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

by Tucker, Fannie

  I lay awake for a long time, listening to Fierro Salas breathe next to me, conscious of every shift of his body. Even when I was sure he was asleep, I waited another hour, silently counting off the seconds in my head until I reached three thousand, six hundred. Salas barely stirred when I slipped out of the bed. Enough light spilled in through the windows to make out the heap of clothing where Salas had undressed, and I padded over to it in my bare feet, feeling the pockets for a phone. I found nothing, so I made a sweep of the room, checking every surface. Where the hell was his phone? A terrible thought struck me. Perhaps Salas didn't carry it. What if one of his bodyguards had the phone, or if he kept it at his hacienda?

  I silently cursed, then grabbed my purse and glided into the bathroom. The door closed softly behind me, but when I twisted the thumb latch, the click sounded like a light-caliber gunshot. I winced and turned on the light. I knew a little would spill out under the door, but if Salas woke up, it was less suspicious than sitting here in the dark. I slipped my cell phone out of the side pocket of my purse. It looked like a normal phone, but when I pressed several points on the touchscreen in a certain order, a special interface appeared that would let me send secure, encrypted messages.

  One text glowed on the screen, a terse note from Mike: You're out of your mind, Agent Archer. Cal is ready to kill someone. Report ASAP.

  Mike's use of my surname unnerved me. Was he distancing himself from me? I typed out a quick response and sent it off, ensuring Mike that I was okay. No phone in suite, I told him. Staying with Salas to find it.

  Mike replied immediately: Cal won't like this.

  I know, I responded. Tell him I'm sorry, but this is too important.

  He wants to meet you tonight. Can you get out?

  No, I typed. Will contact you again soon. Continue to observe.

  There was so much more I wanted to say, but the bathroom doorknob rattled, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Clara?" Fierro Salas said. "Open the door."

  My hands shook as I slid my phone back in my purse. I sat it on the counter in plain sight, then flushed the toilet and unlocked the door. The toilet gurgled and swished as Salas pushed in, his cold dark eyes scanning the small room.

  "What were you doing in here?" he asked. Gone was the charming man who had seduced me. This was the cold, calculating criminal who had risen to the top of an empire.

  I tried to look annoyed; it wasn't hard. "Lady stuff," I said. "Can't a girl get some privacy?" I reached out and grabbed my purse, then tried to walk past him, but he blocked me and took the bag from my hands.

  I forced myself to take steady, regular breaths as he rooted through my purse. When he pulled out my phone, I prepared myself to disable him. Salas was still naked; I would go for the throat and balls first.

  He scrolled through my phone, frowning, then tossed it in the bag. "You should stay off Facebook," he muttered. "Waste of time." He turned and went back to the bed, and I let out a shaky sigh of relief as I glanced down at the glowing screen. My texts to Mike were gone; in their place were the mundane status updates of an American ex-pat living in Colombia, part of the extensive cover maintained by some techie in the basement at Langley.

  It took several seconds for me to calm myself, and only when my heart slowed to a normal pace did I slip back beneath the sheets with Salas.

  Chapter Three

  In the morning, I woke and showered while Salas dozed. When I stepped out of the steaming water, my clothing had disappeared. A yellow sundress lay on the bed. Salas stood at the window, buttoning his shirt.

  "Is that for me?" I asked.

  "Put it on," he said, turning to admire my naked body as I dropped the towel and pulled the dress over my head.

  It was too tight and revealing for my tastes, but I suspected that was intentional. I didn't thank him, just grabbed my purse and headed for the door.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Fierro Salas sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped his feet into a pair of loafers that looked more expensive than most used cars.

  "Back to my apartment," I said. "Ricardo will be worried."

  Salas laughed. "Let him worry. No, make him worry. Come to my hacienda with me. Do you like horses?"

  I paused, walking the thin line between playing hard to get and pushing him away. "I guess," I said. "I've never really been around them."

  "Come and see my stable," he said, rising to wrap his arms around me. I took another step toward the door, but he tightened his grip. "Clara, I insist."

  I turned, and my mouth broke into a smile. "Okay," I said, relenting. "But you have to bring me back here tonight."

  "Tomorrow," he said.

  I flashed the grin of a foolish, impulsive girl who doesn't know she's in over her head, trying not to think about how true that was. "We'll see."

  When we were ready to go, Salas let the bodyguards outside know - different men from last night. Then he escorted me to the black Mercedes I'd seen leaving his hacienda, surrounded the entire time by six guards who tried to look like Secret Service agents with their dark suits and sunglasses. I climbed inside the car's luxurious leather interior, and the long hours stuffed in the surveillance van felt like a lifetime ago. I smiled at Salas, but the extra thick doors of the car, reinforced with bulletproof armor, served as a stark reminder of who this charming Colombian gentleman really was.

  The car took a random, circuitous route through the city. The driver seemed determined to avoid traffic jams, and he ran stop signs and red lights with impunity. It took nearly an hour until we drove up out of the valley and into the green mountains, where three other cars joined us to form a convoy that accelerated as we sped up the slopes.

  An hour later, we drove through the wrought-iron gates of Salas's sprawling hacienda. I glanced at the ridgeline above, but the switchback where Cal and I had parked the van was invisible from down here. I hoped he was there, watching. Then the gates closed behind us, and I was alone in hostile territory.

  A short balding man with a ludicrous comb-over and a dour expression met us on the circular driveway in front of the main house. Salas greeted him warmly and introduced him as his butler, Sergio.

  "Sergio, this is Clara. Put her in the guest quarters and see she has whatever she needs." When the butler nodded, Salas turned to me. "Go with him; I have business to which I must attend, but I will come to you later." He touched my arm briefly, then took a pair of his henchmen and went inside, speaking in hushed tones. I knew better than to try to eavesdrop; busting Fierro Salas wasn't my mission anyway.

  "This way, señorita," Sergio said. I followed him past the main house. Around the corner, we passed an enormous swimming pool. Three beautiful women in tiny bikinis basked in the morning sun, their dark Colombian skin glistening with oil. They glanced up as they passed, and their carefree smiles slipped a little when they saw me. They knew I was Salas's newest girl, a reminder that their luxurious lifestyle could only last until Salas grew bored with them.

  The guest quarters consisted of a row of small villas between the pool and the rolling fields beyond, where rows of lush coffee plants stood in dark soil. The hacienda looked like the home of a prosperous businessman who enjoyed agriculture. Fierro Salas's vast groves of coca trees and the labs where workers refined and purified cocaine for export to America were nowhere in sight.

  The only evidence that something wasn't quite right was the barrel-chested Colombian man sitting in a rocker by the pool house. He held a newspaper in one hand, but a sub-machine gun rested in his lap. He had a good view of the villas.

  Sergio led me to the last villa and left me with a stern warning not to wander around. There was no lock on the door, and I quickly scanned the place and found that there was no other way out, and the rear windows were sealed with decorative grills. To leave, I would have to pass the sentry outside.

  My paranoia ratcheted up a few notches, and I glanced at the vents in the ceiling, wondering if any held cameras or microphones. I tossed my purse on the nightsta
nd and took a few things out of it - a make-up compact, a hairbrush, and enough other random feminine accoutrements that any male would be instantly perplexed. My phone was tempting; I wanted to text Mike and Cal, but instead, I put the onyx earrings on the nightstand so one faced out into the room. I sat down on the bed in plain sight and waited. I hoped Mike was right about the tiny camera in the earring, that its transmitter would send a signal to our surveillance van on the mountain road. I hoped they could see that I was okay, and that Cal would be comforted somewhat. The thought of Cal made me feel ashamed, and I had to remind myself that the mission had to come first. I'd spent the last several years working for this rare opportunity to finally track down the Mountain Wolf.

  After several minutes, I got up and put the earrings back in my purse, then idly explored the villa. Whoever had furnished the place had overdone the pink lace and frilly touches, like a man trying to guess what a woman would like. A bookshelf filled with paperback romance novels written in Spanish filled one wall. I grabbed one at random and went out on the patio. No one paid much attention to a girl with a book, and it let me keep an eye on the back of the mansion.

  The day stretched on, and Sergio brought lunch on a silver tray filled with fruits and a beef goulash that tasted better than anything else I'd eaten in the country. With nothing to do but wait, I put on one of the skimpy swimsuits I found in a drawer and went out to the pool.

  Salas's other women had left, and I had the place to myself, except for Sergio, who brought me a frozen daiquiri, and the guard by the pool house, who wasn't very subtle about staring at my bikini-clad body.

  I was lying in a lounge chair by the pool with my paperback when Fierro Salas burst from the back of the house. He frowned at the smartphone in his hand as he crossed the courtyard. I tried not to pay attention, but my heart leapt when he ejected the SIMM card from the back of the phone and flicked it into a nearby hedge before inserting a new one. That was it - the phone I'd come to locate. Salas came straight to the pool and tossed the phone on the lounge chair next to mine, then sat down and rested a hand on the inside of my thigh.

  "Are you enjoying your stay, Clara?"

  I stretched lazily and smiled up at him. "It's nice here. Sergio keeps bringing me daiquiris. I'd almost think someone wanted me drunk."

  Salas's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Did you let Ricardo know where you are?"

  I thought about letting Salas think that someone knew I was here, but even that was unlikely to protect me if he found out who I was. "No," I said. "Let him wonder."

  "I think he's wondered long enough," Salas said. "Let's send him a message. Together."

  I frowned. "What kind of message?"

  Salas's grin widened, and he reached for my hand. "Come with me."

  I had no choice but to follow as Salas led me to my villa. The yellow sundress lay on the bed, and my purse sat on the nightstand. Salas tossed his phone on the bed and picked up then handbag, and I held my breath as he rummaged through it. With the phone so close, all I needed to do was activate the device that Mike had hidden one of the earrings, and it would copy all the data on his phone wirelessly.

  All I needed was an excuse to get back in my purse for a few seconds.

  Salas pulled out my cell phone. "Does this record video?" he asked. I nodded my head, and he grinned, then thumbed through the menus before setting it atop the dresser, pointed at the bed. He took my hand and pulled me forward, positioning me in front of the phone's camera. "Come, Clara, let's give your Ricardo something to regret." He waved at my phone. "Hóla, Ricardo. Your woman is very delicious, and now she is mine."

  Salas moved behind me and caressed my naked waist with his hands. One reached up to fondle my breasts through the bikini while the other slid down over the curve of my hip. Salas bent down and kissed my shoulder, then moved his lips slowly along my collarbone until they found my neck. He sucked at my smooth skin, and his teeth left dark red bite marks behind.

  My breath quickened as Salas pinched my nipple, rolling it between his fingers until it swelled and darkened, standing out stiff against the bathing suit I wore. When his other hand slid down my flat stomach and disappeared into the bottom of my bikini, I felt my desire awaken. I gasped and rolled my head back as his fingers slid over my coarse pubic hair and pressed roughly against my sex.

  "Look at the camera, Clara," Salas said, his voice firm and insistent. "Look at Ricardo."

  I stared into the camera lens as Fierro Salas spread me apart. Salas wanted me to humiliate me, but even though there was no such man as Ricardo, a wave of shame washed over me when I imagined Cal Turner watching us. My face turned red, and Salas laughed.

  Aroused by my discomfort, Salas moved his hand down further between my legs, parting my folds as he curled two fingers up inside me. I tensed and bent forward as a shuddering sigh escaped my lungs. Salas dragged the fingers out, wet with my moisture as he moved them up, rubbing slowly until my clit awakened to his touch, swelling as a sensation of heat and pleasure grew between my legs.

  Salas felt it too, and he grinned at the camera over my shoulder. "You see, Ricardo? She's wet and ready for me, your dirty little woman." He pulled his hand away and stepped back. "Take off your bikini, Clara."

  I obediently tugged at the little string bows behind my neck and along one hip, and the swimsuit fell away, leaving me naked and exposed. I glanced at Salas, waiting for his next command.

  "Turn around," he said. "Bend over and put your hands on the bed."

  I did as I was told, glancing over toward the nightstand. My purse sat there, the onyx earrings inside. My mind raced as I searched for a reason to stand up and go to it, to finally accomplish what I'd set out to do, but I knew Salas wouldn't tolerate disobedience. Not while he was filming me. He thought Ricardo would see this, and I knew he would tolerate nothing less than my complete submission.

  So instead of completing my mission, I stayed bent over the bed with my naked bottom pointing toward the camera phone. Salas stood beside me, smiling at the camera.

  "Don't worry, Ricardo," he said. "I won't let her infidelity go unpunished." And that was all the warning I had. A moment later, his flat open palm smacked against my ass, a solid strike that made me yelp and lurch forward. I started to rise, but Salas's voice was as hard as stone. "Stay where you are, Clara."

  I gripped the bedspread, trembling as I waited for the next slap. Salas let the moment stretch out, enjoying his complete domination over me, savoring the anger and pain he would be causing Ricardo.

  "Clara, has Ricardo ever fucked you in your ass?" Salas asked.

  I shut my eyes tightly. "No," I said.

  "Would you let him?"

  "No," I said, quickly.

  "But you'll let me. Won't you?"

  I hesitated, my mind racing. I cursed the Mountain Wolf for the years-long search that my life had become. The firefight in Afghanistan sprang into my mind, a memory as raw and intense as the day it had happened. Good friends had died that day so that I could live. Could I deny them anything to bring their killer to justice?

  "Please be gentle," I said softly. All the fight was gone from my voice; any sign of resistance had crumbled, crushed between Fierro Salas's imposing will and my own resolve.

  Salas picked up the camera phone and stepped up behind me. He caressed my buttocks with his free hand, spreading them apart as he filmed me. "This looks nice, Ricardo," he said, slipping a finger into my crack and probing my ass. "I can't believe you haven't been here."

  I felt his fingertip press against my anus, stiff and insistent. Then it slid inside, and I gasped as he moved it back and forth.

  "I'm going to fuck her ass while you watch, Ricardo," Salas said. His voice trembled with excitement, not just from his physical attraction to me, but from the thrill of taunting another man.

  An idea struck me, a ray of hope in the darkness. "Don Salas, may I get you some lube?"

  He laughed. "I'm too big for your tight little ass?"

  I n
odded. "I don't think you'll fit."

  He turned the camera on himself. "Did you hear that, Ricardo?"

  Salas's phone still lay on the bed, and I moved it to the nightstand before opening my purse. My left hand dug around as though desperate to find something, masking the deliberate motion of my right, which plucked the earrings from a side pocket long enough to depress one of the studs and activate the wireless download.

  I felt as though an immense weight had been lifted from my chest. The tiny hard drive in the earring would soon have all of Salas's data, and we would know where he sent the Mountain Wolf's money. All I had to do was escape the hacienda without Salas suspecting what I had done.

  I gave up on digging through the purse and turned to Salas with a helpless shrug. "I don't have any lube."

  His smile widened. "Of course you do," he said. "Kneel, Clara."

  I went down on my knees at the edge of the bed, and Salas pulled his cock out of his pants, hard and dark and raging with lust. "Wet it with your tongue," he commanded as he stepped forward.

  I accepted the inevitability of what was coming and grasped his stiff rod in my hand, stroking it slowly as I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, slathering it with my saliva. Salas kept the camera phone close, filming every moment in detail, taunting Ricardo as I pleasured him, knowing that even then, the CIA was gaining a treasure trove of knowledge.

  "Good," he said. "Now get back on the bed."

  I did, and Salas stepped up behind me, his cock wet and glistening with my spit.

  "Grab your ass and spread it open. Let Ricardo see what I'm doing to his lady," Salas said.

  I considered attacking him. I'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but with Salas behind me and my face pressed against the mattress, I could never move fast enough to surprise him. He was strong enough to break me easily, and I had little hope of escaping the hacienda. And even if I could, I'd be throwing away years of hard work. So I meekly spread my cheeks and prepared myself.