilight, the taxi wound its way up the steep roads of beautiful Monte Carlo. The white stone buildings clung to their narrow perches on the sides of a once treacherous cliff, now tamed by terracing. Off to the west, the Royal Palace, sitting majestically on a high promontory, guarded the entrance to the magnificent harbor on the Cote d'Azur. Maxwell Smart looked off to the lights of the yachts tied up in the harbor, wistfully wondering why everyone in the world couldn't be lucky enough to visit this fabulous playground of the rich and dangerous.

This was Max's second time in Monte Carlo. The first time had been on his honeymoon with Agent 99, seven years earlier. He missed 99 and prayed that she was safe and unharmed.

As Max took in the magnificent vista, he wondered if Monte Carlo had changed much since his last visit. It was good to be back in the field.

For the past three months, Max had been providing personal security for the Secretary General of the United Nations. Although the Secretary General, Coffee Anon, was a nice man, Smart felt he was not challenged enough. Max was pulled away from the UN posting by the lure of danger. 'And loving it,' he thought to himself. Although, truth be told, the Secretary General had threatened to create an international incident if CONTROL did not remove Maxwell Smart from his bodyguard assignment immediately. The United Nations' activities had come to a complete standstill--that coincided with Maxwell Smart's term of duty guarding the Secretary General.

Regarding his reassignment, Smart was told the following story. Occasionally, when stretched to the limit by outbreaks of evil and violence and chaos all over the world, CONTROL re-activated some of its more senior agents.

That was partly true, but there was more to it. Max, last on the list for recall to 'red alert (save the world)' duty, was reluctantly pressed into service by the Chief. To improve the chances of success, Agent 86 was to be teamed, on this important mission, with CONTROL's top operative, Agent 69, Charlie Watkins. Watkins would focus on Dr. Devereau, while Maxwell Smart might create a diversion to distract KAOS from the real threat. Also, Max would cover Charlie Watkins' backside if the need arose.

At the entrance to the stately Le Casino de Monte Carlo, Smart tipped the cab driver, and slammed the door shut. Unfortunately, Smart, being Smart, forgot to extricate his fingers from harm's way, and he yelped in pain when the shutting door crushed his little pinky finger.

As the cab started up, pulling Smart along with it, Max quickly opened the door, shaking loose his aching pinky, but he was unable to close the cab door. As the car pulled out into traffic, the free-swinging door whipped about. Suddenly, it was smashed off its hinge by a white stretch limousine speeding in the opposite direction.

The Japanese criminal organization, the Yakuza, cut off part of the pinky finger of newly pledged members, as a rite of passage into the evil empire. Smart, perhaps, would have preferred to cut off his finger rather than suffer this terrible, crushing throbbing pain.

Smart held up his little left pinky to his face as if raising a teacup, and then sucked on it.

Smart quickly bounded up the broad stone steps, and scurried past the uniformed doorman, into the foyer of the casino, his throbbing finger ballooning up to double its normal size. His left hand looked like it had two thumbs.

Immediately, Smart headed to the washroom. At a sink, Smart stuck his throbbing finger under some cold running water, until he noticed much to his chagrin, looking in the mirror, astonished and angry looking faces of a handful of well-dressed females. Smart was in the ladies washroom! As nonchalantly as possible, he sauntered past the upset women as he remarked, "Sorry about that, ladies. My mistake."

One belligerent beauty, swathed in a long, flowing, sequined evening gown, clubbed him with her handbag. She must have been carrying a gold bar in her handbag. That hurt!

Still smarting from the clubbing and the finger mangling, Agent 86 cooled his 'new thumb' under a cold stream at a sink in the gentlemen's washroom. It had been an eventful 5 minutes, and he hadn't even made contact yet with Agent 69. A quick glance at his CONTROL issue vintage Timex watch told him he had only 5 more minutes to his 9 o'clock rendezvous.

At the foyer entrance to the main floor of the casino, Smart looked at the signs. Fortunately, the Roulette, Baccarat, Craps, Black Jack, Slots and other signs were in a universal picture symbol language. Smart headed to his right, past the ubiquitous one-armed bandits, the Black Jack tables, the Roulette Wheels, and finally to the more exclusive Baccarat tables.

Pausing for a moment, Smart adjusted his polyester tie and tucked in his Arrow permanent press shirt. He looked about. The Baccarat tables were in a special cordoned off area. A casino employee controlled access to these high-priced tables. Smart wondered if he should go forward and sit at a Baccarat table. He had no idea what Special Agent 69 would look like since he was a master of disguise. Would he or she be there?

A bevy of beautiful ladies were gathered about one Baccarat table. A handsome man, wearing a tuxedo, sat with three large stacks of ten thousand-franc chips. Smart recognized the handsome devil as Dr. Devereau. Agent 69 had to be close by.

To Devereau's right sat a waif-like blond, right out of the pages of Vogue Magazine, a Kate Moss look-a-like, without the drug withdrawal shakes. She was dressed in an eye-catching white lace material that allowed one to see the glowing healthy skin beneath the dress, but covered up just enough of her anatomy as to meet the casino's dress code for propriety. To his left sat a fiery redhead. She appeared resplendent in a glamorous, shimmering silver gown that hugged her 'hills and valleys.' Three other equally gorgeous girls stood behind Dr. Devereau. Smart wondered if Agent 69 was any one of these five fabulous foxes.

Across the table sat an elderly, distinguished gentleman, perhaps an aristocratic Brit. Beside him, surmised smart, probably his middle-aged wife, attired in a pink taffeta dress. A young, bearded Italian gentleman, wearing a white tuxedo, could that be Charlie Watkins? Right age.

Suddenly, all eyes looked up from the table, looking past Maxwell Smart. Smiles of delight or looks of envy appeared on their faces.

Curious, Maxwell Smart turned around, bouncing off a blur of blond hair, gold fabric and soft creamy flesh, the collision knocking both of them to the ground.

Smart immediately bounced back to his feet.

"Pardon me, ah . . . ah," Max began, but he never finished the sentence. His jaw dropped almost to the ground.

Before him lay a breath-taking blond, buxom, beauty--perhaps the most beautiful female he had ever seen. More lovely than Adriana Lima, Gisele Bundchen, Scarlett Johansson--even more physically attractive than his gorgeous 99.

"Let me help you up," Max said hurriedly, as he reached for her with both hands.

She grasped Max's extended hands as he tried graciously to pull her up.

"Aieee!" she cried out as Max let go of her. She flopped down hard on the carpeted floor.

Max shook his swollen pinky finger in searing, aching agony. "Sorry about that." Max apologized as sincerely as he could.

An angry expression creased the absolutely fabulous face of this golden goddess. Her golden haute couture Givenchy gown luckily had not ripped as a result of the two falls.

"Please, don't help me up. I can manage myself," she said with a touch of anger.

"A thousand apologies," Smart said.

"I was feeling very lucky tonight, until I bumped into you, Mister . . .?"

"Smart, Maxwell Smart, at your service."

The glowing, perfect skin of this young, ravishing beauty radiated warmth and affection at the sound of Max's introduction. Her face lit up with delight, before remembering that she was in a crowded casino, possibly surrounded by agents of KAOS.

"I am Charlene Watkins, although my good friends call me Charlie, like the perfume," she whispered in a breathy, soft, sweetly seductive voice.

Agents 86 and 69 stepped away from the Baccarat area, toward a nearby bank of slot machines.

Smart thought back to the Chief's digitized message from the manager's office at Bowlerama. 'I know what you're thinking, Max. It's hard to believe Charlie is a guy, isn't it?'

Smart snapped out of his train of thought when Charlie gently caressed Max's left hand, looking lovingly at Max's swollen digit.

"Ah Max, no wonder you let go of me. That must have hurt when I grabbed your hand." Charlie looked into Smart's eyes. "Here, let me kiss it better."

Special Agent 69 eased Max's swollen member into her mouth and sucked it gently; her soothing lips and tongue bringing a heartfelt healing touch to bear upon the hyper-sensitive body part.

Max groaned with relief. It really did feel better. Even 99, at her very best, didn't have this sweet, saliva-enhanced, loving touch.

Charlie's skin, lips and tongue were so sensitive, soft and gentle, Max decided immediately that Charlie had to be 100 percent woman. If 99 had been captured and killed by KAOS, Max could not think of anyone else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

Pangs of guilt struck Max. Feelings of lust for a girl half his age? 'I may be old, but I'm not dead,' he thought to himself.

How could Maxwell Smart even think of another woman while his wife might have been captured or killed by KAOS? Max tried to think about how much he missed 99's presence. But, for some reason, his instinctive sixth sense told him somehow, some way she was all right. He believed that with his whole heart.

Feeling the need to steel himself against his thoughts of infidelity, Max instructed his brain to believe that Charlie was really a male CONTROL agent, adept at the art of disguise. Beneath the bountiful bosom, the tiny waist, the flowing blond hair, the marvelous classical facial features, the deep blue pools of her limpid eyes, the high cheek bones, her aquiline nose, her soft sensuous pouting lips, her shapely, long, perfectly formed legs and gorgeous golden gown, lay a cock and balls very much like Max's own dangly bits.

Once again, looking at Charlie's perfect unblemished complexion, Max thought, 'That is ridiculous. She is a beautiful woman! There is no denying that! I am a professional and I will behave in a professional manner until the mission is over--or 99 will kill me.'

The internal pep talk seemed to get Max back on track.

Dr. Devereau, the mad scientist, surrounded by beautiful women, was the target. He was the key to destroying KAOS's plan for world domination.

The consequences of worldwide sterility would be devastating! Fortunately, Max and 99 already had had a son (one that mercifully disappeared from television screens after less than 13 episodes).

"Charlie, did you know that Dr. Devereau was sitting at that Baccarat table?"

"Well, Max, I'd better get to work," she purred to Max, in her seductive, captivating tones.

"Perhaps my young grasshopper, you should let the more experienced Maxwell Smart handle this."

"Max, do you know why the Chief assigned me to this case?" Charlie asked, as she playfully tousled Max's hair. "I am an expert in the art of mathematical prognostication in games of chance. In other words, I'm a card shark."

"Well, I'm banned from ever setting foot in Las Vegas . . . although that has nothing to do with my card playing skills," Agent 86 added. "It was all over a small misunderstanding about nuclear bomb testing."

Charlie stroked Max's head as if he was a little puppy dog. In her open-toed high heels, Charlie was taller than Max's 5' 10".

"Also, you might have noticed that Dr. Devereau is deeply interested in the opposite sex. He prides himself on being the stud of the scientific world. Envious CONTROL scientists suspect that Dr. D has developed a pheromone that drives the women wildly horny, creating an insatiable sexual appetite. As proof, the CONTROL scientists point out that Dr. D enjoys his sexual escapades with a bevy of the most beautiful girls in the world--and the group of girls don't seem to mind sharing him. That is most unusual."

Charlie paused, looking around at the clanging, clinking, whirring, brightly-lit slot machines, to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, before continuing.

"In fact, his hedonistic pursuit of pleasure led him to do research into birth control methods. This was the primary motivation for his revolutionary discovery of a way to temporarily prevent fertility, and later on, a potent drug that causes sterility in both females and males--the serum that KAOS will exploit to hold up the world for ransom."

"That is one evil scientist, Charlie. Do you think you're up to the challenge?" Smart asked cautiously.

"I believe I can resist Dr. Devereau's mesmerizing pheromone-enhanced charms. Also, I know I can seduce Dr. Devereau, if he is anything like all the other men I've ever met. Once we have him in our control, we could persuade him to provide us with an antidote. Then, KAOS's plan for world domination would collapse."

"A brilliant idea my dear!"

"Max, I think we're being watched by KAOS agents." There was alarm in Charlie's voice as she looked furtively in the direction of two men standing by a row of slot machines. "Kiss me."

The request caught Max by surprise. Nevertheless, being a highly trained CONTROL agent, he complied immediately.

Charlie was like melting ice cream in Max's arms. She was one hot passionate babe! Her lips were soft, pliant and very enticing. There was a taste and scent of strawberry in the lipstick. Max was tempted to insert a little tongue into the kiss, but thought of 99 as he noted that Charlie's breasts were much bigger and softer than his wife's.

When Charlie pulled away from Smart, she raised her right hand and gave Smart a sharp slap to his left cheek. Smart's head recoiled in pain.

"Why did you do that?" Max asked incredulously.

"Because you kissed me. I just met you. You were too forward."

Max noted the supposed KAOS agents disappearing behind a bank of one-armed bandits. "But you asked me to kiss you," he hissed.

"That's right. I had to make it look like you and I had just met and you were too fresh with me. You were an unwanted suitor."

"Okay. I understand, but your right hand packs a real wallop."

"Remember when we first met, you knocked me down--twice," Charlie said with a devilish smile.

Max thought for a moment. "Those two men weren't Kaos agents, were they?"

"Probably not."

"I've been had."

"Now Max, don't complain. Did you enjoy the kiss?" Charlie asked as she cuddled up to Smart.

"Ah, I suppose."

Charlie whispered into Max's ear. "You do realize I am a guy wearing a disguise."

"Yes," Max sputtered, "but I only kissed you because I thought we were in danger."

"My hero," Charlie said, barely suppressing a laugh. "And you are an excellent kisser."

"Really?"

"Yes, one of the best. And don't worry, Max. I won't tell anyone you enjoyed kissing me."

"I hope not."

"It'll be our little secret."

Max breathed a sigh of relief.

Charlie collected his/her thoughts. "Now, where were we? I remember. Here Max. This access card will get you into Suite 511 at the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel. Do you know where that is?" Charlie asked as she placed the plastic card into the inside pocket of Max's suit. A playful adjustment of Max's tie and his up close look at Charlie's enticing bosom tested Max's belief that Charlie wasn't what she appeared to be.

"Actually Agent 69, I have the adjoining room."

"Wait for me at the hotel, perhaps inside the closet would be best. I'll bring him back to my suite for some fun and games. Then, I'll order some champagne from room service. While we are drinking, I'll slip a paralyzing 'date rape' drug into his drink. Then, we'll have him right where we want him. We'll tie him up, a little sodium pentathol, that effective truth serum, and some skilled interrogation--hopefully Dr. D. will reveal the antidote's formula. Failing that, my highly advanced scientific skills of interrogation include some persuasive torture techniques."

"Wow! You're telling me CONTROL taught you how to torture suspects?"

"No, Max. You know CONTROL does not train its agents in the art of torture. To pay my way through university, I worked part-time as a dominatrix. It paid my full tuition."

A mental picture of Charlie Watkins dressed in black leather dominatrix gear formed in Smart's brain. "It's been a long time since my last field agent training session. I might need a refresher course in resisting torture."

CHAPTER THREE

Beautiful Charlie Watkins gracefully glided toward the exclusive Baccarat section of Le Casino de Monte Carlo. The velvet rope barrier disappeared before her regal approach. All eyes turned to appraise her awe-inspiring form.

Dr. Devereau signaled his pulchritudinous companions to make room for this honored guest. Dr. Devereau offered Charlie a chair beside him. His envious quintet of beauties was dispatched by a dismissive wave of his hand. Charlie sat down beside Dr. Devereau, with a gentle touch of her delicate hand on his excited thigh as thanks for his courteous, welcoming gesture.

He smiled and said in a deep baritone voice, "Good evening. My name is Dr. Marcel Devereau. And I am most happy to be blessed with the opportunity to meet a lady of your charm and immense beauty."

Charlie beamed brightly and replied in a breathy voice, "My name is Charlene Watkins, but my close friends call me Charlie, you know, like the perfume."

"Yes, that is a heavenly scent--and you are heaven sent."

Charlie smiled appreciatively at Dr. Devereau's corny line. She thought she would let the unsuspecting doctor do all the work. Men enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. Little did Dr. Devereau know the she was the hunter and he was the prey.

The others at the Baccarat table were ignored as the eyes of Charlie and Marcel became locked in a 'lust at first sight' embrace.

Charlie pulled out 12 ten thousand Euro notes from her Gucci purse, the equivalent of $186,000 USD. What the heck! It was seed money provided by CONTROL to entice 'the fly' into Charlie's web. The large denomination notes were pushed down into a money slot and disappeared beneath the table's green felt surface. A dealer, attired in a black tuxedo, counted out 5 ten thousand-Euro chips, 8 five thousand-Euro markers plus smaller and smaller denominations until Charlie had her full complement of chips.

Charlie placed a five thousand-Euro wager in box number 5 opposite her seat.

The Brit sitting opposite was passed the shoe. He was now the banker. The banker passed the caller cards out of the shoe. The caller, one of the three dealers, placed the cards in the appropriate numbered boxes on the table, ranging from one to fifteen.

In Baccarat, a winning hand is 9. Face cards count for zero. Under the rigid rules of Baccarat, players must draw a card if their first two card totals are 1-2-3-4-5-10 values. If card totals exceed 10, the 10 is subtracted. For example, a two-card total of 14 translates to a 4. Players must stand on 6 or 7. An unbeatable two card total of 9 is called a natural, while 8 is the second best hand and is also called a natural. The two other dealers at the table pay off the winning bets and collect from the losers. The casino derives its cut from 5 percent of the bank winnings. Rather than collecting 5 percent of the bank winnings after each hand, the house keeps a record and takes its share each time a shoe is depleted of cards.

The banker has another set of guidelines to use when a player takes his/her third card. Generally, the banker stands on 7, 8 or 9. He draws a third card only when his hand ranges from 3 to 6 and will lose to a player's three-card total.

While the rules can be confusing for neophytes, none of the players at the table lacked experience.

Dr. Devereau had a two-card total of 6, the Italian, Tullio, a total of 5, the British gentleman a 13 or 3 and his wife a 7. Charlie had 8. The young Tullio drew a 7, giving him a total of 2, a bad hand. The Brit's wife, Emily, stood with her 7. The dealer, Austin, took a 9, giving him 12 altogether, which equaled 2. Austin the banker and Tullio had a draw. The dealers paid off Emily and Charlie, while collecting from Dr. Devereau.

And so it played out for the next hour or so. Charlie and Dr. Devereau won more than their share of the hands.

All through the evening, under the table, Charlie played footsie with Dr. Devereau. Charlie wondered if this was the right tactic.

At one point, while the shoe was being passed to another player, she let her exquisitely soft hands brush over Dr. Devereau's crotch. He was as hard and tall as a Bonsai Redwood tree.

Charlie knew that her pheromones or, perhaps it was her body heat, seemed to stimulate Dr. Devereau. She let Dr. Devereau believe his pheromones were influencing her, stimulating her just like sexciting foreplay.

The British couple decided to call it a night after suffering some major reversals.

Tullio packed it in after his stint as the banker when he lost a large amount to a suddenly aggressive Dr. Devereau.

Now, there were only Charlie and Dr. Devereau left.

The shoe passed to Dr. Devereau. He became the banker.

After four more hands where they each took turns winning, Marcel and Charlie decided to increase the stakes.

"Let's play one final hand--winner take all," Dr. Devereau declared.

"Ah, I'd like to Marcel," Charlie said demurely, "but my pile of chips is a lot smaller than your pile."

"Well, my darling Charlie, I have a proposition for you."

He cupped his hand over Charlie's left ear and whispered his message.

"Oh, you would hold me to that kind of promise, you naughty boy?"

"Charlie, I adore your amazing beauty. I am infatuated with your luscious body."

Charlie whispered a counterproposal in Dr. Devereau's ear, with a suggestive, gentle caress of his neck.

"I love it! That's what I call a win-win situation!" Dr. Devereau enthused.

One very large pile and one medium sized pile of chips were pushed to the corresponding numbered boxes on the Baccarat table.

Dr. Devereau passed the cards to the caller who, in turn, placed the cards on the table for both Marcel and Charlie.

"A natural!" Charlie screamed jubilantly. Her combination of 7 and 2 gave her an unbeatable 9. Charlie was the victor! She walked away with winnings of about 1,400,000 Euros, or the equivalent of $2,175,000 USD. However, as far as Charlie was concerned, Dr. Devereau was the real prize!

CHAPTER FOUR

Dr. Marcel Devereau escorted sexy, seductive Charlie Watkins back to her suite at the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel.

The secret, whispered, extra condition Charlie threw into the winner-take-all pot was the loser would have to acquiesce to any of the winner's sexual demands in the bedroom. It was kinda like what Pamela Anderson did to pay off her gambling debts in Vegas. Dr. Devereau happily agreed to this win-win situation. He would enjoy having sex with Charlie under any circumstances.

When Charlie inserted her access card into the electronic door lock, she hoped that Agent 86 was in the closet, safely out of sight.

With relief, Agent 69 glanced around the unoccupied, spacious, luxuriously appointed chambre. No sign of Max.

An eager Dr. Devereau grabbed luscious Charlie, kissing her savagely. She returned the kiss with matching vigor, wrapping her arms and legs around an aroused Marcel.

Max, sitting on the floor of the closet, could hear muffled smooching sounds, but was unable to see very much through the shuttered twin doors.

When the two lovers came up for air, Charlie briefly pushed Marcel away.

"Wait a moment, Tiger. Let me call room service and order a bottle of Dom Perignon. Then, while we are waiting, I can change into something more comfortable."

"My sweet Charlie, you think of everything! Extended foreplay can build up to an unbelievable climax--we both will have an orgasm to last the ages." Marcel gave Charlie a playful kiss. "You know, Charlie you are quite different from all of my other women. They would never have paused. With my heightened pheromones, they would, right now, be ripping off my clothes. Their insatiable appetite for sex would be wild and animalistic! You have amazing self-control! Vive la difference! Extended foreplay will be a refreshing change."

Max, in the closet, muttered, "You've got that right. You don't know how different Charlie is from all the other girls."

Charlie picked up the phone and dialed O for the operator. Switched over to room service a few moments later, she ordered a chilled bottle of the hotel's finest champagne. And she specified, within fifteen minutes or forget it. Her authoritative tone was met with a reassuring response.

"My precious," Marcel began, "I need to freshen up in the bathroom. Can you pardon me for a few minutes?" Marcel asked as he gently held Charlie's hand, bending down to kiss it. He noticed that she had several decorative silver rings on her delicate fingers, but no diamond marriage ring.

"Why certainly, Marcel. It will give me an opportunity to pick out some sexy lingerie. Then, after you are done, I can freshen up and change too."

"Good. Tres bon."

Marcel disappeared into the marble-floored salle de bains.

Immediately Charlie bounded over to the closet. When she opened the shuttered doors, Max almost crowned her with the butt of his gun. Luckily, Charlie's quick reflexes saved her.

"Max, don't hurt me. I'm one of the good guys. Remember?"

"Sorry about that, Charlie," Max said with an awkward look down at his pins and needles feet that were now asleep from the long hours cooped up in the closet. "I thought at first you were the evil Dr. Devereau."

"Max, quiet down," Charlie hissed. "Marcel is in the bathroom. I need to get out some seductive, hot lingerie. Can you give me a hand please?"

"Sure Charlie."

"See the black leather bag at the back there. I need that one."

"Okay, here you are," Max said as he handed the very large, heavy leather Cartier bag to the scheming Agent 69.

"Now, not a peep out of you, unless I scream your name Max . . . and
don't be too surprised if you hear Marcel scream."

Max, left in the dark of the armoire, wondered what she-he meant by that.

Moments later, a refreshed, invigorated Marcel Devereau emerged from the ballroom, naked from the waist up.

Charlie gave him a strong hint of things to come, pressing her soft, pillowy breasts up against the broad, muscular, hairy chest of the delicious Dr. Devereau. A delicate kiss on the lips, and Charlie reluctantly pulled herself away, to go to the bathroom.

While Charlie freshened up and changed out of her dazzling gold Givenchy gown, there was a knock at the entrance to the suite.

The champagne had arrived.

One of the uniformed hotel staff wheeled in the cart holding a large vessel with the Dom Perignon on ice.

Marcel tipped the deliveryman generously. Then, he turned up the glasses on the cart, and, after removing the foil cover from the top of the bottle, inserted the corkscrew. Now, it was primed for popping.

He sat down on the nearby four post king-sized bed, complete with a white satin canopy covering. Marcel calmly removed his shoes, socks and pants.

To pass the time, Marcel wandered over to the large picture window. He surveyed the magnificent view of the ships and smaller vessels in the harbor below. He could see his own sailboat, La Bomba, lying in wait for his return. Marcel doubted that he would sleep there tonight.

The door to the bathroom suddenly opened.

Out stepped a dominant vixen dressed in long hip-length, shiny, black vinyl boots. She wore a studded leather collar around her neck. Her tight leather bustier emphasized her prominent, high breasts and tiny waist, plus her flaring hips and bewitching buns. The studded leather wristbands suggested more kinky pain. Her slender fingers with the immaculate nails held a long, leather whip. She looked like an escapee from a Britney Spears video shoot. An evil smile graced the heretofore-angelic visage of agent 69, Charlie Watkins.

"Ah," Marcel croaked. "My sweet angel of mercy."

"Onto the bed, Marcel!" Champagne Charlie ordered. "Now!"

Charlie expertly snapped the whip, almost biting Marcel in the crotch.

"Sacre bleu!" Marcel blurted, as he leapt backward onto the soft bed.

From inside her high hip-hugging boots, Charlie extracted four thin leather straps. Swiftly, before Dr. Devereau could change his mind, she tied the arms and legs of submissive, sniveling Marcel to the four brass bedposts.

"Oh please don't do this, my love. I adore you Charlie, but please don't torture me."

"You sniveling coward!" Agent 69 berated Marcel as she snapped the whip once again. "Are you a man or a titmouse?"

Next, sweet Charlie went over to the dresser, fumbled around for some nylon stockings, then returned to the bed. She placed her sumptuous female form on top of Dr. Devereau's struggling body. She could feel his strong erection through her thong gaff and leather bustier. She probed the depths of Marcel's mouth with her sensuous tongue. The deep wet kiss seemed to last for minutes as Charlie's right hand playfully caressed Dr. D's manhood.

Suddenly, there was a crash and thud behind her from the direction of the closet.

"Max!" Charlie screamed.

Maxwell Smart had fallen asleep standing up. He had collapsed through the loosely latched closet doors.

"What the hell's going on?" screamed a panicky Marcel Devereau.

A dazed, somewhat stunned Smart stumbled to his feet.

After composing himself, he asked, "Would you believe I am Charlie's jealous husband and I just dropped by to check up on her?"

An incredulous Dr. Devereau paused to consider the intruder's explanation. "No."

"Would you believe I am the hotel detective?" Max offered.

"No."

Approaching Charlie and the helpless Marcel lying on the bed, Smart snatched the nylons from Agent 69's hand, jumped onto the bed, and shoved the balled-up nylons into Dr. Devereau's mouth.

"There, that should hold him for awhile."

"I won't be able to interrogate him if he's gagged up."

"Well, Agent Watkins, I don't think we can very well let him yell and scream for help, can we?"

"Ah Max, it was just getting interesting," Charlie whined. "He had just fallen into what I like to call Charlie's Web . . . I didn't even get a chance to use my whip on him. He would have told me everything willingly. He has true submissive sex slave tendencies. He's a whining wimp . . . Are you sure you didn't interrupt us because you were getting jealous?" the sassy, sexy dominatrix asked.

Max's response was the expression of wide-mouthed incredulity. "No 99, I mean 69, I was not in the least bit jealous of the mad Dr. Devereau," Maxwell Smart declared in his distinctive, high-pitched tone.

"I'm not sure I believe you, Max." Charlie approached Agent 86 and placed her hands enticingly around Max's neck. "You know, Agent Larabee told me about your bachelor party many years ago. He said you really seemed to enjoy the striptease by the exotic dancer, who, it turned out, was really a KAOS agent. You kept looking at the stripper's crotch, wondering if she would take it all off," Charlie teased as she wrapped her legs around Max's legs. "And when she turned out to be Siegfried in disguise, you were really ticked."

"You would be too if it happened to you." Max thought for a moment. "Fortunately, one of the other agents noticed his-her facial hair and got the drop on Siegfried--before he could drop his G-string on me."

Charlie's hands worked at loosening Max's tie, undoing the buttons of Max's shirt, and pressing her provocative breasts up against his chest.

"Charlie, you're a very sexy lady and I like you a lot, but my heart belongs to 99. So, please don't take this any further."

Charlie paused, "Are you sure Max? Are you sure you don't want me?" she purred.

"Yes, I'm sure . . . although Charlie, my neck, shoulders and lower back are really aching from being cooped up in that closet for the last three hours. Would you mind giving me a deep, sensuous, therapeutic massage?" Max asked hopefully. "Ah, not a chance huh?"

"Not on your life," boomed the deep male voice of Charlie Watkins, Special Agent 69. "I don't go for half-measures. You must have me confused with CIA operative Felicity Shagwell!" In a huff, Charlie Watkins, with a sensuous wiggle-waggle of her hips and tempting buns, glided on the long vinyl boots to the bathroom, slamming the door firmly shut.

Again, Max's expression could be characterized as a look of incredulous disbelief.

Max was a straight heterosexual. Yet he found Charlie to be highly desirable. The inner struggle was beyond his comprehension. Perhaps sexuality simply isn't rational he decided.

A moment later, the Chief and Agent 99 came crashing through the front door of the hotel suite, with guns drawn.

"Oh Max, thank God you're safe!" screamed an excited 99, as she rushed up to embrace her husband, noting the tied-up Dr. Devereau, lying vulnerable and exposed on the bed. The leather straps tying his extremities to the brass bedposts and the balled-up nylons in his mouth puzzled 99. "And I see you've got Dr. Devereau." Was there some kind of kinky sex going on?

"99, Chief, am I ever glad to see you. I thought both of you were either dead or captured. What happened? How did you escape?"

"Max," began the Chief, "At CONTROL headquarters, we believed there was a traitor in the organization. So we led you to believe that we were MIA, missing in action, but we were never in actual danger. We thought that you could flush out the traitor by having him or her attempt to eliminate you."

"Thanks Chief . . . I think. So it was the old fake-out-the-traitor-by-lying trick, eh. So who's the traitor Chief? It couldn't be the beautiful Charlie Watkins, could it?" asked a suddenly alarmed Maxwell Smart. He hoped he hadn't fallen into lust with a double-crossing spy!

"It turns out that we could trace the leak to the lady who worked at the shoe rental counter at the Bowlerama--a notorious double agent named Nikki Knight. It seems she set up a few of our top agents for liquidation. But luckily, a freak explosion completely demolished the bowling alley, plugging our leak. In fact, Max, we would have been here a few hours earlier, but our airline tickets seem to have been destroyed by that same explosion. It completely wiped out Cunningham Travel, our CONTROL owned travel agency. By the way Max, you'll be happy to know that agent Larabee is making a fine recovery. He's been in and out of a coma, but it looks like he's finally turned the corner."

"Good old Larabee!" said an upbeat Smart. Max was about to open his mouth to take credit for the termination of Nikki Knight, but thought better of it. Who needed to fill in more reports? Besides, he didn't want Larabee to know Maxwell Smart was the one that put Larabee's life at risk.

The bathroom door swung open.

"Hi everyone!" Charlie squealed with delight.

"Hello!" chimed 99 and the Chief. A scantily clad Charlie Watkins emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a see-through red teddy. All signs of the dominatrix gear had disappeared. Smart checked over her drop-dead gorgeous figure, the large, dark nipples on her bountiful bosom, Charlie's tiny 23-inch waist, and the thick triangular patch of hair between her legs.

"Max, how could you?" screamed an astonished Agent 99, as Smart gave Charlie a look of unadulterated lust. At least, that's what 99 thought.

Charlie snuggled up to the bewildered Maxwell Smart.

"Max, who is this? You're not married are you?" Charlie asked, as she gave 99's toned, trim figure an admiring appraisal from the top of her thick, luxurious brunette mane down to the pink, enameled toe nails poking out of her sandal style footwear. "Whoever she is, she's one luscious babe."

99 took some comfort in the compliment, but at the same time felt threatened by this beauty's obvious affection for Max.

Charlie's right hand caressed Max's right cheek. Charlie's left hand reached down to the front of Max's pants, unzipping his fly.

"Wait a second 99; this is not at all what it seems. While Charlie was out here seducing Dr. Devereau, I was hiding in the closet. Charlie tied up Dr. Devereau, I came out of the closet, Charlie went in, and then you and the Chief came in and . . . Would you believe Agent 69, Charlie Watkins, isn't really a beautiful girl. I mean Charlie is really a drop-dead gorgeous female impersonator! She, or rather he, is just trying to play an embarrassing joke on the both of us."

"And loving it," teased the mischievous Charlie in her sexy, sultry vixen voice, as Agent 86 struggled against Charlie's attempt to pull down Max's pants.

THE END