Raw

Raw

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Zebedeo joined Lumerius and the other inmates in the single file line that migrated towards the mess hall for breakfast. He stared at the freckled cement just before his feet, entranced by the pattern as it scrolled past. He was new to prison. Prison was new to him. He knew that he had to keep his head down for the duration of his two and a half year sentence, and that was something he could do. As sheltered and soft-spoken as he'd been risen to be, he wouldn't struggle with staying out of unnecessary trouble. He was just innocent enough, however, to be unaware of the necessary trouble that a boy his age and size could and would get into. Nevertheless, he didn't expect to flourish in the prison environment anyway. He carried on, timid and hidden behind his glasses and beneath the thick, clean, shiny mess of curly black hair that fell to just before them. Lost in space, he was shocked by a large hand on his shoulder. He looked up. It was one of the guards. The man tugged on his elbow and pulled him aside.

"Where you headed, little boy?" His rough voice growled. He wasn't a young man, but he wasn't old either. Probably in his thirties, late twenties at best. Glossy, sand-colored stubble covered his strong jaw, beaming green eyes peered from beneath, and the rest was hidden beneath helmet and armor. Zebedeo perked an eyebrow curiously. Struggling to comprehend the true meaning behind the man's statement due to what would be classified today as moderate Asperger's syndrome, he muttered timidly,

"Well how do you mean? I... I suppose I am headed in the same direction as everyone else. To breakfast." The guard smirked at his raw innocence.

"And what if you didn't make it to breakfast?" Again, Zebedeo puzzled and mulled over an answer to the strange man's question.

"Well, I don't imagine that's likely, but..." he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and began to speculate, until coming to the realization that he was in for trouble. "Well... I suppose that would be a violation of your contract," he dared to say, struggling not to tremble.

"You think anyone would notice if one little child went missing?" The man's rumbling voice sent chills down Zebedeo's spine. He said nothing.

The guard grabbed his thin arm and pulled him through the door into a supply closet whose door was not far by. The must on the thin air filled Zebedeo's lungs and sinuses as the man pulled the door open and the inside air swept over them. He was afraid even to breath. A lightbulb dangled and flickered from the end of a chain on the ceiling, illuminating the linoleum floor and the peeling wallpaper, the abandoned filing cabinets and other assorted furniture and packs of this and that. Closing the door behind him, the guard eyed Zebedeo, plotting his course on the boy's body. Zebedeo couldn't bear to look at him. His gaze fell to the floor before him and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears, the shaking, and the fear that would only make it so much harder. His eyes shot open as hot hands pressed against his shoulders.

"This one's gonna need a pat-down," the guard's hot, suffocating breath seeped through the air and at the flesh of his neck. Zebedeo struggled against the weight of the man's oppressing form. His groping hands explored the boy's physique until finally falling to his crotch. Zebedeo winced as the assaulting hands found the place he had been dreading they would find. It was no different from what Ms. Arkenhaughffer's boyfriend had done to him. He squeezed and Zebedeo could no longer restrain the shuddering that would be his last defense before tears. Breath stuttered from the man's nostrils in the form of a weak, silent laugh.

"Aww," he whispered, with mock adoration. "Little one's afraid." Zebedeo clenched his jaw with all his might as he tried to find the niche in mindset that would be his threshold for this experience. He wouldn't let himself go to Xochimilco. There was no way he would bring this to Pilli, especially with the chance of it hurting his beloved Terrwyn, too. The guard continued to massage him with violating hands and taunt him with double talk.

"It won't hurt... not really... I *promise,*" the guard muttered against his neck. A jerking shunt beneath his hips shoved Zebedeo harder against the wall and the guard held him there, pressing his tender flesh between the wall and the heel of his hand. Quiet gasps and whimpers escaped him as he stood pressed against the wall. The guard pulled his chin up with the spare hand to meet eye contact, and stared into Zebedeo's frightened eyes.

"I'm done with this," he yanked his hand from the bundle of cloth around his fingers at the crotch of the boy's orange jumpsuit and stepped back. "Get on your knees," he demanded. Zebedeo knew this part. He hated this part, even more than the other parts. This, the part where he humiliates himself so that another man can both extract pleasure from his humiliation, and be prepared to horribly hurt and assault him in the way that's easiest and quickest for his assailant. He fell, like a finished soldier, to his knees. The guard wasted no time in unfastening his belt and pants, and the sack cloth fell to his lower thighs, nothing hidden. Zebedeo did not look at it, and made no action until he heard specific commands. He heard nothing. Instead, the hot hand returned to his scalp, pulling his hair and guiding his face to the appropriate spot, mouth unbearably close to the end of this other man's solid penis. There would be no outsmarting this. He tentatively brought his hand to the base of his attacker's dick, thumb pressed against his scrotum, and closed his eyes as he worked his courage up to do the unimaginable. He tried to clear his mind as it slid into his mouth and over his tongue. It was a failure. He thought of his mother, and how horrified she'd be if she'd known. He thought of his father, and all the ways he would use this to abuse him. He thought of his sister, and all her false accusations and antagonizing threats. He could hear them all, disappointed, amused, embarrassed, overbearing. He wanted to cry. He came to an excruciating revelation as he remembered what his father had told him about relations with men. How he had been so cruelly punished for kissing Erich, and that his punishment would be the only reward or outcome for that sort of exchange with a man. His father, who had so cruelly raped him with a marker, was not so cruel as he had seemed.

The head began to penetrate his throat and he pulled back, clenching the muscles in his mouth around the foreign thing as it slid partially out from the grip of his clamped lips. The guard sighed, swimming in the blaring syzygy of their strange unity. Already, the man was quivering in ecstasy. His head pumped against the guard's pelvis in growing frequency, occasional sighs and grunts assaulting his ears again. The hot hand clenched into a fist with his hair, drawing his attention to it and away from his task. He wanted to clench his jaw, and only remembered not to just before it would matter. He quickly brought upon sensation to make up for what could have happened, and the foreign seed rocketed against the back of his throat. The guard laughed breathily and loosened his grip on Zebedeo's hair.

"Little one's done this before," he acknowledged, to Zebedeo's horror. He was absorbed in fear, contemplating how this would effect all that was to come, as the hand flattened against his head and pushed him violently against the guard's pelvis. The shaft disappeared behind his lips and the thick pink head assaulted his throat. He struggled to breath through the tuft of dirty pubic hair at his soft, round nose. He panicked and tried to push away, but the hot hand and its partner packed his head against the gasping, laughing man. He wanted to fight, but he was frail and thin, and the guard was strong and not. It would only do him more harm, he figured. But then, how much easier is it gonna be if he doesn't? The thought passed as the guard slowly pulled out. Zebedeo panted for breath, unconcerned with the blend of spit and come that dripped from his mouth and onto his jumpsuit.

"Stand up," the guard ordered. He did, and the guard pushed him onto a table towards the back. In a rush, the guard pulled open his jumpsuit, tearing the zipper into a sorry state of disrepair. He lay, exposed to this stranger, vulnerable to him in every sense, the way he was uncomfortable even under Terrwyn's gaze. His body was pale, smooth and soft, like a child's, and the man regarded it with a certain twisted lust that existed to him like any other sort. His scars were blank, looking just like any other scars, save for the intricate pattern. The guard acknowledged them with a lick of his lips and a crooked grin at the boy, then worked at the legs of the boy's jumpsuit.

"You're a fucked up little boy," he muttered as he pulled off a shoe and lit a cigarette. Zebedeo bit his lip and stared at the ceiling as he was undressed, and for minutes forced to imagine all the ways he'd be defiled next. He instead argued with the man in his mind. I'm seventeen, dammit. Not four. It made him feel more grown-up, somehow. It made him feel less afraid to pretend like he was a normal, well-adjusted adult.

Now fully naked, Zebedeo felt the hot hands catch him beneath his knees and push his legs upwards, and the guard positioned himself against him. The still slick cock began to penetrate him, pressing against the pale, unadjusted hole until it poked through. Both men emitted a gasp, Zebedeo's sharper than the man's. His own saliva had lubricated the foreign thing, and now it would continue to guide the assault on his body, in places increasingly personal. The guard pushed himself in and out of the boy, unconcerned with what he felt, what he was thinking, and where he had come from. He was pleased to be getting off, and that was mostly all. As much as he fought, Zebedeo failed to restrain his vocalizations, and the guard laughed and picked up speed at his girly groans and shouts. Waves of irrefutable sensation surged through his lower body. He tried to ignore the sick pleasure that fingered at his reality, but soon enough began to feel differently about it all. The dissonance of pain and pleasure wove in accordance with one another through his body and mind, trust began to dissolve as a priority in this sacred unity, and he saw for it, plainly what it was. Raw stimulation. Animalistic, panting, sweating, groaning sex. Another man packed inside him, and he felt both wretched horror and ecstatic alacrity. Though the quickening thrusts expanded his small anus, it was too tight. Tears began to manifest, but increasingly, he found he didn't care about the pain. It was a formality, in the world of chemical responses. He would weep, and simultaneously, he would anticipate the next thrust with vigor and impatience. The throbbing thing probed and caressed his prostate and blood continued to rush to his own abandoned member. It touched and pressed against him inside and he wanted it. He was nearing climax.

"You like that, little freak?" The guard removed one hand from his leg and it fell slowly to the side, still out of the way. He touched Zebedeo again, sliding his thumb and fingers around the hot, red end of his cock. Zebedeo shouted and pleaded for more in stuttering calls and cries, tears sliding down his cheeks from the confusing array of sensations. His feyan heart pounded in his chest as he worked awkwardly and involuntarily to thrust his hips against the man's hand and cock. His hands jolted up and he grabbed the man's shoulders with a grip tighter than death, hoping to leverage himself into the hot force. Not denying his own climax, the guard removed the hand from the boy's genitals and pressed down his hip, slamming ever deeper and faster into him. Come emerged from both and Zebedeo wilted. The guard would press on, fucking him mercilessly for longer still, slowing only once the climax had ended and mild pain had followed in his own body. Zebedeo simply lay there, allowing his body to be manipulated and abused however the other man pleased. His face grew expressionless, besides occasional winces of discomfort or mild shocks of pleasure. He grew unconcerned and detached. He'd reached precious climax, and although the invasive monster would continue to rock him against the squeaking, splintered table, he knew it was all unfair anyway. He went over and over in his mind, trying to find the appropriate way to feel about it. He was grateful for attaining something he'd wanted out of this. But it could only be from the depths of some damned and disgusting thing inside him that would ever emerge such a desire. It swept pangs of nausea through him to think about, to want to continue to be raped. He began to feel shame for what he'd felt. He'd let another man rob him of his precious seed; seed that could in theory create an heir, perhaps with Sarah or even maybe with Terrwyn. The monsters had gotten to him, and he craved and wept in yearning for what punishment they'd brought for him. Like an addict, writhing and drooling and pleading for more beneath the savage, dirty man. He was an animal. This, he discovered, was the greatest trauma that would come of this.

The guard pulled out, and Zebedeo felt himself suddenly depleted of all energy. He was gaping and empty without the foe packed inside him, and the demented thing inside wanted more, missed it. He tried to put it aside in his mind and sat up, dusting a sprinkle of cigarette ashes off his hip, then looked forlorn at the shredded jumpsuit on the floor close by. The guard grabbed a red box-cutter off a dusty shelf. What hair existed on Zebedeo's nude body stood on end at the blade, reminded of how his father and how Ms. Arkenhaughffer's boyfriend both had hurt him. Only for him to realize that it was to open a box full of gleaming day-glow orange. A petite sized jumpsuit was tossed across the room, and Zebedeo dressed. Now it was business as usual again.

He was led back to his cell, an entire two minutes of pure silence between he and his rapist. Now it was the part where they would pretend that nothing had happened at all, and this he both hated and appreciated. The prison door clanged shut, and there he was, with no breakfast but semen and a blinding pain in his asshole. Lumerius sat still on his bunk on top, leaned against the wall and with nothing to say. Nobody had anything to say.