GAME OVER!

Time itself seems to stop the very moment the noise erupts. All over the common room, the guests recoil simultaneously.
Their eyes turn to the source of the disruption, and now the Faux Genius finds herself the center of attention. She looks about herself frantically; left, right. The hoard of hospitalized women moves towards her. Nothing but creepy yandere faces anywhere. Hungry eyes roam her curves, as carnivorous smiles flash from within the crowd. The last sliver of escape disappears as the circle of deprived women closes around her.
Mindless giggling burst out from within the encroaching swarm. Greedy arms reach toward her. With her arms trapped in the straitjacket, she is completely **** to the onslaught of the ravenous hoard.

"Uh, hello ladies. Fancy a game of Uno? Anyone"
Her offer falls on deaf ears. They spring at her, all at once, falling on the Faux Genius like a pack of wolves. No amount of squirming and wincing can save her from the onslaught of their groping hands. They scramble for some place to touch. Any free spot will do. Their hands trace the length of her lean curves, squeezing and rubbing against her with reckless abandon.
Their feral lust is contagious. Her defiant struggles serves only to escalate their desires.
They quickly become rougher. Bolder. More invasive.
Their bodies trap her like a cage of lewd female flesh, eventually sending her toppling to the floor. A cacophony of laughter erupts from the crowd as they follow her down. Their expressions, warped with lecherous hunger, fills her vision. The Faux Genius kick and screams and grunts, but they keep her pinned under their collective mass, their groping serving also to keep her pinned underneath them.

Her lucious legs are by no means spared this attention. They tear through her pants like wild animals, leaving her exposed to their wanton desires. The one sanctuary against modesty and decency lay scattered in heaps on the floor. Some of the girls pick up the odd scrap as trophies, holding them against their chests and sniffing them.
Her straitjacket, however, remains intact, simultaneously rendering her trapped to their advances while leaving her exposed and ****.

"Don't worry," One of the pale women utters between unstable cackling, "You belong to us now."
And so the Faux Genius falls victim to the lust of St Ludicrezia Mental Facility For the Criminally Loony and Terminally Nymphomanic. Their hungry fingers offer no respite. No skin is spared their relentless fondling. No hole is left unprodded. Her mind, and innocence, disappears as she is piled on by these depraved women.

Oh, the humanity! If only she had known better than to challenge fate.
Perhaps next time she will have learned her lesson?