“Is there something we can do for you?” Thumper said seductively, the cold stone was hugging her dark hips and armpit. He was astonished seeing her sexy clothes and pose, and how that he didn’t detect her sooner. Bond turned around and saw a black woman in short hair and yellow bikini, leaning on a rock like a lioness. “And I’m Thumper,” said a voice behind him. “Good morning…Bambi,” Bond was walking closer, feeling bemused. She was wearing black two pieces that only showed a slit of flesh on her belly and red headband which covering her brown hair.
At least he didn’t encounter the spooky pairs again. Wearing white shirt and tasteless (but maybe bit classy in 1971) pink tie, Bond didn’t expect any major danger. Going to Whyte’s house on the hill, James Bond encountered the security…īond smiled when he saw a brown female boot poking from a modern lounge chair. Bond discovered that the real Whyte had been kidnapped and was replaced by Blofeld. James Bond linked the diamond smuggling operation to Willard Whyte, a reclusive Vegas billionaire owning a casino where Bond was staying (and again encountering the murderous duo), and a research lab where the diamonds were being sent. John, a redhead American diamond smuggler being hunted by a pair of gay assassins working for Blofeld. M ordered him to investigate anomaly on global diamond price, and his investigation brought him to Amsterdam where he found Tiffany St. Already weakened, she received her reward by being roughly violated by James Bond above the tiles – at least she got her wish.įailed to find the real Blofeld, James Bond’s path with him was still tangled. James released the grip and she told him through her coughs, hands on her bruised neck. She tried her best to pronounce Blofeld’s location. “Speak up darling, I can’t hear you,” James teased her. “Arrg…aaghh…” that’s all Marie could release through her throat. The topless woman was just choking, her eyes now pleading mercy and fearing death. “Where is Ernest Stravo Blofeld?” Bond asked Marie coolly, as if he was asking where the post office is. Blofeld, all responsible for the death of his Corsican bride Tracy.
All of them are associates to international terrorist Ernest S. Before getting into Marie, he had smashed an Asian man’s head through several furnishings and threatened to split open a Northern African man’s head with roulette. James Bond twisted the bra to choke her windpipe tightly and smiling sadistically. The French woman immediately covered her chests (a weird reflex) and was deeply shocked. But in a snap, he twisted the bra on Marie’s neck. “There is something I’d like you to get off your chest,” Bond was removing Marie’s bra confidently. James Bond held her body and moved his hands, untying her bikini. “Yes, as a matter of fact there is,” Marie rose and also kneeled, facing him, smiling, anticipating the masculinity she would enjoy in a moment. Bond moved closer and kneeled before her. “Is there something I can do for you?” she showed her front view to her, her assets which she covered with her bikini. She was immediately attracted to the man in the safari shirt, unaware of the danger. “My name is Bond, James Bond,” he answered in manly Scottish accent. “Who are you?” she asked as he approached. A well-built man was landing on her sanctuary with a glider. The French woman in brown bikini was sunbathing on her cove villa when she saw a pleasant surprise. This is a fan fiction, not plagiarism nor screenplay hacking. I’m sorry I can’t recreate the dialogues and scenes verbatim, but you get the idea. Note: This is a re-imagination of two scenes in Diamonds Are Forever, a particular James Bond title where the gentleman/rake spy commits violence on several women using his bare hands.
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