Submitting to the Enemy: Colombian Concubine (BDSM Domination Erotica)

by Tucker, Fannie

  "Nothing," I said. "Why do you ask?"

  "If I've ever seen two people who needed to get their bone on, I don't know it. Why haven't you guys sealed the deal?"

  Even my dark skin couldn't hide the furious blush on my face. "Maybe someday, Mike, but neither one of us can afford to be distracted right now."

  "The way he looks at you, I'd say he's distracted already," Mike said.

  "Drop it, alright?"

  Mike put up his hands in a defensive gesture. "No skin off my teeth. Just don't take your sexual frustration out on me."

  Cal returned and eyed us both as though reading our minds, then leaned against the far wall to watch the monitors. Ever the Ranger, he kept one eye on the door, his posture deceptively relaxed, like a coiled snake. We all felt antsy, but we'd done all we could. Months of preparation had gone into this; now we had to watch and wait as Ana Moreno did the hard work.

  Ana stepped out of the cab a few minutes later in front of Hotel Casa Medina, an old brick and stone building squeezed into downtown, but tastefully lit and beautifully maintained. As she stepped into the spacious lobby, two of Salas's thugs intercepted her. Both men wore well-tailored black suits, but neck tattoos and outlandish facial hair made them look like something other than businessmen.

  "You staying here, pretty lady?" one said.

  "I'm looking for work," Ana said, her voice trembling.

  On the monitor, the thug seemed to be looking right at us as he frowned at her. He had cruel dark eyes and a thin stripe of a beard along the edge of his jaw. "Where did you hear there was work here?"

  "I was in the Zona Rosa with my girlfriends. A man in a suit like yours told me to come here."

  I held my breath. Salas usually sent his henchmen to nightclubs to look for girls. We hoped this little lie would pass, but if not, the CIA agent driving the taxi had a small pistol close at hand.

  The man grinned like a shark. "Right this way, mami chula." He waved her past him, and as he slid out of sight to her right, we heard a sharp pop from the audio feed. Ana jumped and let out a little yelp, then jerked her head toward the thug; he was grinning at her.

  "He must have slapped her on the ass," Cal muttered.

  I perched on the edge of the mattress, my heart pounding as Salas's henchman led Ana to an elevator. She had the presence of mind to make sure the camera on her earlobe was pointed at the control panel, and we saw the thug press the button for the third floor.

  The doors slid open to reveal two more men with their hands beneath their suit coats. "Another one, Carlos?" one said, relaxing a little, but keeping an eye on Ana.

  "Don Salas will want to see her, I think," the man called Carlos said. "Look at those legs!"

  The other thug shrugged, clearly unconcerned, then reached back to knock on the suite door. "Don Salas? Carlos brought a girl."

  We couldn't hear the reply through the laptop's speakers, but Carlos stepped past his compadre and pulled Ana into the suite.

  "Don Salas? This one came looking," he said, then bowed deferentially toward the far end of the room before stepping back outside.

  "Come in," a soft voice said. Ana turned her head and saw the shadowy form of a man lounging in a wide chair by the fireplace. Dark wooden beams adorned the spacious suite's vaulted ceilings above a huge bed. The Bogotá skyline glowed outside the windows, but the room was dim except for two low lamps.

  Ana waited in the middle of the room and stared uncertainly at the man in the chair.

  He leaned forward so his face was clear in the lamplight. He had a strong jaw and a prominent nose below dark, predatory eyes. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

  Ana paused a moment. "Sí, Don Salas," she said, her voice trembling.

  Fierro Salas rose suddenly and stalked toward her like a lion approaching a tethered lamb. "And why have you come here?"

  "I was told there is good money to be made."

  Salas laughed and began to walk around her in a slow circle. "Oh, there is. But it will cost you. What is your name, girl?"

  "Ana," she told him. "Ana Moreno."

  "Ana Moreno," he said slowly, as though tasting the words. "Do you know what I want from you?"

  "Sex," Ana said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Salas was behind her now, out of our sight.

  The video feed jumped abruptly, then Ana's viewpoint shifted down toward her torso. Below her generous bosom, Salas's thick hand slid around her waist, then reached up to squeeze a breast.

  "Sex?" he chuckled. "For starters, yes. Take off your dress, Ana."

  Our view was obscured for a moment as Ana pulled the dress over her head. She tossed the red garment on the bed, then looked down at her bare torso. Salas cupped a breast in one hand while the other glided down her flat stomach and disappeared beneath the silk triangle of her panties. She gasped and stiffened as he touched her there, and his hand moved in gentle circles as Ana's breath quickened.

  Salas kissed her neck, sucking at biting at her tender flesh, and Ana rolled her head to the side. In the video monitor, her earring showed us their reflection in the window. Salas pressed against her back, grinding his crotch against the curve of her bottom as he fingered her. Ana's face was flushed with excitement and fear, and her breasts jiggled with each panting breath.

  Suddenly, Salas stepped back and knelt behind her. He pulled her panties down over her feet as Ana stepped out of her shoes, but instead of dropping them to the floor, he rose and took off his belt.

  "Put your hands behind your back, Ana," he said, and when she obeyed, he wrapped the belt around her wrists and pulled it tight.

  "Don Salas, what..."

  "Shhh," he said, and reached over her shoulder to stuff Ana's wadded-up panties in her mouth. She made a muffled sound, but Salas paid her no mind. He used the leather strap that bound her hands to guide her toward the bathroom.

  Salas positioned Ana at the threshold and threw the loose end of his belt over the top of the open door, then pulled it shut. Ana stood facing the door, her arms stretched upward behind her back, held there by the belt. She tried to struggle, but any movement would cause her pain. She twisted her head to watch Salas warily.

  Salas stood behind her. "Tell me, Ana, have you ever let a man put it in your ass?"

  Even from three blocks away, I could almost feel Ana trembling with fear. She shook her head.

  "And if I tell you to? Will you struggle?"

  Ana paused, then shook her head.

  Salas frowned. "And if I tell you to fuck my soldiers? The men outside? Will you do it?"

  She nodded vigorously.

  He snorted in disgust.

  I cursed at Ana, wishing she could hear me through the video monitor. "This isn't going to work," I said to Cal and Mike.

  "Why not?" Mike said. "With a rack like that, he'd have to be crazy not to want her."

  I shook my head. "Not Salas, Mike. When you were watching his hacienda, did you ever see him working his horses?"

  "Just about every other day," Mike said. "But I don't see..."

  "Does he ride a docile mare around at a slow walk?"

  "No," Cal said before Mike could answer. "He likes to break the wild ones. I've seen a few throw him. Those are the animals he likes best."

  "Right," I said. "And I bet he wants the same from his girls. He doesn't need a spineless woman. For him, the pleasure is in breaking them, but he's already broken Ana." I pointed to the laptop, where Fierro Salas was proving me right.

  He loosened the belt around her wrists and set her free. "Put your dress back on," he told her. Ana pulled the panties out of her mouth and dressed, her whole body trembling. "Get out," he said.

  Ana dropped to her knees and pleaded with him to take her, but Salas only sneered, disgust plain on his face. "Carlos!" he called. Ana turned and saw the man with the thin beard come in. "Give her money for a taxi and send her away."

  Cal raked his hands through his dark curls. "Well shit, what do we do now?"

  "We're fucked," Mike moane
d. "God only knows how long it will take to recruit another girl, and when Salas comes back to town is anyone's guess. Let's just send in a SEAL team and take the damn phone."

  I was tempted to agree with Mike, but overt action would tip off Salas's contacts in the Middle East, and any hope of finding the Mountain Wolf would evaporate. An idea popped into my mind, a horrible, risky play that I knew Mike and Cal would immediately dismiss. But what were our alternatives? The Agency would roll this operation up and send us back to Afghanistan, or worse, Virginia. The Mountain Wolf would remain alive and free, maybe forever.

  I ran my fingers through my dark hair and sighed. "Let's see what Ana says when she gets back. Maybe we can figure something out." My words sounded hollow, but I meant them to. The idea bouncing around in my head wouldn't go away, but I couldn't let them know.

  The three of us sat in despondent silence, watching on the video monitor as Ana sat quietly in the back of a taxi. When it drew close, I stood. "I'll go downstairs and meet her," I said, hoping the flutter in my heart didn't reach my voice. "Be right back."

  I opened the locks on the door and slipped out, then hurried downstairs. Ana was just climbing out of the taxi - not the Agency cab we'd sent her out in, I noticed - and I grabbed the car door and held it for her.

  She was distraught. "Audrey, I'm so sorry. I tried so hard to get him to..."

  "Don't worry about it," I told her. Let me see those earrings."

  I held out my hand, and she removed the onyx studs from her ears and set them carefully in my palm. "Thanks," I said. "Go upstairs and let my colleagues debrief you. I need to check on something."

  Before I could give the idea lodged in my brain another thought, I slipped into the back of the taxi and smiled at the driver, a portly fellow with a thick moustache. "Drive, por favor," I said. "As fast as you can."

  The driver shrugged and put the car in gear. This late in the evening, Bogotá's gridlock traffic had lightened up, and the little car shot away over the bumpy streets. I glanced behind us and saw Cal burst out onto the street. He sprinted after us, but the cab was faster, and he disappeared when the driver turned a corner.

  I only had a few minutes. I looked at the earrings and whispered, "Mike? Tell Cal I'm sorry, but this is the only way. Make sure he doesn't interfere. I'll be fine."

  I slipped the studs into the pocket of my purse. I considered wearing them, but what if Fierro Salas noticed they were identical to Ana's? Audio would have to be enough. I glanced down. I'd dressed for comfort tonight in a loose-fitting blouse over a white undershirt. I popped the top two buttons open and shifted my boobs to show as much cleavage as possible. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

  "Where to, señorita?" the driver asked. Most of Bogotá's downtown businesses were closed at this hour, but light spilled out of a side street.

  "Turn up there," I said. "I'll tell you when to stop." He turned again onto a narrow street lined with restaurants and bars. "Wait here," I said. "Keep the meter running, I'll be right back."

  I shoved a handful of small bills over the front seat, then slid out and went into the nearest bar.

  Lively music thumped out of ragged speakers, making a harsh sound that matched the smoky air and dim light perfectly. A couple of single men approached me with smiles on their faces and their eyes on my tits, but a cold look turned them around. I leaned against the bar, pressing my breasts between my elbows to expose my generous cleavage to the bartender. He noticed immediately.

  "How can I help you?" he asked, his eyes never rising higher than my collarbone.

  "Three shots of aguardiente," I said, tossing some money on the bar. He lined up three small glasses and poured from a tall bottle. I drank all three in rapid succession, and hissed as the burning liquid scorched my throat. My eyes watered, and a sudden buzz tickled my head like a cloud of flies skittering along the surface of my brain.

  I thanked the bartender and left without a word. I wasn't exactly staggering, but I had to concentrate on walking to do it well, which wasn't a good sign. I fell back into the taxi and grinned at the driver. "Hotel Casa Medina," I said. "Pronto."

  When the taxi dropped me off in front of Salas's hotel, a feeling of deja vu swept over me as I traced Ana's recent steps almost exactly, wasting no time. Cal would be here any second, but I didn't think he'd blow my cover once I was inside.

  The thug in the lobby - Carlos, I remembered - leered at me, but my glare stopped him in his tracks as I strode right past him to the elevator. I rode up to the third floor, and when the doors opened, I staggered out. I had meant to exaggerate my drunkenness for the benefit of Fierro Salas's bodyguards, but I didn't have to pretend. My head felt stuffed with cotton, and I had a wild urge to do something reckless.

  The guards exchanged startled looks as I stumbled past them, and one reached to grab me, but I slipped away and passed the door to Salas's suite without stopping.

  In Spanish, I laid on the thick Cuban accent I'd learned from my mother and shouted down the hall. "Ricardo, you pigna de perro! Where are you?" I picked a room door at random and slammed my hand against it, yelling at the top of my lungs. The guards had relaxed a little and were watching me with amused grins, even though they still checked the hall and elevator every few seconds as though this was some kind of trap.

  I moved across the hall and began hammering another door. "I know you have her in there, Ricardo! Come out here and face me like a man, malaoha!”

  A couple of doors opened further down the hall, wealthy patrons of the Casa Medina irritated by my disturbance. At least one would call hotel security, I was sure. I didn't have much time.

  I spun and stormed back down the hall toward Salas's bodyguards. "Hey! You! Have you seen a scrawny little prettyboy with a bleach-blonde whore?"

  They shrugged and laughed, but when I planted myself between them and Fierro Salas's door, they suddenly grew serious. "Move away from that door, señorita." One shifted to the left, and his hand slid under his coat.

  I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "He's in there, isn't he? You her pimps or something?"

  I turned and hammered on Fierro Salas's door and screamed at the top of my lungs. "Ricardo! I know you're in there!"

  One of the thugs grabbed me and pulled me away. I could have taken him down, but that wasn't my goal. I kicked out and struggled in his iron grip, thrashing and making a scene as my heels drummed against the door.

  "You need to leave," the thug told me, dragging me back toward the elevator.

  "I'm not leaving until I kick his ass!"

  "No Ricardo here, lady," the thug said. I heard the elevator chime behind me as the doors slid open. I slammed my heel down onto the bodyguard's shoe, and he cried out and released me. I lunged for the door to Salas's room, balling my hands into fists again, ready for another round of pounding and yelling, but the door opened just as I got there.

  Fierro Salas stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes sliding past me to his bodyguards, one of whom was still hopping around on one foot. The second grabbed me in a sleeper hold a second later.

  "Don't move," he growled in my ear."

  "What the fuck is going on, Juan?" Salas said.

  The guard holding me grunted as I tried to jerk away. "This drunk bitch is mad as hell, Don Salas," Juan said. "Keeps screaming about wanting to kill some guy."

  "I heard!" Salas laughed and looked at me. "Who's Ricardo? A boyfriend?"

  "A piece of shit," I growled. "Let me go!"

  Salas shook his head. "Check her for weapons."

  While Juan held me fast, the other thug limped over and pawed me none-too-gently, searching everywhere for hidden knives or guns, being especially thorough around my breasts and between my thighs. Juan's compadre rooted through my purse, pulling out the onyx earrings and frowning at them for a moment. I lunged to distract him, but Juan held me fast. The other thug jumped back in alarm and dropped the earrings back into my purse, then looked at his boss and shook his head, his face red with embarrassment.
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  "We'll talk about how you managed to let a woman get the best of you later, Héctor," Salas told the man, then turned his gaze on me.

  Salas stared at me, a powerful bull of a man with eyes as black and dangerous as a viper's. Doubt filled me, and I suddenly realized why Ana Moreno had been reduced to a gibbering shell of a woman. Seeing Salas on a video monitor did nothing to prepare you for the man himself. The sheer force of his will was palpable, and part of me wanted to wrench free and bolt for the stairwell.

  "Apologies for my men," he said. "They are very dedicated to protecting me." His voice was low and rough, forceful and confident. Even his apology sounded like a command.

  I swallowed and forced myself to meet his gaze. "Let me go, you bastard."

  He chuckled. If I do, will you promise to behave?"

  I nodded reluctantly, and Juan relaxed his grip. I rubbed my arms and turned to see the hotel's security guard standing in front of the elevator. "Is everything alright, Don Salas?" he said. "We got a call..."

  "Everything is fine," Salas told him. "This lady won't make any more trouble." He looked to me. "Will you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Good," Salas said. He sniffed the air, sampling the aguardiente on my breath. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked.

  "Not enough," I said.

  Salas stepped to one side and waved me toward the open door of his room. "Then perhaps you'll join me for another?"

  My heart leapt in my chest. I'd succeeded where Ana failed! I knew I couldn't appear eager, so I eyed him suspiciously. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  Salas's toothy grin reminded me of a hungry shark. "Can you trust Ricardo?"

  "No," I said.

  "Then think how mad he will be if you trust me. Come." He laughed and put one strong hand on the small of my back, guiding me into his room as if I'd already said yes.

  Chapter Two

  The suite looked bigger in person. A king-sized bed dominated one end of the room, still neatly made despite Salas's long evening of auditioning concubines. Fierro Salas went to the small wet bar and poured from a crystal decanter. While his back was turned, my eyes darted around the room, searching for his phone. I didn't see anything, so when he handed me a glass of Scotch, I let my gaze slide down over his lean frame, looking for bulges in his pockets.