The courtroom settled down as the sentencing hearing began. I stand before the judge, wearing an itchy orange prison jumpsuit, a little dingy, but not yet stained by the jail cells I've lived in. The judge's black robes seem to flow into the dark wood of his bench. Glancing back I see my wife Jessica in the gallery, 4 months pregnant with our first child, despair obvious in her face.
I look at my lawyer, the incompetent prick the court appointed to defend me. He looks at the judge, avoiding eye contact with me, his client. His hands are sweating as he picks up a worn notepad, the yellow pages curling from the humidity. 'Fuck this. I'm going to miss the birth of my kid just because I had a couple of drinks. It was an accident!' I think while tuning out the proceedings and wait for the punchline.
"Victor Weaver, you have been found guilty of criminal negligent homicide. Due to your age and good health the court finds you eligible for the alternative rehabilitation program."
My head snaps up and more than a few gasps are heard in the gallery. I know damn well what that "alternative rehabilitation" means. 'Those sick bastards at the top want more babies and they'll turn any poor schmuck on the wrong side of the law into a breeding sow! No way, I can't become a woman! That's not fair!' I glare at my lawyer as he fails to do anything, no objection, no plea bargain, not even an attempt to buy me some time, just...nothing!
"For your crimes and rehabilitation, the court sentences you to breed for 10 years with the possibility of parole after 4 successful births. You shall be transferred to the Greenfield Breeding Colony to undergo gender reassignment and serve out your sentence. Court is adjourned." The judge declares punctuated by sharp clack of his gavel. Harsh whispers erupt from the gallery but my wife bursts into sobs. I turn and stare at her, but she avoids my eyes, looking to the floor as the guards grab my arms and lead me away.
***
The boat gently rocks on it's way to the damnable island prison. The water is a murky grey as it sloshes against the hull, reflecting my mood. 'I don't want to be a girl. It's not fair!' I mumble to myself. The orientation papers in my hand crumple under my grip. The top page tells me of my assigned 'sponsor', some douche named Brad. He lives with 3 women who used to be men, all sentenced to get knocked up. I sigh, knowing that my new life is going to suck.
I look out to the water as the boat docks, the guards leading me down the ramp, onto the shore and towards the waiting transport bus. Another soon-to-be female prisoner is led ahead of me, each of us dragged along by a guard into the bus. Unfortunately, my guard is excessively chatty. "Welcome to MILF island, Victor. Or maybe I should start calling you Victoria? Oh, even better: Vicky. Don't worry, once you've been a chick a few weeks, you'll wonder why you never did this before. Just try and relax." He laughs and I want to punch his teeth out.
I sit at the back of the bus as we pull away from the docks, trying not to think about my wife and our future child. 'Future child...god dammit, I'm going to have to squeeze out my own kids! This fucking sucks!' I stare out the window and notice an increasing number of buildings, the small village quickly becoming a small town. As we drive by, the buildings look almost quaint, painted pastel shades of blue, yellow, and green, most with white trim and shutters. It looks disturbingly normal, even possessing eateries and shops. But all the clothing shops clearly cater to women, some specializing in maternity wear. 'Why the fuck would someone want to live here, in this prison town?'
The pedestrians seem mundane at a glance, but clearly most of them are women. Many have small children or babies. Others are even visibly pregnant. But all of them wear tracking ankle bracelets, a reminder that this is a prison community. One of the few men I see is followed by 4 females, all at various stages of pregnancy. 'Are they all his? Jesus Christ!' I think in disgust.
"Look at them all," my chatty guard says. "Every last one of them used to be a guy. Just like you. They probably thought the same thing you're thinking right now, that this is such bullshit and there's no way in hell they'll ever get used to living like a woman." He chuckles to himself and points to a woman in a simple tank top and slacks, sporting a black eye and a bitter expression. "Some fight it, refusing to wear the nice clothes their sponsor provides. Just letting their tits hang out and free bleeding out of their cunts. They even perform self abortions, drinking chemicals and punching their stomachs and shit. You know what happens to bad girls like them?"
"That's a one way ticket to the Cow Pen. They chain you up like an animal, force feed you, and fuck you till you get knocked up. You give birth like a pig, they take away your kid, and they start all over again. One way or another the system gets the brats you owe it." The chatty guard leans back and gestures toward another woman, this one wearing a flowery skirt and loose fitting blouse. She carries a toddler and looks around in a placid haze. "And some girls learn real quick. They give up fighting and embrace their new life. They dress up in cute outfits, they act real sweet, and they get treated nice. They might even get to see their kids after their term is up."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. 'They're actually encouraging this. The fuckers are going to try and make me a chick and a mom!' I shudder, imagining myself with tits, a baby bump, and my cock replaced by a...by a... 'Holy fuck!' My hands clench, crumpling the paper even more, a nervous sweat breaking out over my forehead. I have a sickening feeling that this isn't the worst I'm going to see.
The bus finally arrives at some kind of medical facility, the other prisoner and I are led by our guards inside. That doesn't shut up my chatty guard. "You know what I've noticed? Most prisoners mellow out once you put a baby in them. Hell, I've heard of some that give in the first time they get a taste of cock, like sex is just that good as a chick. You believe that?" The chatty guard snorts. "It's the hormones. Some say they turn the brain into goo. Maybe you'll be one of those insta-sluts that goes native from one good dicking? Maybe?" He laughs again as if he just made some hilarious joke. 'Go fuck yourself, asshole.'
We are led into a waiting area, the prisoner in front of me taken first through a pair of double doors. I catch sight of a chair laden with straps and various mechanical arms tipped with needles. 'This is it. That's where they'll make me into a chick and breed me! Holy fuck! Holy...Fuck!' I start to hyperventilate. The chatty guard looks over at me in a new light and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Calm down, you're not going to die. Just remember: we take care of good girls in this prison system. Just be a good girl and you'll do just fine, ok? That's all you have to do and it will be over before you know it." A sick grin crosses his face. "And if you turn out hot and get sick of the same dick every night me and the boys are willing to volunteer our services." He grabs his crotch obscenely and gives me a wink.
A muffled series of moans and groans emit from behind the double doors, slowly changing in pitch with growing hysteria until they reach the ear splitting tone only a woman in agonizing pain can produce. The guards are used to this, it happens all the time, but my jaw drops. "What the fuck!? I thought they sedated people for this!"
"If you were a civilian getting a sex change, sure. But prisoners don't get that privilege." The chatty guard leans in as if he were about to disclose a secret. "I like to watch the horror show. There's just something about watching those little buds swell into big juicy tits while that man-meat shrivels up and balls just...turn inside out, becoming a dripping pussy. They scream real pretty, too." He leans back and chuckles.
After the screaming subsides a female nurse comes through the double doors and smiles politely. "Prisoner #51224, Victor Weaver, please come through the double doors." I stare at her as the chatty guard nudges me forward. I reluctantly walk up to her and she checks my prisoner number. "Come with me, Victor. The procedure will begin soon."
I follow the nurse as she guides me through the double doors, my heart in my throat. A sweaty and exhausted looking woman I presume to be the prisoner who went in before me is taken out in a wheelchair wearing a hospital gown, various puncture marks dotting her limbs and neck. She gives me a fearful glance as she's wheeled by.
The horror chair looms in the center of the room, wetness and some small amount of white substance pooled in front of it. The smell of urine and semen fills the air and the chatty guard pipes up behind me. "The process tends to make you empty your balls, then you squirt piss out of your shiny new pussy." I shudder in revulsion.
"Don't mind that," the nurse interjects. "That's quite normal. Now please remove your clothes and have a seat." She motions to the horror chair. She sees my expression and sighs. "It's not as painful as it sounds. They usually just scream because of the injections. No one likes needles." I reluctantly comply and strip my prison jumpsuit off, the cool air chilling my clammy skin. As I climb into the horror chair and the nurse fastens the restraints she gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Trust me, this will be downright pleasant compared to childbirth," She leans in. "But we'll get to that at a later date." She winks as she secures a strap across my forehead, holding it tight. 'Fuck you, bitch.'
The chatty guard takes a seat next to a surveillance camera and smirks. He mimics the sound of balloons inflating while gesturing like his chest is expanding, all while looking me in the eyes. The nurse rolls her eyes as she connects sensors to my chest and temples. 'What the fuck are they going to do to me!?'
Another nurse approaches the horror chair and gives me a friendly smile. "This will sting for just a minute. Then the hormones will kick in and everything will feel nice and warm, ok?" She pierces my arm with a needle and injects me with a strange orange fluid. The chair begins to hum and the mechanical arms rotate and shift around me, positioning the needles at various points along my torso, arms, and legs. One even lines up with my now flaccid penis and I gasp in horror.