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Mind Rape	By : MutantPoptart Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 18434 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own or intend to profit from any of the themes or characters taken from the Dragonball Z franchise and used in this story.

Chapter List
- 18
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- 20
Bow Unleashed

Vegeta groaned, shaking the grogginess from his head and flexing his aching wrists.
His binds were unyielding globs of living pink flesh that engulfed both hands to the wrist and both feet to the ankle. Stretched from floor to ceiling like a living column, he could only watch the predatory mutant circle him leisurely, pacing in and out of his line of sight.
Bow hadn’t said anything or struck him again, and had met every one of Vegeta’s snarling attempts to bait him with unflinching disinterest.
Vegeta had tried again to call Bow 'weak'; barking that he was a second-hand hodgepodge of scraps Buu couldn’t find a use for, but after the quick work Bow had made of wrestling him into his current binds, the words had sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
The only indication that Bow was even registering his taunts was a small but dazzling glint in the black wells of the mutant’s eyes that seemed to spark with excitement every time Vegeta opened his mouth.
He tried not to let it unsettle him. He wasn’t sure yet that there was anything to be unsettled about. Sure, the newest of the two Buus might have used the element of surprise to gain a temporary advantage, but if he was going to kill Vegeta, why hadn’t he done it? The only thing Bow had done since arriving was surprise him with a stunning blow and restrain him. It was cheap and Vegeta wouldn’t allow himself to feel threatened by the junior-grade move, nor by the way he prowled around now, regarding him as one might a carcass to be flayed.
“Freak,” Vegeta called to the mutant. “I have an itch.”
Bow didn’t respond but continued his slow, easy stroll, never taking his eyes off of the bound Saiyan.
Vegeta wished he would stop that. He wished he would stand in one place and not stare at him with those still, unblinking eyes. Above all, he wished he would say something, tell him to shut up, strike him, anything to break this maddening silence.
Bow only kept up his casual stroll, giving off the vexing impression that he had all the time in the world.
Vegeta hated that the inferior mutant’s quiet way was actually getting under his skin. The longer Bow kept up his cryptic pace, the more anxious the Saiyan became.
Despite maintaining that he still had the psychological upper hand, Vegeta found he couldn’t hold the mutant’s penetrating gaze for long before having to break away in a cold sweat.
He’d never been in the company of the younger of the two Buus for this long. On the few occasions he’d found himself in such close proximity with the fledgling mutant, he was usually too busy trying to defend himself against an attack or fleeing to take any real stock of his appearance. Now that he didn’t have a choice, he wondered if the real reason he’d never liked looking at Bow was because it stirred too many memories.
In the same way Buu bore a haunting resemblance to Goku, Bow’s form and demeanor conjured vivid flashes of the other four warriors absorbed that day.
Bow was leaner than Buu, still tall but more lanky than bulky in a way that reminded Vegeta vaguely of Gohan, until he stopped that train of thought. Bow’s posture was a youthful slouch, but he moved with a smooth confidence—no, a cockiness. Vegeta wondered how much of Trunks was behind it and then stopped himself again.
He couldn’t think about that. Dende had always said he shouldn't blame those who Buu had absorbed for the cruelties that were Buu’s alone. Still, the mischievous glint in Bow’s eyes and that crooked grin reminded him so much of a troublesome young boy he once knew that it ached to look at him.
“Do you think I’m like him,” came a cool even voice behind him, startling Vegeta out of his thoughts and making him feel like he’d been caught. “Like Buu,” the mutant clarified.
With some difficulty, Vegeta pushed the lavender-haired young boy from his mind and watched the mutant saunter back into his line of sight.
His jaw tightened at the sound of the fledgling’s deep monotone.
Where Buu’s voice would bubble and leap to meet his bouncing moods, Bow’s remained level and subdued and almost seemed to drawl.
“Yes,” Bow went on languidly, tilting his head as if Vegeta had made some valid point worth considering. “We come from the same mold, but I think you’ll find our methods very… different.”
Bow moved in so close that Vegeta’s breath caught as much from surprise as to keep from smelling the bitter, smoky scent of the mutant.
“He liked to watch you crumble beneath your own body’s need. But I …” Bow’s red eyes danced over Vegeta’s face, taking in every stifled twitch and strain beneath the stoic mask. “I’m going to have fun regardless.”
A broad smile spread across Bow’s lips. It was the most wildly happy Vegeta had seen the normally subdued mutant since the day he’d leveled The Lookout.
The Saiyan felt the sweat beading over his skin and knew it was doing nothing for his efforts to look undaunted.
Although he doubted very much he was getting out of this with just a good old-fashioned beating, there was an evident game being played. He would have to tread carefully while he figured out what Bow was up to.
“There's something in you he sees,” Bow said, wandering eyes drifting subtly downward before setting on his mouth. “Something…inside.”
Before Vegeta could even recoil, the mutant lunged for his mouth, his liquefied arm surging between parted lips and sending the Saiyan hurling from his confines with the blunt impact. The stunned man hit the ground as the amorphous stream of Bow’s flesh rushed down his throat.
Bow’s arm was plunging into him so fast it was a pink blur. Vegeta couldn't gag, he couldn't scream--he could barely make a sound as his mouth and throat were flooded. It felt like a fire hose directed at his head. His mouth was held wide open by the relentless onslaught, while his tongue pressed against the underside of Bow's arm, unable to push it out.
“Let’s see if we can find it,” Bow said, appearing over him.
With his mouth pulled unnaturally wide around the thick intrusion, Vegeta could do nothing but scream up at the mutant with his eyes, arms grasping wildly at his expanding throat. He felt his head tilt backward and body arch in an involuntary effort to minimize obstruction to the arm as it coursed unstoppably through him, striking home in his belly.
In a panic, he released an errant ki blast that skittered into the wall, causing a minor collapse of rock and revealing a small spot of light where it had exited the side of the mountain. Vegeta was too engrossed to notice the renovation to the cave.
Distantly, it occurred to him that he couldn’t breathe. With his throat stuffed and esophagus held gaping open in constant use, his wind pipe was being blocked off. He couldn’t inhale.
Bow’s arm suddenly stopped feeding into him. Vegeta felt its disconcerting mass molding to the shape of his stomach. The coursing pain in his throat eased greatly now that the arm had gone still, but the tender lining continued to throb like it’d been scraped raw. Soon even that dull pain was pushed to the back of his mind however, as his body’s need for oxygen moved glaringly to the forefront.
Did Bow realize that Saiyans needed air? Vegeta couldn’t speak to tell the idiot. He tried to bite down on the thick length of arm wedged between his teeth, but his jaw was pulled unnaturally wide and he was already losing strength from the oxygen deprivation.
Then Bow’s arm began to move again. It was retracting from his throat. Vegeta thought with relief that Bow would remove it at last, but then it stopped moving again.
After a second’s pause, Bow thrust back in, hitting the pit of Vegeta’s stomach with a disgusting lurch.
Then he retracted a little, paused again, and thrust back in. Bow did this repeatedly, building up to a steady in-and-out rhythm, and it slowly dawned on Vegeta that Bow was fucking his throat.
Through his dimming vision, the grounded Saiyan could just make out Bow’s face beaming down at him from the other end of his elongated arm.
Then his limbs twitched weakly and his eyes rolled.

Before the last spot of light faded from his vision, Vegeta was jerked to full consciousness as he felt what he was sure was his stomach being ripped from his mouth.
Vegeta’s hearing came back first, as he heard a faraway sound of his own ragged coughing. Then, feeling returned as he faintly detected something brushing against the side of his face.
“You’re crying, Saiyan. Was that rough?”
Lastly his vision slowly returned to him, but it was still hazy and he had to blink away the tears to clearly make out his surroundings.
There were several minutes of agonized coughing before his brain got the message that he’d stopped choking and wasn’t dying. His heart wasn’t convinced though, and pounded away in his chest in an inconsolable hysteria.
“It’s a nice cave.” Bow commented, taking a moment while Vegeta caught his breath to regard the moderately sized dwelling. “Bears?”
Vegeta swallowed hard, reacquainting his body with the action, before slowly shaking his head.
“Gray bats.”
“Do they taste good?” Bow must have assumed Vegeta had eaten them all before claiming the cave.
The Saiyan tried to shake his head again. “M-migratory,” he croaked. When he’d first arrived, he’d seen the leftover fur and bones, and only learned later at an exhibit with Buu that the subspecies of bat had all vacated the area for the season.
Bow regarded the information with a thoughtful hum, then thrust his arm down Vegeta’s throat again, filling his gullet and cutting off his air.
Vegeta could only lie there and take it as best he could. As his diaphragm convulsed, throat fluttering helplessly, Bow watched with a gleam of fascination in his eyes, drinking in the Saiyan's muffled protests.
Bow continued to play with Vegeta's body in this way for some time, plunging into his mouth without warning and steadily fucking his throat with relentless strokes. More terrible yet, he began deliberately prolonging every instance, leaving his arm in Vegeta's stomach just a little longer each time, experimenting to see how far he could push the limits of the Saiyan's resiliance. He made a game of it, waiting until Vegeta was on the cusp of losing consciousness before pulling out completely and permitting the Saiyan a moment to recover. With each succession, Vegeta felt more sure that he would die from the cruel treatment, yet time and time again he was jerked back to life, hacking and heaving, by the agonizing extraction of Bow's arm.
“I think I’m beginning to get it,” Bow said, after he’d retracted his arm for a number Vegeta had completely lost track of.
Vegeta’s chest rose and fell in shaky, shallow breaths as the room drifted and danced around him. Even the passage of air felt coarse over his battered throat. Swallowing was stabbing agony.
“What Buu sees, I mean.”
Vegeta turned his head slightly to spit out some blood and stomach bile.
“You just don’t give up.”
As far as Vegeta could see, he didn’t have much of a choice, but maybe Bow had expected him to beg for mercy.
With a little effort, the wearied Saiyan licked his cracked and swollen lips and rasped a single word: “Saiyan,” he said, as if no more explanation was needed.
Bow gave a low, appreciative hum and allowed his attention to gravitate around the room while he waited for Vegeta to catch his breath so he could suffocate him again.
Vegeta was so weakened from the repeated asphyxiation, Bow didn’t need to confine him where he lay. His body tingled and twitched distantly like a separate entity from himself.
In his wavering vision, Vegeta could just make out the inexorable little smile on the mutant’s lips.
How much longer until Bow lost interest in this sick game?
Normally Vegeta would be fighting tooth and nail against the mutant, but Bow kept cutting off his oxygen, sapping the strength he needed to initiate an attack. This slow, cyclical torture was warping his mind.
He'd underestimated Bow and the extent of his sadism. It was obvious that the younger mutant didn't share his maker's affection for the Saiyan; did not stare at him eyes filled with the same visceral longing. The exuberance Bow displayed throughout the ordeal gave Vegeta reason to believe that this torment could continue all day before he'd grow bored of it. Perhaps once he finally did, Bow would choose to simply leave his arm embedded in Vegeta's esophagus for the last and final time and watch the life fade from his eyes. While Bow had claimed he wasn't allowed to kill him, Vegeta wouldn't put it past the impulsive mutant to ignore the order in favor of a whim.
Most likely, however, it wouldn't be so easy.
This wasn't random; it was punishment for defying Buu. Vegeta knew that, and suspected that this was all building up to something far worse.
Somehow he had to turn the situation around. He hadn't spent his days training just to endure a repeat of the Grove. Fighting Bow was his only chance.
It was improbable that straight-up demanding a fight from Bow would suffice, but supposing that Bow really didn't lust for Vegeta as Buu did, perhaps the rowdier mutant could be goaded into combat.
He needed to make a move while he still had the strength.
As Bow poised his arm for the next round Vegeta spoke up.
“Do it then,” he croaked, even as his throat protested.
Bow paused, regarding him with little more than his usual mild interest.
“You say you're n-not like Buu,” Vegeta said through wheezing breaths. “But you're just as sick. Go ahead and do it, f-freak. You're just like him.” He wanted to sting the insufferably composed mutant with the only thing he had left—words.
“Do what, Saiyan?” Bow asked calmly. He studied the slight, sprawled figure, truly curious.
“No more of these games. I'm bored of them.” Vegeta pushed himself with noticeable difficulty up onto his elbows. “Just…go ahead and get it done with.”
“Get what done with?”
Vegeta bared his teeth and hissed impatiently through pummeled lips. If his hunch was correct and this Bow really wasn’t like Buu, then there might be another way out of this nightmare. He broke through the last barrier of his reserve.
“Fuck me,” Vegeta grunted, ignoring the paint to both his throat and pride. “You foul, disgusting creature. I already know that's what you want.” The words were venom, and they stung Vegeta as well.
Bow’s face was an unreadable mask.
“It’s what you wanted when we fought last, w-wasn’t it?” he rasped, forcing the corners of his mouth to curl upward. “I saw the way you were looking…I know what you wanted. But Daddy was there…w-wouldn’t let you.” He coughed loud and painfully before continuing through blood- smattered lips. “He’s not here now…come on. You want to be like Buu… Fuck his toy?”
The mutant didn’t flinch and Vegeta heard his own hoarse voice rising in desperation.
“Fuck me then!” He spat, the fake leer falling away. “That's what your coward of a maker did. And that's what you're going to do because you're just like him. You're no warrior!”
Vegeta needed to provoke this more volatile Buu into fighting him if he had a hope of getting out of this with some semblance of his pride intact. If it came to a battle of strength, there was always a chance he would lose, but at least he could get out of this beaten rather than broken.
Bow only stared down at the Saiyan, who, despite the searing glower and fierce words, was gleaming with sweat.
The silence dragged on and Vegeta felt his words losing their edge.
“You and Dende must have become close,” Bow said, turning his head to a far corner of the cave as if distracted by something there.
Vegeta was so unprepared for the question, he only blinked for a moment.
“W-what?”
“The Dragon Balls,” Bow said thoughtfully. “He must have contacted you when he escaped the blast to inform you that he lived.”
Vegeta didn’t know where this was going and felt the surge of wrath that had propelled him earlier slipping away.
“Have you two been keeping in touch?” The mutant tossed him a coy glance and Vegeta felt his heart rate pick up again. “You must trust him deeply.”
Perhaps the oxygen deprivation from earlier was inducing hallucinations, because suddenly the cave was beginning to twist and distort around him. Shadows deepened, and he felt as if he was somewhere familiar, somewhere with tall, overhanging trees that blocked out the sunlight and smothered the breeze.
At the heart of the bleak scene, Bow’s form rippled and swelled.
Vegeta could only watch in horror as the mutant’s skin began to thrash and quake like the water surface above a piranha attack.
After a moment, the massive bubbling blob shrank and calmed and Bow was nowhere to be seen.
Vegeta squinted up through the faint electric light to see a robed figure of deep green skin with pointed ears and two slender antennae.
“Is that what you want,” the figure said.
Vegeta’s mouth twitched and his stomach churned. It was the gentle, level voice just as he remembered it. It was the same voice that had been gone from his mind for two weeks. Although his imagination had done its best to fill the hollow left in the Guardian’s absence, nothing came close to the solid, breathing being standing before him now.
He tried to crawl away, to drag himself backward on shaky elbows, but the dense weight of his limp body proved too cumbrous in his feeble state.
Instead he tried to look away, to shield himself from the horror before him.
The Dende creature stepped smoothly forward, and through Vegeta’s delirious panic, he thought for a flash of an instant he saw something odd in the movement.
He couldn’t be pulled down this horrific spiral again. The cave was getting dark, or maybe it was his own failing vision. He thought he heard the subtle rustling of dead leaves and the snap of twigs. He was falling fast and needed to stabilize himself.
Remembering something, Vegeta suddenly strained his focus on the creature’s eyes. He was not near as mentally worn down as the day in the grove and reality wasn’t the wavering, elusive thing it was then. Furthermore, he was certain that nothing this Bow would do to him could possibly rattle him as thoroughly as losing his son and comrades then enduring the rape and torment from the hijacked body of his life-long rival all in one day. Still, as a grounding tool, it would be a small comfort in this bleak moment if Vegeta could just see Bow’s black and red eyes shining out through Dende’s skin.
Vegeta choked off a gasp.
It seemed the fledgling mutant had learned from his master’s mistakes. The eyes were warm and bright and all Namekian, without even a trace of the treacherous mutant beneath.
“Is that what you really want, Vegeta,” the creature repeated, and with a lazy kick, knocked Vegeta’s knees apart. “Me to fuck you.”
Vegeta bit back a snarl and tried again to crawl away, but his limbs were still weak and tingling as life slowly trickled back into them.
Vegeta was thankful at that moment that his vision was still hazy from the most recent near-blackout. Everything was covered in a thin layer of gauze that muted small details like the tears in the pale and maroon robe and the subtle way the Namekian’s antennae twitched when he was intently focused on something.
If he wouldn’t be able to stop what was coming, at least he wouldn’t have to watch as another ally twisted into his personal nightmare.
Yet, as Vegeta turned his dizzy head, he found his eyes wouldn’t follow, caught by what was transpiring before him.
Dende was undressing.
With a small shrug, the simple robe fell to the ground and all that covered the young Guardian was a plain pair of Namekian trousers.
For as long as he’d known Dende, Vegeta had never seen him so exposed. He was more muscular than the Saiyan would have guessed. Vegeta’s eyes followed the angles of the toned physique of the young man he’d come to know and trust, who seemed more grown now than ever before.
In the muted light of the cave, he could have been a younger Piccolo. He was all broad shoulders and lean muscle and his face-- that look, Vegeta thought, and had to squint through his still-foggy vision. It wasn’t right. The serene wisdom he’d come to associate with the young guardian was there yet somehow off. His features were the same but seemed disproportionate and misplaced.
Had it been so long since he’d seen Dende? Why did he look so strange now? Was it his imagination that had skewered his memory of The Guardian over the months they’d been apart or was Bow’s treatment causing him to hallucinate?
Before he could place what was different, a long, serpentine shadow emerged from behind Dende’s back and descended to wrap around Vegeta’s neck.
The tentacle was the same green as the Namekian’s skin but felt waxy and elastic as it encircled him. It squeezed, not enough to strangle him but enough to secure its hold as it dragged him up so he was inches above the ground. His arms rose feebly to grasp the tentacle and to take some of the strain of his full weight off his neck.
It was happening all over again.
Vegeta’s breath quickened in his chest and he could feel his pulse in his ears.
He’d been too slow, too weak, and now it was going to happen again.
It didn’t have to be the same. He could grit his teeth and keep his head this time. He swallowed and forced himself not to look away, not to cower. He couldn’t show Bow how horrified he was. The twisted mutant would only feed off of his distress.
The Dende-puppet took another step forward, and that’s when Vegeta caught it.
His movement. It was wrong somehow. Dende didn’t lumber like that. He was slow and even-footed.
Vegeta stopped trying to stare through Bow and instead looked searchingly at the mutant now standing within inches of him.
This was not Dende. Not Piccolo either, though similar. But why?
When it struck him all at once, he burst into painful, choked laughter.
The triumphant sneer that had seemed misplaced even on the face of a fake Dende, faltered slightly.
“Something funny,” Bow asked in Dende’s gently prodding tenor.
Vegeta squinted down at the mutant a moment before bursting into another round of hacking laughter. “You have his voice right at least,” he managed between fits.
His abused throat cried out in stabbing pain but he didn’t care. He intended to enjoy this fully while he could. The mutant’s misstep was just too good to pass up. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see it before.
Buu had never absorbed Dende, and by the time Bow might have had the chance, Dende had fled the planet. So, neither mutant had an exact biology of The Guardian in his stores. Unlike Buu, who’d managed to imitate Goku down to the last strand of hair, Bow had no reference for his subject aside from the collective memories of those he had absorbed, and scraps borrowed from Piccolo’s Namekian genealogy.
The result was this too-broad, sharp-featured, heavy-footed, vaguely Piccoloesque, cheap Dende knock-off. All in all, not Dende. Not by a longshot.
Bow blinked, and took a step back. The disoriented look on the poorly-crafted face of Dende only fueled another round of hacking fits from Vegeta.
“Was that your plan?” Vegeta barked. “Don the form of a trusted ally and torture me? How original. I see Buu didn’t skimp on creativity when he transferred your personality traits.”
Bow’s brow furrowed.
“You think I would fall for that again?” Vegeta snarled ferally. “Why don’t you go home, leave the psychological warfare to the adults?”
Bow watched him through unamused eyes that clouded over with black. Soon, red irises emerged in the dark depths, and the rest of Bow’s natural form followed after.
As Vegeta heaved more roars of laughter, Bow’s tentacle grip tightened around his neck, silencing him.
Vegeta was able to utter a choked gasp before he was slammed onto his back, making a sizable crater in the ground.
More gummy globs like the ones that had held him stretched from ceiling to floor rushed to bind his wrists to the ground. His legs, which had been thrown over his head from the impact, were quickly bound there by the ankles. With only his head and upper back holding his weight, and his lower body curled up over him, he looked like a contortionist practicing a difficult stretch.
Bow was quick to act as well, and appeared over Vegeta, staring down at the Saiyan’s mortified snarl between the splayed legs.
As quickly as unsheathing a sword, Bow whipped his pink arm into a new shape. From between his thighs, Vegeta could see what looked like a thick, curved blade, extending from the bend of Bow’s elbow to the length of his would-be forearm.
With his ankles pinned above his head and ass jutting up vulnerably, the idea occurred to the prone Saiyan that Bow was going to shove the large blade directly into him. In his airy, weightless state, he could hardly bring himself to defend against it.
Instead of thrusting the blade straight downward however, Bow, with an almost graceful precision, angled the razor tip and sliced open the seat of Vegeta’s pants with one swooping stroke.
Vegeta flinched, anticipating splitting pain but only feeling the brush of cool air against his bare skin. Evidently, Bow had cut through his briefs as well.
Bow eyed the mounds of skin unveiled before him. Doubled over with his cheeks pulled wide and concealing nothing, Vegeta was at Bow’s complete disposal.
The Saiyan felt his face burning from the feeling of being so utterly on display. When at last he was able to bring himself to look at, he didn’t find what he’d expected.
When he’d taunted and baited Bow to use him the way Buu had, he was gambling that it would incite the young mutant into fighting him. As he currently found himself spread and poised to take a different kind of assault, he’d all but chalked his efforts up as a failure. But now, as he looked up into Bow’s eyes, he saw none of the depravity that should have come with such a sexual turn of events.
Although Vegeta’s most intimate region laid bare and unfurled for Bow’s discretion, there wasn’t the smallest hint of lust or hunger in his appraisal. As the alarming red eyes roamed over the exposed skin, it appeared to be out of little more than moderate curiosity. There was nothing truly carnal in it.
But if Bow didn’t want that from Vegeta, what did he want?
Even Buu, in his chaotic early form, had gotten something out of the humiliation and rape. What was Bow getting out of this? He could have fought Vegeta, blasted him until he couldn’t stand, beaten him to a bloody pulp, laughing manically all the while. Bow loved that sort of thing. He’d proven as much the day he’d helped wipe out the Look Out and then lunged into battle with Vegeta thereafter. If Bow wanted, he could break Vegeta now, one limb at a time, leave just enough to say he hadn’t killed him. Instead he chose this.
“Why?” he heard himself croak weakly. “Why do this?”
Bow took his time to pull his gaze from Vegeta’s lower region and meet the Saiyan’s questioning eyes.
In their profound stare, Vegeta caught the brief glint of genuine glee behind the otherwise aloof mask. At last, he found he understood.
Bow had no carnal need to sate, no curiosity to quench. Whatever happened next would be solely for the debasement of Vegeta. Bow would gain nothing from it aside from the knowledge that Vegeta was deeply suffering. What the Saiyan finally understood was that that was enough for Bow.
The same arm Bow had used to cut through Vegeta’s pants was transforming again, but instead of taking on a new form, it seemed to reject shape entirely. It melted into a thick liquid and dripped like hot wax onto Vegeta’s upturned buttocks.
He flinched slightly, expecting it to burn him. It didn’t, nor did it stick and coagulate on Vegeta’s splayed glutes, but pooled inward to his tightly-clamped anus. The gooey substance didn’t push or pry at his entrance, instead molding and forming to it, slipping between the tiniest folds, until Vegeta was horrified to feel its cool, trickling presence creeping past his sphincter.
Little by little, more of Bow’s liquefied flesh leaked through his defenses, and from there molded to his insides and spilled further. He couldn’t guess how much had poured in until the gooey substance began to expand and solidify.
Vegeta couldn't hold the gasps with each swell. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his mouth gaped to issue a train of huffing sounds. Vegeta didn’t dare try to struggle, from fear it would only increase the internal damage he was sure he must already be suffering.
“Just getting you ready, baby,” Bow said in his deep groan.
Their eyes met for a lingering moment before Vegeta's rolled beneath his lids. The words themselves were of a gentle lover, but there was nothing gentle in the tone nor the abuse that followed.
The appendage seemed to throb inside of him endlessly. He couldn’t determine where it stopped. It followed his intestinal tract, filling every curve of his bowels.
Curled in on himself as he was, Vegeta already felt cramped, but as the swelling continued, he noticed a worrying heaviness and bulging in his abdomen.
Vegeta closed his eyes at once and tried to train his mind to something else, something far away.
Taking notice of Vegeta's attempts at relaxing, Bow swelled his arm even larger, sending the Saiyan into a renewed panic.
With a slick and sloppy sound, the spawn swiftly retracted his rubbery appendage from the prince's traumatized orifice, wrenching a guttural cry from Vegeta’s throat.
Judging by how engorged he’d felt, Vegeta could have sworn that Bow had shoved multiple yards of his tentacle-like arm into him, but when he looked up, he saw Bow withdrawing only a couple of feet at most before the limb shrank into its normal length and proportion. Vegeta had also noticed a distinct lack of blood coating it and felt faintly relieved. It was quickly overshadowed however but the screaming of his bowels from the violent treatment. Not even Buu, on that haunting day nor in Vegeta’s darkest nightmares, had invaded his body so thoroughly.
For a little while, Bow only stared down between Vegeta’s thighs, inspecting his work. He poked and prodded a little, dragging the sore skin of Vegeta’s sphincter open to get a better look inside, commenting occasionally in on what he saw:
“Your little hole is so supple and loose now,” he’d remark with an appreciative whistle. “I can see straight inside you without spreading you with my fingers.”
Or he’d ask off-handedly, “do you know your guts are as red as cherry candies?”
With a particularly sharp jab, he’d point out, “pulling out so rough made you all swollen and enflamed, I can see your insides puffing out. I’ll push them back in.”
Vegeta for the most part phased him out, too caught up in the raw, throbbing ache resonating from deep within him, reignited by every careless jab and tug of Bow’s clawed fingers.
He breathed deeply when Bow finally pulled away.
After an extended pause, in which Vegeta went miraculously unharassed, curiosity finally opened his eyes and dragged them down to see what Bow was doing.
The mutant was pulling something from the folds of his pants.
It occurred to Vegeta that he’d never even wondered what the Buus’ reproductive organs might look like. When the senior mutant had taken him, it was as Kakarot. After that, Vegeta had just assumed that the mutants themselves didn’t possess natural penises, having no need for them.
It was possible he was correct in that guess and that this, like the body of Kakarot, was just another illusion; a tool for torturing him.
The appendage expanded before his eyes, looking sleek and firm like the rest of the Buus’ bodies. It was thickest in the middle and tapered at the tip.
As Bow lined himself up, there was no lust in his eyes, no tenderness in his hands as they press his cheeks to spread him. When his hips at last drove forward, it was with the detached precision of a soldier carrying out his mission. He didn’t seem to revel in the way Vegeta heaved and shook with each mechanical thrust, or bask in the echoes of choked cries they ensued.
Bow only watched him.

A/N: I had to cut the chapter in half because it was too long. Good news is the next one will be up as soon as next week! Thank you all for your patience.
I'd especially like to thank my wonderfully depraved beta, Rush_Toward, who always encourages more detail in these dirty scenes ;)
Hope you all enjoyed!
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Mind Rape