The Bimbo Asylum: Stream of ...

And there he was getting a kiss from Bubbles number 2001 or however many they made. Probably not that many. What can you do with an airhead like that except send them off to seduce stupid men and catch them in bed, take pictures and video and threaten to send a wife or a boss some snippets of that evening's sexual romp in Spain which was supposed to be a diplomatic mission instead turned missionary in a different way, if I know what I mean. Self nudge. Self nudge.

Missionary? Why did that name ever start to get used in that context and of course it's a church term and they never have sex except in ways that -- well let's not go there -- grey hair!

If I was working in the industry I could have cured that. Shit. Here I am, a genius dressed in lingerie requesting dumb ox-headed guards for status reports about electron microscopes and loosing my mind to a bimbo side of me I put into place one, two, maybe five years ago.

A memory popped in my head.

I was pushed by a guard into red leather wingback chair. It was in the Asylum library with a grand circular staircase spiraling up to a Tiffany stained glass dome.

"Ooo," I said looking up and I've seen it hundreds of times before. They really knew how to build shit in the 1920's.

In the left and right inside corners of the chair, tucked into the creases, were two stainless steel loops for patient handcuffs. My hands were free. These were for other bimbos. Stupid idiots. Not the bimbos, I meant the psychiatrist because bimbo assassin training at the Asylum made handcuffs almost useless. I wished I was an assassin.

"Ms. Madison," said my newly assigned psychiatrist, wearing a fancy suit and smoking a pipe. "I am Mr. Green."

Yeah, right, I thought. "Oh wow. It was Mr. Green with a pipe in the study. Can I call you Mr. Pistachio instead because I like that shade best? And it's a nut." I tried to ramble, but my mind was so calm. Shit. They're onto me.

"Ms. Madison, we gave you some valium to calm those thoughts of yours. I know how you are using them to hide in your head."

The bastard flipped through some papers. Why didn't he call himself Doctor as in Dr. Green? I guess they like generic titles. So Mister it is then.

He added, "I see you've been here for one month as a patient and no longer Chief Scientist. Now Mr. Blue and Ms. Red would love to have you back on the staff."

I blink. My head is quiet. I coughed at his tobacco pipe smoke. "Yep, Mr. Green with the carcinogens in the study. Of course, who am I to say? I put unfolding prions in my brain to change its chemistry and reprogram me to be a bimbo." Wow, I'm back. Shit. It's quiet again. Where was my babble? Hello! My bubbly babbles? Where are you?

He put his pipe out. "Let's begin," he said. "You're listed as patient number one, but we know that's not true."

He's testing me. Shit I'm going to say it. "No, I'd be patient 237, but I guess I'm the priority here huh?" I wish I could hold back.

"So you remember your girls?"

Blink. My eyes went blank. Maybe he'll miss the importance of that. He coughed and moved on. Thank god, because -- wait -- wait. Damn it, no babble! I normally babble right after I say 'because.' It was my entry word into mindlessness.

"I know the Asylum's staff," he said, "let's call them technicians. They are not supposed to have certain relationships with you girls. Of course, you and I both know the advantages of doing so in bimbo training. When you thought they were opposition spies, you devised many of the now standard sexual techniques yourself."

Blink. I wanted my babble back. If I answered any of his questions, it would start a slippery slope into becoming their puppet. Again, shit.

He coughed. "So let's begin with a some basics. Are you sexually active?"

I thought, don't answer him. But what could I do? I resisted, but that made the urge to help stronger. Wait. Don't resist. I blinked and let my stupid bimbo take over. I opened the front door of my mind and pointed a welcoming hand down the inner most corridors of my soul. I thought, come in my happy bimbo-ness. Come in.

Oh how, the warmth poured inside me. It entered me. Flooded me. It was like being fucked by a guy who hadn't gotten his rocks off in weeks. It was an endless warm liquid stream filling me where all my talkativeness had gone absent.

"Ms. Madison."

"What's the question again?"

"Are you sexually active Ms. Madison?"

"Nope." Blink. Pause. Ok, let it go mad little Maddie. "Not at all. I just lie there. Totally motionless." Blink. Blink. Bingo! And he knew it.

His eyes rolled.

I sat all pretty and demur and attentive in his fancy wingback chair. I crossed my stocking covered legs and rested my hands on my knees. I smiled with a blank look. They always believed that for some reason. Oh, how I was having a wonderful orgasm. He never knew it. Blink. Blink. I never thought that bimbos could fap. It was against the rules. But there I was right in front of him. Mmmm, fappiddy fap fap. I broke the rules. More fap. Blink.

"Eeee!" There was a mouse in the courtyard. Shit. Another memory popped into my head.

I was tied down into a large glass coffin or aquarium or death chamber or water chamber, but it was dry. Just water board me now fuckers! Let my bimbo programming erase my mind. I wanted the torture. I wanted how my programming defense mechanism that I designed would initiate the bimbo spy covert safeties and erase everything I knew forever. Do it! Erase me now!

"Madison," said Jack -- a guard, one of Mr. Green's fucking technicians. "You're profile says you had a childhood fear of mice."

Shit. I knew where this was going.

Jack smirked. He was ready to do something to me. It was clear he had prepared.

"You know Maddie, if you torture a bimbo, she'll erase her mind. Perfect for a captured spy."

Like duh dude. I'm the Chief Scientist. Check the chart. Or I used to be. Blink.

"But," he said, "childhood fears are a back door." He picked up a shoebox sized plastic bin. Lab mice. He poured dozens of the little critters into the glass coffin with me. It doesn't bother me, but my bimbo side hasn't reacted yet. It was a childhood fear. I was fine. No, wait.

I begged my mind to feel tortured and erase me. I watched the little animals as they climbed over my body. They tangled in my hair. They pushed over my face. My childhood fear was returning, but it wasn't torture -- it was worse. It was deeper. My speculations of forgotten fears being a back door to a bimbo were all true. Shit. I wasn't going to be able to fight this. I screamed at the top of my lungs. My heart raced in terror.

Jack nodded happily. He took notes.

I vowed to get him for this. I screamed again. Thank god they didn't have my bimbo code. I had a secret about that and I prayed it would get me through even this cruelty. My mind was locked. Even I couldn't get at it.

"Hi Jacky-wacky," I said so lovingly as I trotted down the hallway. I ran into Jack. Literally. "Duh!" I said pretending to have hit my little head.

He got angry, pushed me off, and walked away. He used to always spank me when he got close, but Ms. Red yelled at him. Mmm, Ms. Hotheaded Executive Red.

I looked down to my hands. I had picked Jack's pocket and held his cell phone in my hands now. How many times have I done this? I looked at it. I rub its flatty-watty smoothy-woothy glass screen. Now what? It's hard for a bimbo to conspire against evil, because -- what was I thinking? Oh yeah! I have a shiny object. I sat and played with the phone. I even rubbed it between my legs.

Focus Maddie. Focus.

I trotted to the courtyard -- like that made sense in some way. Hey, I can't keep it all in my head.

Oh god I wished I could just kick back and watch re-runs on TV.

I looked over to one of the few inmates I never had sex with. She had become the wallflower of the Asylum. Her name was Blinkie, at least that's what I called her once and it stuck, and when I said "stuck" I meant it propagated through the whole Asylum overnight. The next day it got to the point that even the guards were calling her "Blinkie." I hated her for what she used to be.

I wondered if I might have said Blinkie too many times. Maybe I propagated the name myself. I tended to ramble and stay on one topic for far too long. I looked at her and waved. Nothing. I waved again. Nothing. She used to be a lawyer for the Mafia. Unbelievable. I called such patients Inverted Bimbos. She used to be a talkative articulate lawyerly mouthpiece with a gift for glib gab and now, well now, nothing. An Inverted Bimbo for certain, taking on an opposite personality to desperately protect her mind from the treatments -- just like me or not.

I stared and leaned forward even though we were on opposite sides of the courtyard. The leaning-in seemed to help me see better. Well maybe not.

What went on in her little eye blinking blinkedly blink head anyway? I hope that doesn't happen to me. Blink. Blink.

Oh yeah I have a phone.

CHAPTER 4: Alias "Blinkie" (Bimbo Inmate Number 44)

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CHAPTER 5: Jack (Security)

Fucking asshole that Vinnie. I walked away leaving the bastard behind so that I can get back to work.

"Get off Madison," I yelled and pushed the boobed blonde off me. God she was hot, but too annoying. I loved spanking her, but she was labeled special now for some reason. I watched her ass for a second or two. I imagine my hand on it as I shook my head. Somehow things, bad things, seem to happen to guys around her.

I looked at Vinnie leading the latest Bubbles off the yard. That was my Bubbles for tonight. The tall freak was going to get another blowjob. Shit, she's the one I gave a key to. I wanted her to visit me. A lot of guards had that key, so I should be OK even if she dropped it.

How the hell does Vinnie get it up so many times during the day?

Ah there's Susan standing there in white lacy panties and bra and stockings. I can never get jaded. We made her kill her husband and set it up so he was disgraced. Hated programming her to do that. She seemed so sad and vulnerable.

Man, she has a kick ass body. I went over to her planning on taking her to my room. Good, the guards are putting the other bimbos away. This one's mine. I wondered what she's was thinking as she stared at that wall like that. Maybe she's not the best choice. I'm second in command. I could have any of these hot women. Maybe I have low self-esteem. Great. I am in a dominate position in a prison of beautiful bimbo women and I fall for the one resistant patient who probably only wants to kill me if she has any thoughts at all.

"Hi Susan," I said. I had to talk to her. What was she thinking starring off like that? We made her forget her husband, so that couldn't be it. Hm, I hoped that we made her forget.

CHAPTER 6: Susan (Committed Inmate Number 45)

I'm not sucking his cock. I pretended to get confused each time his pants opened and I never sucked it. Sure, I have put my hand around his shaft many times before I made the confusion set in. I would say, "Oh my. How big it is." Of course I said it like a bored waitress serving hamburgers at a truck stop dinner.

Doesn't he get a hint? I hated him. I didn't even know why. He made me do something, but what? He made me do it though. Couldn't be sex. I didn't care about sex anymore. I mounted his shaft all the time and rode him like a rodeo cowgirl. But I would never blow him -- if my memory could be trusted. When I rode him last time, I even tried to mock him by screaming and waving a hand in the air like he was one of those bull machines at a honky-tonk bar.

"Hi Susan," he said from behind me like he was kind and caring.

The bastard probably liked thinking he was.

I'm just going to stare off into space. He pulled me at the arm. He's was going to make me sleep with him again. Fine, I'll put his cock in my mouth. Nothing wrong with that. After all he's worked hard all day and deserved a woman to care for him. I smiled at him. Somehow I felt that was wrong.

"Hi Jack. Would you like me to service you?"

"Only if you want to," he said.

What? Like yeah sure. That's what I want to do. Just rub it in. Taunt me. Yeah taunt me.

"Oh, yes Jack," I said putting my arm under his and smiling up at him. He was tall. The Bimbo Asylum seemed to have a height requirement for guards. Probably to help establish authority. Some police departments used to have a six-foot two height requirement for just that reason. Then someone sued. Women were saddened.

Damn it. The cravings were coming back. I didn't want to reward him. The feelings built up. I felt the pressure that I must please him. I had to be loving and caring and if someone ever said 'puddles in puddles pound pussy' I'm to lock on target and administer poison or cover the face in a trash bag until there was no movement or if time was lacking, Karate chop the throat then --what was that? A memory flashed, but I couldn't hold on to it.

I walked with Jack. I knew I killed someone. But who? I knew the Asylum made me do it. But why? Maybe if I killed Jack, I could remember more. I would apply a reconstruction technique. But Jack was just a guard. That wouldn't be fair.

"Jack!" yelled Vinnie across the courtyard. "Ward Two!"

"Gotta go sweetie," said Jack running off. The fucker patted me on the butt.

CHAPTER 7: Madison (Special Committed Inmate Number 1)

I felt it building inside, but tried to control it. I was sitting next to Susan. She'd kept me company -- probably because she just didn't walk away.

I struggled. Think! I wanted a certain result, but could I do it? Or would my bimbo side rebuke any attempt to break the rules and ruin it? The bimbo thoughts hit my mind. I looked across the courtyard. I'm going to do this again aren't I? I held the cell phone tight, but I knew I would let go. I concentrated. Was this too complicated? Who could I simply call up? If I called the police, the Asylum had the political power to quash any reports or inquiries. I had to think and hold the phone just right. I wished I could just call someone. That wasn't an option though. The bimbo flooded in.

"Squirrel!" I yelled and stood. "Woof. Woof. Meow?" What sounds do squirrels do? "Eee!" It's was a mouse. But it was so cute.

I didn't know why I was there, so trot trot trot went my heels. My boobs bounced.

I saw the new Bubbles again. My bimbo subsided a bit. I remembered something. Jack gave her a key. I had seen that.

"Can you still talk?" I asked her.

She looked up at me in total confusion.

"I said, can you repeat phrases?"

She couldn't do what I wanted. "You are not the Bubbles I'm looking for," I said with a Jedi hand wave. "Give me that key in your bra. Do it now bitch." I slapped her. I didn't want to, but it was how the Bubbles girls were programmed. I looked around. It was all clear. No one had seen me. Even if they had, this was all normal for bimbos here.

Of course the slap activated her, "Oooo, master" phrase. Now she was focused on me and my every single itty-bitty wish. I fought to remember what I wanted. The key! I saw Jack give her one. She wasn't going to use it -- at least not like me. She was too stupid.

"This key needs another bimbo for tonight." I reached into her bra and felt around her soft boobs. "Where was it my cute double d-er?" She moaned especially when I tweaked her tits. Hey, gotta make someone happy. "Ah!" I took the key and hid it in my bra. Trot. Trot. Trot. I was off again.

I saw Jack as I approached the green fucking door. Shit. I looked at him. I didn't like him. But why?

It was a dark stormy night. Rain hit the outside Asylum walls. I'm wore a furry bikini with a tail. I crawled on the floor. I looked up not believing what I had become.

"Now drink the milk out of the bowl," said Jack.

I looked at a bowl and then at Jack. Silently I think, come on! Don't make me your stupid kitty. I was a scientist something or other. I had a PH, and a D or was it PH level? I was purple. I was acidic. I was base. Shit. I was a base? Was I a musician? No wonder I did sex play with Jack. Musical people were such sluts. I crawled over and bowed my lips to the surface of the milk and fluttered my tongue. I seemed to be spraying the surrounding floor more than drinking it, but I didn't care. I hated Jack.

Bimbo thoughts seeped into my mind. I knew what he's doing. During the interrogation process I had admitted that I didn't like this furry fantasy. It was humiliating for me. I hated it and that's why my handler had to force it on me. They needed to break me -- get me to cry, but I wouldn't. I would never. I looked at him feeling disgust, embarrassment, and anger. Then I realized that's not how to play this. I should love being a kitty. That is, I loved being HIS kitty. I ran my tongue around the outer edges of the bowl and lapped a lip of milk. "Mmmmmmmmeeeeeow."

Jack looked shocked and frustrated. "Damn it Maddie."

"Re-ow?" I said lifting my front dainty hands to my chest as I sat up and wiggled my ass. Take that fucker.

He was angry and threw his note tablet computer against the brick wall.

It was time to bounce. I scurried to a corner and tried to jam my body under some furniture. The Asylum liked wingback chairs and tall legged cabinets. I actually squeezed under a cabinet of drawers.

"Come out of there Maddie. We both know you know."

"Meow?"

Jack kicked the cabinet. "Fuck."

I stayed under the furniture.

Something about the wingback chair bothered me.

I remembered Mr. Green sat across from me. I was in my white lingerie. The wingback's metal handcuff loops were gone. Removed. The armrests now had leather wrist straps. They were getting better, smarter. My doctor had a bandage on his face. It covered most of his left side.

I stared and tilt my curious empty patient head and stared some more -- like a kitty.

He finally felt obligated to explain. "The patient that follows your appointment had an issue last week. It appears she waited to be handcuffed, freed herself, and stabbed me repeated with my pen. She took out several teeth and left a hole in my cheek."

"Eeew," I said. Then I looked down at the chair. "And she sat right here?" I felt around the leather seat touching into the creases -- the type of deep creases perfect to hide a hairpin. Assassin bimbos were smart and independent. They'd feel around the creases and pretend to be talking. Handcuffs were nothing if given a paperclip or hairpin. Today I made certain to wear my hair down. Best not be associated with problems. I looked at the new leather wrist straps. Unlike handcuffs on the other hand, what could a bimbo use to undo them? Damn it, one option burned. I looked back at Mr. Green annoyed that he was still alive. The assassin bimbo should have just killed him. She must have really hated the man to switch to torture like that. I hoped she had a plan. Maybe she would get him later. I hold up my hands and cross my middle fingers at him. "I'm praying for you. I am."

Back in the courtyard I turned and I searched my bra for my electronic badge. I had just left Bubbles and had a key, Jack's key. Jack was looking at me and I'm starting to realize that I had secretly collected a few other keys in my bra. Probably best not to drop them. I smiled at Jack as I groped my self some more. The problem was that doing so seemed to make him stare even more at me -- nervous giggle.

I didn't like making Jack happy. Jack was my trainer for two, three, maybe five years. Shit. I gave up. I bowed at my waist and pressed my left boob against the badge reader-deader-beeper. Beep. "Squirrel!" I said as I bolted up with a little bounce. Hopefully Jack didn't hear the metallic jingle. But any who, "that's what they sound like!" I said quite loudly. I opened the green door and trotted click clack style towards my lab. BUT WAIT. I went back and stuck my head out to see Jack one last time. I don't know why I felt like doing so.