Bridget The Story of a trained Slave
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Bridget's DaysChapter 7 free porn video
(The Pacific Ocean, 1998)
(This chapter is just for fun. I think Bridget deserves it.)
This was impossible. This was ridiculous. This could not be happening. It had never happened before, not in 400 plus years. But it was!
Frantically I rushed for the bathroom, my hands clasped over my mouth. I barely made it there before my stomach gave a heave, bringing up nothing at all. I knelt there, my head spinning as the deck gave another lurch under me. I debated crawling back to the bed and decided to stay right where I was.
I suppose in one way its funny. Had I been able to get on my feet though, anyone laughing at me would have run a serious risk of having their limbs permanently rearranged. I mean, whoever heard of a sea-sick vampire?
What made it worse, assuming it could have gotten worse, was that I had covered pretty much all the seven seas over my centuries of unlife. I had crisscrossed the Atlantic a number of times since my first voyage to America. I'd sailed the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean. I'd gone around the Horn during the California Gold Rush and, well, to make a long story a bit less tedious, I had never suffered a queasy moment in a storm-tossed sailing ship. Yet here I was on a modern, carefully appointed cruise ship, designed specifically to be stable, and I was contemplating crawling up to the pool and sunbathing for the 30 seconds or so it would take to turn me into a pile of ashes.
Of course I blamed Robert for my misfortune. I had tried to turn him down when he called to offer me this all-expense paid (by the tax-payers anyway) trip. I should have known something was going to go amiss when an FBI agent, even one I had known for a couple of hundred years, gives something free to an Agency employee.
"Come on, Bridget, you'll love it," he had insisted. "You've been working hard, the Deputy Director here at the Bureau and your Deputy Director for Operations at Langley are both pleased as punch about the recent coup you pulled off. Not only did you intercept a huge arms shipment from a certain unfriendly foreign power but you also enabled us to nail several top members of the Five Families.
"Couldn't I just stay here in DC and work on my golf game?" I tried to plead. Okay, maybe "whined" was a better word. "Or maybe get some writing done. I'm never going to win a Pulitzer Prize at 'Rolling Stone' if I don't do something spectacular."
"First, you can't pay golf at night. I know, I've tried. Your exercise routine is martial arts, which you generally do in private because you can't take your sword to the YWCA. Second, your biography to the Pulitzer Committee would be a little unusual to say the least. Just go Bridget. Eat some nice spicy food, drink some good whiskey. Find someone to dance with, vertically or horizontally." He peered at me. "My lord, did you just try to blush?"
I mumbled something unprintable under my breath. As if vampires can blush. Just because he's one or two hundred years older than me, he thinks he has me pegged. Booze, music and sex. Damn, he DOES know me pretty well at that.
So I had accepted. I flew to the West Coast and boarded the ship the night of her first stop. I had a nice interior cabin which meant no portholes. I skipped throwing streamers into the water as the ship pulled away. Instead I concentrated on dressing for the first night's dinner. I wanted to keep an eye out for, well, whoever I might spot. "Cherchez la femme et le homme" as somebody once said, or should have. "Keep a lookout for the gals and the guys". Hey, its not my fault I enjoy the company of both sexes.
That first night I simply surveyed the passengers. I was not looking for someone to snack on. A locked container in my stateroom that plugged into a wall outlet kept my donated blood refrigerated until I microwaved it. There was a good deal more than I needed to survive, since I could go comfortably for several days at a time without feeding but after all, I was on vacation. Most people on a cruise eat too much so why shouldn't I indulge myself?
The assistant purser who was seated at my table was cute but its hard to take someone seriously who's named after a burrowing animal. I met the Captain during the after-dinner mingling. I have always found men in authority very sexy, and he was no exception. From the other women surrounding him I knew I wasn't the only woman who felt that way though. I hate standing in line.
I did notice two attractive older women at the table next to mine who appeared to be single. Both were in their late forties I judged, but still very nice looking. Both brunettes, one had a splendid set of breast-works that made me green with envy, as well as making my mouth water. I listened with half an ear to the other, more slender, woman talking. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but her soft Southern accent was a delight to listen to. For a moment my thoughts drifted to Belle Boyd and the nights we had spent together during the American Civil War. I sighed. She had been dead for over a century by now. The years run by so fast and yet so slow when you live forever.
Enough melancholy I scolded myself as the band began to play and some guy asked me for a dance. I spent the rest of the evening doing exactly what Robert had suggested, except that all my dancing was accomplished standing up. I didn't want to start out the cruise with a bang, so to speak, before I had a chance to look everyone over. Besides, both those women at the other table had excellent legs, always one of my weaknesses. Maybe I would get a chance to meet one of them. Or, and a wicked smile tugged at my lips, perhaps both?
I had sampled the food available, most of which was bland enough be completely tasteless to me. Subtle shadings and hints of flavor don't do it for the vampiric palate. We don't taste much. Lots of salt, pepper, spices are what get us interested. Want to spot the vampires at your local food court? They're the anemic looking ones smothering jalapeno nachos with hot salsa. If I can be forgiven a terrible pun, we need bite in our human type food.
My steak was rare and the wine had a crisp fruity tang I could enjoy. Even better, the bartender had some good smoky Irish whiskey with the taste of the peat and the bogs in it. Lovely. He was pretty cute too, stirring memories of T'Shombe and long regretted missed opportunities. However I could tell a woman sitting at the bar had already staked her claim. Late again, Bridget.
Late that night I had returned to my cabin, buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol and the entertainment. And not just the music either; there had been the delightful sensation of a several decent sized male members pressed against my midsection by my dancing partners. I had noted two "goods", one "borderline" and one "holy-cow-does-this-belong-on-a-horse" during my hours on the dance floor.
I unlocked the container, took a bag from it and warmed it. Whatever did we do before microwaves? I drank the contents down and felt it spread throughout my body. The taste, okay, I won't say that even after all these years I've actually grown to LIKE the taste of human blood. But my body needs it, craves it, has to have it. Once someone attempted to deliberately drive me both to madness and to take an innocent life by keeping me imprisoned without blood for a long period of time. Thank God, neither of his planned ends took place.
I replaced the now empty bag in the container and relocked it. I took a shower, pausing to play with myself just a little. I sighed. I needed to find someone to shower with before the cruise was over. In the meantime I rather enjoyed teasing myself just enough to stay on edge. I dried off and rolled into bed.
Sometime in the middle of the next day I woke up. The room was spinning around and I was nauseous. I tried to get up. Three times I tried to get up. The last time was the charm, but I couldn't keep my balance and stumbled across the room in a zigzag pattern as I made my way to the rest room.
God, there was still a lot of food in my stomach. Usually my undead body processes human food by simply passing it through, considering most of it as waste since it provides no nourishment. For some reason alcohol and certain other drugs are carried to the brain by my borrowed bloodstream and have their usual effect. The end result was that when I vomited there was a lot to throw up.
I felt better but the room continued to go around and around and up and down. I half-heartedly washed my face and crawled back to bed. I knew I hadn't been poisoned, vampire bodies aren't affected like that. in fact, generally we don't get sick. The flu doesn't do much when you're already dead. There are a few exceptions. The dizziness and nausea made the diagnosis easy, and I was able to confirm it the next morning.
Clutching the hand railing running along the hallway I worked my way to help. Fortunately I happened to run into the charming cruise director who had welcomed me aboard two nights ago. She instantly remembered my name and the fact that I "had a severe allergy to sunlight" and steered me in the correct direction before I made a wrong turn and found myself on deck. She wrapped her arm around me and helped me to sick bay. Even in my miserable state I enjoyed her closeness. She was extremely attractive. Given her job, I was sure she had to fight off passes, probably on a hourly basis. I doubted anything was likely to happen. But I filed her away, just in case.
Now I knew I was really sick when I didn't even make a pro-forma protest about seeing the ship's doctor. After all, my physical exams tend to start off on the wrong foot when a thermometer is popped in my mouth, the nurse tries to take my pulse and there's no response from either. Then they go down hill from there. Right then I didn't care. I hadn't felt this bad since I was twelve, and that was a very long time ago.
Fortunately "Doc", as my helper addressed him, didn't need to make a detailed examination to confirm my affliction was mal-de-mere. He confided in me that he saw my symptoms a lot and there were really only two general diagnoses. Since I didn't have a hangover, I was seasick.
He gave me some Dramamine and told me there were two schools of thought about food. One held that I should keep my stomach full, the other that I should stick to no more than an occasional soda cracker. His advice was to try both and then stick with the one that worked. He confessed he didn't understand why I was seasick now, when I assured him I never had been before.
I liked that he didn't try to bullshit me. He didn't understand something but instead of making up some song and dance, he simply told me he didn't know. He was pretty cute too. I wondered how he would look without his glasses, or come to think of it, his uniform. When I left, a handy mirror let me catch a glimpse of him eyeing my rear end. Just to make sure I wiggled it a bit. Yep, he was watching.
I returned to my cabin and let the day go by, laying down and trying to sleep. The Dramamine helped. I had not planned to be to sleeping alone and didn't like it, but at least I felt well enough to consider how I was going to alleviate that particular problem.
So I thought. Before dressing for supper, casual tonight, I drank another bag from my chest to replenish my strength. I hit the buffet, made dazzling conversation with everyone at my table, and even managed to dance twice. Then I suddenly excused myself and made for the bathroom.
Okay, so a full stomach wasn't helping. I got back to my cabin, where the full stomach thing solved itself in a hurry. I fell back on the bed and passed the rest of the night contemplating the various atrocities I was going to inflict on Robert the next time I saw him. After all, it was all his idea.
I did my usual evening routine lately of stumbling in and out of the shower and taking my medication. I did feel better again. I opened my chest and took out a bag. This time I was going to try the "no food" idea. I started for the microwave and then stopped. Wait a minute. I frowned at the bag. Maybe "no food" meant "NO FOOD". I returned the unopened bag to the chest and locked it. Then I put on a sundress, the irony of which always tickles me, high heeled sandals and headed out.
That night was great. I stuck to nothing at all. No blood, no food, no drink. It worked wonders. I had a rollicking good time and decided not to push Robert out into the sunlight the next time I saw him.
When the party broke up I looked for Doc. I had caught a glimpse of him once or twice but had not managed to make it over to his side of the dining room. My fault. Every time someone asked me to dance I did. But I did want to talk to him.
He was gone so I went by the sick bay. He wasn't there, but I spotted a door which I thought might lead to his quarters. I knocked on it, hoping he didn't have company.
He opened the door. Well, at least I hadn't got him out of bed. He had started though. All he was wearing was his white uniform trousers. His glasses were perched on his nose.
"Hi there. Ms. O'Brien isn't it?" He gave me a quick professional look over. Then his eyes drifted back to where the sundress stopped and my legs began. He hastily looked back up and asked "How are you feeling? You still look pale."
Nadene
- 18.05.2020
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