Fuck Around And Find Out 3

"Look, you're new here, so I'll let that last outburst slide. Mouth off like that again, and I'll kill ya, simple as that," barks one of my captors. His voice comes from outside the canvas tent where I'm being held. Dread rips through my chest.

*Please... not another one.*

It's been days, wait... no... weeks? Time doesn't mean anything from inside this burlap hood. It could be midday or midnight and I wouldn't know the difference. My clock runs on when the men come, how long they stay, and how long they leave me alone.

I've been used and abused in every way imaginable, my will to live hanging loose from my soul like the torn strips of cotton that brush across my exposed skin.

I hope the new recruit took notes on how most of the men like to take me... I hope he's eager. I hope he's quick to finish.

I hear the crack as the tent flap shuffles. Such a noise could hardly coerce the heavy jolt of fear that rocks me now, but this battered husk of a woman is hardly "me" anymore.

Staring down around the hem of my hood and the hole they tore for my mouth, I see a bright haze cross over my lap. The door to my tent is open. I crave the warm touch of sunlight, but I can't feel it. All I have left is fear and pain.

So much pain...

The plastic edges of zip tie bindings dig into my raw wrists, the tension making my shoulders ache. Should I just get on all fours now? Would that keep him from forcing me to move... keep him from adding to my injuries?

Dread voice speaks again. "Boys picked up this pathetic little cunt trying to stuff a corpse back together. Nice, huh?"

"Oh yeah, real nice," sighs a second voice.

My heart breaks all over again for the marine I couldn't save. I'd refused his dying pleas for me to run, to save myself... The last thing he saw was me being dragged away screaming, a roll of blood-drenched gauze in my fist. Wherever his eternal soul lies, I know he must be livid. I had disobeyed a direct order, lost a valuable teammate, and taken away our only medic by getting myself fucking captured. After what I've put my team though... maybe I deserve this.

"She's been at it all day, so go easy on her... or don't," my captor's sinister laugh dies off.

Canvas shuffles again, the light across my lap disappears, and footsteps slowly approach. The crunching across the dirt distorts in my ears, echoing as if I'm trapped underwater. My mind sputters as I brace for him to grab me, to plunge his hand between my thighs and find the hole torn through the crotch of my cargo pants.

But, he doesn't... Instead of his rough grip, I feel the most gentle tug at the top of my hood. I gasp.

It can't be!

My stomach rolls violently, every fiber of my being marinated in panic. He's back... the one that forces me to look at him, to commit his face to memory. The one that makes me watch while he assaults me.

I let my mind hollow and squeeze my eyelids shut as the heavy fabric drops to the ground next to me. I can't look at his selfish, contorted face ever again. I won't. He'll have to kill me first.

"Reaper..." the voice whispers my callsign, and my eyes fly open. The adjustment is too slow, but I know the face almost immediately... it isn't the one from my nightmares.

It's Beehive!

"What the *fuck* are you doing here?" I spit, barely above a whisper.

My team's munitions expert stands above me, wearing an enemy's pilfered uniform. He's clumsy and thick headed, the very last person I expected LT to send on a rescue mission, but a flutter of hope burns hot in my chest. Five seconds ago I was sure I was dead.

Beehive drops down on one knee, unphased as I flinch away, my body still coursing with adrenaline.

"I set a charge near their fuel supply," he breathes in my ear. "We just need to lay low for a few minutes." His hand moves down to my bindings and I hear the click of a combat knife.

"Stop!" I hiss, pushing my forehead against his chest. "They're watching!"

I stare wild-eyed at him. Did Beehive seriously expect to just walk in and cut me loose? Lunging to his feet, he takes a huge step backwards, discreetly searching the tent, scanning past the jumble of stained rags and the crumpled canvas that serves as my cot. He quickly locates the two small rips in the far wall. I see his breathing halt.

He must have known what was waiting for him in this tent... but I guess his intel skipped right over the group of men that like to watch. We have only seconds before his lack of action raises suspicion.

As his gaze falls back on me, I'm pleading with my expression. *Time's up.*

"I can't, you're..." his voice is strained.

"You can, and you will, marine, or we're both dead." I glare at him.

His breath catches so loudly that I hear the choking sound over the pounding of my own heartbeat. He goes rigid with the realization, but takes a heavy step back toward me. With worry in his eyes, he mouths an apology, then begins unzipping his fly. I open my jaw wide and stick out my tongue, partially for him to see that I'm okay with this, and partially to satisfy the voyeurs on the other side of the tent.

I try to remind myself of our history together, a call back to some combat training session or a joke during chow, but I completely lose my focus as one of the *biggest* dicks I've *ever* seen falls out of his pants, swinging just barely against the tip of my protruding tongue. My eyes bug - I can't stop myself from staring. If I knew he was packing like that back at home base, this would be more of a reunion than a surrender...

My mind goes blank as he sets the head of his erection against my lip. My tongue relaxes to accommodate the weight of it, and as I'm opening wide for him, he does the opposite. Beehive clenches his square jaw as his cock stiffens noticeably. I close my lips around him and start softly bobbing my head.

Feral energy creeps through my body, a hard contrast from how I've reacted to the other men who've walked into this tent. It feels wrong... It feels right... My mouth starts to water and a rush of lust makes my eyelids flit.

"Go slow," Beehive groans down at me, taking my chin in his hand. "We... we need... time..." I scrunch my lower lids in understanding and take a deep breath.

He raises his face to the sky, one hand resting under my jaw, the other at his side, his fist flexing repeatedly. I can't imagine what must be going through his mind. All I can do is follow his lead and try to make it out of this alive.

Beehive picks up the pace. With a soft but forceful motion, he thrusts deeper into my mouth, his fingers burying themselves in my delicate skin. He leans into me until his tip grazes the back of my throat, then pulls back. He slides his cock back and forth with precision timing, hitting the back of my tongue every third second.

I can tell he's holding back, his fingertips feeling for tension; refusing to let me open my jaw any wider. We have to do this, but he doesn't want to hurt me.

Shuffling noises come from the other side of the canvas wall, shattering my mind's attempt to disassociate into pleasure. My eyes meet Beehive's and a soft moan escapes my throat.

"W-wait..." he groans, more of an order than a request.

His thrusts slow to half speed and I see him mouthing something. Numbers? A reassuring smile widens his words. "Just- a little- longer."

I brace myself again, this time waiting for his cum to explode across my tongue, waiting for the telltale pulse of his thickness as he lets himself go. Beehive's body twitches and he growls loudly, thrusting no deeper than he had before, but holding my head still while he gasps and grunts with his cock in my mouth, putting on quite the show.

In a moment of confusion, a deep groan escapes my throat, buzzing his tip and making his eyes widen. I feel him jolt on my tongue, but instead of conceding to his lust, he pulls out abruptly, packing his rigid, spit-coated cock back into his pants. His bright red tip is fully exposed above his waistband before his shirt obscures my view. I stare, my mouth still open, the smallest thread of drool falling from my lower lip.

*What the fuck was that? Did he just... fake it?*

Beehive drops to his knee again, grabbing me by the face and squeezing my cheeks together. He dons a smug look but his grip is gentle. It's still an act.

With his other hand, he retrieves his combat knife, carefully sliding it against my bare ankle, keeping it hidden under his palm and completely out of sight.

"Can you run?" he whispers, his eyes searching mine.

I nod, but I have no idea if that's true or not.

Before I know what's happening, Beehive's face leans in. He's no longer searching my expression - he's looking directly at me - his eyes burning into my tattered soul.

I feel myself wavering, but his lips find mine.

He kisses me softly. It seems almost too soft for this moment, but the embrace ignites another surge of hope in my heart, the same I'd felt upon seeing his face. Goosebumps prickle my fine hairs as he tugs and pulls on my lips, opening my mouth effortlessly and slipping his tongue against mine. It feels like a tender promise... or maybe a gentle goodbye.

Beehive's fingers leave my cheeks, bringing my bound wrists across my body and towards the hidden blade. Our kiss deepens as the zip ties are cut and the popping of the plastic synchronizes with the smack as the kiss ends. He holds my wrists in place, securing me against him.

Beehive takes a deep breath, then whispers low, "3... 2... 1..."

*BOOM!!*

The sound hits me hard. The shockwave rips across my eardrums and shakes the ground. Canvas billows around us, sharp clangs from metal brackets ringing against the cacophony of sound that erupts from the enemy camp.

Within a second of the blast, Beehive's hands are on his sidearm. He fires two expert shots through the peep holes in the canvas.

No return fire.

As the ringing in my ears fades, I hear the rumble of dirt bikes and ATV's being fired up. The men are scrambling from every corner of their camp. A dozen panicked voices shout for direction, for motivation, for medical attention.

"What are you waiting for?!" Beehive adds his voice to the choir of screaming men while pulling me up on wobbling legs. "Go! Now! Find a place to hide over the ridgeline! If I'm not there by nightfall-"

I don't stick around long enough to hear the end of his sentence. Finding my balance, I grab his combat knife and plunge it into the wall at the back of the tent, ripping a hole wide enough for me to slip through.

He'll find me. He has to...

I whip my head back and forth, blinking tears away from my vision and trying to remember anything about the surrounding terrain from the day they captured me. Gunshots go off behind me, my survival instinct forcing a full sprint. I scan for a hiding spot, my combat training starting to kick in.

I reverse the hold on my blade and tear towards a thick stand of foliage. I won't be able to outrun the ATV's, but maybe Beehive bought me some ti-

"Oof!"

Something heavy hits me from the side, knocking the wind out of me and sending my blade flying into the brush.

My frail body ragdolls across the dirt, skidding across fallen leaves and broken branches. I immediately try to scramble back onto my feet, but I can't move. I can only gasp and groan, my lungs burning white hot as my ribs reposition themselves. My eyes flail, desperately searching for clues as to what just happened. Blurred trees and sky give way to the demonic face of the one man I never wanted to see again...

"I thought we killed all your useless teammates the last time they tried to take you from me."

"Hhh!" I want to scream but my voice is trapped in my aching chest.

Before I can even move, he's on the ground with me, his sinewy arm locked around my neck. My hands fly up - fingertips clawing at him. He doesn't budge.

"No!" I force the single word out with every bit of air left in my chest.

"No what, whore?"

I feel his hand run across my body, locating a particular rip in my shirt that he'd put there himself. Rough fingers find the still-sticky gash in my side and he presses against the forming scabs. I grit my teeth and take the pain in silence. I won't let him hear me cry. Never again.

"You know better than to say no to me," he tightens his chokehold, his other hand moving down between my thighs.

Panic threatens to break my charade. I can't have his hands on me for another second, but struggling is getting me nowhere.... I only have one card left to play. I let my body sink into his, hoping he'll take it as a sign of submission.

"What's wrong? Did the boys tire you out? Or have you finally come to your senses?" he snickers, bringing his free hand up to my throat and releasing his chokehold.

In a quick maneuver, he flips me onto my back, forcing himself on top of me and jamming his knee painfully up between my legs. I choke out some air as his kneecap punches against my exposed center. His hand on my throat tightens, cutting my air almost completely off.

"I know, I know... you're scared," he sighs, his free hand working to pull out his semi-flaccid cock. "You'll feel so much better after you see what I'm about to do to you."

Ideas for escape muddle in my oxygen-starved my brain. I start to feel a warmth through my limbs; my body is beginning to shut down. Consciousness wanes and my eyes struggle to stay open. My hands move on their own, sweeping wide across the crunching leaves. I feel my life draining with each movement, my arms getting heavier...

Like the striking of a match, a painful scrape draws against my wrist, bringing me screaming back from the brink of surrender. My hand closes around a baseball-sized rock.

He catches the movement from the corner of his eye but his reaction is too slow.

With everything I have left, I windmill my arm, crashing the sharp stone against his temple. I feel something crack and blood starts to gush from his forehead. The force is enough to release his grip around my neck and send him reeling to the side. I take the split-second chance to crawl out from beneath him.

Still too weak to run, I scrape across the ground on my hands and knees, catching a merciful glint at the base of a nearby brush. *My knife!* I surge toward Beehive's combat blade, arms fully extended. I land with a thud, belly against the dirt, quickly switching out my weapon.

My sights fly back towards the injured monster. He's still on the ground, but his eyes are on me, deep red blood dripping down his cheek. An evil smile breaks the crimson, white teeth gleaming through the gore.

He moves to steady himself, and I feel the explosion of rage inside me. It's swift and certain. I'm no longer in control. My anger takes over my mind... the need for revenge running thick in my veins. At once, I'm up.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't even let him finish his inhale. I close the gap between us, and the second he's within range, I execute a stamp kick straight to the center of his face. The pain from the impact is nothing compared to the surge of empowerment.

The kinetic blow shorts out his nervous system, blood from his broken nose spraying across my lower leg. He flops heavily onto his back, groaning but conscious.

I move to his side, slamming my knee down on his chest. "You know what," I say, waiting for his eyes to focus on either my face or my blade. "I think I will feel better after this."

His face contorts with confusion, and then the yelling starts.

"Get the fuck off me, you bitch!! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

With one hand, I pinch the head of his softened cock, pulling it away from his body. It's as thin and limp as he deserves, a truly disgusting sight.

He fights back. His chest bucking hard beneath my knee. But my blade is sure.

I bring the sharp edge to his skin and slip it through the full width of his shaft with ease.

It cuts like nothing. It took more effort to slice an exit through my canvas prison than to sever him from his own manhood.

With one small twitch of my wrist, it's done.

"YOU FUCKING CUNT!!" red glitter spatters from his trembling lips, the scream shaking the still air.

Without hesitation, I bring the dripping blade up against his throat. "Scream again, bitch. You know that only makes it better," I repeat a line he'd so often used on me, letting my blade sink into his neck for emphasis.

I know exactly where his jugular is, a fact he is intensely aware of. His face goes white, howling eyes focused on the heap of flesh still clutched in my hand. I flash a psychotic smile, pressing the blade deeper.

I imagine what it might feel like to slit his throat... to watch the light drain from his eyes. I imagine waiting for him to start gasping so I can stuff his severed cock in his mouth. He'd be the last one to choke on it.

It would be a poetic death... one he'd be entitled to.

My breath is heavy between my clenched teeth, my chest heaving, stretching the scabs and bruises on my ribcage.

The stark taste of my own pain grounds me.

I feel myself coming back online. The rage snaps again, this time like a glow stick in the pitch black, relief flooding across my trembling limbs. I've lost so much of myself to these men... I won't lose any more.

My next breath is deep. I take in the smell of the gore-tainted air and exhale the last of my murderous thoughts, snapping the hilt of my knife against his forehead and rendering him unconscious.

Finally... silence.

With my newfound clarity, I use his buckling chest beneath my knee as a springboard, hopping to my feet, and taking off into the dense underbrush. Mid-stride, I toss his useless flesh against the underbrush.

Beehive's last words to me echo in my mind.

I scan the hillside for a route over the ridgeline, picking out chunky sections of brush and rocks to sprint between.

The earth stabs at the bare soles of my feet. I hadn't felt the rough ground beneath them until now. Sticks and rocks greatly outnumber the softer patches of dried grass. Every step I take is blinding, shooting pain, but I don't stop. I don't even slow.

My only strategy for making it to the ridgeline is to ride the waves of my residual panic. Between stuttering gunshots, the hum of an ATV, or the buzzing of a surveillance drone, I allow the fear to catapult me from one hiding spot to the next.

With short bursts of movement every few minutes, I manage to scale the jagged hillside without detection.

The sun is heavy in the sky by the time I've cleared the ridge, color beginning to drag across the clouds. Crickets chirp as the temperature starts to fall, their cheery noise almost insulting in its apathy.

Crouched with my back up against a thorn-covered bush, I take another moment to catch my unsteady breath. I rub my hands together to generate some warmth, squeezing my bloodstained palms against my black-soled feet, trying to either push the warmth in or the pain out.

My efforts accomplish neither, but as my breathing slows, I listen for signs of Beehive.

LT taught the team a very specific signal for an emergency rendezvous, but I've never had to use it. Sinking deeper into the bush, my blade at the ready... I wait.

Giving away my position could spell my salvation... or my death. Not giving away my position could do the same. *Fuck!* My training as a combat medic hadn't prepared me for half of this shit! I'm caught in indecision, the fear creeping back in. If I use the signal... and it's not Beehive that finds me...

I won't go back. I'll sink this steel into my skin and sever my femoral artery before I surrender to those men again. I reposition my blade against my inner thigh and take a deep breath. Pursing my lips, I let my whistle scream through the silence.

Two short chirps are followed by a long, drawn-out tone.

*I'm here, Beehive! Please... don't be dead.*