Restrained

He took off his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. The contact hadn't shown up yet and he was beginning to get nervous. He looked around without appearing to do so.

Henri had only been one week in India. All around him people were talking in Hindi, Urdu and whatever other blasted languages they spoke. He glanced at his watch again. Agent Prajit had promised to turn up by 6:00pm. He'd been waiting for close to thirty minutes. He wondered if this was how the agency ran business in India.

He summoned a passing waiter and told him to cancel his order and bring him his bill. The waiter returned a few minutes later, a look of awe on his face.

"Someone say she want to have dinner with you," he bowed.

"I'm sorry Monsieur but I've got business to attend to," Henri said. "Now if you'll tell me what my bill is..."

"She have already pay for your drink," the waiter said. He inclined his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, indicating a corner of the restaurant.

She was in a bright green sari, smiling slightly at him. He jerked his gaze away and counted out some rupees onto the table.

"Give these to her," he said. "I don't have time for chodna tonight."

He headed for the toilet leaving the waiter standing open mouthed at the table he had vacated.

When he had relieved himself, he looked in the drop point but couldn't find anything. He walked out of the restaurant and headed for his car.

The lady in the green sari was sitting on the hood of his car, examining herself nonchalantly in a mirror. The hem of her sari rode up her thigh and he had to remind himself that light brown flesh wasn't something he ought to be admiring at this place and time. She turned to face him, one of those fuck-me-now pouts on her lips.

"Why didn't you have dinner with me?" she placed her hand on his chest. Her English was surprisingly good and she had just a faint accent.

"I'm sorry," he shrugged her hand off. "I need to be off somewhere. I'm assuming the money the waiter gave you was more than enough to cover what you'd make in five busy nights?"

"What?" she was no longer pouting.

"Get off the hood of my car," he said, impatient. Prajit must have been blown. Logically, the cartel would be onto him. He wondered how much time he had left.

Her face went hard and she called out something in Urdu. Two sinister looking turbaned men appeared and took hold of him.

"Hey!" he protested. One of them hit him over the head and he passed out.

When he came to, he was strapped in a chair. His tie was gone, his shirt was unbuttoned all the way down and he was missing his shoes. He struggled uselessly against his bonds until he was sure they weren't loose before he began to take in his surroundings.

He was in the center of a large room -- ornately furnished and well-lit. The curtains at the entrance were drawn and he considered himself judged restrained by his captors. He looked quickly around for a sharp edge he could manoeuvre his chair to.

The curtains parted and someone stepped in. It was the lady in the sari. She had her hands behind her back and walked with her chest stuck out in a provocative way. He couldn't believe he was getting hard when the future of his country rested on him not being here at this moment.

"You've got an impressive penis, Mr Henri," she stuck out her tongue, He followed her gaze and noted with embarrassment that the crotch of his trousers was elevated by his erection.

"I thought I paid you?" he asked.

"Not in kind," she reached him, then knelt in front of him and unzipped his trousers.

"When you're invited to eat with a minister's daughter you'd better be polite," she said, reaching inside his trousers and pulling his cock out. This was beginning to look like something straight out of a certain demented professor's erotic fantasies.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I'm doing what you paid me for," she replied as she stroked him.

"Wait!" he protested. "I'm sorry about what happened this evening. I didn't mean to insult you.. argggghhhh..."

His cock was in her mouth and she was sucking him, her head oscillating up and down his shaft. God, he wanted to cum. He wanted to fill her mouth with his seed. He clenched his jaw as he prepared to ejaculate.

Abruptly, she stopped and got to her feet.

"You chose to fuck with the wrong person," she said, stepping back. "We're going to play a game."

He was looking at her with pure, undisguised anger. His balls were still tingling from wanting to come. If she had even blown air lightly on his cock he would have come -- the urgency was that much.

"These are the rules," she walked around him. "In two minutes I'm going to take off my sari. You're going to be free to tell me whatever you want me to do here, excluding anything that'll bring us in contact -- or set you free. When we're done Ahmad and Khashif will work on you."

At the back of his mind, a plan was forming. If he couldn't get away from this rich lunatic, he could at least enjoy himself.

"I'm ready," he said.