Chapter 2

I don’t know what here is. Where it is, or even how long I’d been here for. Seemed like a hotel room of some kind. A hotel that kept people imprisoned against their will. Maybe it was one of Trump’s.

I barely remember much of the first year. I remember it used to have glass. Broke so many mirrors and windows trying to break out of here. Cut myself up quite a lot doing it. Now the windows are boarded up and the mirrors are all plexiglass.

Didn’t stop me from cutting myself up though. Isolation will leave you so delicious you start scratching at your own skin to get the bugs out from it. Guess that’s why they started giving me tv to watch. Just to pass the time, give me other people to look at. None of it was current though.

Exercise programs from the 90s. Sexy Soap Operas from who knows where or what corner of the spanish world. Fashion shows and even influence-made make-up tutorials. Whoever was curating my tv guide had women on the mind, and a very specific woman at that.

With the windows boarded up and no clocks in sight, my only context for time was the tv and the lights. They went on a cycle. Lights go on, then eventually the tv would turn on as well. They’d cycle through their 8 or so programs, and then the lights would turn off and I’d fall asleep. Wasn’t much else I could do when the room was pitch black and I don’t have a phone or computer.

I started keeping track of “time” by using the nail file in the bathroom to mark a scratch on the bed frame. It grounded me a little. A little mark every day. Let me feel a sense of control. That didn’t last long.

Food came in the form of a plastic cafeteria tray brought in by goons wearing masks. They were always led by the same nurse. She also wore a mask, alongside large sunglasses and her hair tied up in a bun.

Before I’d get to eat, they’d hold me down and the nurse would inject me with something. Sometimes I didn’t feel a thing. Othertimes I’d fall back asleep and wake up to the sound of a soap opera actress realizing her fiance was an evil clone.

They always kept me guessing about what was going to happen next. Didn’t help that getting knocked out like that screwed with my timekeeping methods. I’d have no idea if I was only out for an hour or a whole day.

It wasn’t just for show either. One day I woke up with bandages over my nose. Those freaks had given me a nose job while I was out. Didn’t know how to react to it all, so I just started smashing my face against the wall until it was a bloody mess. That got the goons to burst in and hold me down. Woke up with a new batch of bandages over my nose

I think they started putting meds in my food after that. Anti-psychotics or anti-depressants, whatever you call them. I started to react less violently to my changes.

And that’s changes-plural, cause they didn’t stop with just my nose. Wasn’t all at once, and a lot of it also had to do with diet and whatever they were injecting me with, but over what felt like the first year, I couldn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore. I was slimmer, my hair was longer, and my face looked… younger I think. It’s hard to tell what it looked like at first. Over time the feminine features became more obvious and abundant.

Their goal became more obvious by the second and third year I was there for. Resistance bands and exercise clothes were left around to use when the tv turned on the fitness videos. Then clothing in general was left around: Sundresses, Skinny jeans, women’s underwear.

I started to get very resistant to the changes at that point. I refused to even get out of bed. Eventually they started withholding food unless I obeyed. They’d make me take showers and then inspect how clean a job I did. If I didn’t lather, rinse and obey, I’d be struck by one of the goons and sent back to do it all over again.

I’d start begging to be let free, but the nurse never said a word, let alone took off her mask or sunglasses. She was a statue, an icon of my suffering.

Instead, every time I begged for freedom, they’d strike me or bend an arm behind my back till it hurt. One time a goon went too far and actually dislocated my arm. Another time, I bit the nurse and tried to wrestle her and use her as a hostage. They dealt with me pretty quickly and after I woke up that time, I found my feet resting at an odd angle.

Standing flat on my feet suddenly became incredibly uncomfortable. I was walking on tip-toes everywhere in the room. All the shoes got upgraded after that. All heels with defined arches. I think it was their way of saying that if I push them, they’ll push back. I still had my dick after all that and I was terrified of them taking that away from me as well, so I started to play the good girl

After they had my behavior in check, and I was styling my hair and face, they moved on to correcting my way of speaking. Of course, they never spoke to me, but during these periods, they’d replay lines from tv shows until I copied it word for word, tone for tone, pitch for pitch. With no other voices to listen to besides my own and the tv, I quickly forgot what my ‘real’ voice even sounded like

By the fourth year I was trapped there, they put someone else in the room next to me. I tried to scream for help, but they ignored me. Maybe there wasn’t even anyone there, just recordings to screw with my brain

They were some newly wed couple on their honeymoon. The woman constantly giggled at their new titles of “husband” and “wife” with excited glee. The man didn’t seem to speak much, or if he did, it was low and quiet enough the walls muffled it. Didn’t do much to quiet the woman though. She was as loud as a chainsaw more days.

At night, when the tv and lights turned off, and I was supposed to get my beauty sleep, I’d hear them fuck like rabbits. The woman was a real screamer. She’d beg her husband to make her cum, and when she did, she’d scream into my ears through the wallpaper.

What I hated most was how hot it was. I hadnt had any action in four years at that point. I’d jerked off plenty to the girls in the fitness videos, but hearing a woman moan in ecstacy was something new. I’d be stroking my cock every night during those honeymoon sessions.

The **** didn’t make it easy though. I got soft quickly, often before I got to actually cum.

Then one day, I found a dildo laying on the bed after I woke up from another surgery. I almost puked at the sight, but I knew what it meant. Maybe they planned this all along, or some creep watching me on a secret camera felt sorry for how pathetic I looked jerking to the honeymooners

I wished they sent a fleshlight instead. Obviously I didn’t use it right away, I just put it on the counter and tried to ignore it, but he moans taunted me. I needed some kind of release.

It wasn’t a big one, but in my ass it felt enormous.

And man did it make me cum. I chocked it up to all the **** they were giving me and how **** I was, but the experience was unlike any other. I would push it deep in my ass, rhythmically pouding it in sync with the newwedded wife’s own moans.

Eventually, by what I think was the sixth year, I had been sculpted by all this into a living wet dream. The only thing left of my identity was the penis hanging between my legs. I stopped thinking of myself as a man entirely at this point, and I knew that none of the goons could see me as one either. I could feel their dicks press through their pants when they pinned me down for my injections.

At this point, I had started to recognize different goons based on their hair color and builds. I had little names in my head for what I called them: Rocky, Bruce, Donny, Chuck, you get the idea. Some were stoic boulders who just did their job, but I noticed how “Donny” liked to cop a feel or get a little close to me during my performance reviews, while “Chuck” actually seemed to lose interest in me as my transition went along.

At this point I’d started a little mental game in my head to gauge the nurse’s own reaction. Did she like me more as a man or as a woman? I think she prefered me as I was, but she was so stoic, and the glasses and mask combo made her so unreadable. She never said anything, until that day.

I was trying to remain calm as “Donny” felt me up, trying not to antagonist them and risk more discipline, when I heard her mutter. “its about time then. It’s been fun while it lasted”

My heart sunk hearing her mumble that under her breath. What did she mean by that? Was I going to go free? No, they’d never do that, were they going to chop off my dick? Or worse… was this whole operation getting shut down? Maybe I was part of some secret inhuman government operation and a presidential change meant they were shutting things down? Were they going to kill me along with everything?

I started to freak out. I begged them to have mercy. I’d done everything they wanted of me. The goons held me down, and the woman pulled out another syringe. It hurt more than normal when she stabbed it into me. Was it poison? Was I dead? No, this couldn’t be the end right?