Akumu
By Galatea

**

Gren woke up hazily, his vision little more than a blur at first; when it adjusted, the dreary, all-too-familiar environment of his prison cell enveloped him once again. Propping himself up on one slender elbow, he sat up on the grey concrete bench that served as a bed and surveyed the dark, dank corridor of cells for other inmates; they were all gone.

Guess I’ve woken up at the wrong time, he assumed.

Now he looked down, at the floor of his own cell, and saw an empty syringe close to the bench. He was very familiar with this syringe, for he’d used it often to inject himself with a certain drug in order for him to sleep peacefully; before he was prescribed with the previously-untested tranquilliser, he’d been insomniac, which had led to such distressing paranoia that as soon as someone so much as made eye contact with him, he’d assume that they would either rape him, kill him, or both. However, the drug had proven to be highly addictive...

I’d taken a slight overdose, Gren remembered. Any more, and I could’ve died... maybe. That stuff doesn’t seem so bad, considering it’s so new... He let himself drop face-down onto the bench, his chest cushioning the thump against the concrete...

Huh? His chest felt so strange all of a sudden. Propping himself up on both hands, he noticed that it seemed... heavier?! He turned himself over and stroked his hand up his flat stomach and over his chest, feeling soft, firm flesh...

Breasts?! Panicking, Gren swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. It’s my imagination, surely...? But looking down, he saw for himself two large fleshy glands on his chest that hadn’t been there when he’d last looked at his own body. Although he’d never been too muscular, the sight of those things startled him greatly.

Oh my God, he gasped silently, am I a woman now?

There was only one guaranteed way to check. Gren reached into his pants and groped around. He then withdrew his hand again, breathing a sigh of relief; he was still all man down there.

So I’m not a woman after all, he concluded. Thank God. This was beginning to resemble some warped dream...

The very concept of dreams reminded him of the distorted nightmare he’d experienced mere moments ago. With that in mind, he glanced down at his breasts again, gently caressing the soft glands with one hand. A small smile crept across his face, and he almost started laughing: Compared with that, this isn’t so bad at all; if anything it’s a blessing!

But, as he stretched out to take his fallen shirt from the stony floor, it occurred to him that his current situation - imprisoned and closely-monitored , along with guards, officers, wardens, and other inmates - was anything but a blessing. What if they knew I had these?

Gren couldn’t help but imagine the consequences: endless harassment, violation of what privacy he still had, further experimentation as if he were nothing more than a lab rat; possibly even the rape and execution he’d feared before, only this time it wouldn’t be a paranoid delusion.

“God!” he gasped. “I can’t let them know! I can’t!” He hastily pulled his shirt back on. They mustn’t find out...

For several moments Gren sat in silence, allowing himself to relax while he was still alone. His cell usually seemed cold, cramped, and claustrophobic to him; but for the moment, the solitude was a God-send. No one was there to look at him and see how his body had changed lately. No one there to harass him. No one there to do anything heinous to him.

No one there at all. No one...

The sudden slam of a steel door at the end of the prison corridor disturbed Gren from his moment of comfort. A shaft of whitish light illuminated the corridor, and the violet-haired man could hear footsteps steadily approaching; someone was coming.

Gren was getting nervous; he knew he was in trouble, but how much? He certainly didn’t want too awkward a confrontation, even though he knew that would be near-impossible to avoid. But he could still minimise the risk of such a situation occurring; he made his shirt as loose over his breasts as was attainable, then pulled his legs onto the bench and faced a side wall with his arms folded round his knees. It was important that he appeared as flat as he possibly could. Now all he needed was a little good fortune...

Soon, a large figure stopped just outside his cell. Gren saw that the figure was a prison officer; a large, ugly, middle-aged man with short brown hair and narrow beady eyes. The man leered at Gren through the bars of the cell door.

“Well well,” the officer said, “looks like Sleeping Beauty finally woke up. And look what’s he’s missed out on!”

“Is it something I would care about?” Gren muttered.

“Damn right it should be!” the older man yelled. “You missed your fucking lunch break! You know what that means, Eckener?”

“That you’ve brought me some leftovers?” Gren hoped with a false smile.

“Don’t be stupid! You have to starve!” The officer unlocked the door and entered, closing it behind him. “Teaches you a lesson for oversleeping, eh?”

Gren reacted partially with shock, partially with anger. “That’s inhumane! If you care to stop and think about it, it’s quite fortunate that I can sleep at all! I’m amazed that I was given any kind of treatment...” He shifted his legs off of the bench, reached for the syringe on the floor, and cradled it in his delicate fingers. “And if you were considerate enough to provide medication, you could give me food as well. A drink of water, at least! Please?”

The officer’s already-ugly face contorted with alarming fury. He seized Gren by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up to his face. “Impudent bitch!” he spat. “Hoping for lenience at a time and place like this! Abide by our rules or face punishment!”

Gren struggled in the officer’s grasp, but to no avail. “I...” he stuttered, “I... I just... I’m a... human being...” He was clearly scared - not just of the larger man’s unfair treatment of him, but of the chance that he’d be found out; his shirt was being pulled tight over his altered figure. Please, God, he prayed silently, don’t let him see! Don’t let him see!

God wasn’t listening. The officer had already noticed the extra curves and fabric creases, and his grip tightened. “So, you’ve been hiding something from me, haven’t you?”

Gren shut his eyes, silent with fear. He shook his head slightly.

“Then,” the huge man growled, “what the fuck are these?!” Then with terrifying strength, he ripped Gren’s shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere, and tore it off completely, exposing the younger man’s hidden breasts. “Since when were you a woman?!”

“I... I’m not...” Gren moved his arms to try and cover himself, but the officer grabbed both his wrists in one hand and restrained them just in front of his face. The androgynous man’s struggles were sadly futile.

“Not a woman?” The officer frowned. “Then what do you call yourself? These tits look too fucking realistic for you to be a man!”

Gren appeared bemused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The officer sneered almost lecherously. “You look too much like a girl to not be one! I mean, you’ve got long hair like a girl,” - he brushed Gren’s shoulder-length bangs as he said this - “a pretty face like a girl, a waist and hips kinda like a girl... hell, your tits are just like those on the last whore I remember putting to bed!” He groped Gren’s breast roughly, causing the smaller man to flinch in discomfort. “Come to think of it, that was such a long time ago. After working in an all-male prison for this long, I wouldn’t mind playing with a woman again!”

Gren writhed helplessly in the coarse grasp of his aggressor. “Let me go!” he protested.

The officer seemed almost pleased by the younger man’s struggling. “You irritate me...”

Gren noticed his tormentor’s evil smirk and ceased his struggles. “Let me go,” he pleaded again. “Please.”

The perverted grin was still there. “You’re the most irritating man I’ve ever known, Eckener.” The grin widened. “For all you’ve done, you deserve a different kind of punishment...”

Gren’s eyes grew wide as saucers with terror; he knew what was being implied... and it was not pleasant in the slightest. He shook his head slightly in denial. No, he mouthed.

He heard a ’yes’, and with that he was cruelly forced onto the bench and restrained as his remaining clothes were stripped from him. Laying naked on his side, with his back against the wall and his left leg pinned up by a strong shoulder, his nightmarish fears began to come alive; this pervert was seriously going to rape him!

Feeling his legs being pried further apart - in fact, as widely-spread as they would go - he heard faked annoyance: “Why can’t you have a vagina to go with your tits?” A casual ‘tutting‘ sound. “Ah well. I’ll have to make do, eh? Besides...” - he now adopted a nasty sneering tone - “a girly boy like yourself would be perfect for a little anal experimentation...”

That was it. Gren didn’t want to see anything anymore. Not the evil grin that his aggressor was wearing. Not the rough hands that had already abused his breast. Certainly not the contents of the letch’s fly, which he could now hear being unzipped; the mere thought of that made him shudder with fear.

He raised one hand to brush his long hair into his face, so that he could see nothing more than a violet curtain of his own bangs. I’d rather be blind right now...

“Hiding from the inevitable, are we now?” The coarse voice of the officer - if he deserved to be called that anymore - was accompanied by a flick of ridged fingernails against Gren’s bangs before calloused hands yanked the shoulder-length locks out of the innocent inmate’s face and behind his neck. “Well, you‘ll have to face it whether you like it or not!”

But it’s not necessary, is it? Gren would have said if he hadn‘t been afraid of suffering a hefty slap to go with what unimaginable pain he was to face shortly. He knew that this was an unjust punishment that should not have been occurring in a prison of all places; but he also knew, in his heart, that he could not prevent anything now. It was all beyond his control...

He felt a heavy hand grip his waist, holding him still. A huge, stiff member was pressed threateningly against his tensed opening. Gren’s eyelids clenched tightly shut, not wanting to see a thing.

Not that the sight was the worst of this ordeal. Not by a long shot.

God help me. A final, hopeless prayer for salvation. It was not answered.

“Kyaaaaaaaaaa!!” Sharp, intense pain flared through Gren’s nerves as he was mercilessly penetrated; the invading flesh plunging deep within him with a few harsh thrusts, stabbing his insides, before pulling back and sinking in again with startling suddenness. The rough motions repeated, jolting his body so violently that he had to grip the bench to steady himself. He knew he was bleeding; he couldn’t feel it - in fact, his left leg had become numb from the pain - but the ominous tapping sounds he heard told him as much.

After what seemed like a hour of hell, he felt a truly agonising twisting pain as he was flipped flat onto his back with his rapist still well inside him. The thrusting continued, but now it was harder, faster, and worse for it. Gren screamed again, his left hand grabbing at the wall to reduce the overall movement, and his right arm flung across his chest to save himself from the added discomfort of jerking breasts. His heart pounded erratically in his rib-cage, and he wished for the ordeal to end as soon as possible; the agony and humiliation were all too much for him to handle anymore...

Finally, the tension inside him and the disgusting sensation of warm, thick semen spilling into his guts signalled the aggressor’s orgasm, and the end. As the softening flesh withdrew from his abused body at last, the world darkened around him like nightfall; loss of consciousness. The last thing he saw was the evil, satisfied grin of the letch. The last thing he felt was an aching pain as his legs settled down again. The last things he heard were the dripping of bodily fluids onto the floor, and part of a final cruel remark from his rapist: “You bleed like a girl on her period...”

**

Dreams and nightmares are worlds and situations that are beyond one’s control. The mind creates them subconsciously, and the body is left in stasis while the mind is fascinated, confused, and terrified by its own creations.

~Owari~

x clear