Botched Genius

"Susan I'd give up getting better for just a couple of rolls in the hay with you."

Susan giggled, and then started talking about when I could meet with Dr. Ryan and his team of PhD students who I had been helping delve into the theories/facts of matter and antimatter more deeply than has ever been done before. That was something that I never would have been allowed to do if I was on death row, one of many good reasons why Sunnyside was superior to prison.

When I got to Sunnyside some things had changed. In addition to enhanced security due to my escape there was a new patient that Susan hadn't told me about. Her name was Brittany.

Brittany was a hard-looking bitch; like an actress from a "Women in Prison" porno movie. But even more noticeable than her hard-look was her consummate hot body. I couldn't help staring at her when I first saw her, hoping that she wasn't a moron like many of the patients at Sunnyside.

"What are you staring at asshole?" were her first words to me.

"Maybe the best body that I've ever seen; I'd apologize but I'm not in the least bit sorry; just aroused."

"I can see that since your little pecker is trying to poke a hole in your pants, dipshit."

"Hey – natural reaction. Maybe we can try each other out sometime."

"I'm not that hard up yet, wacko; but hope burns eternal in the human bosom doesn't it?"

And so started my loving relationship with Brittany Burns.

It turned out that Brittany was also a genius; really, not just figuratively, IQ measured at 170. We had more in common than that, though. She had also been found criminally insane after she killed her husband and his mistress when she found them fucking. In fact, as best that I could determine, she and I were the only people in the state – at least within the time frame that the records were computerized – that were found not guilty of murder because we were legally insane under the irresistible impulse test that is paramount in our state.

As an alternative to not knowing the difference between right and wrong, in our state someone can be found criminally insane if he/she experienced a sudden psychic shock called dissociative reaction, and that dissociative reaction created an unbearable tension that could be alleviated only by taking immediate and violent action. In both of our cases more than one psychiatrist's testimony supported the conclusion that we were legally insane because of this "dissociative reaction," that is we passed the irresistible impulse test.

Since Brittany and I were the smartest people at Sunnyside – including staff and visitors – despite our less than amicable initial verbal exchange, we gravitated toward each other. I continued to help Dr. Ryan's team with their antimatter project, and she got involved with another group at the same University that was analyzing large amounts of social-science data.

Brittany and I ended up sitting next to each other at every meal, and if we weren't discussing some intellectual topic I was propositioning her and she was alternately leading me on and shooting me down. One day at dinner they were having a party for one of the moronic patients, and had fake chessmen as center pieces. They also served cherry cobbler for dessert. The latter wasn't unusual but I noticed for the first time that Brittany really scarfed the cobbler down. I normally ate it, but didn't really like it – I just needed something sweet. An idea popped into my mind. I left my cobbler sitting next to me while everyone else was eating theirs.

Brittany finished before everyone else. I saw her eyeing mine. "Are you going to eat your cobbler Scott?" she asked. She never called me "Scott" unless she wanted something; depending upon her mood or the situation it was normally "dude," "dipshit," or "retard," (not politically correct I know, but she had no pretense of political correctness).

"I think that I'll just throw it out," I snickered.

"Let me have it then," she said, licking her lips and reaching for it.

I picked it up and moved it away from her; "No fucking way; it's mine and if I want to throw it out I can," I replied with a truly diabolical smile.

"OK, what do you want?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

"I want you to play me in a game of chess, and if you lose, I get to fuck you."

She stared at me for a long time. Then she got a smile that rivaled mine in diabolicalisity (I know it's not a real word, but so what – you get the idea).

"OK; we'll play after dinner and if you win we fuck tomorrow; deal?" she said as she extended her hand.

"Deal," I replied shaking her hand.

My cobbler was consumed in thirty seconds flat; she looked at me the whole time that she was devouring it.

After the moron accepted a gift from the staff and everyone sang "This is your birthday song; it doesn't last too long; HEY!" [they don't sing "Happy Birthday" at Sunnyside for fear of infringing a copyright even though I've told them many times that it isn't enforceable] Brittany and I retired to play chess.

I never lose at chess; I mean never. My cock was getting hard just thinking about burying itself between Brit's exquisite thighs.

The bitch cleaned my clock. When she said "Mate," she knocked over my king, stood up and said "better luck next time dipshit," as she sauntered away, making sure to swing her ass back and forth.

I chalked up my loss to being too excited about the prospect of getting into Brit's pants. When I lost to her the next three cherry cobbler nights (fortunately, they serve it every five days, the cook has fun making it and most of the patients love it) I was really getting frustrated. The next time cobbler was served I decided to be petulant.

After Brit wolfed down her cobbler she reached for mine. "No; get your hands away; I'm going to eat it tonight."

"Aw, what's a matter; know that your little pea brain can't compete with mine and can't stand losing to a superior intellect in chess again?" she snickered.

"You must be cheating, I just don't know how," I snickered back. "Also, you probably wouldn't be a good fuck anyway. You'd probably just 'Lay there and think of England,'" I replied [the "Think of England" quip was a reference to what wives in Elizabethan times were told to do when their husbands demanded sex since under the mores of the time they obviously couldn't admit to enjoying it themselves].

"Tell you what dipshit," Brit responded, still eyeing the cobbler, "I'll give you a two pawn advantage and promise that it will be the most energetic fuck you've ever had it your life in the remote chance that you prevail."

"OK," I replied holding out my hand. She shook it grabbed the cobbler, and ate it straight from the dish, not even using a utensil, and grinned as she made a point of licking the plate clean while staring at me.

I do believe that Brit would have beaten me even with the two pawn advantage, but perceptive ass that I am I sensed that she was throwing the game. She had to be as horny as I was since she had been at Sunnyside for four months and hadn't been laid. When I yelled "Mate" she snickered "OK, I guess that's what I'll have to do with you, as unpleasant as it will be for me."

"When and where tomorrow," I gleefully asked while rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

"Since it's a Thursday the only free time will be after breakfast and before we Skype with our University colleagues. Also since we don't have 'permission' we should use the B stairwell where the camera is broken. We should have between 9:00 and 9:20 – I think that I can get your little dick off in that amount of time," Brit grinned.

"B stairwell, 9:00 a.m., it is," I grinned back.

I couldn't sleep that night; all I could think about was fucking the shit out of Brittany. I didn't eat anything except a yogurt for breakfast – I didn't want any blood being wasted in going to my stomach instead of my cock. I slipped into the stairwell first, Brit thirty seconds later. Despite her comments and teasing the previous night I could tell that she was as anxious to fuck as I was.

We passionately kissed once, then removed our clothes, and then embraced again. I fingered her hairy pussy and pinched one of her puffy oversized nipples while she stroked my cock with one hand and fondled my balls with the other. We were to the point of overstimulation in no time flat. I lifted her up by her sculptured thighs and pushed her back against the wall. She guided my cock into her well-lubricated channel, and we were off to the races. I was more desperate to please and get off than at any other point in my life.

Brit wasn't lying when she said that she'd make this fuck memorable. How she undulated her pelvis while I had her back against the wall, I don't know – but she did. How she could have such strong pc muscles was also a mystery, but I didn't care why once she started pulsing them. It was the best feeling in the world. I grunted like a lily pad full of bullfrogs, and she bit my shoulder to keep from screaming, as the most powerful stream of jism ever blasted from my cock into her snug pussy.

The intensity of our orgasms was so great that I crumpled to the floor. We were fortunate that neither one of us was injured as a result, but we stayed mated until the last orgasmic aftershock had passed. We occasionally kissed as we wordlessly got dressed, tried disguise our "just fucked" looks, and exited the stairwell, Brit first, me thirty seconds later.

We were both late for our Skype sessions but no one made a big deal out of it.

We talked little during dinner that night. Afterward we went to pretend to play chess, but really to talk about what happened.

"Brit, you are light years beyond awesome," I mumbled as I moved my white pawn to Queen 4 to open the game.

"I'm not going to give you my normal bullshit Scott," she mumbled in reply, moving her pawn to confront mine. "That was the best fuck of my life. We need to get together."

"We'll go see Susan first thing tomorrow morning," I replied as I moved my queen's bishop.

We got an appointment with Susan for the middle of the next morning, and both excused ourselves from our Skype visits with our University colleagues.

"What's up?" Dr. Patterson asked as she motioned for us to sit in chairs across from her desk.

Brittany didn't mince words. "Scott and I want to fuck regularly. We need to trade in an hour of our time with the University teams every weekday to have privacy in one of our rooms, and to get out of therapy for an hour each weekend day. Either that or we need to be able to share a room."

Susan didn't miss a beat. She obviously had been expecting this. "So you finally found someone here who's worthy, huh Scott?" she chuckled.

"Way beyond worthy," I growled.

"OK, here are the precautions that you must agree to," she said, handing a document to each of us. "Sign at the bottom."

Brit and I are both speed readers, plus I already had memorized the document in previous investigations, so we signed in no time flat.

"Great, that takes care of that," Susan said. "However, I'm not letting either of you out of meetings with the University teams, or to miss therapy, therefore I'll make arrangements for you to move in together. The obese patient in B4, with the double bed, is leaving Sunday. Monday you can leave your rooms and move in there," Susan nonchalantly responded.

"What do we do until then?" Brit asked.

"You've gone without for months – surely you can last three more days, can't you?" she chortled.

Brit was about to go off, but I recognized a good thing when I saw it and quickly diffused the situation. I jumped up and got between Brit and Susan and earnestly said "Thank you so much Susan; now I won't have to dream about having sex with you every night," as I took and kissed her hand.

Susan giggled; Brit looked like she wanted to say something but I ushered her out the door, then turned, smiled, and waved at Susan.

"I wanted an accommodation for the next three days," Brit gripped as I hustled her away.

"Don't sweat it – we have stairwell B," I whispered.

The first night that Brit and I spent together was magical. After two steamy, athletic, sweaty fucks Monday night we fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning we made love; true, real, slow, methodical, intense, erotic, passionate love.

Within a week we were more in love with each other than we had been with anyone else in our previous lives. Brit was no longer "hard" and most of my cynicism and haughtiness had vanished. We took real joy in learning all that we could about each other, often in pillow talk after fucking or making love. Two weeks into our sexual relationship, after yet another mind-blowing orgasm, I whispered to Brit "Want to know a secret?"

"I want to know everything there is to know about you," she whispered back, then bit my nose.

"I faked my dissociative reaction. I learned everything there was to know about it before I planned my brother's death, although I didn't really intend to kill my wife, just maim her. Will that make you drop me?" I said.

Brit laughed for a minute straight, barely able to hold the noise down.

"What's so funny?" I asked three times before she gained her composure.

"I did the same thing," she chuckled, "although I did intend to kill both my husband and his tart."

I broke into a big grin.

"I guess that we're made for each other, aren't we?"

"Fuck yeah – and as long as we don't cheat on each other we'll live a long, loving, and happy life," she replied.

"Even if it wasn't in our DNA not to ever cheat," I seriously responded, "knowing what each of us is capable of would preclude that ever happening. Let's break out of here, get married, and start our wonderful life together."

"OK," she said with a smile, and then shimmied down under the covers and started sucking my cock.

****************

The enhanced security since my last escape was easily defeated with information that one of the University PhD students I dealt with got for me, not knowing what it was for but buying my story about how it might tangentially lead to a solution to one of the equations we were having difficulty with. On a Sunday night a week after I got the necessary information, Brit and I first ran through Sunnyside's grounds, then leisurely strolled to the nearest town, stole a car, and were at my safe deposit box by the time the bank opened Monday morning. We got my new identity papers, cash, and credit card, bought an innocuous used car, and were three states away by dinnertime. Once Brit got her new identity three weeks later we got married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas.

Four years after we said "I do" we have a low-key stable home life, with twin year-old daughters, and are happier than each of us ever thought possible - we just have to make sure that we never are returned to Sunnyside.

Our lives are serene knowing that we never have to worry about our spouse cheating, and I consider my life perfect in every way except for one – every other day Brit serves that Sunnyside-recipe fucking cherry cobbler for dessert!