A Transgender Horror Story:

A handsome young sports man is abducted and is brought to a dark brooding island called Medusa Locks. He is thrown into a gigantic cage and is shocked find 6 other abductees of different nationalities in the cage with him. He is told that he will be used as a guinea pig.


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Forbidden Island
Feminized in Despair

Chapter 1 – The Nightmare Begins

It was a dreamy creamy Sunday morning. Liam Davies woke up and stretched luxuriously. He was in the first flush of youth, 25 or 26 perhaps, and undeniably handsome. At 5’8, he was neither tall nor short and had the sinewy, lightly muscular body of the ace badminton player he was. He had the enviable flat abs of youth, healthy well-toned legs and sturdy arms which had rendered the backhand, backswing and smash with unrivalled panache. Liam’s feet were shapely and rather delicate for those of a man. However, his best features lay above his neck. Liam had the most beautiful face one would have seen on any male of the human species. He had large innocent baby blue eyes, a noble straight nose and lips that were naturally full and pink. The mop of curly hair on his exquisite head was golden and the traces of stubble he had on his otherwise clean-shaven face were of the same hue.

Liam wriggled his still sleepy toes and felt the left side of the bed to find it empty. ‘Strange’ he thought ‘Lauren usually sleeps until 8 am on Sundays’. Then he thought she’d gone to the main laboratory to conduct experiments on her rats, snails, guinea pigs or whatever it was that she used in her in vivo experiments. Lauren or Dr. Lauren Wood was Liam’s wife of two years. She was in her early thirties, broodingly beautiful and extremely mysterious. Her introversion, intensity and intelligence were a total contrast to Liam’s openness, light-heartedness and sportiveness. Liam was simple and good-natured and didn’t wrack his brain about intellectual stuff. This was perhaps why he had been attracted to someone who was his complete opposite.

A little mewling wail brought Liam to his senses. His 6 month old daughter Amelia Jane (AJ, for short) was crying. Liam felt a sudden sense of guilt at not having checked on the baby as soon as he got up. As a dad, he felt the need to be more responsible.

He went to the crib in the next room and picked up his cute baby girl. She was small and pink and a spitting image of her dad. ‘Coochy coochy coo’ Liam softly murmured in baby language that he presumed AJ would understand ‘why is my naughty imp bawling?’. AJ shrieked some more in response.

Assuming hunger was making her cranky, Liam walked to the fridge, balancing AJ sideways against his waist. ‘Lauren must have left a bottle’ he thought looking around the racks. Finding none, he emptied a packet of milk in a container and started mixing baby formula in it. He was gently cooing to AJ all this time.

At this time, they barged in. Three hooded men in black jeans and t-shirts. Two of them carried hockey sticks, one a long butcher’s knife and the third a Smith & Wesson 32 revolver. They were tall, six feet or more, and were much heftily built than Liam. ‘Put the baby down’ ordered one of them, his voice a low menacing growl.

Liam’s first impulse was of disbelief. The second was one of humor. This was surely some kind of a pantomime; one of his friends’ practical jokes carried a little too far. ‘Come off it, Robbie’ he said jauntily ‘I’ve recognized ya’.

‘I am not any Robbie, you faggot’ said one with the knife forbiddingly ‘drop that tone or you’ll be dead meat’. He stepped forward and held the knife against Liam’s throat. The steel of the 7 inch blade caught a ray of the sun and glinted threateningly. It was now that Liam realized that this was no joke.

One of the assailants put his hockey stick down and wrested AJ off Liam’s hands roughly. He threw her on the couch carelessly causing her to little face to go red with shock. She broke into another series of wails. Liam froze in shock.

‘Do what we say, else we’ll kill her’ the one with the Smith & Wesson 32 threatened ‘bash her against a boulder and her wee head will soon smash into pulp. The horrific image the words evoked made Liam feel faint. He breathed deeply to keep himself conscious.

‘I’ll cooperate’ he said faintly ‘please don’t harm the child’.

One of the guys with the hockey sticks ambled up and pinned Liam’s hands behind him. He retrieved a pair of professional looking handcuffs and locked Liam’s wrists with them.

The men roughly yanked him out of his huge Mayfair house. AJ was still hollering her lungs out. Her screams could be heard right up to the front door. One of the thugs salvaged a key from his jeans pocket and locked the door securely. When he was returning it to his pocket, Liam caught the initials LW on the key. LW stood for ‘Lauren Wood’. ‘Hey wait!’ Liam screamed ‘that’s my wife’s key! Where is she, you bastards? What have you done to her?’ This was turning out to be a nightmare. Liam was being yanked out of his house, forced to leave behind a hungry baby all alone. Apart from this, there was a possibility that his wife could be dead. ‘What have you done to Lauren, you sons-of-a-bitch?’

In response, the men tore a piece of adhesive tape from its roll and plastered it tightly against Liam’s pink mouth. ‘That will keep ya from rousing the neighborhood, you wee scunner’ they said bestially ‘Not a sound from ya now, aye?’

All Liam could do now was conjure and suffer limitless petrifying possibilities in silence. The experience was hellish.

The goons dragged Liam through the entire cemented path adjacent to the lawn. When they reached the gate, the one with the knife opened it with a loud clang. A huge dilapidated bluish- grey milk van stood in the corner of the road. They opened the back door, tossed Liam on the cold metal floor and clamorously slid the door close. The thugs with the hockey sticks got into the front seat and shut the door after them with a bang. The armed man and the knife-wielder got into the padded leather seats at the back. The one with the gun pressed the steely metal on the base of Liam’s neck. Liam felt his neck grow soft with sweat. One of the goons inserted the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life after a shudder. As the old milk van pottered along the street, the gunman increased the pressure of his weapon on Liam’s neck. The one with the knife softly ran his lethal metal along the length of Liam’s spine, as if in icy reminder.

They journeyed for about an hour. Liam could hear the men talking among themselves. They used ‘Auld’ to mean ‘Old’, ‘Clatty’ for ‘dirty’ and ‘Glaekit’ to mean ‘Stupid’. They had earlier called Liam a ‘you wee scunner’ to imply ‘you little nuisance’. ‘These blokes aren’t British’ guessed Liam shrewdly ‘the hail from up North: Scotland’. He vaguely wondered what Scottish thugs were doing with him. But then he thought that he perhaps ought not to wonder. He had won the All Indian English Championship at 20. He had 2 gold medals won at the commonwealth games in his kitty. Liam Davies had the world record for the fastest smash at 166mp/h. His current world ranking was No. 2. Modest as he was, Liam couldn’t deny the fact that he was a celebrity. A guy who had made it big and made a lot of money. His photos, Liam was sure, was splashed in all the newspapers in the UK. Therefore, the fact that these thugs were Scottish was really not very surprising

Liam wondered what the motive of the crime could be. ‘Why, the money angle of course’ he answered his own question. For what other reason other than ransom would a man like him be abducted for? Liam was sure Lauren had got a call by now. That is, if she was alive. But then Lauren had to be alive for this abduction to make sense. Else, who would shell out the demanded ransom money? Liam’s father had died two years ago; his mother had followed suit a year later. He had seven or eight siblings, but Liam was barely in touch with them.

‘Long drive ahead. Make him sit up’ commanded one of the hockey-stick wielders to his underlings ‘We were asked to bring him alive’. The lackeys responded by gripping Liam’s sinewy shoulders and roughly hoisting him on to one of the seats. From where he was seated, Liam now had a chance to look out of the window. The party had, by now, travelled a significant distance from Liam’s west end home at Mayfair in London. The temperature had risen marginally. As Liam breathed, he felt salt on his tongue. ‘We’re in the vicinage of the sea’ he speculated. The geography of the land had also changed, giving way to a certain kind of wildness. The scenery had lost its previous picturesque quality and had become rugged: with one mountain rising steeply behind the other, until all of them vied to make the highest peak. The coast of the anonymous sea came into view. It seemed to have a number of inlets, bays and peninsulas, separated from the main bulk of the land by umpteen little rivers. The area was fairly lush and wooded.

As they progressed, it became grimmer. All traces of the sun seemed to have disappeared, leaving in its place angry, thunderous black clouds. For a minute, Liam wondered if it might rain, but soon his speculations were laid to rest. Hurricane like winds travelling at the speed of over 40 km/hr washed over the coast, sweeping the clouds off and with them, all possibility of rain. All that was left behind was a gloomy, dark stillness. The skies were quite grey, as if night had descended. Yet it wasn’t late. Liam conjectured the time to be barely after noon.

They reached the edge of what appeared to be an island. Massive rocks, metamorphosed from igneous rocks heated above a temperature, stood on it. One peculiar one, shaped like a twisted venomous snake standing erect, caught Liam’s eye. He had never seen a metamorphic rock shaped quite like that.

‘Get off’ the men barked. They were still wearing their black masks. Liam obliged like a man in a dark, terrifying dream. They asked him to go and lie down on one of the rocks. The fear of the unknown made Liam’s heart palpitate with fear.

One of the blokes with a hockey stick went to the van and fetched something that resembled a first aid kit. He also got a crate of Scottish whisky with him. All four of them came and stood in front of him like towering giants. Liam was half-sitting, half-recumbent. He’d never felt as vulnerable in his life. He wanted to talk to the thugs, demand what was going on, but the strong adhesive tape on his mouth stifled his words in his throat.

‘Shall we start?’ asked one thug of the other in between puffs of smoke.

‘We could’ said another in a wistful tone ‘but it would be a bit of a shame’

‘What would?’ the first one asked sharply.

‘A comely boy like that. It’s a bit of a waste’ said thug two in a cryptic manner.

‘Cut the Crap, Eddie and come straight to the point’ the first one snapped.

‘Why not do him first?’ said Eddie nearly drooling ‘He seems as smooth as a girl’.

So, the thugs set out with the tasking of ‘doing’ Liam. They made him turn over to lie on his stomach. Then they proceeded to tug at his shorts and underwear. Liam made futile sounds of protest from behind the adhesive tape. Soon, his rear was exposed. Liam could feel the nippiness of the dank sea air on his skin.

The thugs took turns. Four pistons of erect flesh penetrated him and retracted. The searing pain could have made the toughest man cry. However, what affected Liam more was the mortification. ‘Man, I’ve been gang-banged’ he thought in humiliation ‘No one should ever know: not my friends, fans, Lauren, AJ….especially not AJ’. For every child, the parent was the protector and the nurturer. If AJ came to know that her ‘strong daddy’ had been fucked, she would grow up to be a very insecure young woman.

Liam vowed to take the secret of this incident to the grave. After all, the horror had lasted for no more than 40 minutes—a mere speck in the history of time. After the thugs got what they wanted (from a previous overheard conversation, Liam knew it wasn’t his life), they’d leave him alone to return to his wife and child. And they could continue as if nothing had occurred in between to mar their bliss.

Liam’s rapists pulled his underwear and shorts up, restoring his dignity. They retrieved a black scarf from the ramshackle van and blindfolded him. They walked a stretch, but Liam was limping. He left a trail of blood on the sinister black soil. One of the thugs put him on his shoulders as easily as he was a child and carried Liam the rest of the distance. Liam’s astute mind gauged that they had walked about three kilometers.

When they finally removed the scarf veiling his eyes, Liam could see that they were in a sterile white corridor, strongly reeking of a disinfectant. The walls were stark white and the tiles a very chilly kind of a blue. The air was sultry, yet Liam felt an icy chill pass down his spine. The whole aura about the place was that of a hospital, or, to be more precise, a laboratory—cold, impersonal, cruel.

Suddenly, he had a vision of Lauren. She was looking straight into his eyes and quoting one of the supporters of vivisection: “The science of life is a superb and dazzling hall which may be reached only by passing through a dark and ghastly kitchen”. Lauren’s voice had suddenly become unlike hers: raspy, obsessive, insane. The way she had uttered the words had made Liam shiver. Then on impulse she’d asked in a normal, everyday kind of a voice ‘You’ve never seen a lab, have you Liam. Why don’t you come with me today?’. ‘No thank you’ he had laughed light-heartedly ‘You’ve spooked me off them for good’. ‘Besides’ he continued picking his badminton racket up ‘I can’t afford to miss practice—not even to be with my ultra-gorgeous wife’. ‘You little flatterer!’ Lauren had burst out, and then laughed.


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