Asylum Break: Counting the Seconds-Part 1 (Violence/gore) (forced)
Darkness was falling outside a milky pane of glass with wire mesh running through it. The effect on the inside of the window was a gloom as sterile as the rest of its environs. Low tones, under breath, scratched in the silence.
“6298…6299…”
STONEBRIDGE STATE HOSPITAL
845 PM
A short, heavily built man accompanied a tiny slip of a woman down a long corridor, a solid slab of linoleum a pale, sickly, State-approved shade of green. Their steps echoed on the floor, pealed off the walls. The woman pushed a cart. Med pass.
“6833…6834…”
They had been working towards the far end of the corridor by unspoken agreement. They went back and forth between the cells across from each other, 001B to 002B. Ray touched the sensor pad with his keycard. The heavy solid door slid back into the wall with a uniform beep. Michelle chose the correct cup from the lines of prepared doses. Ray went first. She followed with the pills and a small cup of water. 012B. 013B.
“6921…6922…”
023B. 024B. They had saved the easiest for last. The single cell nestled in the far wall of the dead-end corridor. Larger than the others. 025B.
“6511…6512…”
Despite his bloody past, The Patient in 025B had passed eight years at this facility with no further incidents, save for a few violent actions in defense of himself. His treatment plan had therefore provided him with certain privileges. He had the biggest room. He had some privacy. He was allowed his favorite books, though the state had drawn a hard line at a few of his requests…Richard Laymon…Jack Ketchum…
“7043…7044…”
A mechanical beep and a rumble let Ray into the room. He stepped in and half-heartedly screened the room, speaking through a half-smile.
“We ain’t gonna have no trouble outta you, are we, now?”
“Of course not, Mr. Ray.”
The Patient was a tall man, thin but still somehow powerful; he exuded it, a presence, an aura of *potential*. He had never given Ray any trouble, but that didn’t stop Ray from feeling like he was looking at a failing attempt to keep a shadow in a shoebox. The patient’s polite smile reeked with malice. In the shadow, sometimes Ray swore he saw the ghost of blood on his hands.
He ushered Michelle inside with her medicine cup and her water.
“7159…7160…”
“What?”
STONEBRIDGE STATE HOSPITAL
7:59 PM
A deafening buzzer preceeded the lights going out. Patient doors on all the wards slammed shut with a synchronized screech. There were screams, patient and staff both. One, in particular rose above the rest in pitch and timbre. One held confusion and agony to a blood-curdling degree.
In the split second of the buzzer, The Patient had reacted. He had seized Ray’s shoulders and shoved his head in the way of the heavy door. The door caught his skull in its clutches, and strained while Ray screamed, before he was silenced with a splatter. His body slumped and in the newfound silence that rose between him and Michelle’s quivering form, a mechanical voice blared from a loudspeaker.
“Power outage detected…all staff report to supervisor for instruction…power outage detected…escape failsafe engaged…”
Michelle had never felt smaller in her life. She barely touched five feet and was daintily built, the thinness of her frame broken only by the bumps of middling small breasts and a slight flare of hip. She was shaking where she stood, in the shadow of where The Patient loomed.
“Some…someone will be here soon…”
“No. They won’t.”
“Y-y-yes…they…”
“7300.”
STONEBRIDGE STATE HOSPITAL
8:01 PM
Those same doors that slammed shut, whirred back open. The corridors were drenched in red light.
“Adverse event override…evacuate…adverse event overide…scan for adverse conditions and escort patients to safety”
The mad responded as they were wont to do…unleashing pure mayhem on both one another and those who tried their damndest to keep them from escaping…most unaware of the chosen few who would rather be nowhere else than here.
The door to 025B slid open just as The Patient stood from having knelt over Ray’s corpse. Michelle watched him for a moment, eyes darting from motion to motion as he stood to his full height…she dove toward the open door.
The Patient caught her around her waist as easily as one might scoop up a dog trying to escape the house. He tossed her across the cell, and she crumbled to the floor.
The man slid his arm out the door, the keycard on his hand moved over the electronic pad outside. His arm snapped back inside just before the door slammed shut.
Michelle shook in the corner, knelt on her feet, her head covered, just as she was taught, blood from her nose splattering her turquoise scrubs. She had been fortunate that the cell was padded with impact foam, or she would be much worse off than a bloody nose and a sore elbow.
The Patient exhaled hard through his nose as he stepped to close the distance between them. Michelle whimpered, drowning in the abyss of coming to terms with what she faced.
He was massive, looming even larger in the broken shadows and the morass of her fear. The powerlessness she felt was nauseating. He removed his shirt as he walked, confirming the unspoken nightmare of his intentions. He was muscular under the state gray scrub shirt he had been wearing, his frame obviously meticulously built over his years with little else to do. His face was clean shaven, but obscured by the hair his extra privileges allowed him to wear long.
He was there now, towering over her in the corner. She could smell him, a sterile animal scent that scarred her the moment she breathed it in the first time. He exhaled through his nose once again.
“Eight years, two-hundred and seven days, and four hours since I’ve touched a woman.”
His words came slow and eloquent, a smooth bass-baritone. Simple words, not remotely threatening in any other circumstance, rattled around in Michelle’s brain like a wasp, breaking her. She wailed, she cried, she clawed at the elastic waistband of his pants, not with violence but with desperation.
“Please…”
“Shhh.”
She broke all over again. She had risen up to her knees, she looked up at him, and the eye contact they made, her wide brown eyes meeting orbs the blue green of sea ice, chilled her to her core.
“Just don’t…don’t…*hurt*…me.”
This seemed to amuse him. He let out a graveled laugh and turned away from her cowering form. He began to pace.
“I certainly don’t *have* to. ***Much.***”
She stifled another sob. She shifted uncomfortably on the floor before she stood, knowing better than to fight this hulking behemoth. She resolved to make it out of this alive. To do what she needed to, however terrible it may be. She went suddenly from the most defeated she had ever been to the most empowered.
She leveled her chin with something resembling defiance on her ruined eyeliner-streamed face. He *didn’t* like that. His open hand, nearly the size of her face on its own, flew across the porcelain of her cheek and knocked her back against the wall. She screamed softly, but fear cut it off as he felt those massive hands close on the fabric V at the front of her scrub top. He rent it right in two, the rage on his face showing nothing resembling effort as he exposed the nude colored bra she wore beneath. He lifted her tiny form completely from the floor by the shredded scraps of fabric, his eyes burning down into hers for a moment that seemed like an eternity. He dropped her and she clambered to the ground. He took a step away and rounded on a bare heel.
“*You* finish.”
She looked down so he couldn’t see her black-stained tears as she let the tatters of her shirt fall to the floor. She crossed her arms to cover herself instinctively, but a pause in his pacing as she did so urged her on. She reached behind her and unclasped her B cup bra, and let it fall away from her body, the modest mounds of flesh bouncing free with another sob. Again, she crossed her arms over her breasts, rocking on the balls of her feet to lean dejectedly against the padded wall behind her, still looking down.
“Stand straight and look at me.”
His voice was a low growl, and she was almost startled by how impulsively she obeyed. Her head shot up, her body snapped erect as though struck by lightning. She was breathing hard, quickly with an anticipatory dread unknown in her life before this moment. He stepped to her, his hands rose and he took both her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and pinched so hard she thought he might be trying to tear them off. She screamed, her tears renewed themselves, blinked out of her eyes as she struggled to maintain eye contact with The Patient for fear of another brutal reprimand. He held her flesh hard and gazed down into her cracking eyes before finally releasing her. She realized at some point she had begun holding her breath, and so struggled to reclaim it once his hands moved away.
“And the rest.”
It was a statement, not a question. She had already hooked the waist of her pants and panties under her thumbs and bent most of the way over to remove them when she realized what she was doing. Something *else* was governing her movements now, something primal that just wanted to help her survive. She didn’t want to give into it, but she wasn’t sure how to stave it off. By the time she finished her line of thought, she was standing bare before him.
The low light in the room gave her pale skin a creamy glow. She kept her hands at her sides, keeping herself exposed to his gaze, a gaze that traveled from her smeared face, over her modest chest, and down to the shadowed triangle between her legs. She felt his disappointed gaze there and when a rush of terror came quickly along behind it, she altered her stance to let him see the neatly trimmed hair that crested her cunt. Unexpectedly, The Patient’s face split with an alarming smile.
“*Good girl.*”
There was a release and a relief that came with those words that Michelle wasn’t quite comfortable with. Something just above her brainstem thrummed with a basic instinct as his approval washed over her like a physical sensation. She was still terrified, but she felt…safer somehow.
He closed the distance between them. His huge hand rose between her legs and pressed against the mound there, and the emission she meant as a scream came out as a whimper.
As those same hands steered her to her knees, her head craned to keep her eyes on his. There was a fear at what was coming, but more fear at what would happen to her if she didn’t submit.
He was already hard when he pushed the waistband of his pants down and let the eight inches of his cock out over it. Her eyes were scanning it when a rising alarm in her mind brought her gaze back up to his. The same instinct let it into her mouth, and relaxed her as it drove into her throat. She gagged as she tried to gasp around it, spluttered as The Patient held it there. When he pulled it out, she breathed, never more appreciative of oxygen in her life. He let the heft of it fall onto her face with a wet slap.
“***Good girl.*** We can work with you.”
Again that flood of endorphins swept unbidden through her senses, but her relief hung on a word. *We?*
She had no time to dwell on it, before he filled her throat again, holding his cock there as a growl rumbled in his chest. When he moved it out the next time, though, it drove back in again. It withdrew partially once more and again, choked her with its girth.
His hips were moving now, but she dared not look anywhere but his eyes. She heaved and struggled against her gag reflex in an effort to take whatever she had to. Finally she could fight no more, and she felt her throat expel him. She gasped in a breath once he was free, but it was cut short by his throbbing length burying itself. His hands rose, took her auburn hair and held her firmly in place, a forward half step on his part placing the back of her head against the wall. His hips bucked as he used her, her throat making inhuman sounds as his massive cock plunged in and out of it, never fully retreating. She found a rhythm; learned to breathe when he wasn’t in her throat, to take it down with little struggle.
With a hard thrust, he held her, pinioned against the back wall of the cell, streaming eyes turned up at his, her face a melted Mona Lisa, a masterpiece of degradation.
He pulled from her again, she felt the weight of his cock on her face, her labored breaths hampered by him pressing his balls against her lips. She let him in before she had a clear enough thought to stop herself, she sucked hard and he shuddered, his breath hitched.
There was something to that as well, it triggered something inside her, it made her feel safe, like his approval had. She embraced it even though it repulsed her and she felt a deep hatred rise in her quickly quelled by a disturbingly comfortable sense that she was doing what she needed to do.
He was in her mouth again, in her throat. His thrusts were manic at this point, hard and deep and fast. Her throat was sore now, it spasmed around him, her brain juggling the acts of meeting his gaze with taking his cock exactly the way he wanted her to. What little left of her thoughts were thankful she was against a wall, or else the man might have broken her neck with rabid thrusts.
She still heaved and gagged, choked and spluttered, but it was getting easier and that terrified her more than anything else in that moment. It was like she was outside herself looking in at all the ways this trauma was shaping her thoughts, her mind, her future.
Her eyes had drifted, a hard yank on her hair made her squeal around his intrusion and she brought her eyes back to his just in time to see them flutter, a growl radiating from The Patient’s chest, as she felt the hot wave of his cum slip down her throat, with an ease she found alarming.
He held there a few long moments, pulled out of her, and turned towards the door. She slid into the floor, laying on her side, so much muddling in her head she didn’t know where to start unpacking what had even happened. She closed her eyes, trying to *unfeel* the way his cock in her throat juxtaposed cloyingly against the confusion of primal positivity she felt from his praise, from his growls. *From his cum.* She pushed her nude figure up onto her hands and knees, still gasping for breath.
“Can I…am I…are you through with me?”
He laughed. She sobbed.
“Please, *please*…I did what you wanted…you said I was ***good***…please…”
“Eight thousand…five hundred and thirty…*five*.”
The cell door beeped and slid open. Michelle saw the salvation of the emergency flood lights for a split second before it was eclipsed by three, massive and masculine shadows.
**More to cum.-RR**
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/ys9ebj/asylum_break_counting_the_seconds_violencegore_nc