Bridget The Story of a trained Slave
- 3 years ago
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Bridget’s Nights Ch. 01 free porn video
The internet is a wonderful thing. It allows you to meet people that never would have crossed your path. Tonight that meant Sandy. At least that was the name she gave me and I certainly had no intention of delving deeper into her real life. All I was interested in was tonight.
We had met in a chat room about 3 months previously. We had gotten to know each other in the usual way. We had exchanged names, then pictures, had wild cyber sex and shared sexual fantasies. Then came bits and pieces of personal information. She was a happily married mother of two adorable looking kids and had a pretty nice, if rather boring, guy for a husband. She was intensely bi-curious. She was afraid to have an affair with someone she knew, for obvious reasons. She was also afraid to just pick up some stranger. Ggain, the reasons were glaringly obvious. She had reached the point where online fantasies were not satisfying her cravings anymore.
I was as open with her as I possibly could be. I told her the truth, I was single and had been actively bisexual for a long time. I sent her my genuine pictures and told her what my actual preferences are when having female/female sex. We grew closer, and finally took the step of connecting with each other on the phone. Since she was the one with the most to lose, the first time we talked, I called her at a phone booth she had selected. It was a just brief conversation, designed only to insure we were both females.
She suggested we meet for a mutual look-over at a bar near her office where she sometimes stopped for a drink after work. If we both liked what we saw, we could adjourn to her office, which had its own discreet entrance. If not, we could go our separate ways. I did have to insist that we meet in the evening.
I arrived first that evening. I worried that I didn’t make the greatest impression when this tall, slender blonde slipped in the entrance and saw me. Yes, I have the green eyes, red hair and fair complexion of my Irish roots. Faint freckles still dot my face, trying to give the lie to my age. I’m skinny, fairly flat-chested and was balancing the beer bottle in one hand with a cigarette in the other.
Sandy was just about as nervous as a woman could be. She was dressed for work, anyway, what I assume a successful woman accountant would wear, a Navy blue skirt and a blazer over a white blouse with a matching pair of heels. She sat down, crossed and uncrossed her attractive legs and bummed a cigarette from me. A mistake, as it turned out. One puff and she was choking.
For a moment I thought that was the end, that sheer embarrassment was going to drive her from the room. I plucked the cigarette from her fingers and pushed her drink to her. She gulped it and nearly choked again. Under the table I caught her hand in mine. I smiled, squeezed her hand and launched into a stream of inconsequencel small talk until she regained her poise.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I’m just so, so…’
‘Nervous?’ I offered. ‘Me too.’ She gave me a disbelieving look. ‘I am,’ I insisted. ‘I know we’ve talked and so forth, but you could have been some slavering maniac under your nice exterior. Obviously you’re not.’ My knee found hers and we rested our clasped hands on them. She kept hold of my hand and my hopes returned.
There was some nervous chat but we both relaxed and began to enjoy ourselves. Our chairs inched closer and so did our legs. My hand began to slowly stroke her knee and then inched up her thigh. Her hand continued to rest on mine at first and then began to explore my own leg. I saw the excitement building in her eyes, a feeling I was sure was matched in my own. We gathered ourselves and our belongings and I discreetly followed her out the door and to the side of her office building.
We locked the door behind us. Sandy had told me there would not be anyone else in the building, but she peeked out into the darkened hallway anyway. The sight of her skirt tightening across her ass as she bent forward made up my mind. It was time to start. I slipped behind her and as she straightened, I put one arm around her waist. My lips went to her ear and my tongue dipped inside it. My other hand pushed the door gently closed before it moved to the swell of her ass and began to work the zipper of her skirt down. It feel in a pool around her feet, leaving her lovely legs and firm ass clad only in her stockings and French cut black lace panties.
Within the few steps I needed to reach her, I had shed my dress. My hand curled around her waist to meet its mate and then they both rose to slide under her bra and cup her breasts. She turned her head to kiss me and leaned back against my body. I toyed with her nipples and sucked on her tongue until she wiggled around to face me. She managed to unfasten my bra and drug it down my arms with shaking fingers as I all but tore hers off. Our panties followed.
We reeled across the floor to a huge, comfortable looking leather executive chair. I pushed her into it and fell on top of her. I hooked her legs over the spreading arms of it and ground myself into her open pussy. She almost screamed when my clit met hers but I managed to smother the cry with my mouth.
Our hard nipples scraped up and down on each others as I thrust my pelvis against hers. Slapping, sucking noises rose along with the incredible aroma of two aroused women. My hips rose and fell against her and she humped up to meet me until our bodies locked together and both of us came.
She sagged back into the chair. I wasn’t even done however. As she trembled I slowly slid my body down hers. There was a moment when my face was pressed between her breasts that I almost lost control, but I managed to keep going. My tongue and lips found their way down her stomach and over the swell of her mound. I lifted her legs over my shoulders, leaning up and into her, raising her ass into the air. I covered her wet pussy lips with my mouth and my tongue went to work.
This is what I had been waiting to do. I knew this is what she had been wanting to experience for her first time. I held her in place and alternated sucking her puffy lips into my mouth and running my tongue deeper and deeper into her open slit. Her hands slid down her back and helped push her hips to me, riding herself up and down on my face.
She bucked in the broad leather chair as my tongue grazed over and over her clit. My hands clenched and unclenched, massaging her firm ass and keeping her wet sex pressed right up to my face. I alternated darting my tongue inside her in short, quick jabs with broader strokes the rasped up and down her open slit. I slid one finger past my tongue, then another. Twisting and turning my wrist, I felt her body tense. I pushed my fingers inside her and added the thumb of my other hand. One swipe was sufficient to coat it in her juices. I pulled it out and in one swift motion drove it up her ass.
Her head rolled back and her hips lifted to meet my fingers. As she did, my lips slid down the inside of her thigh. Just above her stocking top I sensed the presence of her hammering pulse. My needle-like fangs punctured her skin with barely any resistance at all to lodge in her femoral artery.
As I expected, the rush of her orgasm was so intense she never felt the additional penetration of her body. Her senses were overwhelmed. Her continued flailings and muffled cries were the result of my ministrations to her pussy and ass, not in response to my bite. By the time her body calmed enough to recognize anything else, she was already slipping into unconsciousness.
I finished feeding and withdrew from her leg. Good. The tiny puncture marks were barely noticeable. Even if someone suspected what had happened, they would be looking for the traditional neck marks. I have always tried to avoid them whenever possible.
The next step was to police up the area. I got a washcloth from the bathroom off the hallway and carefully cleaned her. I replaced her underwear and adj
usted her clothing. I took her stockings off and placed them in a handy drawer. I found a pair of flats, slipped them on her feet and put her heels in the closet where the other shoes had been. I didn’t want it to look like she was meeting a lover here, after all. I turned her computer on and wiped any traces of our correspondence from it. I pulled out files and spread them around the desk, placing one in her lap, open with her hands in it. I opened the bottom drawer of her desk and propped her feet on it, crossing her ankles.
I looked carefully around the room. No blood, no sign of an intruder, no hint of my presence. It was time to go. I carefully checked her one more time. Her pulse was slow but regular and her breathing was normal. Leaving only the desk lamp on, I slipped through the outside door, feeling more than hearing the lock catch behind me. She would be fine in the morning, although still dizzy from the low blood pressure that had caused her to pass out tonight. She would be relieved to find I was gone. She might even see a doctor and get a checkup. For a certainty, she would remember her first lesbian experience.
What? You expected me to kill her? To drink all of her blood until she was an empty lifeless form? What do you think I am, a soulless, undead, bloodsucking monster?
Two out of four isn’t bad. I don’t care for the term ‘undead’, I prefer ‘immortal’. However I have to admit that the first term is correct. I don’t breath, my heart doesn’t beat and what flows in my veins is only borrowed. And yes, I do drink blood. Just try to think of me as someone needing a lot of transfusions. I’d be perfectly happy to subsist from the local blood bank but I can’t. There’s a nationwide shortage of blood. Don’t any of you ever see the Red Cross ads asking for donations?
However, I am hardly soulless and I resent the hell out of being called a monster. Except for a few changes that occurred after a strange encounter a few hundred years ago, I’m still Mrs. O’Brien’s youngest and favorite daughter Bridget. I like music, dancing, enjoy good Irish whiskey and fine story telling. I am still a flirt, not ready to settle down with another vampire (there you go again, a couple of my friends are very happily married) and I like the company of both sexes. I still have a soul and a conscience. Geesh. I still attend Mass for God’s sake, although my annual confession at Easter has more than once seen the priest admonish me to stop telling whooping great lies in church. However, better that than being chased out of the confessional by someone screaming ‘Unclean Spirit’ and trying to drive a stake through my heart. I’m a vampire, not a demon. I just have a severe allergy to sunlight and a body that only manages to nourish itself in one specific way.
Incidentally I can’t fly. Not in my human form anyway (Gotcha. Its the only form I have. I do NOT turn into a bat. I’m sure it would ruin my makeup). I AM stronger than a normal person and yes, I will continue living (wrong term but I don’t know what else fits) for the foreseeable future. By the way, I have no idea what occurs after death. I have no memories of anything that took place between passing out with this guy’s fangs in my throat and waking up in a coffin. Ugh. Serta Perfect Sleeper is MY idea of where to spend the night.
There are several reasons why I don’t kill humans. First and foremost, I am not a murderer. Few vampires are. Even for those without moral compunctions about killing, leaving the landscape littered with dead bodies is not an option. It draws attention. It can get you burned at the stake, not an ending that appeals to me, especially after how close I came to that very end in Budapest in 1620.
Second, if you’re not very careful, you’ll create more vampires. Don’t act surprised that we don’t consider that a ‘Good Thing’. Think about it, the more vampires there are, the more people will get bitten. Eventually you run out of humans and then where do we get our blood? Animals only do as a short term solution, we need human blood. I have no idea why. Ask God maybe. Ask the government.
Oh yes, the government. You don’t think the government doesn’t know we exist? Of course they do. For quite a while now. We have an informal, but strongly enforced agreement with them. We keep low, behave ourselves and they don’t wipe us out. There aren’t that many of us, for reasons I just explained. In return, we do certain things for the government. After all, we’re Americans too. Someone who walks through poison gas and can get loaded down with bullets without suffering any harm can be very useful to all different agencies. I have an old friend, Robert, who works for the FBI. I am very fond of him, even if he was born in England. We cross paths off and on, particularly since I’m employed by another branch of the government, specifically the Agency. Hey, a girl’s gotta make a living doing something.
I settled into the leather captain’s chair behind the wheel of my panel van. Its plain on the outside, but very nicely appointed inside. The advantage is obvious. Only a couple windows and curtains provide safety in case I haven’t made it safely home before sunrise. I wanted a drink, of whiskey damn it, hasn’t anyone been paying attention? However, I don’t drink and drive. Instead, I started the engine and headed out of town to the motel on the interstate where I had made reservations.
I smiled as I drove. Sandy had been lovely, sexual and tasty too. I was set for several days now, as I had also recently snacked on a Goth college student who was something very unusual, a repeat. Almost monthly she and I made love, the climax of which was my drinking about a pint of her as I pinned her under me and cunt fucked her. Sometimes I worry that I’m getting kinky. Vampire sure, but explain something like THAT to your Parish priest.
My cell phone rang as I pulled into the motel parking lot. Again, I’m old-fashioned. My phone doesn’t sing or dance or play a selection of musical hits. It just rings. I do have Caller ID though. I had stayed there the night before so I parked and went right in as I glanced at the display.
‘Hi Robert. What’s going on with my favorite G-Man?’
‘I hope you’re inside because the sun’s about to come up where you are. Did you leave that nice accountant in reasonable shape?’
I swear, he has got to show off how easily he can track me. Time to search the van for bugs again. I love Robert, in fact we’ve got quite intimate fairly often over the last 150 odd years, but I still don’t want him to be aware of my every move.
‘I am and I did Robert. Please, no games darling, I’m full and I’m tired.’
‘Well, get a good day’s sleep and head towards Washington. You’re going to be busy.’ His bantering tone had turned serious. ‘You’re back on the payroll fulltime. Someone’s gone wild.’
I groaned. ‘Going Wild’ happens when a vampire loses her or his restraint and starts killing, often indiscriminately. The best people to stop someone like that are, you guessed it, other vampires.
‘I’ll be on the road at nightfall, Robert. Stay in touch.’ I clicked off the phone and tossed it on the bed. I locked the door and headed for the bottle by the sink. Now I really needed a drink.
(To Be Continued)
(Thanks to Dot for her encouagement and to Marian for her editing. I know I have taken liberties with the popular concepts of vampires. That’s okay, after all, they are just myths. Aren’t they?)
Gert
- 01.10.2020
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