Twisting The Throttle
Life is full of illusions and most illusions we make for ourselves. Even the clearest minds don't always see things for what they really are and the best eyes in the room sometimes fail to read the sign on the door before going inside. And who do we blame it on? Everyone but ourselves.
In the weeks that followed, meetings with Irene in the lean-to were a regular occurrence as she did everything she could dream up in an effort to ensure that she would be riding out the gate on the back of my found Honda. I've no doubt Irene would have attempted the escape alone if not for the fact that 1. she didn't have the gate pass and 2, she had never learned to drive a car much less ride a motorcycle. You see, Irene had been a citizen of Asylumland since she was in her late teens when she flipped out after becoming a victim of incest, rape and a lot of other things gone wrong in a young girl's life.
It was sad she was never sent to a place that might actually help her but then that seemed to be everyone's story in Asylumland. No one was sent here to get better, we were all just shipped away because someone with money, lust and power wanted us shipped away and had the means to do it.
I felt guilty about my relationship with Irene. While the sex was great, I was old enough to be her father, I wasn't in love with her and there was nothing we had in common. And I had no intention of hauling her out on the back of the motorcycle. I justified my guilt by reminding myself that I was the first man she had ever known that had never abused her and in knowing she was only using me as a ride out the gate. I knew that as soon as she got clear of Asylumland she would latch on to some young psychopath or other such snake to seek her pleasures and give her the kind of abuse she confused as being love.
But for the time being I was having some of the best sex a man could ever want. Fact is, the girl was killing me. Were it not for the fact that we had to sneak away from the others I'm sure I would have had a heart attack or died from sleep deprivation as the anti-depressants the doctors gave her kept her revved-up and going 24 hours a day.
Things were getting even more problematic for The Brain. His Brain Buck painters went on strike demanding higher pay and no one was willing to take their place. But with no one to paint more money he couldn't raise their pay. Never mind talking sense to these people, this is an insane asylum. Then someone managed to smuggle a dildo inside so the women quit paying the men for sex. And when The Brain invited a woman over for a freebee she ended up almost scratching his eyes out before the hospital security staff heard his screams and pulled her off of him.
Of course, the incident involving The Brain and his lady friend brought about increased security. The asylum staff was still pretty much clueless about what was going on but the next few weeks saw extra personnel walking the halls and looking in on everyone to reduce and restrict the amount and kinds of extracurricular activities that were going on. Thank goodness as I was in need of a break.
Irene was getting restless. Every time I saw her she wanted to know when I was planning to make the break. She was beginning not to trust me, thinking I was going to leave her behind and lie as I might, I just couldn't keep her convinced that I planned to take her with me when I left. I told her I thought we needed to wait until security was reduced back down to normal but just as I figured that answer just wasn't good enough.
I began to notice The Brain and a couple of his closest enforcers spending a lot of time watching me. Usually when this sort of thing starts going on someone is found crumpled in a closet somewhere soon after. Rather than deal with the paranoia I decided to see if I might be able to throw them off my trail. At first I tried to convince The Brain that everything was going just the way he had planned but when he didn't go for it I had to go ahead and move on to the next stage of my plan even though I'd hoped to wait a while longer for warmer weather to set in.
On the way out of the cafeteria one evening I walked past The Brain and instead of turning towards my room as was usually the case, I turned the other way towards the infirmary. After turning the corner I slid a chair across the floor knowing full well The Brain could hear the legs screeching on the floor. I stepped up on the chair, pushed back a ceiling panel from the dropped ceiling and placed the gate pass in the ceiling. Then I left the ceiling panel slightly ajar.
I slid the chair back across the floor and turned to walk back towards my room just as The Brain walked in. He was alone so I knew he wouldn't try anything. That is not until I was gone. I walked down the hall, turned the corner and waited. When I heard the screech of a chair being dragged across the floor I quickly went back to my room.
By lunch the next day word had gotten around that The Brain had stolen a gate pass, fixed Thor's motorcycle, rode right out the front gate then lost control at high speed on an icy bridge and plunged the motorcycle over the bridge and into a fast moving and very cold river. Seems once a gate pass is reported stolen it no longer works in the card reader and when that happened The Brain panicked and made a hard run for it tipping off the guards that something was amiss. Rumor had it he was dead on arrival at the local emergency room. Already several of the residents of Asylumland were saying I should be the next president. I really didn't want to inherit the mess The Brain had left behind.
Was The Brain really dead? Was it possible he actually escaped and the institution was simply making up a story to discourage more escape attempts? Maybe he never made it past the gate and was now locked away in an isolated wing where none of us would ever see him again? I didn't know the answer, I just knew he was gone and our little corner of Asylumland was better off without him.
Irene? Poor thing couldn't even look at me. She had betrayed me and she knew I knew it. What she didn't know was that I knew before I stuck my dick into her the first time, that she would betray me and that I had planned it that way all along. From that day forward, without my ever having to do a thing or make a single demand, Irene became my personal slave for fear that I might someday seek the revenge she thought I was due. I would never hurt her. I couldn't bring myself to hurt her. But I'd never show her that side of me.
Funny, given the choice I would have taken the older and not quite so attractive, yet independent Jessica over Irene the slave girl any day. But if it makes you, Dear Readers, feel any better, I treated Irene with respect and taught her how to behave like a respectable woman in the hopes that if she ever did get out she might attract a better class of snake.
She repaid me over the years that followed by not giving the other men the time of day and only occasionally taking her turn with the dildo or one of the other girls. What? You don't expect a man my age to take care of a 25 year old nymphomaniac all by myself do you? I'm still a man but not that much of a man.