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Sep 22, 2006

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So I twatted them with a magic yo-yo. Because, hell, why not?

At least Fleming didn't have Bond and Blofeld face off over a game of Soggy Biscuit.

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Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012


"SPECTRE? Really, M; back in Eton, we used to line up three or four of Blofeld's sort, make 'em bend over and use 'em as a toast rack!"

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fuck that hairy pussy Chapter 12: The Deadly Tube


Bond sat silent, frozen with defeat. He opened his wide black case and took out a cigarette. He snapped open the tiny jaws of the Ronson and lit the cigarette and put the lighter back on the table. He took a deep lungful of smoke and expelled it between his teeth with a faint hiss.

What now? Back to the hotel and bed, avoiding the commiserating eyes of Mathis and Leiter and Vesper. Back to the telephone call to London, and then tomorrow the plane home, the taxi up to Regent’s Park, the walk up the stairs and along the corridor, and M.’s cold face across the table, his forced sympathy, his ‘better luck next time’ and, of course, there couldn’t be one, not another chance like this.

He looked round the table and up at the spectators. Few were looking at him. They were waiting while the croupier counted the money and piled up the chips in a neat stack in front of the banker, waiting to see if anyone would conceivably challenge this huge bank of thirty-two million francs, this wonderful run of banker’s luck.

Leiter is gone, and Bond figures he doesn't want to look at him after this embarrassment. Vesper is smiling at him, like she doesn't know what's going on. And then the huissier suddenly ducks under the railing and hands Bond a fat envelope, the flap still wet from a fresh sealing.


Unbelieving and yet knowing it was true, he felt the broad wads of notes. He slipped them into his pockets, retaining the half-sheet of notepaper which was pinned to the topmost of them. He glanced at it in the shadow below the table. There was one line of writing in ink: ‘Marshall Aid. Thirty-two million francs. With the compliments of the USA.’

Bond swallowed. He looked over towards Vesper. Felix Leiter was again standing beside her. He grinned slightly and Bond smiled back and raised his hand from the table in a small gesture of benediction. Then he set his mind to sweeping away all traces of the sense of complete defeat which had swamped him a few minutes before. This was a reprieve, but only a reprieve. There could be no more miracles. This time he had to win – if Le Chiffre had not already made his fifty million – if he was going to go on!

One thing to note at this point is more than just Leiter aiding his British companion. Every time Bond looks up at Vesper and sees her smiling at him, he thinks it's because she's a dumb broad who doesn't know anything about the game and has no clue what the stakes are. But every time we've seen Vesper in the past, her actions and appearances have been the polar opposite of Bond's guesses. His initial opinion on hearing that a woman would be on the mission was to lambaste the very idea, as no woman could ever be worth more than her value as a homemaker and living sex toy to Bond! And then she immediately shows the same sort of ability to read a situation as Bond himself, communicated entirely through the text's descriptions of her face and speech.

Bond assumes that Vesper is just a happy idiot, when in fact she knows full well what Leiter has done to help him. Consistently, Bond underestimates her because of her gender.


The croupier had completed his task of computing the cagnotte, changing Bond’s notes into plaques and making a pile of the giant stake in the middle of the table.

There lay thirty-two thousand pounds. Perhaps, thought Bond, Le Chiffre needed just one more coup, even a minor one of a few million francs, to achieve his object. Then he would have made his fifty million francs and would leave the table. By tomorrow his deficits would be covered and his position secure.

He showed no signs of moving and Bond guessed with relief that somehow he must have overestimated Le Chiffre’s resources.

Then the only hope, thought Bond, was to stamp on him now. Not to share the bank with the table, or to take some minor part of it, but to go the whole hog. This would really jolt Le Chiffre. He would hate to see more than ten or fifteen million of the stake covered, and he could not possibly expect anyone to banco the entire thirty-two millions. He might not know that Bond had been cleaned out, but he must imagine that Bond had by now only small reserves. He could not know of the contents of the envelope; if he did, he would probably withdraw the bank and start all over again on the wearisome journey up from the five hundred thousand franc opening bet.

The analysis was right.

Le Chiffre needed another eight million.

At last he nodded.

‘Un banco de trente-deux millions.’

As the 32 million-franc bank goes around the table, the chef de partie starts calling out the bank along with the croupier. A stake of this size in baccarat hasn't been reached since Deauville in 1950. Bond leans forward and takes the bet, showing the cash (equivalent to about $865,000 in modern money) to prove to the croupier that he can actually play it.


It was when Bond shovelled the great wad of notes out on to the table and the croupier busied himself with the task of counting the pinned sheaves of ten thousand franc notes, the largest denomination issued in France, that he caught a swift exchange of glances between Le Chiffre and the gunman standing directly behind Bond.

Immediately he felt something hard press into the base of his spine, right into the cleft between his two buttocks on the padded chair.

At the same time a thick voice speaking southern French said softly, urgently, just behind his right ear:

‘This is a gun, monsieur. It is absolutely silent. It can blow the base of your spine off without a sound. You will appear to have fainted. I shall be gone. Withdraw your bet before I count ten. If you call for help I shall fire.’

The voice was confident. Bond believed it. These people had shown they would unhesitatingly go the limit. The thick walking stick was explained. Bond knew the type of gun. The barrel a series of soft rubber baffles which absorbed the detonation, but allowed the passage of the bullet. They had been invented and used in the war for assassinations. Bond had tested them himself.

‘Un,’ said the voice.

Bond turned his head. There was the man, leaning forward close behind him, smiling broadly under his black moustache as if he was wishing Bond luck, completely secure in the noise and the crowd. The discoloured teeth came together.

‘Deux,’ said the grinning mouth.

Bond's description of the cane gun is an accurate description of a firearm suppressor with rubber baffles. The best guns in that class (like the Welrod and DeLisle, both used by the OSS and British Secret Service at this time) have a discharge quieter than that of the hammer or striker firing, which would easily be covered by the noise of the casino.


Bond looked across. Le Chiffre was watching him. His eyes glittered back at Bond. His mouth was open and he was breathing fast. He was waiting, waiting for Bond’s hand to gesture to the croupier, or else for Bond suddenly to slump backwards in his chair, his face grimacing with a scream.


Bond looked over at Vesper and Felix Leiter. They were smiling and talking to each other. The fools. Where was Mathis? Where were those famous men of his?


And the other spectators. This crowd of jabbering idiots. Couldn’t someone see what was happening? The chef de partie, the croupier, the huissier?


Bond takes a chance. As the count reaches seven and the chef de partie turns to ask Bond to confirm his bet, he heaves himself backwards with all his strength. Caught in the crossbar of the chair back, the cane gun is wrenched from the gunman's grip and the back of the chair splinters as he hits the ground. The huissier and chef de partie rush over, trying to avoid a scene.


Bond held on to the brass rail. He looked confused and embarrassed. He brushed his hands across his forehead.

‘A momentary faintness,’ he said. ‘It is nothing – the excitement, the heat.’

There were expressions of sympathy. Naturally, with this tremendous game. Would monsieur prefer to withdraw, to lie down, to go home? Should a doctor be fetched?

Bond shook his head. He was perfectly all right now. His excuses to the table. To the banker also.

A new chair was brought and he sat down. He looked across at Le Chiffre. Through his relief at being alive, he felt a moment of triumph at what he saw – some fear in the fat, pale face.

There was a buzz of speculation round the table. Bond’s neighbours on both sides of him bent forward and spoke solicitously about the heat and the lateness of the hour and the smoke and the lack of air.

Bond replied politely. He turned to examine the crowd behind him. There was no trace of the gunman, but the huissier was looking for someone to claim the malacca stick. It seemed undamaged. But it no longer carried a rubber tip. Bond beckoned to him.

‘If you will give it to that gentleman over there,’ he indicated Felix Leiter, ‘he will return it. It belongs to an acquaintance of his.’

The huissier bowed.

Bond grimly reflected that a short examination would reveal to Leiter why he had made such an embarrassing public display of himself.

He turned back to the table and tapped the green cloth in front of him to show that he was ready.

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Apr 10, 2010

I know it's been said, but this chapter just confirms how much less suave and self composed book James Bond is than movie Bond. Even beyond his misreading of Vesper and her abilities due to his sexism, his plan for recovering from his bacarrat loss is that he doesn't have a plan. His mind goes straight to self pity and self doubt. It's just luck and Leiter that give him a second chance.

And then, even after he disarms the assassin, his main concern is that he looked a fool in front of Leiter. He makes sure that Leiter gets the cane gun not to keep it safe or out of the hands of Le Chiffre's men, but so that Leiter can understand the reason for Bond's "embarrassing public display".

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There's an excellent blog called Literary 007 that's all about the Bond of the books, and the blog creator has often done interviews, speaking engagements, and research on the character. While reading his posts on this book, I found jaime king sex scene talking about the possible inspiration for father daughter sex gallery Casino Royale.

In this case, our "Bond" was double-agent Dusko Popov.

Popov was one of the most talented spies of World War II, a Yugoslavian Serb born to a wealthy family (his father was a lawyer) in 1912. He infiltrated the Abwehr (the Nazi military intelligence service) as a double-agent for the British, feeding the Germans small amounts of real information approved by MI6 for release to cover up his false information. His false info was one of the defining factors in the Germans being unprepared for the D-Day landings, having believed that the Americans were landing near Calais instead. He was also famous for his Bond-esque playboy lifestyle, drinking and gambling the nights away with two or three girlfriends in every city he visited.

The story of Fleming being inspired by playing cards with some German agents was originally dismissed as a tall tale, but Larry Loftis's biography of Popov, free porn shemale tube Into the Lion's Den, presents a story that bears great similarity to the book and (if true) was likely covered up to avoid Fleming being prosecuted for revealing wartime espionage missions. The information was only sheepishly revealed by Popov toward the end of his life when he was sure that there would no longer be any consequences to admitting it.

So the story goes, a Jewish merchant named Bloch who had fled the Nazis from Lithuania was an arrogant gambler at the Casino Estoril in Portugal. Fleming was under orders to silently shadow Popov during his stay at the casino (where Popov would often report to his German handlers) where he had $50,000 in MI6 money on him. Bloch sat at the baccarat table and announced unlimited stakes. Wanting to intimidate him, Popov went "Okay, fine" and dropped all $50,000 on the table. The bet never ended up going through as the casino couldn't stake Bloch that much money (equivalent to over $800,000 today), but his face turned pretty green.

The plot of free sex cams chat Casino Royale is essentially a lengthened dramatization of this. The merchant fleeing the Nazis became a Soviet spy fleeing SMERSH, Popov became Bond (and the bet actually went forward), and Fleming himself a combination of Rene Mathis and Felix Leiter, both of whom took a much more direct role in the story.

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Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012


That's very interesting - I hadn't heard of Popov before and the only "real James Bond" that I was aware of was Sidney Reilly.

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That's very interesting - I hadn't heard of Popov before and the only "real James Bond" that I was aware of was Sidney Reilly.

Reilly was one of many "real James Bonds". Fleming created Bond as a sort of composite of several people mixed with original details, as there was a surprising number of spies who maintained stylish or playboy lifestyles in addition to their espionage work.

Reilly also died in 1925, when Fleming was still at Eton. He was a sort of mythological figure in British espionage at the time, while Popov was one of a number of spies that Fleming directly knew or worked with. He still had one very Bondish adventure:


In 1909, when the German Kaiser was expanding the war machine of Imperial Germany, British intelligence had scant knowledge regarding the types of weapons being forged inside Germany's war plants. At the behest of British intelligence, Reilly was sent to obtain the plans for the weapons. Reilly arrived in Essen, Germany, disguised as a Baltic shipyard worker by the name of Karl Hahn. Having prepared his cover identity by learning to weld at a Sheffield engineering firm, Reilly obtained a low-level position as a welder at the Essen plant. Soon he joined the plant fire brigade and persuaded its foreman that a set of plant schematics were needed to indicate the position of fire extinguishers and hydrants. These schematics were soon lodged in the foreman's office for members of the fire brigade to consult, and Reilly set about using them to locate the plans.

In the early morning hours, Reilly picked the lock of the office where the plans were kept and was discovered by the foreman whom he then strangled before completing the theft. From Essen, Reilly took a train to a safe house in Dortmund. Tearing the plans into four pieces, he mailed each separately so that if one were lost, the other three would still reveal the gist of the plans. Biographer Cook questions the veracity of this incident but concedes that German factory records show a Karl Hahn was indeed employed by the Essen plant during this time and that a plant fire brigade existed.

In April 1912 Reilly returned to St. Petersburg where he assumed the role of a wealthy businessman and helped to form the Wings Aviation Club. He resumed his friendship with Alexander Grammatikov who was an Okhrana agent and a fellow member of the club. Writers Richard Deacon and Edward Van Der Rhoer assert that Reilly was an Ochrana double agent at this point. Deacon claims he was tasked with befriending and profiling Sir Basil Zaharoff, the international arms salesman and representative of Vickers-Armstrong Munitions Ltd. Another Reilly biographer, Richard B. Spence, claims that during this assignment Reilly learned "le systeme" from Zaharoff—the strategy of playing all sides against each other in order to maximise financial profit. However, biographer Andrew Cook asserts there is scant evidence of any relationship between Reilly and Zaharoff.

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Hey chitoryu since I've read Casino Royale already, I decided to follow along with the thread by reading the recent comics adaptation from Dynamite... is it ok if I talk about that a bit, post some excerpts? Do you mind if I post some stuff about Bond comics in general as well? As popular as the character has been in movies and literature, he's had a surprisingly checkered career in comics, and it's pretty interesting.

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Hey chitoryu since I've read Casino Royale already, I decided to follow along with the thread by reading the recent comics adaptation from Dynamite... is it ok if I talk about that a bit, post some excerpts? Do you mind if I post some stuff about Bond comics in general as well? As popular as the character has been in movies and literature, he's had a surprisingly checkered career in comics, and it's pretty interesting.

Yeah, go ahead! As long as it's not spoilers for anything not covered.

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Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012


Anyone interested in Reilly who hasn't seen it should check out the ITV series free fat porn site Reilly: Ace of Spies from 1983, starring Sam Neill as Sidney Reilly. It's good stuff.

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In this case, our "Bond" was double-agent Dusko Popov.
I suddenly want a Bond story based on Garbo.

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sex video with dog Chapter 13: A Whisper of Love, A Whisper of Hate


‘La partie continue,’ announced the chef impressively. ‘Un banco de trente-deux millions.’

The spectators craned forward. Le Chiffre hit the shoe with a flat-handed slap that made it rattle. As an afterthought he took out his benzedrine inhaler and sucked the vapour up his nose.

‘Filthy brute,’ said Mrs Du Pont on Bond’s left.

Bond’s mind was clear again. By a miracle he had survived a devastating wound. He could feel his armpits still wet with the fear of it. But the success of his gambit with the chair had wiped out all memories of the dreadful valley of defeat through which he had just passed.

He had made a fool of himself. The game had been interrupted for at least ten minutes, a delay unheard of in a respectable casino, but now the cards were waiting for him in the shoe. They must not fail him. He felt his heart lift at the prospect of what was to come.

It was two o’clock in the morning. Apart from the thick crowd round the big game, play was still going on at three of the chemin-de-fer games and at the same number of roulette tables.

In the silence round his own table, Bond suddenly heard a distant croupier intone: ‘Neuf. Le rouge gagne, impair et manque.’

Was this an omen for him or for Le Chiffre?

The two cards slithered towards him across the green sea.

Like an octopus under a rock, Le Chiffre watched him from the other side of the table.

Bond checks his cards under his hands. Two red queens, a total of zero. He calls for a card, knowing that this will be the one moment that decides whether or not the mission is over. Le Chiffre slaps the shoe and flips out a 9, the best card he could have possibly given Bond. Le Chiffre flips his own two cards, revealing a king and a three.

Le Chiffre is at an impasse. He doesn't know what Bond's total is, only that he has a 9 as part of it. The banker having a total of 3 and drawing a 9 for the player is one of the situations where the odds are basically 50/50 for the banker to decide on drawing a card; the chances of Bond having had a zero initially and being handed a natural baccarat are not one that he expects. While in a friendly game Bond would have revealed his natural on the spot, he decides to let the man stew.


The sweat was running down either side of the banker’s beaky nose. His thick tongue came out slyly and licked a drop out of the corner of his red gash of a mouth. He looked at Bond’s cards, and then at his own, and then back at Bond’s.

Then his whole body shrugged and he slipped out a card for himself from the lisping shoe. He faced it. The table craned. It was a wonderful card, a five.

‘Huit à la banque,’ said the croupier. As Bond sat silent, Le Chiffre suddenly grinned wolfishly. He must have won.

The croupier’s spatula reached almost apologetically across the table. There was not a man at the table who did not believe Bond was defeated.

The spatula flicked the two pink cards over on their backs. The gay red queens smiled up at the lights. ‘Et le neuf.’

A great gasp went up round the table, and then a hubbub of talk.

Bond’s eyes were on Le Chiffre. The big man fell back in his chair as if slugged above the heart. His mouth opened and shut once or twice in protest and his right hand felt at his throat. Then he rocked back. His lips were grey.

This scene could almost be a form of dramatic irony in which Bond serves as the audience. Ordinarily, dramatic irony has the reader know something the characters don't. Here, Bond knows as well. He intentionally keeps his 9 hidden until the croupier has to flip it, increasing the tension and giving Le Chiffre a false feeling of victory before sweeping the rug out from under him.

As the huge pile of plaques are shunted across the table to Bond, Le Chiffre pulls out a wad of 6 million francs from his jacket and throws them on the table. Bond guesses it's the last of his capital, and this is now the moment for the kill shot.


Bond sat back and lit a cigarette. On a small table beside him half a bottle of Clicquot and a glass had materialized. Without asking who the benefactor was, Bond filled the glass to the brim and drank it down in two long draughts.

Then he leant back with his arms curled forward on the table in front of him like the arms of a wrestler seeking a hold at the opening of a bout of ju-jitsu.

The players on his left remained silent.

‘Banco,’ he said, speaking straight at Le Chiffre.

Veuve Clicquot is a champagne brand founded in 1772, well-known for its yellow label that many people imagine champagne bottles just naturally come with. In modern day, a typical bottle of their brut is $50 to $60.

The second round goes almost instantly. As soon as he receives his cards, Bond calmly flips them over to reveal a 9. Le Chiffre has a zero. The croupier simply pushes the plaques over.


Le Chiffre watched them go to join the serried millions in the shadow of Bond’s left arm, then he stood up slowly and without a word he brushed past the players to the break in the rail. He unhooked the velvet-covered chain and let it fall. The spectators opened a way for him. They looked at him curiously and rather fearfully as if he carried the smell of death on him. Then he vanished from Bond’s sight.

Bond stood up. He took a hundred-mille plaque from the stacks beside him and slipped it across the table to the chef de partie. He cut short the effusive thanks and asked the croupier to have his winnings carried to the caisse. The other players were leaving their seats. With no banker, there could be no game, and by now it was half past two. He exchanged some pleasant words with his neighbours to right and left and then ducked under the rail to where Vesper and Felix Leiter were waiting for him. Together they walked over to the caisse. Bond was invited to come into the private office of the Casino directors. On the desk lay his huge pile of chips. He added the contents of his pockets to it.

In all there was over seventy million francs.

Bond took Felix Leiter’s money in notes and took a cheque to cash on the Crédit Lyonnais for the remaining forty-odd million. He was congratulated warmly on his winnings. The directors hoped that he would be playing again that evening.

Bond meets Leiter at the bar for champagne. After a few minutes of discussing the game, he pulls out a .45 ACP cartridge (with the nose cut with a cross to form an expanding dum-dum bullet) and places it on the table. He explains that he handed the cane gun to Mathis, who disassembled and unloaded it. The gunman escaped, and his entrance card (with the war wound pension certificate giving him permission to bring the cane in) likely has fake information except for his fingerprints. They've sent the prints off to Paris and expect an answer in the morning.

Bond thanks Leiter warmly for the donation of money to keep the mission going. Before he leaves to go stash the cash, he asks Vesper to join him for drinks at the Roi Galant nightclub in the casino.

Bond and Leiter head to the hotel at 3:00 AM, hands on their guns. They don't encounter any resistance, but Leiter suspects that Le Chiffre may make one last shot at getting the money.


After the crowded arena of the big table and the nervous strain of the three hours’ play, he was glad to be alone for a moment and be welcomed by his pyjamas on the bed and his hair-brushes on the dressing-table. He went into the bathroom and dashed cold water over his face and gargled with a sharp mouthwash. He felt the bruises on the back of his head and on his right shoulder. He reflected cheerfully how narrowly he had twice that day escaped being murdered. Would he have to sit up all that night and wait for them to come again, or was Le Chiffre even now on his way to Le Havre or Bordeaux to pick up a boat for some corner of the world where he could escape the eyes and the guns of SMERSH?

Bond shrugged his shoulders. Sufficient unto that day had been its evil. He gazed for a moment into the mirror and wondered about Vesper’s morals. He wanted her cold and arrogant body. He wanted to see tears and desire in her remote blue eyes and to take the ropes of her black hair in his hands and bend her long body back under his. Bond’s eyes narrowed and his face in the mirror looked back at him with hunger.

He turned away and took out of his pocket the cheque for forty million francs. He folded this very small. Then he opened the door and looked up and down the corridor. He left the door wide open and with his ears cocked for footsteps or the sound of the lift, he set to work with a small screwdriver.

Five minutes later he gave a last-minute survey to his handiwork, put some fresh cigarettes in his case, closed and locked the door and went off down the corridor and across the hall and out into the moonlight.

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The entrance to the Roi Galant was a seven-foot golden picture-frame which had once, perhaps, enclosed the vast portrait of a noble European. It was in a discreet corner of the ‘kitchen’ – the public roulette and boule room, where several tables were still busy. As Bond took Vesper’s arm and led her over the gilded step, he fought back a hankering to borrow some money from the caisse and plaster maximums over the nearest table. But he knew that this would be a brash and cheap gesture ‘pour épater la bourgeoisie’. Whether he won or lost, it would be a kick in the teeth to the luck which had been given him.

The night club was small and dark, lit only by candles in gilded candelabra whose warm light was repeated in wall mirrors set in more gold picture-frames. The walls were covered in dark red satin and the chairs and ‘banquettes’ in matching red plush. In the far corner, a trio, consisting of a piano, an electric guitar and drums, was playing ‘La Vie en Rose’ with muted sweetness. Seduction dripped on the quietly throbbing air. It seemed to Bond that every couple must be touching with passion under the tables.

They were given a corner table near the door. Bond ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and scrambled eggs and bacon.

Keep in mind that this is probably around 3:30 AM. Bond is still going and fueling himself on champagne and breakfast foods.


They sat for a time listening to the music and then Bond turned to Vesper: ‘It’s wonderful sitting here with you and knowing the job’s finished. It’s a lovely end to the day – the prize-giving.’

He expected her to smile. She said: ‘Yes, isn’t it,’ in a rather brittle voice. She seemed to be listening carefully to the music. One elbow rested on the table and her hand supported her chin, but on the back of her hand and not on the palm, and Bond noticed that her knuckles showed white as if her fist was tightly clenched.

Between the thumb and first two fingers of her right hand she held one of Bond’s cigarettes, as an artist holds a crayon, and though she smoked with composure, she tapped the cigarette occasionally into an ashtray when the cigarette had no ash.

Bond noticed these small things because he felt intensely aware of her and because he wanted to draw her into his own feeling of warmth and relaxed sensuality. But he accepted her reserve. He thought it came from a desire to protect herself from him, or else it was her reaction to his coolness to her earlier in the evening, his deliberate coolness, which he knew had been taken as a rebuff.

We're seeing a complete reversal in their positions now. At dinner, Bond was the one coldly rejecting any kind of friendliness from her. Now that he's accomplished his mission he's trying to get back into it, but safe car for teen she's the one who seems upset. Maybe she just doesn't like being up so late.

They talk simply about the details of the mission. Vesper says they identified the two gunmen, but didn't do anything when he went behind Bond because they couldn't imagine he would try such a daring assassination at the table. While Bond and Leiter went to the hotel to hide the money, she called M's representative in Paris to give the results of the game.


This was all she said. She sipped at her champagne and rarely glanced at Bond. She didn’t smile. Bond felt frustrated. He drank a lot of champagne and ordered another bottle. The scrambled eggs came and they ate in silence.

At four o’clock Bond was about to call for the bill when the maitre d’hotel appeared at their table and inquired for Miss Lynd. He handed her a note which she took and read hastily.

‘Oh, it’s only Mathis,’ she said. ‘He says would I come to the entrance hall. He’s got a message for you. Perhaps he’s not in evening clothes or something. I won’t be a minute. Then perhaps we could go home.’

She gave him a strained smile. ‘I’m afraid I don’t feel very good company this evening. It’s been rather a nerve-wracking day. I’m so sorry.’

Bond made a perfunctory reply and rose, pushing back the table. ‘I’ll get the bill,’ he said, and watched her take the few steps to the entrance.

Bond is frustrated and tired. He calls for the bill as he finishes his eggs, wishing he could have seen the look on Mathis's face when informed of his success.

And then he starts to think that it's really odd for Mathis to send a note for the meeting. He would be more likely to call them up to the bar or joined them at the club regardless of what he was wearing so they could laugh and cheer and have a grand old time celebrating their success.

Bond throws cash on the table and runs out without waiting for the change. He hurries all the way through the entrance hall, totally empty of anyone but a handful of officials and guests picking up their belongings. He bursts out the doors almost at a run.


The commissionaire came towards him.

‘A taxi, monsieur?’

Bond waved him aside and started down the steps, his eyes staring into the shadows, the night air cold on his sweating temples.

He was half-way down when he heard a faint cry, then the slam of a door away to the right. With a harsh growl and stutter from the exhaust a beetle-browed Citroën shot out of the shadows into the light of the moon, its front-wheel drive dry-skidding through the loose pebbles of the forecourt.

Its tail rocked on its soft springs as if a violent struggle was taking place on the back seat.

With a snarl it raced out to the wide entrance gate in a spray of gravel. A small black object shot out of an open rear window and thudded into a flower-bed. There was a scream of tortured rubber as the tyres caught the boulevard in a harsh left-handed turn, the deafening echo of a Citroën’s exhaust in second gear, a crash into top, then a swiftly diminishing crackle as the car hared off between the shops on the main street towards the coast-road.

Bond knew he would find Vesper’s evening bag among the flowers. He ran back with it across the gravel to the brightly-lit steps and scrabbled through its contents while the commissionaire hovered round him.

The crumpled note was there amongst the usual feminine baggage.  

‘Can you come out to the entrance hall for a moment? I have news for your companion.

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Lightning Lord
Feb 21, 2013

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Yeah, go ahead! As long as it's not spoilers for anything not covered.

Thanks. I'm going to wait until Casino Royale is done because there's some scenes late in the book I want to cover in particular. I might do an overview of Bond in comics in general first tho. It's not very extensive but includes James Bond Jr, lol

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So the car that Le Chiffre drives off in is described as a "beetle-browed" Citroën. We know it's a front-wheel drive, something the company pioneered in the 1930s. The Fleming's Bond blog guesses that it's a Citroën "Big 6" Traction Avant.

However, the author also admits that it's mostly because he can't picture Le Chiffre driving anything that's not flashy. My personal guess would be a 2CV, a relatively new car at the time designed as an economy family vehicle. It was regarded as the Ford Model T of Europe in its time in terms of originality and low cost. It's definitely beetle-like!

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Grimey Drawer

Yeah, of the two pics, the 2CV is the only one I'd call "beetle-browed". Plus how flashy of a car is a communist trade union executive going to drive? His dossier even says he has "discreet" tastes.

Oh, and excellent thread!

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Darth Walrus
Feb 13, 2012

‘Beetle-browed’ means ‘scowling’. So pick the Citroen with the angriest-looking windscreen.

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michelle mccool nude pictures Chapter 15: Black Hare And Grey Hound

We're 55% of the way through the book according to Kindle.


It was the crudest possible forgery.

Bond leapt for the Bentley, blessing the impulse which had made him drive it over after dinner. With the choke full out, the engine answered at once to the starter and the roar drowned the faltering words of the commissionaire who jumped aside as the rear wheels whipped gravel at his piped trouser-legs.

As the car rocked to the left outside the gate, Bond ruefully longed for the front-wheel drive and low chassis of the Citroën. Then he went fast through the gears and settled himself for the pursuit, briefly savouring the echo of the huge exhaust as it came back at him from either side of the short main street through the town.

Soon he was out on the coast-road, a broad highway through the sand-dunes which he knew from his morning’s drive had an excellent surface and was well cat’s-eyed on the bends. He pushed the revs up and up, hurrying the car to eighty then to ninety, his huge Marchal headlights boring a safe white tunnel, nearly half a mile long, between the walls of the night.

Bond follows bits of dust hanging over the road to find the trail of Le Chiffre's car. He starts letting his misogyny get full 3d sex game really ahead of him.


This was just what he had been afraid of. These blithering women who thought they could do a man’s work. Why the hell couldn’t they stay at home and mind their pots and pans and stick to their frocks and gossip and leave men’s work to the men. And now for this to happen to him, just when the job had come off so beautifully. For Vesper to fall for an old trick like that and get herself snatched and probably held to ransom like some bloody heroine in a strip cartoon. The silly bitch.

Bond boiled at the thought of the fix he was in.

Of course. The idea was a straight swop. The girl against his cheque for forty million. Well, he wouldn’t play: wouldn’t think of playing. She was in the Service and knew what she was up against. He wouldn’t even ask M. This job was more important than her. It was just too bad. She was a fine girl, but he wasn’t going to fall for this childish trick. No dice. He would try and catch the Citroën and shoot it out with them and if she got shot in the process, that was too bad too. He would have done his stuff – tried to rescue her before they got her off to some hide-out – but if he didn’t catch up with them he would get back to his hotel and go to sleep and say no more about it. The next morning he would ask Mathis what had happened to her and show him the note. If Le Chiffre put the touch on Bond for the money in exchange for the girl, Bond would do nothing and tell no one. The girl would just have to take it. If the commissionaire came along with the story of what he had seen, Bond would bluff it out by saying he had had a drunken row with the girl.

We also see Bond's coldness here. He puts the mission above all else, including the life of other agents. As soon as Vesper has been taken hostage, he starts coming up with a plan for how to excuse her death. But at the same time, you also have to wonder just how much is Bond saying it to himself. If he truly wasn't playing Le Chiffre's game, why is he putting so much effort into chasing her down? He's got the money. If he was truly as cold as he wants to be, he could just ignore the kidnapping altogether and catch the next boat back across the Channel.

Bond's ranting comes off more as a way of trying to make himself feel better about a situation that he's willingly getting into.


Bond’s mind raged furiously on with the problem as he flung the great car down the coast-road, automatically taking the curves and watching out for carts or cyclists on their way into Royale. On straight stretches the Amherst Villiers supercharger dug spurs into the Bentley’s twenty-five horses and the engine sent a high-pitched scream of pain into the night. Then the revolutions mounted until he was past 110 and on to the 120 m.p.h. mark on the speedometer.

He knew he must be gaining fast. Loaded as she was the Citroën could hardly better eighty even on this road. On an impulse he slowed down to seventy, turned on his fog-lights, and dowsed the twin Marchals. Sure enough, without the blinding curtain of his own lights, he could see the glow of another car a mile or two down the coast.

He felt under the dashboard and from a concealed holster took out a long-barrelled Colt Army Special .45 and laid it on the seat beside him. With this, if he was lucky with the surface of the road, he could hope to get their tyres or their petrol tank at anything up to a hundred yards.

It's a matter of contention exactly what gun Bond is pulling out here. The Colt New Service revolver (available in calibers like .45 Long Colt and .455 Webley) was sometimes called the Army Special erroneously, so it might be that.

However, a later book has Bond accidentally leave the safety on with it and Fleming should have been experienced enough with guns to know that revolvers typically don't have safeties. In that case, it may have been a very wrong name for a Colt M1911A1.


Ahead in the Citroën there were three men and the girl.

Le Chiffre was driving, his big fluid body hunched forward, his hands light and delicate on the wheel. Beside him sat the squat man who had carried the stick in the Casino. In his left hand he grasped a thick lever which protruded beside him almost level with the floor. It might have been a lever to adjust the driving-seat.

In the back seat was the tall thin gunman. He lay back relaxed, gazing at the ceiling, apparently uninterested in the wild speed of the car. His right hand lay caressingly on Vesper’s left thigh which stretched out naked beside him.

Apart from her legs, which were naked to the hips, Vesper was only a parcel. Her long black velvet skirt had been lifted over her arms and head and tied above her head with a piece of rope. Where her face was, a small gap had been torn in the velvet so that she could breathe. She was not bound in any other way and she lay quiet, her body moving sluggishly with the swaying of the car.

Bond closes the gap to a mile between them. A few hundred yards ahead of Le Chiffre is a Michelin post showing where the highway crosses a small country trail. He gives a command to the man sitting next to him, whose hand tightens on the lever, and slows down as they approach the crossroads.


Le Chiffre seemed to make up his mind.

The man beside him pulled the lever sharply upwards. The boot at the back of the car yawned open like a whale’s mouth. There was a tinkling clatter on the road and then a rhythmic jangling as if the car was towing lengths of chain behind it.


The man depressed the lever sharply and the jangling stopped with a final clatter.

Le Chiffre glanced again in the mirror. Bond’s car was just entering the bend. Le Chiffre made a racing change and threw the Citroën left-handed down the narrow side-road, at the same time dowsing his lights.

He stopped the car with a jerk and all three men got swiftly out and doubled back under cover of a low hedge to the cross-roads, now fiercely illuminated by the lights of the Bentley. Each of them carried a revolver and the thin man also had what looked like a large black egg in his right hand.

The Bentley screamed down towards them like an express train.

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But it soon became quite clear that while losers flourished everywhere, winners were a rare and reticent breed with preferences for camouflage and anonymity.

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Is a "racing change" in this context a rev-matched gear change? That's bugged me since I read the book 20 years ago and 8 never remembered to look it up. The term comes up fairly often in Bond books when people are driving.

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Is a "racing change" in this context a rev-matched gear change? That's bugged me since I read the book 20 years ago and 8 never remembered to look it up. The term comes up fairly often in Bond books when people are driving.

From what I can find while looking it up, yes. He's using his heel to hit the gas pedal and toe to hit the brake pedal, allowing him to downshift while matching the RPM of the lower gear. This keeps the car stable as you slow down. Normally it's used for quickly decelerating on a corner and then accelerating away by shifting back up, but here he's using it to make a fast and controlled stop while turning off the road.

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But it soon became quite clear that while losers flourished everywhere, winners were a rare and reticent breed with preferences for camouflage and anonymity.

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From what I can find while looking it up, yes. He's using his heel to hit the gas pedal and toe to hit the brake pedal, allowing him to downshift while matching the RPM of the lower gear. This keeps the car stable as you slow down. Normally it's used for quickly decelerating on a corner and then accelerating away by shifting back up, but here he's using it to make a fast and controlled stop while turning off the road.

Today this is known as a "heel-toe downshift," thanks for the confirmation!

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Sperglord Actual
Nov 27, 2011

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It's a matter of contention exactly what gun Bond is pulling out here. The Colt New Service revolver (available in calibers like .45 Long Colt and .455 Webley) was sometimes called the Army Special erroneously, so it might be that.

Colt did make an Army Special. It was introduced in 1908 and renamed the Official Police in 1927, having never actually been adopted by the US Army. Available calibers ran from .32-20 up to .41 Colt, but not .45.

The reference to it being 'long-barreled' makes me think Fleming had a revolver in mind rather than a 1911. Either way, the idea of shooting out the tires on a moving car at a hundred yards at night while driving another car is laughable.

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regina king naked pics Chapter 16: The Crawling of the Skin


As Bond hurtled round the bend, caressing the great car against the camber with an easy sway of body and hands, he was working out his plan of action when the distance between the two cars had narrowed still further. He imagined that the enemy driver would try to dodge off into a side-road if he got the chance. So when he got round the bend and saw no lights ahead, it was a normal reflex to ease up on the accelerator and, when he saw the Michelin post, to prepare to brake.

He was only doing about sixty as he approached the black patch across the right-hand crown of the road which he assumed to be the shadow cast by a wayside tree. Even so, there was no time to save himself. There was suddenly a small carpet of glinting steel spikes right under his off-side wing. Then he was on top of it.

Bond automatically slammed the brakes full on and braced all his sinews against the wheel to correct the inevitable slew to the left, but he only kept control for a split second. As the rubber was flayed from his offside wheels and the rims for an instant tore up the tarmac, the heavy car whirled across the road in a tearing dry skid, slammed the left bank with a crash that knocked Bond out of the driving seat on to the floor, and then, facing back up the road, it reared slowly up, its front wheels spinning and its great headlights searching the sky. For a split second, resting on the petrol tank, it seemed to paw at the heavens like a giant praying-mantis. Then slowly it toppled over backwards and fell with a splintering crash of coachwork and glass.

In the deafening silence, the near-side front wheel whispered briefly on and then squeaked to a stop.

This book only has two gadgets in it: the camera case bombs and the spike deployment from Le Chiffre's car. Notice how both of these are maggie q nude fakes villainous gadgets. Bond relies more on his wits and fighting skills than gadgets, especially early on.

The film replicates this scene quite faithfully, with the only real difference being the cause of the crash:

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They actually couldn't flip the Aston-Martin with a typical pipe ramp because it was so stable. They had to resort to a compressed nitrogen gas cannon on the underside, accidentally setting a new world record for the most cannon-incited car flips.

Le Chiffre and his men approach the car, sitting just a few yards away from the wrecked Bentley. They cut away the fabric convertible roof and haul Bond out inch by inch, trying not to accidentally kill him. After a few slaps, they tie him up with flex wire and confiscate everything in his pockets.


It was the sharp bite of the wire flex into his wrists that brought Bond to himself. He was aching all over as if he had been thrashed with a wooden club, but when he was yanked to his feet and pushed towards the narrow side-road where the engine of the Citroën was already running softly, he found that no bones were broken. But he felt in no mood for desperate attempts to escape and allowed himself to be dragged into the back seat of the car without resisting.

He felt thoroughly dispirited and weak in resolve as well as in his body. He had had to take too much in the past twenty-four hours and now this last stroke by the enemy seemed almost too final. This time there could be no miracles. No one knew where he was and no one would miss him until well on into the morning. The wreck of his car would be found before very long, but it would take hours to trace the ownership to him.

And Vesper. He looked to the right, past the thin man who was lying back with his eyes closed. His first reaction was one of scorn. drat fool girl getting herself trussed up like a chicken, having her skirt pulled over her head as if the whole of this business was some kind of dormitory rag. But then he felt sorry for her. Her naked legs looked so childlike and defenceless.

‘Vesper,’ he said softly.

There was no answer from the bundle in the corner and Bond suddenly had a chill feeling, but then she stirred slightly.

At the same time the thin man caught him a hard back-handed blow over the heart.


Bond doubled over with the pain and to shield himself from another blow, only to get a rabbit punch on the back of the neck which made him arch back again, the breath whistling through his teeth.

The thin man had hit him a hard professional cutting blow with the edge of the hand. There was something rather deadly about his accuracy and lack of effort. He was now again lying back, his eyes closed. He was a man to make you afraid, an evil man. Bond hoped he might get a chance of killing him.

Bond hears them open the trunk of the car and gather up the length of spiked chain, reflecting that a similar trick had been used against German staff cars during the war. He's suddenly realizing just how badly he underestimated Le Chiffre and the resources at their disposal.

As the sun starts to rise, the car speeds down the last few miles to Le Chiffre's villa.


Ten minutes later the Citroën lurched to the left, ran on a hundred yards up a small side-road partly overgrown with grass and then between a pair of dilapidated stucco pillars into an unkempt forecourt surrounded by a high wall. They drew up in front of a peeling white door. Above a rusty bell-push in the door-frame, small zinc letters on a wooden base spelled out ‘Les Noctambules’ and, underneath, ‘Sonnez SVP’.

From what Bond could see of the cement frontage, the villa was typical of the French seaside style. He could imagine the dead blue-bottles being hastily swept out for the summer let and the stale rooms briefly aired by a cleaning woman sent by the estate agent in Royale. Every five years one coat of whitewash would be slapped over the rooms and the outside woodwork, and for a few weeks the villa would present a smiling front to the world. Then the winter rains would get to work, and the imprisoned flies, and quickly the villa would take on again its abandoned look.

But, Bond reflected, it would admirably serve Le Chiffre’s purpose this morning, if he was right in assuming what that was to be. They had passed no other house since his capture and from his reconnaissance of the day before he knew there was only an occasional farm for several miles to the south.

As he was urged out of the car with a sharp crack in the ribs from the thin man’s elbow, he knew that Le Chiffre could have them both to himself, undisturbed, for several hours. Again his skin crawled.

The signs read "Night owls, sound please". It's simply saying to ring the bell if you arrive at night; this is a typical rental villa in France for people with lots of cash to spend on holiday when they don't want to be at a hotel.

The hairy gunman who had threatened Bond with the cane (whom Bond has taken to nicknaming "The Corsican") pushes Bond forward. Bond decides to take a chance at resisting and kicks backwards into the Corsican's shins and attempts to kick him in the groin, but he dodges surprisingly fast and grabs Bond's foot, twisting him down to the ground.


For a moment he lay there, all the breath knocked out of him. Then the thin man came and hauled him up against the wall by his collar. He had a gun in his hand. He looked Bond inquisitively in the eyes. Then unhurriedly he bent down and swiped the barrel viciously across Bond’s shins. Bond grunted and caved at the knees.

‘If there is a next time, it will be across your teeth,’ said the thin man in bad French.

A door slammed. Vesper and the Corsican had disappeared. Bond turned his head to the right. Le Chiffre had moved a few feet out into the passage. He lifted his finger and crooked it again. Then for the first time he spoke.

‘Come, my dear friend. We are wasting our time.’

He spoke in English with no accent. His voice was low and soft and unhurried. He showed no emotion. He might have been a doctor summoning the next patient from the waiting-room, a hysterical patient who had been expostulating feebly with a nurse.

Bond again felt puny and impotent. Nobody but an expert in ju-jitsu could have handled him with the Corsican’s economy and lack of fuss. The cold precision with which the thin man had paid him back in his own coin had been equally unhurried, even artistic.

Almost docilely Bond walked back down the passage. He had nothing but a few more bruises to show for his clumsy gesture of resistance to these people.

As he preceded the thin man over the threshold he knew that he was utterly and absolutely in their power.

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sex games free sex Chapter 17: My Dear Boy


It was a large bare room, sparsely furnished in cheap French art nouveau style. It was difficult to say whether it was intended as a living- or dining-room for a flimsy-looking mirrored sideboard, sporting an orange crackle-ware fruit dish and two painted wooden candlesticks took up most of the wall opposite the door and contradicted the faded pink sofa ranged against the other side of the room.

There was no table in the centre under the alabasterine ceiling light, only a small square of stained carpet with a futurist design in contrasting browns.

Over by the window was an incongruous-looking throne-like chair in carved oak with a red velvet seat, a low table on which stood an empty water carafe and two glasses, and a light armchair with a round cane seat and no cushion.

Half-closed venetian blinds obscured the view from the window, but cast bars of early sunlight over the few pieces of furniture and over part of the brightly papered wall and the brown stained floorboards.

Le Chiffre pointed at the cane chair.

‘That will do excellently,’ he said to the thin man. ‘Prepare him quickly. If he resists, damage him only a little.’

He turned to Bond. There was no expression on his large face and his round eyes were uninterested. ‘Take off your clothes. For every effort to resist, Basil will break one of your fingers. We are serious people and your good health is of no interest to us. Whether you live or die depends on the outcome of the talk we are about to have.’

The Corsican takes his folding knife and cuts out the seat of the cane chair, then cuts Bond's bindings and orders him to strip. Bond hesitates for a moment to decide whether or not he can resist, giving the thug the opening to shove him to the ground and slice his jacket in half all the way up the back. Realizing how outmatched he is, Bond starts taking off his shirt.


Le Chiffre came quietly back into the room. He carried a pot of what smelt like coffee. He put it on the small table near the window. He also placed beside it on the table two other homely objects, a three-foot-long carpet-beater in twisted cane and a carving knife.

He settled himself comfortably on the throne-like chair and poured some of the coffee into one of the glasses. With one foot he hooked forward the small armchair, whose seat was now an empty circular frame of wood, until it was directly opposite him.

You can tell Le Chiffre is a villain because he drinks coffee from a glass.

Le Chiffre forces the totally naked Bond to sit on the seatless chair and he's bound up perfectly with no way of slipping out. Bond is a completely helpless, naked prisoner.


Le Chiffre nodded to the thin man who quietly left the room and closed the door.

There was a packet of Gauloises on the table and a lighter. Le Chiffre lit a cigarette and swallowed a mouthful of coffee from the glass. Then he picked up the cane carpet-beater and, resting the handle comfortably on his knee, allowed the flat trefoil base to lie on the floor directly under Bond’s chair.

He looked Bond carefully, almost caressingly, in the eyes. Then his wrists sprang suddenly upwards on his knee.

The result was startling.

Bond’s whole body arched in an involuntary spasm. His face contracted in a soundless scream and his lips drew right away from his teeth. At the same time his head flew back with a jerk showing the taut sinews of his neck. For an instant, muscles stood out in knots all over his body and his toes and fingers clenched until they were quite white. Then his body sagged and perspiration started to bead all over his body. He uttered a deep groan.

Le Chiffre waited for his eyes to open.

‘You see, dear boy?’ He smiled a soft, fat smile. ‘Is the position quite clear now?’

Remember when you saw the movie and it got to the point where Bond is brutally tortured by having his balls smashed with a carpet beater over and over and you probably thought to yourself "Man, they really made this movie dark!" Yeah, that's actually directly taken from the book.


‘Now let us get down to business and see how soon we can be finished with this unfortunate mess you have got yourself into.’ He puffed cheerfully at his cigarette and gave an admonitory tap on the floor beneath Bond’s chair with his horrible and incongruous instrument.

‘My dear boy,’ Le Chiffre spoke like a father, ‘the game of Red Indians is over, quite over. You have stumbled by mischance into a game for grown-ups and you have already found it a painful experience. You are not equipped, my dear boy, to play games with adults and it was very foolish of your nanny in London to have sent you out here with your spade and bucket. Very foolish indeed and most unfortunate for you.

‘But we must stop joking, my dear fellow, although I am sure you would like to follow me in developing this amusing little cautionary tale.’

He suddenly dropped his bantering tone and looked at Bond sharply and venomously.

‘Where is the money?’

Bond’s bloodshot eyes looked emptily back at him.

Again the upward jerk of the wrist and again Bond’s whole body writhed and contorted.

You can definitely see where the suggestions of Fleming being into BDSM come from.

Le Chiffre calmly informs Bond that there's no opportunity for rescue here. If he continues to refuse to speak, they'll bring Vesper in and torture her next. If that's not enough, both of them will be killed slowly and painfully and their bodies left in the villa to rot.


Bond closed his eyes and waited for the pain. He knew that the beginning of torture is the worst. There is a parabola of agony. A crescendo leading up to a peak and then the nerves are blunted and react progressively less until unconsciousness and death. All he could do was to pray for the peak, pray that his spirit would hold out so long and then accept the long free-wheel down to the final blackout.

He had been told by colleagues who had survived torture by the Germans and the Japanese that towards the end there came a wonderful period of warmth and languor leading into a sort of sexual twilight where pain turned to pleasure and where hatred and fear of the torturers turned to a masochistic infatuation. It was the supreme test of will, he had learnt, to avoid showing this form of punch-drunkenness. Directly it was suspected they would either kill you at once and save themselves further useless effort, or let you recover sufficiently so that your nerves had crept back to the other side of the parabola. Then they would start again. He opened his eyes a fraction.

Le Chiffre had been waiting for this and like a rattlesnake the cane instrument leapt from the floor. It struck again and again so that Bond screamed and his body jangled in the chair like a marionette.

Le Chiffre desisted only when Bond’s tortured spasms showed a trace of sluggishness. He sat for a while sipping his coffee and frowning slightly like a surgeon watching a cardiograph during a difficult operation.

pimp my ghetto teen Extremely sadomasochistic.

Le Chiffre tells Bond that they've already searched his room for the 40 million franc check and came up empty. They found the codebook in his toilet tank and the papers taped to the back of a drawer, but searching every inch of his room and tearing apart all of his belongings and clothes was fruitless. Rather than himself, Bond starts thinking about what terrible things Vesper must be going through with those two gunmen.


‘Torture is a terrible thing,’ he was saying as he puffed at a fresh cigarette, ‘but it is a simple matter for the torturer, particularly when the patient,’ he smiled at the word, ‘is a man. You see, my dear Bond, with a man it is quite unnecessary to indulge in refinements. With this simple instrument, or with almost any other object, one can cause a man as much pain as is possible or necessary. Do not believe what you read in novels or books about the war. There is nothing worse. It is not only the immediate agony, but also the thought that your manhood is being gradually destroyed and that at the end, if you will not yield, you will no longer be a man.'

Hey, some people pay good money for that experience!


Bond’s lips were writhing. He was trying to say something. At last he got the word out in a harsh croak: ‘Drink,’ he said and his tongue came out and swilled across his dry lips.

‘Of course, my dear boy, how thoughtless of me.’ Le Chiffre poured some coffee into the other glass. There was a ring of sweat drops on the floor round Bond’s chair.

‘We must certainly keep your tongue lubricated.’

He laid the handle of the carpet-beater down on the floor between his thick legs and rose from his chair. He went behind Bond and taking a handful of his soaking hair in one hand, he wrenched Bond’s head sharply back. He poured the coffee down Bond’s throat in small mouthfuls so that he would not choke. Then he released his head so that it fell forward again on his chest. He went back to his chair and picked up the carpet-beater.

Bond raised his head and spoke thickly.

‘Money no good to you.’ His voice was a laborious croak. ‘Police trace it to you.’

Exhausted by the effort, his head sank forward again. He was a little, but only a little, exaggerating the extent of his physical collapse. Anything to gain time and anything to defer the next searing pain.

‘Ah, my dear fellow, I had forgotten to tell you.’ Le Chiffre smiled wolfishly. ‘We met after our little game at the Casino and you were such a sportsman that you agreed we would have one more run through the pack between the two of us. It was a gallant gesture. Typical of an English gentleman.

‘Unfortunately you lost and this upset you so much that you decided to leave Royale immediately for an unknown destination. Like the gentleman you are, you very kindly gave me a note explaining the circumstances so that I would have no difficulty in cashing your cheque. You see, dear boy, everything has been thought of and you need have no fears on my account.’ He chuckled fatly.

I would question how foolproof Le Chiffre's plan is here. While the local police may buy it, I can't see the British Secret Service doing so, especially if Bond is either returned with his testicles smashed to pieces or he never returns at all. I'd imagine that if Le Chiffre were to actually get away with this, they might just go straight for assassination.

Bond takes only seconds to contemplate what to do. While Mathis and Leiter will never get to him in time, by refusing to talk he can buy some time for them to figure out what happened and catch up to Le Chiffre before he gets away. The longer he lets himself be tortured, the more chance he has of getting revenge.


Bond lifted his head and looked Le Chiffre in the eyes.

The china of the whites was now veined with red. It was like looking at two blackcurrants poached in blood. The rest of the wide face was yellowish except where a thick black stubble covered the moist skin. The upward edges of black coffee at the corners of the mouth gave his expression a false smile and the whole face was faintly striped by the light through the venetian blinds.

‘No,’ he said flatly, ‘… you’.

Le Chiffre grunted and set to work again with savage fury. Occasionally he snarled like a wild beast.

After ten minutes Bond had fainted, blessedly.

Le Chiffre at once stopped. He wiped some sweat from his face with a circular motion of his disengaged hand. Then he looked at his watch and seemed to make up his mind.

He got up and stood behind the inert, dripping body. There was no colour in Bond’s face or anywhere on his body above the waist. There was a faint flutter of his skin above the heart. Otherwise he might have been dead.

Le Chiffre seized Bond’s ears and harshly twisted them. Then he leant forward and slapped his cheeks hard several times. Bond’s head rolled from side to side with each blow. Slowly his breathing became deeper. An animal groan came from his lolling mouth.

Le Chiffre took a glass of coffee and poured some into Bond’s mouth and threw the rest in his face. Bond’s eyes slowly opened.

Le Chiffre returned to his chair and waited. He lit a cigarette and contemplated the spattered pool of blood on the floor beneath the inert body opposite.

Bond groaned again pitifully. It was an inhuman sound. His eyes opened wide and he gazed dully at his torturer.

Le Chiffre spoke.

‘That is all, Bond. We will now finish with you. You understand? Not kill you, but finish with you. And then we will have in the girl and see if something can be got out of the remains of the two of you.’

He reached towards the table.

‘Say good-bye to it, Bond.’

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I had never read this book, so in the movie it was quite the surprise given the tone of all the other movies. And physically uncomfortable to watch.

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hitomi tanaka porn pics Chapter 18: A Crag-Like Face


It was extraordinary to hear the third voice. The hour’s ritual had only demanded a duologue against the horrible noise of the torture. Bond’s dimmed senses hardly took it in. Then suddenly he was half-way back to consciousness. He found he could see and hear again. He could hear the dead silence after the one quiet word from the doorway. He could see Le Chiffre’s head slowly come up and the expression of blank astonishment, of innocent amazement, slowly give way to fear.

‘Shtop,’ had said the voice, quietly.

Bond heard slow steps approaching behind his chair.

‘Dhrop it,’ said the voice.

Bond saw Le Chiffre’s hand open obediently and the knife fall with a clatter to the floor.

He tried desperately to read into Le Chiffre’s face what was happening behind him, but all he saw was blind incomprehension and terror. Le Chiffre’s mouth worked, but only a high-pitched ‘eek’ came from it. His heavy cheeks trembled as he tried to collect enough saliva in his mouth to say something, ask something. His hands fluttered vaguely in his lap. One of them made a slight movement towards his pocket, but instantly fell back. His round staring eyes had lowered for a split second and Bond guessed there was a gun trained on him.

There was a moment’s silence.


The word came almost with a sigh. It came with a downward cadence as if nothing else had to be said. It was the final explanation. The last word of all.

The SMERSH agent tells the stunned Le Chiffre that he's been sent to kill him and has already killed both of his men. He's under orders to make Le Chiffre's death as painful as possible but lacks the time.


‘Do you plead guilty?’

Bond wrestled with his consciousness. He screwed up his eyes and tried to shake his head to clear it, but his whole nervous system was numbed and no message was transmitted to his muscles. He could just keep his focus on the great pale face in front of him and on its bulging eyes.

A thin string of saliva crept from the open mouth and hung down from the chin.

‘Yes,’ said the mouth.

There was a sharp ‘phut’, no louder than a bubble of air escaping from a tube of toothpaste. No other noise at all, and suddenly Le Chiffre had grown another eye, a third eye on a level with the other two, right where the thick nose started to jut out below the forehead. It was a small black eye, without eyelashes or eyebrows.

Le Chiffre collapses over the chair. The SMERSH agent approaches Bond and lifts up his chin, giving Bond the impression of a crag-like face concealed by a domino mask, hat, and fur collar.


‘You are fortunate,’ said the voice. ‘I have no orders to kill you. Your life has been saved twice in one day. But you can tell your organization that SMERSH is only merciful by chance or by mistake. In your case you were saved first by chance and now by mistake, for I should have had orders to kill any foreign spies who were hanging round this traitor like flies round a dog’s-mess.

‘But I shall leave you my visiting card. You are a gambler. You play at cards. One day perhaps you will play against one of us. It would be well that you should be known as a spy.’

Steps moved round to behind Bond’s right shoulder. There was the click of a knife opening. An arm in some grey material came into Bond’s line of vision. A broad hairy hand emerging from a dirty white shirt-cuff was holding a thin stiletto like a fountain-pen. It poised for a moment above the back of Bond’s right hand, immovably bound with flex to the arm of the chair. The point of the stiletto executed three quick straight slashes. A fourth slash crossed them where they ended, just short of the knuckles. Blood in the shape of an inverted ‘M’ welled out and slowly started to drip on to the floor.

The pain was nothing to what Bond was already suffering, but it was enough to plunge him again into unconsciousness.

The steps moved quietly away across the room. The door was softly closed.

In the silence, the cheerful small sounds of the summer’s day crept through the closed window. High on the left-hand wall hung two small patches of pink light. They were reflections cast upwards from the floor by the zebra stripes of June sunshine, cast upwards from two separate pools of blood a few feet apart.

As the day progressed the pink patches marched slowly along the wall. And slowly they grew larger.

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As you can see, the torture scene is replicated almost perfectly in the film. This was a very dark turn for Bond that nobody expected except those who had already read the book. The film makes Bond more defiant and in some ways plays up the BDSM aspects a bit more.

catherin zeta jones nude Chapter 19: The White Tent


You are about to awake when you dream that you are dreaming.

During the next two days James Bond was permanently in this state without regaining consciousness. He watched the procession of his dreams go by without any effort to disturb their sequence, although many of them were terrifying and all were painful. He knew that he was in a bed and that he was lying on his back and could not move and in one of his twilight moments he thought there were people round him, but he made no effort to open his eyes and re-enter the world.

He felt safer in the darkness and he hugged it to him.

On the morning of the third day a bloody nightmare shook him awake, trembling and sweating. There was a hand on his forehead which he associated with his dream. He tried to lift an arm and smash it sideways into the owner of the hand, but his arms were immovable, secured to the sides of his bed. His whole body was strapped down and something like a large white coffin covered him from chest to feet and obscured his view of the end of the bed. He shouted a string of obscenities, but the effort took all his strength and the words tailed off into a sob. Tears of forlornness and self-pity welled out of his eyes.

A woman’s voice was speaking and the words gradually penetrated to him. It seemed to be a kind voice and it slowly came to him that he was being comforted and that this was a friend and not an enemy. He could hardly believe it. He had been so certain that he was still a captive and that the torture was about to begin again. He felt his face being softly wiped with a cool cloth which smelt of lavender and then he sank back into his dreams.

Bond finally, fully awakens hours later to the sound of waves gently crashing on the shore outside his window. A nurse sitting beside him takes note, quickly tells him that he's in a nursing home in Royale and she's one of two nurses sent from England, and tells him to lie down and be quiet while she gets the doctor.

Bond figures he's under a local anesthetic, since the only major pain he feels is in his wrists and hand. From the feeling of his growing facial hair, he figures it's been 2 days since he was tortured.


He was preparing a short list of questions in his mind when the door opened and the doctor came in followed by the nurse and in the background the dear figure of Mathis, a Mathis looking anxious behind his broad smile, who put a finger to his lips and walked on tiptoe to the window and sat down.

The doctor, a Frenchman with a young and intelligent face, had been detached from his duties with the Deuxième Bureau to look after Bond’s case. He came and stood beside Bond and put his hand on Bond’s forehead while he looked at the temperature chart behind the bed.

When he spoke he was forthright.

‘You have a lot of questions to ask, my dear Mr Bond,’ he said in excellent English, ‘and I can tell you most of the answers. I do not want you to waste your strength, so I will give you the salient facts and then you may have a few minutes with Monsieur Mathis who wishes to obtain one or two details from you. It is really too early for this talk, but I wish to set your mind at rest so that we can proceed with the task of repairing your body without bothering too much about your mind.’

Nurse Gibson pulled up a chair for the doctor and left the room.

‘You have been here about two days,’ continued the doctor. ‘Your car was found by a farmer on the way to market in Royale and he informed the police. After some delay Monsieur Mathis heard that it was your car and he immediately went to Les Noctambules with his men. You and Le Chiffre were found and also your friend, Miss Lynd, who was unharmed and according to her account suffered no molestation. She was prostrated with shock, but is now fully recovered and is at her hotel. She has been instructed by her superiors in London to stay at Royale under your orders until you are sufficiently recovered to go back to England.

‘Le Chiffre’s two gunmen are dead, each killed by a single .35 bullet in the back of the skull. From the lack of expression on their faces, they evidently never saw or heard their assailant. They were found in the same room as Miss Lynd. Le Chiffre is dead, shot with a similar weapon between the eyes. Did you witness his death?’

‘Yes,’ said Bond.

The choice of .35 caliber is an odd one for Fleming. The only pistol cartridge in .35 caliber at this time that I know of was a proprietary one for the Smith & Wesson Model 1913, only a little over 8300 of which were built.

There's two other options. The first is that it could have been an incorrect measurement of the 7.62x25mm Tokarev round, a .30 caliber pistol cartridge used by the Soviets up until the end of World War II. A TT-33 pistol would be easily available to a Soviet agent.

The other is that it could be a misprint for .25 ACP, the same caliber Bond and Fleming carried on missions. The Soviets manufactured a .25 ACP pistol, the Korovin TK, and Vasily Blokhin (the most prolific executioner and mass murderer in history) personally killed tens of thousands of POWs and political undesirables for Stalin with German .25 caliber pistols like the Walther Model 2 for their reliability and plausible deniability in case the bodies were found.


‘Your own injuries are serious, but your life is not in danger though you have lost a lot of blood. If all goes well, you will recover completely and none of the functions of your body will be impaired.’ The doctor smiled grimly. ‘But I fear that you will continue to be in pain for several days and it will be my endeavour to give you as much comfort as possible. Now that you have regained consciousness your arms will be freed, but you must not move your body and when you sleep the nurse has orders to secure your arms again. Above all, it is important that you rest and regain your strength. At the moment you are suffering from a grave condition of mental and physical shock.’ The doctor paused. ‘For how long were you maltreated?’

‘About an hour,’ said Bond.

‘Then it is remarkable that you are alive and I congratulate you. Few men could have supported what you have been through. Perhaps that is some consolation. As Monsieur Mathis can tell you, I have had in my time to treat a number of patients who have suffered similar handling and not one has come through it as you have done.’

The doctor looked at Bond for a moment and then turned brusquely to Mathis.

‘You may have ten minutes and then you will be forcibly ejected. If you put the patient’s temperature up, you will answer for it.’

He gave them both a broad smile and left the room.

Mathis came over and took the doctor’s chair.

‘That’s a good man,’ said Bond. ‘I like him.’

‘He’s attached to the Bureau,’ said Mathis. ‘He is a very good man and I will tell you about him one of these days. He thinks you are a prodigy – and so do I.'

Rene Mathis is one of the very few characters in this book to have only ever been played by a single actor, Giancarlo Giannini in the film adaptation and its original sequel, free homemade sex site A Quantum of Solace, which kills him off. This is because the 1954 Barry Nelson TV adaptation and the 1967 spoof film both completely removed Mathis from the films, though the 1954 version combined his character with Vesper into Valerie Mathis, Le Chiffre's girlfriend and a secret Deuxième Bureau agent.

While we're talking about it, it should also be noted that the 1954 adaptation also ends before this scene. Bond manages to break free of his bonds () and fight off Le Chiffre and his guards to save Valerie, then shoots Le Chiffre when he tries to take her as a hostage to escape.


‘However, that can wait. As you can imagine, there is much to clear up and I am being pestered by Paris and, of course, London, and even by Washington via our good friend Leiter. Incidentally,’ he broke off, ‘I have a personal message from M. He spoke to me himself on the telephone. He simply said to tell you that he is much impressed. I asked if that was all and he said: “Well, tell him that the Treasury is greatly relieved.” Then he rang off.’

Bond grinned with pleasure. What most warmed him was that M. himself should have rung up Mathis. This was quite unheard of. The very existence of M., let alone his identity, was never admitted. He could imagine the flutter this must have caused in the ultra-security-minded organization in London.

‘A tall thin man with one arm came over from London the same day we found you,’ continued Mathis, knowing from his own experience that these shop details would interest Bond more than anything else and give him most pleasure, ‘and he fixed up the nurses and looked after everything. Even your car’s being repaired for you. He seemed to be Vesper’s boss. He spent a lot of time with her and gave her strict instructions to look after you.’

Head of S., thought Bond. They’re certainly giving me the red carpet treatment.

Mathis asks Bond to tell him exactly what happened so he can take notes for his own intelligence bureau, but stops after a few minutes when he realizes how traumatic the memories are for him. He tells Bond that they've covered up the SMERSH agent's killings by saying that Le Chiffre killed his own men and himself to avoid the scandal of his misappropriation of union funds, which has put the French Communist Party in an uproar. He also asks Bond where the hell he hid the money; turns out he unscrewed the room number plate on the door and hid the check underneath.


‘I suppose you think that’s paid me back for knowing what the Muntzes were up to. Well, I’ll call it quits. Incidentally, we’ve got them in the bag. They were just some minor fry hired for the occasion. We’ll see they get a few years.’

He rose hastily as the doctor stormed into the room and took one look at Bond.

‘Out,’ he said to Mathis. ‘Out and don’t come back.’

Mathis just had time to wave cheerfully to Bond and call some hasty words of farewell before he was hustled through the door. Bond heard a torrent of heated French diminishing down the corridor. He lay back exhausted, but heartened by all he had heard. He found himself thinking of Vesper as he quickly drifted off into a troubled sleep.

There were still questions to be answered, but they could wait.

Quite a few questions, in fact. We're only 72% through the book.

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One thing we haven't covered that relates to the movies is songs. For future books I'll open up with them, but they're one of the most famous parts of the Bond franchise and deserve some time to talk about them even if they're something created entirely for the films.

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When kendra playboy naked pics Casino Royale was released in 2006, Bond was in a slump. black porn stars pictures Die Another Day got middling reviews and Pierce Brosnan was out. It was 4 years since the last Bond film was released and EON needed to get away from the CGI-heavy direction the last film had gone in.

As the new film was announced and casting decisions were made, fans were divided. Everyone was excited to see the first ever Bond novel given a real adaptation instead of being left as a 1960s spoof with Orson Welles playing trumpet and fifty James Bonds, but Daniel Craig's casting was a huge risk. Everyone knew Bond was tall, dark, handsome, and suave! The thuggish "Blonde Bond" was controversial. There were also concerns about the decision to reboot instead of having Bond remain an experienced agent and fears of going too gritty.

When the film actually released, however, most fears were proven wrong. free booty porn tube Casino Royale was one of the few modern Bond films to gain truly good reviews and was the highest grossing Bond film until 2012's new porn movie clips Skyfall.

For a lot of people, the moment it was clinched for them was the intro. Bond completes his first kill on a traitorous MI6 section chief in Prague in black and white, interspersed with shots of him fighting the traitor's terrorist contact in a public restroom in Pakistan. As the terrorist draws his gun, Bond completes the famous gun barrel intro that every film had included as a simple stylized intro. This time, it leads directly into the theme song.

"You Know My Name" is a spectacular orchestral rock song, written and sung by the late Chris Cornell of Soundgarden and Audioslave. The lyrics convey an existential crisis regarding the violent, short life of secret agents that Bond alludes to in the novels, something that had almost never been touched on in the previous films.


If you take a life do you know what you'll give?
Odds are you won't like what it is
When the storm arrives would you be seen with me
By the merciless eyes of deceit?

I've seen angels fall from blinding heights
But you yourself are nothing so divine
Just next in line

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you
The odds will betray you
And I will replace you
You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you
It longs to kill you
Are you willing to die?

The coldest blood runs through my veins
You know my name

If you come inside things will not be the same
When you return to the night
And if you think you've won you never saw me change
The game that we've all been playing

I've seen diamonds cut through harder men
Than you yourself but if you must pretend
You may meet your end

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you
The odds will betray you
And I will replace you
You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you
It longs to kill you
Are you willing to die?

The coldest blood runs through my veins

Try to hide your hand
Forget how to feel (forget how to feel)
Life is gone with just a spin of the wheel (spin of the wheel)

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you
The odds will betray you
And I will replace you
You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you
It longs to kill you
Are you willing to die?

The coldest blood runs through my veins
You know my name
You know my name
You know my name
You know my name
You know my name
You know my name
You know my name

The graphics themselves are equally mesmerizing with their casino-themed CGI imagery. The song was incredibly popular, being nominated for a Grammy, and showcased exactly what the filmmakers intended to convey: Bond is back like never before.

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What is the significance of the "M" cut into Bond's hand by the SMERSH agent?

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What is the significance of the "M" cut into Bond's hand by the SMERSH agent?

It's not an M per se; it's something that looks like an upside-down M.

photos of naked womens It's a 'ш', the cyrillic first letter of the Russian word for 'spy'. The idea is to leave an easily-identified, highly-visible scar, destroying Bond's value as a spy in the future. He undergoes some skin grafts so he can keep going and not get shot on sight, but I believe the rest of the series does mention he has some scarring there visible under close inspection.

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Also, I'm going to take some time to cover the theme songs of Bond films that free family porno movies weren't based on any of Fleming's stories. Along with being pretty cool and showcasing a variety of singers, some of them have themes that easily remind one of the rest of the books.

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The first Bond film to be totally original (without even taking a name from a Fleming story) was man having sex woman GoldenEye, named after Fleming's estate. The film was sort of the predecessor to elmo let's have sex Casino Royale in that it was a rethinking of Bond; the legal delays that led to Timothy Dalton's contract expiring meant it took 6 years for a new film to be released, during which the Berlin Wall was knocked down, Germany was reunited, and the USSR very suddenly dissolved.

porn hub older women GoldenEye took advantage of this by showcasing how the role of Bond has changed in a post-Cold War world. It opens with an operation against a Soviet weapons research facility in 1986, then jumps to contemporary times when suddenly the British and Russians are working together. The villain has a personal stake in the matter, an angry descendant of the Cossacks who had collaborated with the Nazis during World War II and were massacred after the British repatriated them. The titular GoldenEye EMP satellites he's trying to use for his revenge against Britain are leftover Cold War relics. Bond himself is called a "misogynistic dinosaur" by the new female M.

The opening theme's video (sung by Tina Turner) plays into this. While most past Bond themes had simply shown naked girls dancing in some kind of themed acid dream environment, briana banks sex tape GoldenEye shows the women destroying Soviet monuments. The villain reveal midway through the film takes place in a similar setting, a "statue graveyard" where the remnants of Soviet statues and monuments have been thrown to be scrapped.

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no man land porn Tomorrow Never Dies was the first Bond film made after the death of producer Albert R. "Cubby" Broccoli, who had put his entire energy toward maintaining the Bond franchise ever since he helped start it (with a short break in 1968 for nude body builder women Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. As such, it was produced instead by his daughter and continued Bond producer Barbara Broccoli.

pisces woman and sex Tomorrow Never Dies was a very modern 90s film. Opening with a terrorist arms bazaar on the Russian border (continuing the theme of post-Cold War instability and expanding into the growing threat of international terrorism), the villain is a newspaper mogul who works with terrorists to start a war between China and Britain in the hopes of selling more papers. There's a sort of irony in this, considering Fleming's career as a journalist.

Around a dozen submissions for a song were made, with the winner coming from country singer Sheryl Crow. The song sold well but was unpopular due to Crow's difficulty matching the grand operatic style it demanded. However, there was actually a second song! David Arnold, who scored the film, worked with Don Black and David McAlmont on creating a theme that was sung by k.d. lang. While MGM declined to use it as the main theme in favor of the more popular Crow, "Surrender" was placed in the end credits and some critics said they preferred it.

In keeping with the film's themes and modern setting, the music video is centered around technology and journalism. What resemble lines of code fly past the screen at the beginning, CGI women are made from the conductive traces of circuit boards, and one figure ends the song by taking a massive dive into a television screen.

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king kong having sex The World is Not Enough was the first Bond film to ever include a major female villain, a decoy Bond girl who reveals herself to be partners in crime with the bad guy and is thus replaced by a much more boring Bond girl whose name is loving Christmas Jones and gets some of the most lifeless acting ever put to screen.

In the film, the driving force behind the initial conflict is oil. While it becomes much more complicated and atomic, the opening theme video is entirely coated in the stuff. There are two unique attributes to the song. The first is that it was performed by an entire band, Garbage, rather than a single singer with a hired orchestra (apparently David Arnold offering the song to Shirley Manson resulted in the first time he had ever heard someone screaming over the phone). The second is that they created an entire music video for the song, featuring a robotic Shirley Manson murdering and replacing her to destroy Chicago's New Globe Theatre with an implanted bomb during a performance. The song was quite popular and is well-regarded, probably more than the film itself.

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hot sexy nude videos Die Another Day was the film that finally led to the Daniel Craig reboot. With the USSR gone and terrorists played out, North Korea is cast as the villain. After some questionable CGI and even more questionable gene therapy, Bond's first (and so far only) foray into blowing up Koreans is done with. The nation is depicted far differently from the USSR in the past, painting the entire country except for one general as psychopathic warmongers or mooks waiting to be shot. The old Bond films usually had terrorist organizations like SPECTRE and only had Soviet villains when they were rogue agents.

The new theme song is by far the most unique, created by French electronica producer Mirwais Ahmadzaï and sung by Madonna. It has an immediately distinctive electropop sound with nary a hint of the orchestra. While it was nominated for Golden Globes and Grammys, it was generally unpopular with film and music critics for its flat production and extreme change from typical Bond themes. Despite this, it has probably the most unique video in that it showcases the film itself: Bond is captured and tortured by the North Koreans after a disastrous operation in which he's betrayed by a mole in MI6. Instead of the typical themed hallucinatory setting, we see Bond's torture in graphic detail hidden only through the heavy use of filters and CGI.

Like the previous song, "Die Another Day" got a separate music video with Madonna. Following the film, it shows Madonna being put through similar tortures as Bond and also includes a fencing duel. The video was subject to some criticism for rather sacrilegious use of Jewish iconography.

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porn videos red tube Quantum of Solace shook up the Bond film formula by being a direct continuation of lara croft nude cheat Casino Royale, picking up mere minutes after the ending of the previous film. Bond continues on his hunt for the mysterious Quantum organization behind Le Chiffre, resulting in the death of Rene Mathis and the unveiling of some secrets regarding Vesper.

"Another Way to Die" was the first Bond duet, written and produced by Jack White and sung by him and Alicia Keys. The music video takes place on stylized sand dunes, reflecting where much of the action takes place.

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domaci porno video klipovi Skyfall continues the reboot, reintroducing Q and Moneypenny (now reimagined as a field agent). Released on the 50th anniversary of the film adaptation of free porn real sex Dr. No, the film because the first Bond film to gross over $1 billion worldwide.

The theme is one of the most famous Bond themes, sung by Adele at the height of her popularity. It became the first Bond song to win the Academy Award for Best Original Song, Brit Award for British Single of the Year, Critics' Choice Movie Award Best Song, Golden Globe Award for Best Original Song, and the Grammy Award for Best Song Written for Visual Media. The opening video, on the other hand, isn't anything especially incredible like free shower porn movies Casino Royale.

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The latest Bond film, free pantyhose porn movies Spectre, lives up to its name by reintroducing the infamous terrorist organization and the villainous Ernst Stavro Blofeld. The film received somewhat mixed reviews, suddenly revealing Bond to be Blofeld's adoptive brother and revealing that Spectre had arranged virtually everything from the past films all as part of a grand mastermind plot.

The theme song, "Writing's on the Wall", was written and sung by Sam Smith. While it won an Academy Award for Best Original Song, it received mixed reviews (in particular for Smith's high pitched, incomprehensibly breathy chorus that even he admitted he couldn't really sing). The opening video plays heavily on the infamous octopus logo of Spectre. It received its own music video again, featuring Smith singing intercut with footage from the film.

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Wheat Loaf
Feb 13, 2012


Amusingly, despite being almost as big as the movie, "Skyfall" couldn't quite make it to number one on the UK charts. It peaked at number two, matching the previous series best set in 1985 by Duran Duran, when "A View To a Kill" got stuck at number two behind "19" by Paul Hardcastle (it was Duran Duran's second number-one hit in America after "The Reflex" the previous year).

Conversely, "Writing's On the Wall" sex with you lyric was the first Bond theme to make it to number one in the UK singles chart! It probably got there because pre-release anticipation for free true lesbian stories Spectre was huge when it was released, so it enjoyed this massive debut but then sputtered out a bit and despite technically outperforming "Skyfall" by that one measure and equalling it at the Oscars, it really seems like a disappointment in retrospect.

It reflects its movie.

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I'm just going to say that the Honest Trailer for Spectre seemed pretty accurate to me.

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Proteus Jones
Feb 28, 2013

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I admit, I was kind of excited for Spectre. I mean SPECTRE and Blowfeld? Sign me up. But then Bond being Blofeld's adopted brother and Blofeld revealing he puppet-mastered the events in the previous three movies was a bridge too far for me.

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Skyfall was the first Bond movie I saw in theaters, and when I hit the song sequence I was really impressed, both in that it was visually appealing and that it definitely fit "got shot, going through a near death trip through your life of danger spy stuffs" that just happened. Then I watched Casino Royale, and that opening is oustanding and, again, extremely relevant to the character and scenes it's setting up. I've only ever watched the Craig movies though, and I'd never seen any of the movies made before than.

It's strange to go down that list you have and see that pretty much all of it appears to be permutations on naked women dancing. Is that seriously what the traditional Bond movie opening was, before Craig? I went and looked up the first movie's opening credits private nude teen pics (Dr. No, if Wikipedia didn't lie to me) wondering if it started as naked ladies dancing and no, that intro is frankly much weirder.

I guess, like, what's up with the openings? They're, uh, kinda weird, as somebody who didn't grow up with them. Was it a conscious decision from the filmmakers, or did one of the early ones just have naked ladies dancing and it was wildly popular and they did it forever after?

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free home made porn Quantum of Solace shook up the Bond film formula by being a direct continuation of free 80s porn movies Casino Royale, picking up mere minutes after the ending of the previous film. Bond continues on his hunt for the mysterious Quantum organization behind Le Chiffre, resulting in the death of Rene Mathis and the unveiling of some secrets regarding Vesper.

I'm sure you already know and are mentioning it because it's the sequel to Casino Royale but for anyone reading who doesn't, Quantum of Solace is a Fleming short story from the collection For Your Eyes Only that has nothing in common with the movie other than the title. Besides the titular film, A View to A Kill hails from there too.

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I guess, like, what's up with the openings? They're, uh, kinda weird, as somebody who didn't grow up with them.

FWIW Stephen Chow’s early movie Forbidden City Cop has one of the best spoofs of the naked lady dancing title sequences going - jude law sex scene (titles start at about 4.15, but the opening bit of immortal swordsmen duelling on the rooftops before the titular cop shows up and tells them to knock it the gently caress off people are trying to sleep is pretty funny too even if you don’t speak the language).

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