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Message-ID: <51434asstr$1119341405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Yotna El'toub" <yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Vampyre Daze Chapter 16 of 50   [Yotna El'toub] (FF, MC, caution)
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Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2005 04:10:05 -0400
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*******************************************************************
               {ASSM} Vampyre Daze Chapter 16 of 50
               [Yotna El'toub] (FF, MC, caution)
*******************************************************************

WARNING: This story will contain situations and explicit language of an 
adult nature and should be read only by those of a legal age to do so. If 
you are a minor or object to stories of an adult nature, LEAVE HERE 
IMMEDIATELY. Legal age local to the author is 18+ please abide to your own 
local laws.

Please note and understand the content codes for this story. The characters 
portrayed in this story are just that, characters in my story. Any 
similarities to real people are purely coincidental and unintentional. The 
characters and situations portrayed are pure fantasy; the author is keen to 
state that in reality adult sexuality should remain only in the adult world.

Please do not allow or cause this story to fall in to the hands of minors.

___________________________________________________________________



Chapter Sixteen: Security


"What the hell is up with the traffic this morning?" Bill grumbled.

"Dunno, let's see what the local radio has on it," Bob replied reaching for 
the dash.

The dulcet tones of Ali Vowles filled the van’s cabin.

"Major disruption to traffic continues in Bristol today, following last 
nights tragedy at a popular concert venue. Scores remain missing and 
hundreds are injured, after an unexplained explosion on stage during a 
performance by the New York rockers Les Bitches..."

"Shit my Cyn was at that, what the fuck..."

"Cyn was watching them perverts," Bob sucked air in through his 
nicotine-stained teeth, "din't she come 'ome then?"

"Nah, shuddup will ya, I wanna listen!" Bill barked.

"... there is no news from the management team of the band, but 
eye-witnesses report them being torn apart by a massive blast. The injured 
are being taken to both the BRI and Southmead Hospital's, due to the large 
number of orthopaedic cases. Over now to our roving reporter Laura Newton, 
who is at the disaster site..."

"It sounds bad Bill, what do you want to do, I mean if it were my 
daughter..."

"Let's listen, there might be a number to call," Bill replied.

Bob stared at his ashen-faced friend, he went to ask if Bill was OK, but 
something in the older man's expression froze the words on his lips.

"... so tell me Kylie, what was it like in there?" the reporter gushed.

"It was horrible, the place went crazy, people were screwing everywhere, and 
then some odd girl grabbed me. She tore off my tee-shirt and..."

"Um, thank you Kylie, you are clearly upset," Laura's voice tailed off for 
an instant, "Over now to Charlie Farley, who is co-ordinating the rescue. Mr 
Farley, do you have any comments on the reported orgy and assaults prior to 
the attack?"

"Yes I do young lady, these people, youngsters, have been through hell and 
back. Most of them are in deep shock, at the moment you can't rely on their 
comments. We need to give them time to recover."

"So are you saying they are lying? Kylie, what are your feelings on that 
suggestion?"

"I-I, my best friend is dead!" Kylie's voice descended into racking sobs.

"Leave her be, you insensitive twat! Really you people..." growled Charlie, 
before the mike was swept away from him.

"And with that controversy raging, this is Laura, handing you back to Ali in 
the studio."

Bill's voice reverberated in the van.

"Dead, people are dead! Oh my god... Cynthia."

"...concerned relatives should contact one of the following numbers 0117..."

Bill hung his head down, his creased forehead touched the steering wheel; 
massive shoulders undulated, and his large body shook. When finally his face 
reappeared from the shadows, his tanned cheeks were wet.

"It's OK Bill, I got the numbers, I'm sure Cyn will be fine, come on mate, 
chin up!"

"I hopes you're right Bob, I just hopes you’re right."



             ------------------------------


Sister Amelia George stared down the ordered ward, never had she seen it so 
full. Multiple beds had been conveyed from the male wards to the female 
ones. Oddly most of the injured had been female, and the vast majority of 
fatalities male. Amelia's analytical mind was troubled, not by professional 
considerations, no after all, the major incident plan had worked perfectly, 
it was the nature of this disaster and it's outcome that was so off-key.

"Penny for you thoughts on this one sister," asked Dr Jordan.

"I wish I had some, I have never seen anything like this."

"Well I have read about similar cases, Post-Trauma. But never this 
manifestation, or so wide-spread, ooops sorry wrong word!" the young doctor 
laughed.

"I don't find it amusing, I mean some of them are quite poorly, and yet they 
still, they still -- I mean it's not normal!"

"Sister, I think even the medical profession now considers masturbation 
normal, even if this is a little excessive. Just keep them sedated, it seems 
to, er, reduce their 'activity'."

"But what can account for this? I mean how do we control them if they are 
still like this in a week’s time? Physically many of them will be recovered, 
but we can't sedate them forever, can we?"

"No we can't, but I think this is temporary erotomania, remember that by all 
accounts these young women were in a highly excited state when the explosion 
occurred. This is just the aftermath of the two events juxtaposed."

"Well I for one hope it's soon over, I mean my nurses are not trained to 
look after sex maniac's."

"Amelia, they are still patients, look, I have to go and check on Sister 
McMahon's ward. Whatever you do, keep the mobile one's well under. We can't 
have them rampaging through the hospital in this state," Dr Jordan managed a 
luke-warm smile.

"You mean Margy has them as well?"

"Don't worry you are not the only one, we currently have three wards full 
and more arriving as we speak..."

Dr Jordan was interrupted by the opening of the ward’s doubled doors. A 
bespectacled lady, clipboard in hand, gazed at the medical staff for one 
long second.

"Dr Jordan, a word!"

Derek Jordan walked briskly towards the swinging doors.

"Ah, see how he responds to his masters voice," chuckled Amelia, ignoring 
the two fingers he obscenely jabbed behind his long white coat.

In the corridor, Derek was confronted both by Winona Law, the Chief 
administrator and Harry Hill from security.

"Well Jordan, any change? Are they more... settled?" asked Winona.

"No, they are only 'settled' under heavy sedation, and even then many are 
still mast..."

"I get the picture, thank you. I have asked Harry to get his men to secure 
the affected wards. Only staff will get in or out, understood?"

"Staff and I presume visitors?" asked Derek.

"No, I am quarantining the wards. No visitors."

"But we have no reason for quarantine, this is purely psychological in 
origin. I must protest, there is no medical reason why..."

"Listen to me Jordan, we are canning this story. If it gets out, serious 
questions will be asked. The Hospital and the trust have had enough bad 
publicity. I am releasing this, by way of explanation."

Derek read the press release with increasing mirth.

"...it is believed that the explosion was most likely due to toxic gases 
leaching into the Academy club. At this time the nature and toxicity of the 
gases is unknown. In order to limit exposure to chemical and/or radiological 
risk the patients affected will be quarantined from all contact with the 
outside world. The trust will update relatives, and then the press when such 
restrictions are lifted. Until that time, no details, including identity, 
will be provided."

"This is outrageous, you don't have the authority..." Derek protested.

"I do Dr Jordan, the Trust just unanimously voted through the approval of my 
plan. Now if you forgive me I have others to inform."

Derek watched impassively as the administrator and her side-kick walked 
away. He whistled softly under his breath.

"Barking, completely barking."

He turned right and headed for the Keller ward, 30 yards later the corridor 
formed a t-junction. Derek swung left and sighed deeply as he walked towards 
the guarded door.

"Hi Doc, good to see you," wisecracked Skipper.

"I wish I could say the same Skip, this place has finally flipped!"

Derek opened the door a smidgen and squeezed through. For a couple of 
minutes he just observed the rows of beds. In a few, the occupants slumbered 
peacefully. The rest of the beds were witness to the passions of their 
residents, covers writhed and seethed as the limbs of the impassioned women 
thrashed wildly around.

Idly he watched as one of the student nurses approached a patient to take 
routine obs. He couldn't fail to notice how lithe she was under her pale 
blue uniform, as she was silhouetted momentarily by a window which she 
passed. She moved towards one of the inactive patients and began to attach a 
blood-pressure cuff. An instant later the young nurse screamed.

The patient had obviously been feigning sleep. In a flash, she gripped the 
startled student by the back of the neck, and threw her bed clothes back. 
Her nightdress had ridden up and her inflamed sex was exposed. With brutal 
speed, she forced the young nurse’s face to her hungry organ. The patient 
ground her vulva savagely against the hidden face. By the time Derek had 
reached the bed, the female occupant was part way into her orgasm, as she 
hammered her labia against the nurse’s screwed-up features.

Dr Jordan grasped the student’s quaking shoulders and tried in vain to 
release her. He summoned up his strength, and pulled once more. The 
spluttering nurse was pulled free, but with such force that both she and the 
doctor tumbled backwards onto the cool ward floor. By the time they 
recovered the patient had vanished, the only witness to her passing was the 
swinging ward doors.

Cursing, Derek ran to the nurses station, and hit the intercom.

"This is Jordan on Keller, one of the affected patients is on the loose, she 
is violent and should be approached with care. She may respond to the 
name..." Derek cursed once more, "what’s the name on her chart?"

The nurse whimpered and crawled to the end of the bed, through her tears she 
read unsteadily.

"Cyn... Cynthia Blakelock, 17 years old."


             ------------------------------


The Emergency Department was in total chaos, the living wounded lay on 
stretchers all over the place, in corridors, and even the vestibule was full 
to overflowing. On one particular stretcher lay a bruised and battered 50 
something male, his lean body hunched into an uncomfortable part-foetal 
posture. Besides him stood two women, the concern they felt was etched 
deeply into their faces.

Leanne spoke, and her voice creaked with weariness.

"So once he is patched up, we go and find the others? Is that the plan?"

"Others, what others?" asked Jolene dimly.

"My Cath, Lalo, Maldea, Rachael, Jeff and Janet - who else?"

"Darling, we may have to face it, we may never find them. As bad as it may 
seem, us surviving may be the only good news. I think they have all gone."

"Gone? You mean dead don't you?"

"Yes, face it, we only survived thanks to following the St Johns Ambulance 
guys out once they had rescued Fizz. Anyone near the stage was... history."

Leanne let out a long mewl of anguish.

"I suppose you are right, I just can't accept it..."

"Who do we have here then?" a small, bustling nurse interrupted.

"This is Fizz, Dr Justin Fazakerley, he’s been badly beaten."

"Well at least that's something more normal than most! He'll be with us a 
while, do you want to get a coffee or something?"

"OK," Jolene answered as she watched the diminutive nurse wheel her love 
away.

She turned and eyed the coffee queue with disdain, that was out. Jolene 
wondered about freshening up, but the line from the ladies stretched even 
further than the one for the canteen. Her mind was made up in an instant.

"Leanne, let's go back to the Hotel and freshen up, it's not far and Fizz 
won't miss us for a while." Jolene saw the uncertainty in Leanne's eyes, and 
added, "there might be some news on the TV."

Leanne simply nodded, and hand-in-hand supporting each other, the sadden 
women left casualty, walking into the damp welcome of a Bristol morning.


             ------------------------------




Winona frowned at her computer screen, she raised her manicured fingers to 
the apex of the bridge of her nose and pinched the skin. She needed to 
concentrate, to stay on top of this; it was her task to keep the media scrum 
at bay while the medics worked on the unruly women. Her phone rang, once, 
twice, and on the third ring she answered it, composed and professional.

"Winona Law CAO, how may I help?"

"Winnie, it's Harry, we have an issue."

"What sort of issue?"

"The worst sort, one of the 'affected' patients has made a bid for freedom."

"Indeed and how the hell did they get out of the ward?"

"One of the guy's took a pee break, Dr Jordan was on ward so he thought..."

"Harry, I pay them to guard, not think, who was it?"

"One of my best men, I will sort it Winnie."

"Harold, please call me Winona at work, tell me who. I need to prepare his 
P45."

"Winona, let's not be hasty, Skipper is an old friend."

"Yes Harold, an old friend and an ex-security guard! Get over it, and find 
that bloody lunatic before we all land in the shit!"

"Yes Winona," Harry replied meekly, blinking in amazement, she had sworn, 
Winona -- this was serious.

Winona silently chastised herself as she returned the receiver to its 
cradle. She had lost her cool and with Harry of all people. Once this had 
blown over she was going to take some leave, get away from the crushing 
pressure that the hospital and trust exerted on her. She stood and walked to 
her window, wide eyed she gazed at her empire. Stretching before her was the 
BRI itself, and across the road, downhill lay the other hospitals. She 
mentally named them, remembering the staff requirements of each.

Slowly she started to recover her composure, here she stood surveying her 
world and reveling in the power surge it gave her. The rush was 
incomparable, oh sex with Harry sometimes came close, but it wasn't as 
reliable. The hairs on Winona's elegant neck prickled, she an uncanny 
feeling she was being watched. She hesitated for a second before turning to 
confront the observer.

She found herself nose-to-nose with a patient, Winona's panicked eyes 
searched for humanity in the red-rimmed orbs staring at her, they found 
none. Winona backed away, pressing her grey suit jacket against the cool 
glass behind her. She blinked, breaking contact with the madly staring eyes 
before her. She found her voice, but even to her it sounded thin and 
inconsequential.

"Now don't do anything rash, I can have security here in a second."

The girl considered this, and took two paces backwards. Winona relaxed a 
little, her ploy had worked. Then her blood ran cold, she watched in horror 
as the scantily clad girl ripped the phone from its socket, and smashed the 
intercom with her extended left fist. Alone and terrified, Winona wished 
Harry was there.

An instant later, the girl launched herself at the Chief Administrator, her 
claw-like fingertips slashed through the delicate silk blouse and caught the 
rim of a bra cup, spilling out Winona's right breast. Cynthia's hands aimed 
at a new target, and with unerring accuracy found Winona's neck. The 
struggling administrator was lifted off her feet and her head slammed into 
the window pane, shattering it completely. The older woman felt a warm patch 
pool thickly in her hair, before it trickled in a bloody stream down her 
back. Winona was convinced she was about to die, but something worse awaited 
her.

Her eyes bulged, partly from being throttled, and partly from the odd 
sensation of another woman's lips fastening on her bouncing nipple. Despite 
her fear and regardless of her disgust, the small nub of flesh erected 
fiercely against the girl's saliva-coated tongue. Sharp teeth grazed the 
raised bud, bringing delicious, shuddering shivers to Winona's suspended 
body. Under her designer skirt the silken crotch of her French knickers 
flooded with unwanted desire, and her unruly clitoris reared up against the 
sleek fabric.

Half throttled and bleeding profusely, Winona Law experienced new heights of 
dizzying sexuality. Suddenly the red-rimmed eyes were level with hers once 
more. Unable to look away Winona let her soul go as she felt it flow out of 
her and into the depths of hell that beckoned in the black pupils watching 
her. Her feet were back on the floor, her thighs widely spread. Cynthia's 
hands slid up the leg of her loose knickers and plundered her spasming 
vulva. She bucked as first one finger, and then two, found the virgin 
orifice of her anus.

Lost to the world, Winona slid her hands down her abdomen and pressed hard 
just above her slick hairless mound. As her need was so strong she moved 
bringing the fat bud of her clitoris into firm contact with the wet heel of 
Cynthia's hand. Winona came hard, as a third finger probed her stretched 
anal muscles.

From somewhere the debauched administrator heard a door open in another 
universe. She was aware of a struggle and the bitter loss of Cynthia's hands 
on her wet labia. Sighing in frustration, Winona replaced the missing digits 
with her own and sank further into the insanity of endless desire.

Cynthia was much more aware of her situation. She was very aware of the 
incredible pain in her fingers, as she hung on the edge of the window sill; 
shards of glass lacerated her slippery digits. Fearfully she looked down, 
surely she was to see her own death staring back at her. Oddly she smiled 
and released the window sill, plunging away from it at speed.

Derek pulled out his mobile, and shouted into it impotently.

"Harry, she's attacked Winona and dropped onto the Queens' building fire 
escape. Get someone to the bottom, now. You get up here, Winona looks in a 
bad way."

Derek turned his professional attention to the injured administrator. Using 
her own blood as a lubricant, the desperate woman forced herself from one 
degraded climax to the next. Dr Jordan hung his head, dazed by the day’s 
awful events. His mobile beeped, and displayed 'message received'. 
Automatically his fingers retrieved the text.

He stared at it in disbelief, it was his 'quote for the day'. Emblazoned 
across the screen of his phone was the most ironic of quotes.

"Security Is mortals' chiefest enemy. Wm. Shakespeare, Macbeth (3.5.32)"

Derek laughed bitterly, as he moved in -- to try and restrain his writhing 
Chief Administrator.



             ------------------------------



___________________________________________________________________

Foot Notes (C) Yotna El'toub June 2005
____________________________________________________________________
I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed
writing it.  As always, feedback is appreciated, since it is my only
payment for my work.

Please address comments to yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com

This story is copyrighted by the author and as such may not be
published, posted or archived on any newsgroup, website, or server,
other than ASSM and ASSTR, without the EXPRESS PERMISSION of the
author. Any reader may archive a copy of this story, provided the
warnings and copyright information is attached in full.
-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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