The Lotus Eaters

Victor knelt on the bloody ground and began searching bodies until he found the key to the cuffs. 'Thanks,' the colonel said, once he was free. He then went and grabbed a corpse by the feet.

From the post golf course, helicopters began lifting. It was too dark to see in any detail, certainly too dark to make out the uniforms of the troops riding inside. Even so Munoz knew his equipment and knew his own organization.

'Those are the frogs who got settled on us a little bit ago,' the colonel said, as he dragged the corpse towards the house, a dark and wet looking trail staining the concrete behind it. 'Where are they going?'

Victor's burden was moaning slightly. He paid the wounded man no attention as his eyes followed the navigational lights for a few moments. He answered, 'They're going to the bridge over the Gatun River.'

Munoz dropped the legs of the body he'd been dragging. 'To cut off troop movement, south to north?'

'That would be my guess.'

'Then we're not going to the Academy; we're going to my headquarters. Maria!'

'Father?' asked the daughter, now standing framed by light in the doorway.

'Don't call out the guard, but bring me my pistol! And get my escopeta for yourself to guard Victor's prisoner.'

Casa Linda, Balboa, Terra Nova

'I trust the prisoner has complied with her orders,' Moises Rocaberti said to the guard on Lourdes' bedroom door.

'I wouldn't know about that, sir,' the guard replied. 'I haven't looked. Willing to wait my turn, sir, don't you see?'

Moises nodded and unconsciously licked him lips. 'Don't disturb me, then, until I send for you.'

'Yes, sir.'

* * *

Lourdes chewed at her lip, nervously, nervous, in fact, about seeming nervous.

Don't be silly, Lourdes, she told herself. There's no sense in trying to pretend you're anything you're not. The most this swine expects is that I'll give myself to him in fear for myself and my children. For that, I should seem terrified and disgusted. If I actually am, so much the better.

She saw and heard the doorknob turn and unconsciously moved one arm across her chest to cover her nipples and the wet circles their leaking had made in the sheer and short camisole she'd donned. Below, she wore a black thong. Her doffed clothing was tossed on the desk. She had travel clothes secreted under the bed.

She caught a glimpse of a guard's short hair, his face turned away, as the door opened halfway and the chief of her captors slid in sideways. He closed the door behind him, one handed, then half turned and slid a bolt closed.

With one arm crossed across her breasts Lourdes' other hand slid down to cover her crotch.

This suited Rocaberti perfectly as he hung his submachine gun on the doorknob by its sling. With both her hands occupied she had none to defend herself when he walked to stand directly in front of her and slapped her across the face, hard enough to hurt, to bring tears to her eyes and a quiver to her lip, but not hard enough to make her cry out. However, when her hand moved of its own accord to her insulted cheek, her arm moved away from her nipples. Rocaberti's own hands then moved, insect quick, his fingers clamping painfully on both of those, then twisting. This made her cry out with pain, the more so as they were tender from nursing her youngest.

The next she knew his hand was entwined in her hair, forcing her down to her knees. His other hand fumbled with the fly of his trousers. As his penis shot out against her face he twisted her hair again, saying, 'Suck it, whore.'

She forced a smile to her face, looked up, and said, somewhat unconvincingly, 'I like it rough, you know. And I'm really superb. 'The best,' my husband says, and he should know. You should sit. I guarantee you won't be able to stand once I start. He never can.'

Moises was a little taken aback, perhaps even shocked. She's a good actress, he thought, but she can't hide that she's afraid.

Lourdes stood then and pulled his hand from her hair. She led him by that to the chair and pushed him lightly into it.

It isn't sex, she told herself, as she dropped again to her knees and began undoing her captor's trousers. It isn't sex-it isn't sex-it isn't sex . . .

She was still telling herself that as she bent her head and took him into her mouth.

* * *

But if he comes in my mouth it will be, she thought, several minutes later, her head moving on autopilot. The thought made her gag even more than the pressure on the back of her throat did. And that I'd rather die than. She pulled her head off and began to stand.

'What do you think you're doing, bitch?'

'I want to fuck,' she answered, grabbing him with her left hand and placing first one knee than the other on the chair cushion. She hadn't even remotely gotten in the mood for sex with him, but she had gotten enough used to what she'd been doing that her voice sounded almost sincere.

Lourdes must have placed the right knee badly because it slipped off, causing her to fall sideways. She caught herself with that hand on the floor. She recovered after a moment and began to resume her straddle, her left hand guiding his penis as if to enter her. Her shin, in one case, and thigh, in the other, confined and restrained his