Chapter XI: The Asylum, Part III; The Women's Wing

      So, you have managed to make it this far, have you?  Well, I must congratulate you!  Come, come, my dear friend, you are just in time for the next… most unfortunate soul!  Come here and sit by my side, you’ll not be disappointed!  Trust me….

      Ah, here comes the poor, greedy, sick b*****d now!  You remember good old Lars, don’t you?  When we left him, he had just finished masturbating to live-feed security footage of the death of an innocent man, and he was just out the door to “visit” the females’ end of the Asylum.

      Now, if you remember, he had a small squad of guards around him.  These guards would usually be the ones who half-dragged, half-manhandled, Lars’ victims to him.  However, as of three weeks ago, they had started feeling sympathetic towards the poor young women in the ward.  They all agreed that no-one, no matter how mentally deficient they were, should ever have to suffer the humiliation of being raped.  Especially at the hands of their overseer.  S**t, they were all certain that at least ninety percent of the people caged here were sane.  … Plus, they had all been promised a raise for the past few months and had yet to see a nickel of the money.  In fact, many of them had noticed a significant drop in their weekly paychecks.

      Just last night, they had all gotten together in the break-room and plotted to rid themselves, and the world, of this homicidal psychopath.  How would they do this?  Simple.  They had all spoken to the women on more than one occasion; brief chats during which they comforted the recently violated, the distraught and homesick, and the true psychopaths.  All of these women shared one common feeling; they wanted to kill the Warden.  To tear off his clothes and rape his tight a*s with anything they had, then tear him apart; put him through all the pain and suffering he had put them through!

      One guard even discovered that there was a transsexual in the Asylum; and she, no he, no… it had been dying to, and I quote, “Feel the Warden’s tight a*s-cheeks clamped tightly around her c**k ’til he started bleeding from the a*s, and then force him to blow her and swallow anything, and everything, that came out.”

      Lately, the guards had been sneaking out to all the stores around the Asylum.  Within the past week, they had bought and distributed baseball bats of every size, weight, and material, handcuffs, d****s, strap-ons, vibrators, whips, chains, dulled knives, nail files, pipes, Tazers, and cattle prods, to every female inmate in the wing.

      The rest of the week had been filled with moans, screams, and groans of pleasure, girls screaming for more and passing out of pure sexual exhaustion, and private “foursomes” for each of the guards.  Some of the guards had even been lucky enough to get themselves some of everything from the Asylum’s resident, twenty-one year old nymphomaniac.

      And so their plan was put into action.  Earlier this morning they had all discretely slipped notes into the girls’ barren, four-person cells.  Each note had the same message scrawled in blood; “Ready to f**k the psycho who fucked you?”  When the afternoon rounds were being made, each guard met the eyes of every imprisoned woman and was given two simple responses; a malicious, vengeful stare, and an almost imperceptible nod.

      Behind the visors of their helmets, the men made eye-contact with each other.  They had now reached the door leading to the common area of the Women’s Wing.  Jensen unlocked the door using the retina scanner on the wall and stalked into the room, ahead of his “protectors.”

      As planned, all the women pulled back from the door, huddling with each other, and kissing the Warden’s feet, murmuring words of intense praise.  As Lars passed them, they quickly and quietly closed ranks behind him, cutting off his route to the door.  The guards, meanwhile, hung back by the door, ready to barricade the Warden if he managed to get past the horde of vengeful harpies.

      Lars stopped in the center of the room, and looked around for his first victim of the night.  He realised just a little too late that his guards had forsaken him.  He hesitated, and in that split-second, he made his first, and only, mistake in his entire life.

      The transsexual, “Miss Lucky Fishy” (she was called that because she was the only woman there with a “fish” and because she had gone fishing with everyone she could and had not caught anything), was the first to reach him, and she kicked him in the balls so hard, the guards could hear them rupture fifty feet away.

      Doubling over in pain, his eyes watering and his testicles now floating somewhere behind his eyes, Lars Jensen gasped for air desperately.  He tried to speak but was only able to look at the hundred-odd women surrounding him.  His eyes soon found the reflective visors of his guards’ helmets and his voice flowed from him in an uncontrollable fit of rage, “You stupid fuckers!  What the f**k are you doing over f*****g there?!  You sons of b*****s!  Help me you asinine, s**t-for-brains, c**k-sucking, sons of motherless w****s!  What in the f*****g hell do I pay you for?!”

      He continued to run his mouth off, cursing at his “protectors”, until the b***h that had emasculated him stood before him, blocking his vision.  He looked at her, pure hatred burning in his eyes, and opened his mouth, indescribably stereotypical words on the tip of his tongue.

      Before he could even speak, the woman raised her oversized, ratty, faded t-shirt and shoved a long, hard object in his mouth, causing him to gag.  He was shocked and stunned when he realised that it was not a strap-on she had just stuck in his mouth, but a penis.  Not a fake rubber one, no… this one was real; hers!  ‘The motherfucking b***h had a goddamned dick!’  He tried to pull away, but could not; his hands had been cuffed to two support posts in the middle of the room, and he was hanging between them.

      After what seemed like hours, but was most likely no more than ten minutes, Lars was finally able to breathe, but the first thing he did was vomit.  He struggled to free himself as the mob of women grew closer, some of them lifting their shirts and pulling sex-toys from between their legs.  Others ripped up the floorboards and began to pass out other items to those who were empty-handed.

      Suddenly, the horde of Succubæ parted, and the guards came strutting down the path.  One pulled out a long Bowie knife and pressed the edge of the blade into Jensen’s outstretched throat.  Jensen’s eyes were shooting daggers at the visor, but the man did not retreat.  Instead, he flipped the knife over in his gloved hand and brought the hilt down hard just behind Jensen’s ear.

      When Jensen came to an hour or two later, he felt a pain in his a*s, and he realised immediately what was happening; he was being raped by all the s***s in the room!  His guards must have cut his clothes away!  He felt his eyes grow moist and forced himself to hold in his pain; he did not want to show any of those c***s any weakness.  He tried desperately to move his legs and could not.  They had been broken at the knee-caps and were now flopping around at odd angles beneath him.  He felt a stinging sensation shoot up his spine, felt blood trickling down his back in waves, and heard a loud menacing crack!  They were whipping him!

      He lost consciousness not thirty seconds later.

      Lars was reawakened by something poking his face; he opened his eyes to see that all but the tranny had left the room and that there was now a puddle of blood pooling beneath him.  It took a second for him to realise that it was his; he was bleeding from his a*s and holy mother of god, did it hurt!

      The transsexual was completely naked now, proudly showing off all five of her “turn-me-ons.”  Jensen estimated her measurements to be 40D-29-36-11-inches.

      As if she had read his mind, Ms. Fishy said, “I’m 40D-31-37-13-inches.”  She smiled coyly at him and squeezed his cheeks, forcing his mouth open.  She started to stroke herself, groaning as her strokes became more tedious and faster.

      Jensen tried to force his mouth closed but her grip was too powerful, and he was drained of all energy.  He tried to scream for help but all that came out was a hoarse rasp from his raw throat.  Not five minutes later, his mouth was filled with semen, and he couldn’t not swallow; she had tilted his head back.

      It took her another ten minutes of endless cumming before she had depleted her supply, and true to her word, she forced Jensen to swallow every last drop.  Try as he might, he was unable to regurgitate her cum.  He shut his eyes so tightly that his eyebrows almost touched his lower eye-sockets, hoping that the disgusting taste would leave his palate.

      He reopened his eyes to the sight of Ms. Fishy holding the Bowie to his crotch.  Unable and unwilling to open his mouth; he implored her not to hurt him anymore with the tears in his dark, soul-less eyes.  He noticed that the whole rape had gotten him aroused and that he had cum all over himself while he was blowing the tranny’s dick.

      He was waked from his stupor by a pain, worse than any he had ever endured before, shooting up his nervous system to the pain receptors in his brain.  Stickiness between his legs confirmed the worst; he had just lost what was left of his manhood.  He shook, sobbing audibly, his uninjured limbs shaking and piss dripping from the mutilated stump between his thighs.

      Ms. Fishy stood up, the Bowie knife in her left hand, slathered in blood, and the Warden’s dick in the other, limp and slug-like.  “You know,” she snickered, “I was expecting less.  You were bigger than I expected you to be, easily three inches, maximum!”  She laughed and mimicked him, pretending to jack-off a three-inch c**k, “Oh yeah, let’s f**k!  … Oh, s**t… I finished… Yes, I know it was only three seconds, do not make fun of my worm!”

      She burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, forced Jensen’s mouth open once again, shoving his own limp member in, and using a roll of duct-tape to seal his mouth shut.  “Now, Warden, you’ll finally be able to get someone to deepthroat your little guard!

      Lars tried to talk, but he choked on his invading member.  Unable to spit it out, he felt the vomit start to rise in his throat.  He watched as Ms. Fishy walked away, looking back at him as she turned out the light.  For a moment, she stood there, her profile silhouetted against the bright white hallway.  “By the way,” she said, turning to face him, “I know you loved it.  I could feel it when I fucked you in the a*s!  You squeezed me so tightly with that tight a*****e of yours!  If I had my choice, I would f**k your a*s twenty-four-seven-three-six-five!  Buh-bye now, my love, I’ll never forget you!”  She blew him a kiss, and closed Lars Jensen in the dark, forever.

      Well, don’t you just love it when you do not have to do any work?  I know I do!  Now, Lars died either of asphyxiation, exsanguination or suffocation; I cannot recall.  S**t, maybe he even died of old age.  But that’s not important.  All I care is that his soul was mine for the reaping.

      Actually, I think I do remember what happened to Jensen; he became a transsexual, practised abstinence, and went into hiding as a nun; Loretta is his name now, I believe.  You see, when the former Lars Jensen gave up all hope of being rescued, he gave up his soul as well.

      …

      Ah, I was wondering if you were going to ask me that.  You are wondering why I brought you here if Lars was not going to die, are you not?  Well let me explain my desire for you.  I thought you would enjoy seeing what happened to him.  I can see the burning hatred in your eyes; that you hate those who use others for their own sexual enjoyment and that you desire to watch them get what they deserve.  I did not kill Lars because I believe living out his life knowing that what happened to him was entirely his fault, and that the extreme embarrassment he is still going through is a fate worse than death.

      Going to the local plastic surgeon had drawn some particularly nasty attention towards him, and the surgeon had spoken to the local papers about what he had seen when he had placed implants inside our friend Jensen here.

      For the next week or two after the incident Lars never left his home.  During those weeks, he had tried to kill himself in every possible manner, from hanging to overdoses to gunshot wounds to stab wounds.  You see, I felt I would have been cutting him a favor if I killed him, so I have botched every one of his attempts at suicide.

      It is time for us to move on my friend; let us go.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Good ending for Lars. Good to pay for sins on earth and in hell later. A powerful story. Each detail adding to the story. I do believe in the end we are rewarded for good and bad. A excellent chapter.
Coyote