Gamine and Gambler



Thank you for reading GAMINE AND GAMBLER. Selecting a category was difficult because of several different genre overlaps. Those who have read other Literotica stories of mine may recognize Nicholas Kane and the Sheikh from ANNALS OF POTENTATE III, WHERE WOMEN WORHIP THE SERPENT and THE PHANTOM PILOT. Although those stories take place in different centuries and on other planets, the Sheikh and Kane characters are the same people in GAMINE AND GAMBLER. Five Eight and his Literotica fictional universe sincerely hope all of you are in range of Cupid’s bow this Valentine’s Day.


Tracy Somerset’s breasts trembled sweetly when she bent over the crap table. As she placed a fistful of paper money on the green felt one of them almost wiggled free of the décolletage of her evening gown.

Nicholas Kane, confirmed ass man, damn near got converted to a tit man on the spot by those sensational mammaries. Tracy, beautiful daughter of plantation owner Colonel Terrence Somerset, also possessed a deliciously developed backside, a distraction as big as her breasts. But Kane was working and could only pay those assets minimal attention. If he blew this assignment he’d not only lose the Sheikh’s money he gambled with so freely, but his life.

Should he run afoul of the men managing the tables they’d hang him faster than a runaway slave. If they didn’t, the man in the gray uniform at the bar would.

Despite the danger Kane couldn’t help himself, eyes darting to steal one more glimpse at Tracy. The brown tops of both nipples were visible above her plunging bodice. Only the erect tips poking through the silk prevented the dress from sliding down around her slender waist. Her gown must have cost her old man a pretty penny, so sheer Kane had imagined he could see through it. The champagne-colored material fit tight as a drumskin around her hips. The young lady deigned not to wear a bustle, or undergarments either.

Kane, like every other man and woman in the casino of the riverboat, had seen the dark triangle of Tracy’s pubic hair when she’d made her entrance from the promenade deck at sunset. The blaze of light behind her streamed through the thin gown and rendered it nearly invisible.

Definitely nothing under that dress except Tracy, Kane thought when she strutted buoyantly into the casino.

One grande dame had uttered loudly enough for him to overhear the withered hag drawl, “Such a pity Colonel Somerset’s daughter has all that blonde hair on her head, but that scraggly black bush between her legs.”

Kane had grinned, as had others privy to the jealous old biddy’s remark.

Even with her long locks and obvious womanly charm, a hint of the gamine lurked in Tracy. She had a head of hair, elaborately coiffed and curled, unfurling around her delicate shoulders and down her back. She had a big bodyguard too, a stone-faced bloke in a fancy Confederate Army sergeant’s uniform. He remained a discreet distance behind his charge and probably no one took much note of him. But Kane did. He needed to; the bully outweighed him by fifty pounds and stood half a foot taller than him. Kane watched the man park himself at the bar where he could survey the width and breadth of the gaming room and intervene should anyone approach Tracy with bad intent.

She’d ignored the bodyguard and everyone else in the casino, sweeping over to the crap table like Kane had known she would. Earlier his source of information told him dice was her game. When she’d placed her money on the table the boxman exchanged it for stacks of chips and Tracy joined the game. For the first hour Kane acclimated himself with the way she played. He also noted Tracy did not drink mint juleps. She partook of whiskey and hectored a colored indentured servant to bring her drink after drink. She drank a lot, but won a lot. People began to drop out of the game. Kane stayed. The stickman continually slid chips in front of the girl until she’d amassed several untidy teetering pagodas of them.

She seemed quite self-absorbed and impressed with herself, especially her hair. Between rolls she fussed with it incessantly, combing her fingers through the curls, repeatedly glancing at her reflection in the big mirror behind the bar, admiring her perfection. Tracy was doubtless as proud of her lustrous tresses as she was those breasts of hers she kept shaking and jiggling around. Kane couldn’t find it in himself to begrudge the aloof wench one iota. A veritable feast for the eyes: every man in the casino obviously wanted to lift up the hem of her gown to bury his love muscle in the warm tightness of the shimmying bottom she wagged about as much as her tits; likewise every woman present wanted to bury a dagger between them.

Lust and jealousy, reflected Kane with an ill-concealed smirk, the age old maladies of the human animal. But he was different, not that he didn’t want to fuck Tracy senseless. He did. The only difference was Kane was going to get to have his way with the little istanbul travesti slut; the men clustered around the roulette wheel and card tables were not.

Her bodyguard met Kane’s eye, but Kane remained unworried, the brute watched everyone at Tracy’s table closely. Kane kept his face blank as he thumbed a wooden match alight and lit a thin cheroot, exhaled a nonchalant cloud of blue smoke. While replacing the small box of matches in the side pocket of his black velvet frockcoat he palmed a pair of loaded dice. He tucked them into his burgundy cummerbund unseen and rested his now empty right hand casually on the carved lip of the mahogany dice table.

Sweat filmed on his forehead and above his upper lip, easily explainable by the heat of the room should anyone be paying him undue attention, or the Confederate sergeant at the bar suspect anything. The fellow was not Kane’s sole cause of concern. The men operating the Mississippi gambling ship would kill him for cheating, just like Colonel Somerset’s goon if Kane touched a hair on the head of his only daughter. Kane didn’t need to cheat for money; the Sheikh always funded him well. He just needed to beat Tracy and put her in his debt somehow.

A damnable dangerous game he played that evening.

His turn to roll the bones again came around and Tracy bet a dozen chips that he’d crap out. Conceited shit, acting like a bloody queen as if those around her were her subjects and, as such, beneath her. She noticed Kane; licking those swollen pouting lips of hers and favoring him with a sly glance now and again. He guessed her crotch was wet indeed from all the attention she studiously ignored. In his lifetime he’d tumbled enough wives and daughters to know the female of the species found him attractive. For the last quarter century more women than he could count had kept his cock coated with saliva and vaginal secretions. Unlike Tracy he tried not to act snobbish, not always succeeding. But Kane didn’t take his good looks for granted and worked to maintain them. The Sheikh employed him because of them too, among other things.

The game continued. Tracy finished another whiskey and dispatched the beleaguered servant to the bar for another. She appeared sober and very much in control. When the dice went out of play for a minute Kane decided to employ a spot of charm.

He smiled a smile just shy of a leer across the table at her and essayed some polite banter. “You play well, Miss Somerset. It’s my misfortune to have you on the other side of table this evening.”

“I always play to win, sir,” she answered without a glance his way.

“As do I,” he said with brash confidence.

She condescended to look at him. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

Kane stared pointedly at the flesh barely contained in Tracy’s bodice. Christ, he couldn’t wait to sink to the hilt in the tight declivity sweetening itself between her thighs.

“How so, Miss Somerset?” he asked her with great deference.

“You know my name but I don’t know yours.” She gave a quick nervous tug to her décolletage as if just then noticing her nipples on almost complete display. A fine sheen of perspiration shone in the valley of her breasts.

“Forgive me if I’ve been forward in speaking your name. You’re Colonel Somerset’s daughter, I thought it common knowledge. Since you’ve come of age you’ve already made an impression from New Orleans to Charleston.”

“Thank you, sir, but I still don’t know your name,” she said, her tone arch.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” He stuck his cigar back in his mouth to free his right hand to reach across the table and shake Tracy’s. “Nicholas Kane, at your service.”

His gesture and subdued words had the desired affect. The girl actually smiled. “I thought I knew most of the riverboat gamblers on the Mississippi. But you’re not from these parts, are you? Not with that English accent.”

“You are as perceptive as you are lovely, Miss Somerset.”

“Thank you, Mister Kane. What brings you to Louisiana?”

Kane decided to tell the truth and gave Tracy a vague reply. “I oversee certain interests of various businessmen abroad. In three weeks I set sail from Boston to return home.”

“What kind of interests?” she wanted to know.

“Property, stocks, that sort of thing.” He neglected to mention various other duties.

“Interesting,” commented Tracy, uninterested, and took a sip from her glass. Typical.

The stickman announced the dice in play again, ending the conversation.

Kane knew about a flaw yet to be fixed in craps, a European game less than fifty years old in the States. Before embarking on his current mission the Sheikh’s experts taught him the craps wagering system where he could exploit the flaw through the use of loaded dice. Kane’s teachers assured him of the safety of the cheat. The Don’t Pass line hadn’t been implemented prior to the Civil War which, if Kane had his history straight, would officially begin exactly two months to the day when şişli travesti the Confederacy attacked Fort Sumter. He could roll sevens all night long and strip Tracy of her money before he stripped her out of that gossamer thin gown. A dangerous game!

But Tracy got on a hot streak rolling seven after seven and took him to the proverbial cleaners. Instead of fretting about all of his chips being pushed to her side of the table with the stick, Kane exhaled in sudden relief. The girl apparently knew about the same cheat he did; she had to be playing with loaded dice. Kane could leave his own in his cummerbund and not risk being caught cheating. Things couldn’t have worked out better had the old Sheikh scripted this turn of events himself.

Should Kane expose her? No, not on this brief excursion. Despite the chintzy Valentine’s Day decorations everywhere, they were aboard a riverboat where gambling integrity took precedence over holidays. The boxman and the stickman both acted unaware of her crooked shenanigans. If Kane caused a public outcry Tracy might be whisked from the casino and detained out of his grasp in one of the compartments topside on the Texas deck of the paddlewheeler. But what to do before the other gamblers or the riverboat’s management got wise? His brow furrowed in thought. Finally a viable solution occurred to him before he forfeited many more dollars.

Kane raised a finger to catch the boxman’s eye. “I’m out, my good man,” he muttered, stepping back from the table.

Tracy spoke. “So soon? Things were beginning to get interesting.”

No shit, she’d won over three hundred bucks. That would go over well when he presented his expense report to the Sheikh.

While the boxman converted his remaining chips back to dollars Kane ambled around the table to stand next to Tracy Somerset, wealthy debutant.

The girl smelled of expensive perfume, and another underlying effluvium. One more subtle, more intoxicating, the one he’d only guessed at earlier. Being correct in his assumption only bolstered his confidence. He couldn’t keep a smile off his lips when that second scent swirled in his nostrils. It made Kane as hard as he’d ever been. He placed a familiar hand on the small of her back, inching downward until his palm rested on the swell of her delicious behind. His fingertips drifted across her left bottom cheek to her right one, lingering in the valley separating the two. If the sun shining through her flimsy gown revealing the nest of hair on her pubis earlier hadn’t provided enough of a clue, Kane knew for certain now he’d also been correct assuming she wore nothing underneath her dress. The knowledge she had no panties on caused his stiffness to throb all the more. He felt a shudder pass through her and she squeezed her thighs together.

Tracy whispered hotly, “What do you want, Mister Kane?”

“Why not just call me Nick, sweetheart? And I know you know what I want.”

The young whore surprised him by blushing. Still speaking in a whisper she said, “Why don’t I just call you Mister Kane and you put your hand back where it belongs?”

He watched over her shoulder as the sergeant stepped away from the bar and made a surreptitious yet purposeful beeline toward them. Kane had maybe ten seconds to deliver his ultimatum before the bully would be on top of them, breathing down his neck.

He said in her ear, “Now see here, young lady, I’m going to pass you a pair of clean dice in exchange for the loaded ones you’ve been cheating with so you don’t get caught with them in your hot little hand.”

The color drained from her flushed face and Tracy swallowed visibly. She began to stammer, “You don’t know what you’re talking–“

He interrupted her lie. “Don’t insult me by denying it. The Somerset reputation is on the line here, missy.”

She glared at him, her big brown eyes hard as diamonds.

“Shut up and give me the damned dice,” he ordered as her bodyguard laid a huge paw on his shoulder. “And tell this chap to get his mitt off me.”

Tracy swallowed again but said quickly, “Lee, what do you think you’re doing? This man is a friend, unhand him.”

Lee the bodyguard ignored Kane and rumbled to Tracy, “But isn’t he bothering you, Miss Somerset?”

“We were just talking, you overlarge oaf, like women and men will do, especially on Saint Valentine’s Day.”

“They often do more than talk,” essayed the sergeant.

“Quit causing a scene, Lee, people are starting to stare.”

She must’ve been used to giving orders and the man in the brand new uniform used to obeying her commands because he removed his hand. Not in a hurry by any stretch of the imagination, but he withdrew it and let it hang by his side.

“Go back to the bar, Lee, now!” Tracy hissed under her breath, but folks all over the casino eyed the three of them anyway. “I’ll call you if I need any help.”

“I don’t like the looks of this man, Miss–“

“Do as I say, Lee. You don’t want me to have to bakırköy travesti complain to daddy, do you?”

“Miss Somerset, this fellow is obviously–“

She cut him off. “Don’t sass me,” she said menacingly with a slight jerk of her head toward the far side of the casino, its walls pasted with paper red hearts and pink Cupids for the occasion.

The man risked her wrath, “I’ll be right over there then if you need–“

“I know you will, Lee. Thank you, Lee.” Tracy smiled meanly at the man, exasperated.

When he retreated Kane said to her, “You’re smart, Tracy, and quicker on your feet than I’d’ve given you credit for.”

The girl simply glared. She leveled her glare on several people looking in her direction and they turned their heads away.

“You do have a commanding presence about you, my dear.”

“So do you, Mister . . .”

“Nick,” Kane said firmly. Then he grinned and extended a hand. “And now, the dice.”

Tracy pressed them into his palm, close enough to him to press her quivering bosom into his chest. He smiled wider, assured he’d be cupping those magnificent mounds very soon.

“Miss Somerset,” the stickman called to Tracy, “Do you want to place another bet? It’s your roll.”

Tracy glanced at Kane and read his eyes. He’d hardened them as she had hardened hers a moment ago. “I’ll pass,” she said with her back to the stickman.

“Wise decision,” Kane murmured in her ear. He gave her wonderful bottom a licentious squeeze.

She began to get mad, but thought twice and her features softened. Color seeped back into her face.

“Wise decision,” he said again.

“You’re repeating yourself,” she said with a crooked smile on her face.

Excellent, thought Kane, she was flirting with him now. Not that it would do her any good. She could pour on all the considerable charm she had at her disposal and it wouldn’t do her a bit of good. Not a goddam bit.

“Collect your money and let’s go.”

Tracy did as she was told. She conducted a whispered conversation with the stickman before cramming a fat wad bills in a pearl-sewn evening bag.

“Where do you want to go, Nick?” she asked playfully, rubbing her tits against his chest once again. “We’re in the middle of the Mississippi River.” She positively exuded charm now.

More than one large surprise lay ahead for this wench.


“Thank you for not making any trouble for me,” she said when he linked his left arm through her right and led her to the casino bar.

He just nodded, “It wouldn’t do on a day as traditionally romantic as this.”

What a gentleman, she thought, a tad wicked perhaps but definitely unlike any of the boring suitors who’d called on her at the plantation since she came of age six months ago. And the men her father tried in vain to attach to her failed to compare. She bossed them around like she did her doting father, a strong domineering man with everyone else including her mother. Tracy had had daddy wrapped around her finger like so much limp twine for as long as she could remember. Her haughty demeanor derived from his side of the family to be sure; her fondness of whiskey came from her mother.

Tracy wanted, no, needed a strong man like daddy to control her. Not the daddy who refused to buy her a new dress or horse or withholding her allowance for some minor infraction, but the way daddy was when issuing orders to his soldiers, household staff or slaves. She would be infinitely bored with any man she could tame. A real man took what he wanted and brooked no nonsense from womenfolk. Nick might just be that man. She’d been sneaking glances at him all night when he’d not been looking; desired him since she first spotted him at the crap table. He appeared so dashing swaggering about in his cravat, starched frilled shirt, jodhpurs and polished high boots. With thick brown hair that curled on the ends and muttonchops he was every inch the riverboat gambler, mysterious, handsome, a little cruel maybe. She could feel his muscles when he’d linked arms with her.

Nick would be very strong. Would he be a good kisser?

She wondered how strong he’d be in between her legs; she planned to test his mettle right away to find out if he could handle her. The thought served to make her wetter still. All the whiskey she’d consumed made her amorous. Juice oozed out of her for the past two hours till the insides of her thighs stuck together. Tracy would absolutely let Nick take her if he played his cards right.

Daddy thought his little girl a virgin, but she wasn’t. She’d slept with two other men, boys really, one last year and the other just this spring. They disappointed her in the romance department. Daddy would horsewhip them if he knew. Nick would take away his braided rawhide whip and shove it up her father’s ass if he tried that with him. He just had to be a man of experience, confidence gleamed in his eyes. She’d wager he bedded any woman he winked at, and used them long and well. Tracy’s pussy dribbled even more just thinking about it, she deliberately swiveled around to mash a breast into Nick’s arm.

She knew he had to feel it, her nipples were hard as stone, and he enjoyed it but didn’t try to grope her like other men of her acquaintance. “What do you have in mind, Nick?” she asked coyly with a bat of her long eyelashes.

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