Abducted

22

Please note that this chapter has graphic depictions of rape.

Alfred flinched awake, starting to struggle in his bonds. Around his face was a muzzle, a constant weight on his face. He struggled, pulling his limbs. His legs were bent and spread, with strong bonds around his ankles and thighs. His arms were straight and spread. His head was kept by a strap around his neck and the muzzle on his face.

He noticed after a moment, that he was bare around his lower half. A sense of panic spread through him and he attempted to get out once more. His face flushed, and he started trying to wiggle.

"Stop struggling," it was a female voice- he attempted to look at her, but he couldn't find where she would be.

"Because of your actions, we have decided you need an adequate punishment," he didn't like how she said punishment, and started shifting again, "something to make you more docile."

He recognized, once more, that his legs were spread and he was bare and defenseless.

"Don't do this," he whispered, a far off look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, you did this to yourself,"

Those were the words he had said, all those years ago. 'You did this to yourself.' He would not be blamed for his assault. He was not the one doing anything! He was the abused child- the adult in bondage. Could nobody see that everyone wanted to be as free as they were? That they wanted to be equal as the highest group?

A man came into the room. He didn't make a sound. Alfred started to struggle more. The girl bade the man luck and left.

"Fuck off!" he yelled, before coughing. Dammit! It was hard to do this. He was dehydrated, his body was drained, and yet his mind was aflame. He screamed, cursed, and struggled, even when he hadn't been touched.

A hand touched his inner thigh, and he pulled away the best he could. His movement was too limited to move much.

"Get the fuck away from me, you freak!"

The man still didn't speak, and he heard a zipper.

"No! Stop it! Go away!"

His cries fell on deaf ears. He tried, with all his might, to squeeze his thighs together, but the chains didn't budge. He tried to move, to shift, to be released. He'd been able to stop his assault once, even get revenge, but now he was helpless.

"Ivan!" he cried, "Zaltana! Coahoma! Nicanora! Someone! Fuck it- Francis, Gilbert! Anyone!"

His cries went unanswered, and he weeped as the man mounted. Pain went through him, a sick sensation in his stomach. He looked away from the body on top of him, looked at the ceiling and tried to pretend this wasn't happening.

A few minutes later, it was over, and the man left the room without having said a word.

Blood dripped between his thighs, making an iron smelling film on his skin. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to continue struggling, but the energy he had was drained. He laid there for who knows how long. It felt like forever.

The same man came in again. He didn't look at his face, just his uniform. It was an ugly, janitor green.

He didn't struggle this time. He was silent, just like the man. Only a few tears went down his cheeks from pain and assault. He wanted to struggle, he wanted to fight, but all his emotions were drained. His mind was fogged, and not the kind of fog he usually got from these interactions.

It was misery. He'd never felt sadness like this in a long time. Once. Before his parents were dead. But this was a helpless sadness. He had no pieces in this chess match.