WARNING: This is violent. So, so violent.
I think it's okay, since I remember someone posted a guro fic here, so, uh...


====
Look, it’s not my fault he died before I was done fucking him. I didn’t /mean/ to play with him so hard, I just kept going and before I knew it I couldn’t stop, and…

What? Are you honestly gonna look at me like that? You woulda done the same thing, I fuckin’ know it.

See, Spies are bitchy by nature and I think that justifies them gettin’ smacked around a little now and then. The other team’s Spy is /especially/ shitty. I don’t know what consistently crawls up his ass on a daily basis but goddamn do I hate it. I don’t even wanna talk about how many times he’s had me pinned in a corner for no reason.

Like, “oh, petite, you smell good today” or “Yes, you look just like your mother”.

Boy, do I wanna punch the shit out of him when he mentions my ma. Yeah, so he fucked her that one time. Big deal.

But, see, I was just gettin’ a little revenge. Some payback. It’s only fair.

He had wandered into our base, right? Disguised as me. What the hell did he think was going to happen to him once I discovered what a fuckin’ slimeball he was being? He told me he had just finished hitting on Sniper, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And I ain’t a faggot.

So I shoved him into the wall a little. I roughed up that nice collared shirt of his. I even unbuttoned his jacket so I could rumple that freakin’ tie of his. He grabbed at his throat like I was chokin’ him, and maybe I was a bit, but I just laughed because I wasn’t even pulling that hard. He said somethin’ in French, maybe about bein’ sorry for making fun of me or whatever, but I just pulled harder.

“You’re shit outta luck,” I told him, reaching into his back pocket and grabbing his knife. “Emphasis on the shit.”

“Petite, this is dirty of you,” He murmured, grabbing at his neck as I loosened my grip a little, instead placing my hand against his chest to keep him against the wall. As I opened his knife he clenched his hands a little, no doubt flipping his shit that someone was touching his precious knife. There was an inscription on the side that said something faggoty in French.

“Mon dieu, if you just want revenge, take it,” he said. “Don’t toy with me.”

“Well, ain’t you a hypocrite?” I replied, tracing down his neck and chest with his knife.

And he is, believe me. I saw him play around with so many of my teammates before he killed ‘em. He’s a sicko, plain and simple. A regular psychopath.

He didn’t say anythin’ after that, and I thanked God for it. That snooty accent gets on my nerves, and I couldn’t help but tell him so as I dug his knife into him, a little below his left nipple. He let out a girly little whine, so I dug a little deeper. His face twisted up in pain all nice, and I grinned. It felt so fuckin’ good to see him like that, to see him like he saw those poor bastards before he got ‘em.

I smeared the blood across his chest as I took his jacket and shirt off, tossing them in the corner. As I grabbed his tie again I cut it off, and then grabbed his wrists real fast. I turned the bitch around and shoved him against the wall again for good measure, tying his hands behind his back. He was startin’ to breathe a little faster, like he was scared or somethin’, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He was scared. Him, a real slimy-ass Spy! Someone who thought he was better than everyone else just because he was born a handsome bastard, scared of /me/.

I’m not gonna lie, I loved it. I had a high-rankin’ Spy under my control, and let me tell ya there’s nothin’ quite like it. I put my hand on the back of his head and pushed it against the wall a little harder, leaning over and breathing into his ear.

“Ya like this, ya perv? Huh?” I asked, running the knife along his back this time. He shivered, cursed at me in French, and looked at me from the corner of his eye. Boy, that was a look that wanted me dead. I considered poking his eyes out for it, since his knife was real sharp at the point. But that’s a thing best saved for last, and I’d be lying if the thought of squishing his eye around in his socket didn’t get me all excited. I’d never seen a man’s eye reduced to nothin’ but goo.

But hey, I’m not like him. I looked down at his bindings instead, and saw his hands were gettin’ a little purple. I figured I tied that shit a little too tight, and apologized to him.

I didn’t mean it, of course. He knew that.

He also knew what I was gonna do to him. My eyes wandered down a bit more, to his tight ass. Now, like I said, I’m not a faggot, but I can appreciate good-looking things. Believe me, this was good-looking. I kept that thought to myself as I began to reach around him, to the button of his pants, leaning against him to keep him against the wall. He cried out suddenly, real nervous-sounding, and fucking butt me in the cheek with his head.

“Fuck!” I cried, holding onto my face and staggering back, accidentally nicking my forehead with the knife in the process. He fell backwards, onto his hands, immediately trying to scramble back to his feet, yelling something about how much his fucking hands hurt and how much shit I’d be in once he got out of this mess.

Now, at that point I was really fuckin’ mad. You gotta understand, right? ‘Cause if you just had your head almost bashed in by a guy wearing some fruity ski mask, you’d be pissed too. So I straddled him real quick, sitting on his legs and putting my hand on his shoulder to keep him down. I pressed his knife against his neck, drawing blood so he’d get that I was fucking serious about this, and leaned over again.

“You’re gonna keep your cunt mouth shut until I’m through with you,” I said. “You fucking spy.”

He said something in French again, probably another swear, and I thought I saw a couple tears leaking from his stupid eyes. I got onto my knees, flipping him over again, and suddenly saw why. The middle finger of his left hand was bent all the way up, all bruised and nasty lookin’. Real fuckin’ crooked, too. The dumb bastard broke his finger when he fell over. I almost laughed.

“You stupid fucking bastard!” I said, touching it gently. He whimpered again, his other fingers twitching and clenching at weird moments, like he thought holding his broken finger was gonna make it better. Maneuvering around his mangled hand, I took his other glove off and shoved it in his mouth, really damn tired of hearing whatever he had to say. He whined as he bit into that fancy Italian leather of his, a couple muffled sounds escaping his lips. I shook my head at him and waggled a finger disappointedly, tutting at his carelessness, then moved off him, so I was holding his ankles together and against the floor. He craned his neck to try and see me, the poor bastard, wonderin’ what I was gonna do now.

At that moment I wanted to make sure he wouldn’t try to get away again, not until I was done with him. Or even better, not ever. He didn’t deserve to creep around anymore to toy with people like he was so damn fond of doing, and I wanted to make sure he realized that. It made me a little sick thinkin’ about it, but I had to do it.

I rolled the bottom of his pant leg up, bracing myself as I felt him tense up at the same time. I rested the edge of his knife against his Achilles tendon and waited for his reaction. He thrashed around again, his good hand’s fingers clenching madly as he threw his head back and forth and said “non, non!” through his glove, though at the time I had no fuckin’ idea what he was tryin’ to say. He almost choked on the damn thing he was yellin’ so hard.

But that was exactly the reaction I wanted. I felt myself smile, some kinda horrible wicked sorta smile, and pushed the knife into his skin a little. He cried out again, his eyes squeezing shut, more tears forming at the edges. That, too, was exactly what I fuckin’ wanted.

“This ain’t so bad, ya pussy,” I said as I drew blood. “I ruptured that damn tendon so many times when I was younger, playin’ sports and shit. This /can’t/ be much worse.”

I began to saw at his tendon, first through his pale and thin layers of skin, and deeper into him, blood gushing around the knife and my fingers as I sawed away. I pulled the wound apart a little to get a better look and saw it twitchin’ around wildly in there, Spy now almost cryin’ steadily and beggin’ me to stop. I almost wanted to hear him.

So, yeah, don’t look at me different for this, but I took the glove out of his mouth.

Right away he started crying loudly, screaming at me to stop, please stop, he’d do anything for me if I would just stop right there.

“Mon dieu! Scout, this isn’t worth it!” He bawled, his eyes red. “I don’t deserve this!”

It was nice to see such a smug shithead put in his place for once.

“You don’t deserve anything at all,” I told him, cutting into his flesh again, farther this time, digging a deep gash into his tendon. The fucking thing is ridiculously hard to get through since it’s all tough and shit, so it took me a while, but I did it. I sawed right through his tendon as he lay there, sobbing into the floor and crying out in pain over and over, calling for his mother and his teammates and for god, some sort of god, to come save him. The tendon flopped around all nasty and I sort of picked it up and stretched it out a little, wrinkling my nose. Fuckin’ nasty. I wiped all the blood on my fingers and knuckles onto his pant leg and rolled it back down, as though nothin’ had happened.

Then I started on the second one. It was a lot more fun than the first since I knew what I was fuckin’ doing, and he screamed a lot more when I started on that one. It rang in the base and echoed a whole lot, almost like music. He looked like he was gonna bite his tongue off when he actually /did/ close his mouth to catch his breath.

“There,” I said once I had finished, wiping my hands off and setting his dirty knife aside. “Now you can’t get away from me.”

Say that to anyone, and I guarantee you they’ll get this look of total fear in their eyes. You don’t even have to immobilize them. It’s fuckin’ funny.

“Y-you sick, /sick/-“ he murmured, laying on the floor defeatedly and bleeding profusely from the ankles. You don’t even wanna know how nasty his finger looked. He must’ve been in so much pain at that point, but even then I didn’t think it was enough. Spy’s the kind of guy who really has to be taught his lesson when he’s done somethin’ bad. And boy, had be been bad.

I grabbed his hips and lifted them up a bit so we was on his knees, and began to unbutton his pants like I had intended in the first place. He trembled a bit as he looked at me, begging quietly to be left alone or just plain killed. Honestly, I didn’t even know where he got the balls to talk at that point. I thought I had made it clear that I wanted him quiet. But I couldn’t put the glove back in, no. I wanted to hear him scream for the next part.

So, quickly, I tugged his pants down to his knees and did the same to his boxers, not surprised that they were silk and even less surprised when Spy started to try and jerk away from me again. I grabbed his knife again and gave him a playful slap on the ass, running the tip of his knife down his lower back.

“No funny stuff,” I told him, putting my hand on one of his ass cheeks and rubbing it softly. “Or I’ll break your other fingers.”

That shut him up real good, but I don’t think anythin’ in the world could have stopped him from whimperin’ like a little dog. I almost felt sort of bad for him.

I nicked him with the knife, right above his ass, and leaned over to kiss the wound, licking the blood as my hand began to grope at his ass again. And, ashamed as I fuckin’ am to admit it, I started to get a little hot. I looked him over, at his defined back and his smooth skin, and figured he’d do as good as any chick. I leaned over to kiss the top of the crack of his ass, and went up, planting small kisses along his spine until I reached his hands, which were lying there limply. I even kissed his broken finger. He groaned. My pants were feelin’ really damn tight when he made that noise, I’m gonna be honest.

See, you probably think I’m some sort of queer now, but Soldier taught me a valuable lesson about what exactly you do to people you’ve captured. I won’t tell you /how/ he taught me, but goddamn, I won’t ever forget it. All I was doing was gettin’ revenge, like I said. But, yeah, it was kinda turning me on. I mean, how tender his ass felt, and how defined his leg muscles were. He’s not a bad lookin’ dude.

Knife still in hand, I reached into my pocket and brought out a small tube of lube I had brought with me, since I wasn’t about to wear my dick out just to make this guy’s life hell, and squeezed some into my hand, and unzipped my pants with the other. He heard it and groaned loudly, sounding pained and just plain tired of it all, writhing beneath me and trying to tug his hands weakly out of his bonds. I told him off again, of course, as I lubed the shit out of the both of us, my dick throbbin’ like hell.

And then I finally did it. I spread his ass cheeks apart, grinned, and shoved my dick into his asshole, pumpin’ back and forth real slow as he screamed and cringed in pain, maybe a bit of pleasure. His ass was so tight I could barely stand it, and I caught myself moanin’ a little as I threw my head back and grabbed his hips for support, going in and out and in and out, my rhythm steady. He kept screamin’ for a while, at first curses and then my name, loudly, and then he got softer as I kept going on, my dick stretching him out and hittin’ that spot that feels so damn good.

It felt good for me, too.

But I didn’t like that he was enjoyin’ it after a while. I didn’t think that was fair, all things considered, and once I saw that the sick bitch had a boner – seriously, how the fuck did he even manage that? – I was pissed again. He had no right to enjoy this, especially not when it was meant to be /my/ time for fun.

Now, I don’t have any freakin’ clue as to how to hold that damn knife of his, but I imitated as best I could and poised it above him, thrusting a bit harder into his ass a few times and moaning loudly before I brought it down with a swift motion.

He cried out again as I let it sink into his flesh, right near his spine, and as I tore it out of him I pumped a little bit harder, gripping onto his hip again with my free hand. I brought the knife down a little harder that time.

Another hole in that bastard.

And boy, did he scream. For a minute I thought I understood why the fuck he liked to stab people so much. He looked almost beautiful as he arched his back every time I thrust and he sounded fuckin’ great every time I stabbed him; he’s got one hell of a set of pipes. It echoed even more than it did when I was ruining his legs, lemme tell ya, and I was surprised that everyone in the base didn’t come runnin’ when I kept goin’. There was blood fuckin’ everywhere.

I noticed that I was yellin’, too, almost screamin’ my lungs off. But I felt so good then, my dick reaching the point of orgasm and my hands covered in this dude’s blood, some of my arms, too, and as I alternated between stabbing him and fucking him I felt on top of the world. My face was flushed and I thought I was sweating I was so excited, so exhilarated, and so very, very aroused.

I lost track of how many times the knife sunk into his back, but eventually he just stopped sayin’ anythin’. He stopped movin’ and everythin’ got real loose and weak. I dropped the knife, panting but still goin’ in and out of him, gripping his hips with both hands now and yelling my praises to him as I came into his ass, everything flashing white for a moment, my energy suddenly gone. I collapsed, my back against the wall, and wiped some of the sweat from my forehead.

“You’re a dirty whore,” I told him, crawling over and grabbing him by the mask and pulling his head up to look at me. His eyes were rolled back into his head.

Suddenly, I felt the color drain from my face. Not because I killed a guy, no, but because I just /came/ in a dead guy. He wasn’t even alive to feel what it was like to take it up the ass all the way, and I sure was regretting stabbin’ him so many times. I sighed, let go of his head, and zipped up my pants.

“No use cryin’ about it,” I said to myself, glaring down at him and taking his knife, closing it and putting it into my pocket. A little souvenir, if you will. Not wanting my teammates to figure out what I had done, I pulled his pants back onto him and buttoned them, shoving him in a corner as though he had just collapsed there. My shirt was covered in blood, I noticed.

“Guys, I found a fucking spy!” I yelled, going to my room to find a clean change of clothes.