Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including NonConsensual, Rape, TransGender, BDSM, DomSub, Rough, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Sex Toys, Water Sports, Enema,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Prologue - When Paul is wrongly convicted of raping an 11 year old girl, little does he know his prison sentence will include the perverted debauchery and forced feminization that the transgendered staff of The Rockville Institute has planned for the man.
I was walking my dog when eleven year old Daphne Taylor was raped. A neighbor coming home from work found her half naked and beaten and called the police. She was in shock and couldn't give the police much help. She said a monster had hurt her. I was almost home when a black and white pulled up to the curb and I was asked a few questions. Who I was, what I was doing, if I'd seen anything suspicious or unusual. I answered as best I could and went into my house not knowing exactly what had happened, but knowing that something had. I thought they were looking for a burglar and I explained that to Rebecca, my wife of some two years, as we got ready for bed.
I was called at work the next day and invited to the police station to see if I could be of any further help to the investigation. I agreed of course and spent my lunch hour answering questions, only finding out then that Daphne had been raped. I had little real help to offer unfortunately and I felt bad for the little girl, although I couldn't say I knew her at all. I returned to work sincerely hoping they'd catch the animal responsible for such a thing and I called my wife at home, telling her what had happened and warning her to be careful as there was a rapist running around.
Three days later I was once again invited to the precinct, this time by two detectives who showed up at the bank where I worked as a loan officer. They assured my boss and me that it was just routine. I was questioned for several hours and it was soon obvious that I was the prime and perhaps only suspect in the case. They asked me if I'd take a polygraph test and provide a DNA sample. When I mentioned getting a lawyer the detectives told me I wasn't under arrest, so why would I need a lawyer? It made me sound guilty, or so they implied.
I was questioned further without a lawyer present, wishing to appear as innocent as I was. I took their polygraph and allowed the police to take hair and blood samples from my body. Late that afternoon I was led to a room in which five other men were being lined up on a little stage. I joined them and I was slow to realize it was a lineup, but I caught on quickly as I faced the one way glass in front of us.
We turned left and right and each of us stepped forward in turn to reading from a hand lettered index card, "Yeah, baby! Give daddy some of that little cunt!"
I very nearly choked on the words and after the line-up was concluded the two detectives arrested me for the rape and sexual battery of Daphne Taylor. I was read my rights, processed, and detained in a holding cell. I had one phone call and I called my wife, telling her what was happening and we were both in shock. She told me it would be alright; she knew a lawyer, a good one from college, and she would call him.
My wife's lawyer friend, a young man named Steven, seemed confident and knowledgeable. There was little he could do immediately however and at my bail hearing I was dismayed when the judge set my bail at a quarter million dollars. Such things had seemed reasonable to me before when I watched the late news on TV, but it was a different feeling altogether realizing I would never be able to get that sort of money together. A bail-bondsman would charge ten percent. Our house would almost be worth it, if it wasn't already mortgaged to the hilt. Rebecca and I had gotten married out of college and we were practically newlyweds. We were 24 years old and the world was ending.
My trial was quick and painful. I'd been under a lot of pressure to make a deal. To plead guilty and get a reduced sentence, to spare the little girl the trauma of having to testify and relive the experience. In truth, I almost did plead just for that reason alone. I felt genuinely sorry for Daphne, but I also felt sorry for myself. Steven told me that the prosecutor had a weak case, however, and that we could beat it. The DNA evidence was inconclusive. The girl had identified me by voice alone, not by sight since her attacker had worn a nylon stocking over his head. I'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, my lawyer said and my wife agreed; we would beat the case.
I was sentenced to fourteen years in the state penitentiary at Rockville.