Rebels on the Run (Ch. 01)

Finally, you hear what sounds like footsteps off in the distance. You relax for a moment, before realizing that you have no idea who that might be. Turning, you start quickly rummaging through the bag, looking for the gun, or any other weapon you can find. The bag is largely empty, and you realize that you are completely isolated and alone, desperately hoping this is me walking through the woods.

You crouch down, remaining as still and silent as possible, until I walk into the clearing. You take a huge sigh of relief and emerge from your hiding spot, ready to be angry at me for leaving me with no notice. "Where were you," you say, "where the fuck were you," you repeat with more anger. I put out both of my hands towards you.

"I'm sorry, I thought it best not to wake you. I wanted to scout around the area a bit and see if there's a place we could stay at for a bit longer. Lucky for us, I found an abandoned farmhouse we can stay at for a bit."

"What?" You look at me, your anger melting into relief mixed with some confusion. "Aren't we on the run?"

"Yes, but we need a few days to rest and heal up before we can continue." I point at the various scrapes and bruises on our bodies. "We've made good time in the past few days, I think we're okay to stop and regroup for a couple of days."

You nod, slowly, feeling how focused you've been on escaping from prison. The idea of stopping, or staying in a single place, feels both fantastical and horrifying. "What if they find us? What if it's a trap?" Thoughts start to spin in your head, and you can't decide whether you trust me enough to talk about this. "After all," you say to yourself, "I don't know who this guy is. I'm free, but only nominally so. Without him, what would I do? What would I want to do?"

After a minute of silence, I grab the bag, strap it to my back, and start walking in the direction I entered the clearing. You fall in step behind me, silently, walking for about twenty minutes until the outline of a small house comes into view.

Looking around the clearing, it does not appear to be an abandoned farmhouse. If anything, it's only missing smoke from the chimney to look lived in. There is wood stacked on the side of the building, ax left by a stump as if it was going to be used soon. The fence was a decent condition, and an only slightly overgrown garden in the back seemed improbable if the house truly was deserted. "Umm," you stammer, afraid to overstep, "umm, you said this was abandoned?"

I turn and glance at you, inquisitively. "Yes, no one will bother us here, I'm sure of it," and turn back and walk toward the entrance. You stop for a second, before following, not sure what else you could do in the moment. I open the door and walk in and you follow behind me.

True, the farmhouse is in disrepair, but there is no question that someone has lived here recently. The larder is stocked, the dust is minimal, and although there are broken objects and furniture strewn about, it feels more recent than I'm admitting. Even so, you push the doubts away. "After all," you say to yourself, "he doesn't want to get caught just as much as me. Why would he lie?"

I point out the bathroom and the bath, and start to pull out various foods from the kitchen and lay out a breakfast for us. "I figure we stay here... three or four days. We're far enough from the prison that they won't be looking for us here." We eat in near silence and after the meal I rise and start to clean up the kitchen. You start wandering from room to room, bothered by the unknown of the place, glancing out of windows and in rooms and seeing nothing and hearing nothing but the woods around the house. Suddenly feel my hand your back, then your shoulder, pulling you backwards into my arms. "Trust me. We're safe here." You nod, and relax backwards into my arms, saying nothing, but feeling the warmth of my body. After a while, we separate, I light a fire, and then point out a bedroom on the bottom floor.

"That will be yours. I'll be upstairs." I rise from the fireplace and look at you, again the same appraising glance.

You can't help yourself, "Why did you need me? Why didn't you leave me with the guard? Or, why did you take me along in the first place?"

We look at each other in silence. "Honestly? I'm not sure," I say without breaking eye contact. You feel your stomach drop slightly, adrenaline rising as you ready yourself for what I'm about to say next but I stay silent.

"Thank you," you finally say. "Thank you," you feel the sensation of tears welling up in your eyes again but none fall, "thank you, thank you, thank you." You repeat yourself, now only looking down at the floor.

I sigh. "I owe you more of an explanation." You look up, instantly. "But now we must sleep-we have much recovering to do. I promise, I'll tell you who I am, and what I'm doing very soon. We're on the same side, you and I, you have nothing to fear from me."

Considering your only partial allegiance with the rebels, you keep quiet and keep looking into my eyes, trying desperately to read my thoughts. "Good night," I say, and walk up the stairs, creaking as I make my way, until you hear a door close behind you.

You enter 'your' bedroom and look around for a moment, before collapsing onto the bed. The cabin reminds you of those in the woods around Mantus, its log walls spotted with traditional carvings. It has evidence of life lived: random odds and ends spilling out from the closet and underneath the bed. You almost laugh at the normalcy of it-after months of war, occupation, and prison, you suddenly find yourself in a home. Not yours, but familiar. Generic. You close your eyes, and although it doesn't feel like you should be tired, since you'd woken up only a couple hours earlier, you start to feel the stress and tiredness of the past few days pulling you down and down, into another deep slumber.

You rise with a start at a loud clatter from the kitchen, instincts firing immediately into fight or flight mode, and you grope around desperately for your knife, realizing you have no idea where you put it and cursing yourself for letting down your guard for even a second. You race to the door and throw it open to see me, lying on the floor outside the door to the basement, seemingly having tripped on the final step and sprawled into a chair which also fell over.

"Sorry, sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me," I say as I rub my leg, wincing painfully at a number of spots, flexing and moving each joint to make sure nothing is broken. "I guess, I just wasn't paying attention as I was coming up the stairs-this place is lulling me into a false sense of security." You rush over to me and try to help me to my feet, but I hold you off. "Give me a second, please."

"Of course," and you bend down awkwardly, waiting, unsure of what to do. I glance up at you quickly and you notice my cheeks are flushed, making you blush as well. "I've been having that feeling too actually, sleeping in a real bed just feels so... normal," you say and stand up. "Anything I should go and grab in the basement? Anything useful down there?" You start to move toward the basement and I reach out suddenly and grab your arm, forcefully stopping you from going any further.

"Careful! The steps are really dangerous, that's why I tripped, and there's nothing worth anything down there, don't worry." I rise suddenly and pivot between you and the basement, quickly closing the door. You nod and look away, and we remain still in the kitchen for a while. You feel yourself tense up as I suddenly walk towards you, my hand suddenly on your arm, your chin, lifting your face up to mine, surprisingly, delightfully, close. "You still trust me, right?"

You nod again, this time looking directly at me, and I smile, its appearance stimulating waves of relief throughout your body. You release me and walk back upstairs, without speaking, and you wait in the kitchen for another minute, unsure as to what you should do, realizing that you wish that I had kissed you, or you had kissed me, that my hands would have remained or even moved rather than withdrawn. As the creaking above faded, you wondered what you could do. Looking down at yourself, you almost laughed cruelly to yourself. Clothes disheveled, body bruised and cut by rocks and plants, feet calloused and blacked by the hard cold ground. Vanity appearing in the most unexpected of places.

You stride to the bathroom and strip yourself, starting to scrub with a rough towel by the sink and the hot water the cabin could muster. Your mind drifts as you wash, to the feeling of my arm grabbing your wrist as you walked toward the basement, the sudden power and control I had over you. You suddenly notice you were rubbing that exact spot over and over, turning it slightly red, and shake yourself. "Focus," you think "You're out of prison, that's good. Now what-you have no idea who this guy is."

Taking a deep breath, your ears prick up at the sound of a door opening and closing and you slowly turn off the water, breathing lightly, and listening closely. You don't hear anything so proceed back to your bedroom and lay down on the bed. Looking around the room, you suddenly feel back in prison. Figuratively locked up, this time for your own safety, yet just as isolated, alone, and desperate for freedom.

You sit up. "Fuck this," you think. "I can... I can talk to him. I'm going to find out what's going on." Struck by a sudden rush of confidence you stand up and proceed right up the stairs. Each step slows you slightly, your confidence slipping slightly, but the creaking forces you upwards, revealing that you have started this journey and cannot secretly back down. You arrive at the top of the stairs, stride to the other bedroom, and take a deep breath before the door, sitting slightly ajar. "I. Can. Do. This," you chant to yourself and push the door open with determination.

The wind is quickly taken out of your sails as you look around and don't see me, momentarily confused, before realizing that I must be in the basement. Cocking your head, you start to look around for the backpack, the gun, and see nothing. You sigh, and proceed down the stairs, this time trying to walk as gingerly as possible to the basement door and slowly... gently... cracking it open.

You're relieved as you make your way down the basement steps that these don't creak, giving you a modicum of stealth as you slink from stair to stair. Curiosity is turning quickly to dread inside of you, as you realize that I lied to you earlier about the basement, your situation turning from safe to precarious, as you find your way to another door, with a dim light coming through the crack near the floor. You can now hear something rhythmic, a two-pitched, repeating sound that offers enough coverage to allow you to crack the door open, slowly and peek beyond the frame.

As you try to glance surreptitiously into the room, you are greeted immediately by two sets of eyes that freeze you in place. In the center of the room is a table, and bent over that table you see a woman, her arms secured with rope and bound to the far end of the table, holding her in position bent forward. Her feet were on the ground, legs secured with rope to the end of the table nearest to me. In her eyes you could see a mix of panic and relief, her mouth gagged with cloth and yet you could see her clearly attempting to make out some cry for help. I stood behind her, rhythmically fucking her, my eyes meeting your confidently.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to come down here. When you didn't sneak down immediately after I went upstairs, I'll admit I was disappointed-no spirit of adventure with you." Throughout the conversation, I continue to fuck the woman on the table, her eyes gradually becoming woeful, then hard, as she realized that you were no savior for her.

"What, what... What are you doing?" you stammer out.

I laugh. "Is that a real question? Have you ever been fucked before?"

You blush, "I mean..."

"You mean, why am I fucking her?"

"Yes, or... you said this cabin was abandoned!" Your tone becomes suddenly accusatory. "What's she doing here?"

"Are you jealous we're not alone?" I smile a wicked grin and pull out. You can't help but look at my hard cock, still wet from her pussy. You blush and avert your eyes, but I don't seem to notice your glances or feel at all self-conscious about my nudity as I walk around the table. You feel your breathing quicken until I stop two feet in front of you and pick up a pair of pants that I pull on, pushing my hard cock down so I can put them on.

You blush, "Oh, sorry, I-"

I laugh again. "It's okay-I'm sorry. I haven't explained anything to you, have I?" I put my hand on your shoulder and lead you out of the room, your accusations suddenly hitting the wall of my touch, its light intensity radiating with the promise of an explanation, anything to release you from the torrent of questions rushing through your mind.

"No, you haven't told me anything. I, I just need to know... I don't know. Something? How did we escape so easily? Where are you taking me? What-"

I stop you at the base of the stairs out of the basement, holding you in place lightly by the wrist. "Shhhh, okay, you're right. You've obviously noticed by now that I was not exactly a normal prisoner-my escape, sorry, our escape was orchestrated by some double-agents the rebellion has within the government. Ellen, the woman you replaced that night, was my partner."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. Maybe she got sick, maybe she got caught. I tried to get in touch with her that whole night to find out what happened, but in the end I couldn't risk it. The bribes had been paid, and if she was caught it was only a matter of time before they were on to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," I look up at you, and you see some genuine emotion for what feels like the first time. "I met her at the very beginning of the rebellion..." I trail off, shaking my head rapidly. "None of that matters to you," I say, almost to myself. A beat passes and I sigh. "Ellen and I were spies, I suppose you could say. We got ourselves arrested under aliases to get behind enemy lines, and were meant to escape together and, uhh, collect information from the enemy."

You wait a beat. "Is that what you were doing in there? Collecting information?"

I look up, "Yes, actually." My gaze intensifies onto you. "I simply use more unconventional methods."

You stare at me, stunned and confused, unsure of what to say.

My grip tightens on your wrist. "I know, it's a lot to process. I wish I could have told you all of this before asking you to escape with me, but we simply didn't have time to have this conversation and I couldn't risk you saying no."

You swallow and nod slowly, trying not to dwell too much on the end of my sentence. "Okay," you say, almost to yourself, "what are you going to do with me?"

I release your wrist and pull you in for a hug, the warmth of my arms suddenly engulfing you in my smell. You take a deep breath without thinking about it, slowly releasing it and melting into my arms. Time seems to stop until I stroke your hair, slowly, pulling on it gently, and time restarts. You feel your mind slowing down, contradictions laying on top of each other-me in the other room, me here; me freeing you, me shooting the soldier; me slapping you, me stroking your hair-until they no longer seem to rub against each other. I, recreated in your mind, justified in your mind, by force of nature and necessity.

"I need you," I whisper in your ear before releasing you and drawing back. "You see, I've always worked with a partner. Ellen and I, well, we'd discovered that the most effective means of extracting information from people is sex. Some interrogators swear by torture, some by psychology. I'm a big believer in the power of sex." You feel yourself breathing heavily, involuntarily, your legs tightening, desires swirling. "You see, sex can be painful, it can be pleasurable. It can be a reward, it can be a punishment. You'd never believe what people will tell you when they're on the brink of an orgasm..." I smile, this time clearly laden with desire. "While there's quite a bit I can do on my own, I've found that a two-person team allows for many more useful dynamics."

You start to nod, feeling the absence of a question in my statement. "I, uh, I mean..." You pause for a second, not meeting my gaze. "It's not that I don't want to help, I just, umm, I'm not sure I would know what to do, or how, or even-"

I grab your chin, pulling your gaze upwards to meet mine. "I promise, it's easy. I can already tell you're going to be a natural." You want to look away from my gaze, but can't bear to break out of my grip. "You care about the revolution, right?" I ask. "Are you worried about the woman in there?"

You finally meet my gaze, desperate for an explanation that will quell the final contradiction, that will allow you to dive into this fantasy with me.

"I promise you, she's not someone to care about." My grip tightens on your chin and I draw closer. "You remember the guards at the prison? She's one of them, but for a different prison. If she weren't tied up, she wouldn't hesitate to shoot both of us, if she didn't decide to have us arrested and tortured instead. I need information about the security systems of the prison from her, and I was in the process of obtaining it."

"By fucking her?"

"By raping her."

Your stomach drops, yet the sensation is matched by a heat in between your legs, the scene in the room suddenly flashing in front of your eyes-the woman, bound and helpless at my mercy, her head bouncing in rhythm with my thrusts; me, hands on her hips, confidently fucking her while looking at you with amusement. The look in her eyes, suddenly recontextualized, terrifying yet arousing. Painful yet pleasurable. Your breathing quickens, "And... what do I need to do?"

In a flash you feel yourself being slammed into the wall of the basement, the hardness of the bricks a sudden pain against your back which fades into the realization that I'm choking you, hard, lifting you slightly so you feel you're almost on your toes. Your eyes bulge open and search for mine. "All you need to do is obey me." I lean in and kiss you on the forehead and you almost faint, the lightness from my lips contrasting with the pain to send a wave of endorphins crashing through your body, making you feel suddenly weightless. You gasp as you feel my other hand slip between your legs, feeling your wetness and causing you to start to moan. "I knew we would be able to work together," I say with a sharp laugh. "So, all you need to do is obey me, and you can enjoy yourself as you like. One of the perks of the job, let's say."

I release you and you feel yourself fall into a crouch, hands massaging your sore neck. After what feels like a second, you're yanked up by the hair and you scramble to stand, your mind afire with fear and arousal.

"I want you to go in there and untie her. She's given me everything I need to know, so she can go. You can tell her that this is over, we're going to release her."

Wordlessly, you nod and start moving with determination to the back room. Once there you start with the gag in the woman's mouth, trying to soothe her, and calm her down.

"Yes, yes, I'm about to untie you," you say, in response to the woman's plea for help. "This is going to be over very very soon." You release her wrists and she massages them gently, and you move to her legs, releasing them in turn from the table, leaving her naked but free. You back up, apprehensively once she's free, realizing you don't have any way of protecting yourself from her. You move away from the door, and gesture-"go ahead, you can go. He said you can go."

She stares at you for a few seconds before bolting for the door, her whole body suddenly activated. Reaching out for the knob, she turns, rattles, and fails to open the door. You can see her eyes darken as she starts to rip at the door, rattling the knob harder and harder, yet with no movement. "No, no, no, NO!" she screams, finally kicking the door and falling down, tears streaming down her face. "Please no, please, just let me go. I don't know anything, I don't. I just live here. Please, please, please." The tears streaming down her face melt you for a second before she turns and looks at you with wildness. "You fucking bitch-you're with him, aren't you. This is just a sick game. You're fucking sick. You're-" she can't finish her sentence as she awkwardly pulls herself to her feet and starts marching towards you menacingly.