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Old 09-15-2012, 10:01 PM   #1
wasSheldon
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Hi, all. I'm new here, and I guess this will be my first post *shrugs*.

This story is essentially a prison rape story, M/tranny, narrated from the rapee's point of view. Hope you like.


1
The report stared up at me from the desk, the soft handwriting bringing back memories of that day. I shivered.

"Now, if you sign this statement, retracting your police report, no charges will be filed against you." The deputy who sat before me in his cluttered office was undeniably handsome, but his eyes bore down on me with nothing but contempt. He cleared his throat, waiting for my response.

"Is deputy Hernandez in?" I ignored his absurd proposition; Miss Hernandez had been much more professional--and realistic.

"She is no longer with us. She quit the force yesterday." I nearly spat out my water, but quickly tried to regain my composure.
"She quit?" I couldn't hide my incredulity.

"Yes--and that's all I have to say about that, Miss Watson. Filing a false police report is a very serious offence. In your case, punishable by an 18 month stint in an all-male lock-up. I don't think it requires very much imagination to picture what will happen to yourself there." His face still looked serious, but I could see the beginning of a smirk forming.

"But that report wasn't false! It wasn't!" I snapped, forgetting to maintain my calm. My hands were beginning to shake with anger. To accuse me of lying about something too horrible even to fabricate--

"We have evidence to believe it is...." He dropped two folders on the table in front of me, his eyes revealing a sadistic delight at their contents.

They were sworn affidavits--alibis for my assailants, and a speeding ticket with a time stamp that I knew to be impossible. One alibi was a waitress in town, who swore to have waited on the boys during the time they were forcing me to perform oral sex. Another was a deputy's statement that he had pulled the boys over at 3:30pm, which contradicted my claim that they were 30 miles away.

The Deputy plopped another statement on the desk. I didn't even want to look at it, but my curiosity got the better of me. A physician asserting that after reviewing my case, he found no evidence of a sexual assault. I scoffed, remembering the bruises that had blanketed my skin, the sensation of having been turned inside out, the blood.

"These are--"

"They are proof that you lied to the police, proof that Judge Caruso will find sufficient to hand you the maximum sentence. I'm offering you an out, unless you'd rather go to jail" He was grinning, and his eyes told me that he knew: he knew that I had been raped, he knew that this was a cover-up orchestrated by the pull of the one of the boy's prominent, rich families, and he was perfectly satisfied with that.

"Is there no female Deputy I can speak to about this?" I was desperate for a face that did not take joy in my destruction.

"You have no right to ask for a female officer. You are on the brink of being charged with a fourth-degree felony, and I am offering you an opportunity to make it all go away. If you don't recant your report, you WILL be arrested, and you WILL be arraigned on Monday morning."

"I, uh...." Holy shit. Is this seriously happening? "I'd like to consult an attorney." It sounded as if someone else were speaking, someone frightened and wounded, pleading for mercy, and not like the demand of an innocent person falsely accused of a serious crime.

"Miss Watson, let me be very clear on this. You are not under arrest: you do NOT have the right to representation. If you refuse to sign the affidavit, you will be charged with a felony. It's all arranged, the County attorney's just waiting on us. At that point, you will have the legal right to counsel. But if that's what you choose, this," He waved the sheet in the air. "This will be off the table."

I stared at him, still not believing. His gaze met mine, incredibly, with undisguised hatred, and not the shame or remorse I would expect from a human leading another human to the gallows.

"I-if you could just give me a minute." I begged, staring down the barrel of jail time for a crime I didn't commit.

Surprisingly, Officer Evil gave me some quiet time to think. His presence was unnerving, but I frantically tried to go over the decision in my mind. It had been maybe a minute when he interrupted me softly.

"Miss Watson, have you ever been to County?" He said in a gentle voice that was almost a mockery of itself, "The corrections department still thinks it's the sixties; they're always catching flack for their "inhumane" procedures. The first thing they'll do to you there, the delousing procedure and strip search. You'll be stripped naked and per Corrections Department policy, searched by a male officer, since you're still male," He snorted, "--legally, anyway. I'm sure it will be very uncomfortable for someone like yourself,"

I tried to ignore his interruption, but I couldn't stop myself from picturing the scene, and before I could turn it off, I was visibly cringing at the thought.

"I thought that you might find that idea uncomfortable. After that, you'll probably find yourself in a communal cell with several guys--some of them regular offenders--until after we get you situated. There's rumours, Miss Watson, of what happens to weaker, effeminate inmates in the communal cells, but I wouldn't believe them, I'm sure that you'd be completely safe from unwanted contact, it's probably just the macho guys bragging. Sure, I've heard stories of, uh, smaller inmates being forced to do...things. But, I think you'd be fine." He was smiling as he spoke, watching triumphantly as I squirmed in my seat, still unable to bring myself to denounce justice.

"Please, stop, I just need a moment to think." I sighed, still unable to believe the cruel conspiracy that was enveloping me. But he went on, smiling even wider.

"Now, when you get situated, you might have to share a cell with a man, because they really don't have an empty cell to spare over there. I'll be honest, when you're in the cell, there really isn't all that much supervision. I guess, maybe there could possibly arise a situation where you might be, well, there's no nice way to put this, but you might find yourself, held down. I mean, let's face it, you're not really equipped to defend yourself against a 250 pound body-builder. So maybe, possibly you might find yourself held down, held down and--
"
"STOP IT!" I shouted, slamming my fist down on his desk. "Goddamn you!"

"That's not a very cooperative attitude, dear. Not very cooperative at all." He stood up, jangling a pair of handcuffs, "Is that gonna be your answer?"

"I did not falsify that report." I said, calmly as I could manage, mustering all my effort to control my anger--and fear. "I will not sign your false statement, your pathetic attempt to distort reality. Get me a lawyer." I was sweating, my hands were clammy from fear of the consequences, but I knew that it was right.

"Very well. Then stand up, put your hands before you on the desk." I did as he commanded, obeying with cemented resolve. "Spread your legs. I'm going to search you for weapons."

I said nothing, just froze as he ran his hands a little too slowly up and down my legs. He patted the outside of my pockets, then I felt his hands fondling my buttocks. I gasped, but stared out the window at the sunny day, endured his perversion. I felt him pull my wrist behind my back, felt the cold steel of the cuffs.

"...You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights, which I have read to you" He recited the Miranda warning in a monotone, pulling the remaining wrist into position behind my back, sealing my fate.

When he finished, he tugged my elbow. I was led out of the office in a dazed stupor, unable to grasp the extent of the political sadism that had resulted in my arrest for a crime I didn't commit.

"Smith, take Miss Watson down to booking, will you?"

"Be my pleasure." The deputy looked to be maybe sixty, and kept glancing at me with a knowing smirk, as if to say, 'I know what you are.'

***

I used my one phone call to ring my best friend, Stacie. She was hysterical, crying into the phone, almost inadvertently convincing me that she was the victim. I begged for her to arrange bail and an attorney if at all possible.

"Please, I'm not sure I can last in Jail--not like this." I tried to keep my voice flat, but I could detect my own terror in the slight elevation of my voice's pitch. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

I was strip searched, fortunately in a private stall, by a male officer who did the job respectfully and quickly.

"I still don't understand why you're over here." He said apologetically, averting his eyes. "It ain't right." He allowed me to keep my underwear ("I don't know where they expected me to find a bra in the men's jail"), and handed me a loose-fitting uniform that consisted of grey sweat pants and a white t-shirt stamped "RANDOLPH CORRECTIONS DEPT"

I was placed in a larger cell with three men, all of them a little rough-looking. I averted my eyes and quickly sat on a bench in an unoccupied corner of the cell.

The tatoo-mohawk-man spoke, his lip curled as if he had just seen something that really pissed him off.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I did not answer, but felt my stomach drop. Leave me alone.
"Hey, cocksucker, I was talking to you." He stood up.
"Leave me alone." I spoke, trying to sound a little tougher than the weakling I felt like.

"She told you, man!" Laughed an older black man, laying on a bunk. He grinned, showing pearly whites, then turned back to his smuggled newspaper.

"Shut the fuck up, old man." He was walking over toward me, and I felt the cold chill of fear run up my spine. "I asked you a question, you fucking faggot. You answer, or you'll be eating out of a straw--"

"Fuck off." I stood up, my adrenaline suspending my emotional terror, and glared at the man approaching.

He halted, an expression of complete confusion--of a man whose tried-and-true formula has suddenly blown up in his face--his tiny brain was overloaded, and that was all the time I needed to deliver a swift kick to his nether regions, a kick forged by years of relentless soccer drills and a savage urge to kill-or-be-killed.

The man screamed. It was a shriek which sounded like it belonged to the melting Wicked Witch, not the muscular hard-ass in front of me. I felt an urge to kick again--to kill, but I fought it, anchoring my feet in place as the man on his knees before me gripped his crotch in agony.

There was laughter coming from somewhere, and shouting too. A flurry of activity, of corrections officials running. I simply stood there, unable to move.

I found myself forcibly pinned down on a bunk, my wrists being cuffed roughly in place, and I wasn't really noticing anything, except the other inmates' laughter.

***

My arraignment and bond hearing was set for Monday, but I remained hopeful that I would escape further violence.
Just put me in a cell by myself, for the love of god.

Instead, I was taken to a smaller cell, thrown inside with a body-builder type, as the officers cackled like circling hyenas.

"Take care, honey." They slammed it shut and were gone.
The man, my cellmate, was one of the larger men I had ever seen. He did not acknowledge my presence, except to stare at me with dull eyes. I climbed onto the bunk and stared at the ceiling. I felt oddly sleepy, but I didn't dare to shut my eyes with the hulk in the room, ready to pounce.

He was still staring at me, a good five minutes later, when he finally spoke in a baritone voice.

"Whatchyou in here for?"
I nearly peed my pants when his deep voice startled me.

"Um, uh, f-falsifying a police report" I stammered. The man chuckled, an effortless, yet surprisingly hearty sound, and I found myself praying to a god I didn't believe in.
Get me out of here!

"Uh....how about you?" I managed, trying just to be polite. There was no reply; I felt foolish. Then after a minute or so, his voice boomed out again, startling me.

"I's in a fight." He shrugged his massive shoulders, as if the crime were self-explanatory.

"Oh...well, that sucks."

Another inordinately lengthy pause...

"Uh-huh. You a girl?" Just as I had begun to feel relieved at the large man's apparent harmlessness, my eyes flickered wide open.

"Yes. Why does that matter?" The man stared blankly at me, shrugged, then turned on his side, facing away from me.

"You're in the wrong jail, ya know. Dis' here's the men's jail." He spoke as if casually informing me of something I didn't already know: he was trying to be helpful. I relaxed.

God, it was boring, laying on the hard cot, nothing to do but worry about how badly I had to pee, and how the hell was I going to get myself out of this mess.

It appeared as if I might live until bail was set, which was a tremendous relief. The encounter with tattoo tough guy had made me nearly certain that I would be beaten to a pulp in this place, but this cell-mate seemed, at worst, to be a tad bit autistic.

The false evidence frightened me, though. It seemed as if the entire criminal justice system were working for the sole purpose of my destruction. Perhaps I should have recanted the report...and be known as a histrionic basket-case all over campus? Not that that was much worse than being known as that TrannyWhoGotRaped (But It's Not Rape, She Probably Liked It).

My mind was racing--a felony would ruin my plans for medical school, not to mention the prison time. Could this miscarriage of justice really be taken *that* far? Wait for the lawyer.

God, I have to pee.
I eyed the exposed porcelain bowl mounted on the center of the wall with disgust. Goddamn it. Fortunately, the cell across from ours was empty (why couldn't I have my own?), and my cellmate was snoring as loud as a freight train, so I made a discrete dash and sat on the toilet, sighing with relief.
Just after I had hopped off and hiked up my pants, two officers led a limping figure into the cell across from us. Close one.

The cell clanged shut, and I stared in disbelief at the man I had kicked earlier. He stared at me, murder in his eyes. I looked at the ground.

"You little bitch." He hissed, squeezing the steel bars I was now very grateful for, "I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born."

Truthfully, his threat was terrifying, but I didn't want him to know that, so I shrugged, then stuck out my tongue. He scowled.

Somehow, even with that threat and the uncomfortably hard bunk, I managed to doze off, dreaming about dog-sled racing. Go figure.

I'm not sure whether it was the ragged breathing or the drool that woke me up, but I nearly screamed when I opened my eyes to see my cellmate's large eyes staring down at me from less than a foot away.

He was crying. I quickly forgot my terror, remembering his slow, harmless manner, and felt a maternal desire to calm this giant.

"Hey, what's the matter?" I cooed, but the man just remained rooted to the spot, crying, his tears and drool dripping onto my shirt.

"I'm sorry." His apology sounded genuine, as if he had committed an atrocity and were begging my forgiveness. I cocked my head in confusion.

"Sorry about what?" I asked softly, entirely perplexed.

That's when he covered my mouth with his massive hand, muffling my scream. Just as my body sprang to life to resist, his other arm wrapped around my torso, yanking me roughly up and tossing me onto my stomach. I managed to get a cry out, before his hand regained its position over my mouth, and I prayed that a guard would hear, and come help me before--

I froze, suspending my furious squirming as I felt my pants tugged down off my body. No!

I was pinned down, the man's weight holding me securely in place, and I knew that there was no escaping this. His muscles overcame my most desperate resistance with the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter.

I looked around frantically as I heard my panties being torn, leaving me exposed and vulnerable to the inevitable. The man's hand was still tight over my mouth, but I shouted anyway. The tattoo guy was at the bars, wearing an evil grin. He made no move to call for help, but watched eagerly as the man positioned himself and brought down the waistband of his own pants.

I kicked my legs and writhed in panic in the few seconds before it started. I listened to my own muffled cries while the tattoo man laughed.
I felt his penis brush against my bottom, and redoubled my efforts to summon help, straining my voice to penetrate the man's hand, tears welling up in my eyes as I knew that it was too late to stop it anyway.

He shoved his way steadily inside of me, eliciting sobs of pain as my anus stretched to accommodate his intrusion. With the lack of lube coupled with my inexperience, the initial penetration was slow and tear-wrenching. My screams were no longer appeals for help from the guards, but cries of agony and shame.

"I'm sorry." He said, still crying, as he grunted the last few inches, my rectum pushed far beyond its limit, then began the laborious work of fucking me without my consent. I could no longer see through the tears in my eyes, but I could hear the tattoo man taunting me, basking in my humiliation, his testicles being avenged in the most debasing manner possible.

My body began to adjust to his dick, and the thrusts became less painful, but more humiliating. There's something incredibly degrading about feeling your own body adjust to an object being shoved into your most intimate orifice, despite your best efforts to defend yourself. It's the ultimate sensation of defeat, of being conquered and enslaved. I realised that I was gripping the sheets, holding on for dear life. After a minute or so, my screams subsided, and I lay limp, allowing him to have his way without the pointless trouble of my resistance. His hands moved to my hips to better control my body's bucking with his powerful thrusts, while I cried silently into the sheets.

The man was still grunting, louder and louder, pounding my ass with reckless abandon, but I could not do anything but receive his penis. I no longer felt worthy of resistance or help, but just like the dirty whore my cell-mate was fucking as his manly right.

I focused my effort on controlling my body's movement. I buried my face in the sheets and allowed him to have me, finding some solace in the knowledge that this disturbed man found some pleasure in me, even if it came at the cost of my body. What else was I good for?

I held on, wincing with each thrust as the man's speed increased to a rate which allowed me no illusion of control. I was thrown to and fro, unable to maintain any composure while my body shook uncontrollably with the force of his fucking. I could hear his scrotum smacking me rapidly as he moved in and out with dizzying intensity, until his pace suddenly slowed and he pulled me up, shoving himself deep inside of me, and I felt him twitch and unleash a torrent of semen within me. He slammed me back down, and I yelped as he yanked himself out violently.

He got up and went back to his bunk. I did not move.

"Looks like somebody put you in your place, cupcake." The tattoo man sneered, chuckling to himself. Burning shame coursed through my veins. He was right, I had undeniably been put in my place. I wanted to cry again, because I realised that I now felt inferior to this man.

As I slowly pulled the pants on, ignoring the semen running down my thighs, the tattoo man snickered, and my face burned.
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Old 09-16-2012, 09:11 PM   #2
redkiller
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Great writing! Great story
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Old 09-28-2012, 07:07 AM   #3
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He got up and went back to his bunk. I did not move.

"Looks like somebody put you in your place, cupcake." The tattoo man sneered, chuckling to himself. Burning shame coursed through my veins. He was right, I had undeniably been put in my place. I wanted to cry again, because I realised that I now felt inferior to this man.

As I slowly pulled the pants on, ignoring the semen running down my thighs, the tattoo man snickered, and my face burned.
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