Bridget The Story of a trained Slave
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Bridget’s Days Ch. 08 free porn video
(Brazil, 1943)
I really hate getting shot at. Just because bullets won’t kill me is no reason for me to go hunting situations like I was in right now. Bullets hurt when they hit me, for crying out loud. I was so upset by the whole mess that I could have cheerfully fired back at all three of the groups who seemed to think they were participating in ‘Wild West Night’.
Of course I didn’t. Two of these groups were allegedly on my side. One consisted of a four man OSS team and the other an undetermined number of FBI agents. The third would have been fair game. They were a group of SS men who had slipped ashore from a U-Boat. Since Brazil was an Allied Country, it wasn’t hard to figure out they were on a clandestine mission of some sort.
However I couldn’t shoot at the Germans. The main reason was that I wasn’t carrying a gun. I suppose that means the secondary reasons aren’t really important. After all, I was supposed to be an intelligence agent, not a one woman war on fascism. My job was to gather information to be acted upon by others.
Of course none of this would have happened had the OSS and the Justice Department been on the slightest of speaking terms. When the OSS was formed, it was given world wide responsibility for intelligence gathering and subversion. At the same time, the FBI was assigned intelligence and counter-intelligence in the Western Hemisphere. So the agents of both organizations ran amok through Central and South America, spending as much time spying and interfering with each other as they did fighting the Nazis. I guess they can’t be blamed. Neither J. Edgar Hoover nor ‘Wild Bill’ Donovan liked to come in second place in anything.
I had been recruited into the OSS when it was still officially the ‘Coordinator of Information’ Office. The government never really loses anything, although finding it is another matter. Apparently there were still records that a certain Bridget O’Brien had at various times been employed by the Union Secret Service, the Office of Naval Intelligence, Army G2 and the State Department. I received a cryptic phone call, visited the Institute of National Health where the government’s latest spy organization was hiding out and was offered a position.
I was highly amused by the shenanigans that ensued on my first night. Some officious clerk indignantly informed me that he had better things to do than stay late for some ‘maverick female’. He sniffed and offered his opinion that he could not understand why I was being shown such special treatment. I was tempted to show him, but confined myself to ignoring the majority of the forms he thrust at me to fill out.
I was supposed to take a physical and then go to the training school where I would be taught to be sneaky, underhanded and deadly. I knew damn well that someone was aware of what I was and had no intentions of going anywhere except back to my apartment. However, with a perfectly straight face, I elected to report to my physical.
Two corpsman, a nurse and a doctor all fainted when they realized that they were in a room with someone with no heartbeat, no blood pressure and no respiration. Okay, I had no business dropping my fangs, but I was getting tired of the bullshit. I folded my arms and waited.
Finally the door opened. I sighed. I should have known.
‘Robert, surely you’re not going to tell me you have deserted the Bureau.’
‘Good heavens, no. Among the other duties inflicted on me for my sins, I am the liaison between the Bureau and your group here. I tried to get over here in time to save someone from your juvenile sense of humor but,’ he nodded towards the unconscious people in the room, ‘I see I’m too late.’
I started to make a reply I knew he would find smart ass but instead held my fire as a very impressive man followed Robert into the room.
‘Colonel Donovan.’ Had I been wearing a skirt I would have curtsied. The man’s personality filled the room. Since I was wearing slacks, having refused a hospital gown, I simply said ‘An honor.’
‘The honor is mine, Miss O’Brien. I authorized your recruitment but didn’t spread the word as to your unusual needs and abilities. I left word that you were to be treated as the valuable asset that I know you will be, but someone always fails to get the word. I apologize.’
‘No need to apologize, Colonel. I’m grateful that someone is able to see past the old wives’ tales about my kind and realize that, just like anyone else, we are individuals. Some good, some bad.’ Robert and I exchanged quick glances, something I’m sure Colonel Donovan saw, although he made no comment.
We adjourned the meeting to a conference room. Colonel Donovan explained that the medical personnel would be fine and that they would be fed a cover story that would deflect suspicion about who, or what, they had encountered. He assigned me duties a an almost completely independent agent, able to draw on COI resources and funds as I needed.
Once more I was staggered by how much information the government had on vampires in general and me in particular. He made an offhand comment that he knew someone with my financial resources would hardly be tempted to steal from the unvouchered funds. He offered, and I accepted, a commission as a Captain in the Woman’s Army Corps.
‘It will make it easier for you to move discreetly. Someone might wonder why a civilian woman was traveling so much on government transportation but a WAC Captain won’t draw attention.’
He was right, as he was about so many things. I blended in with the other WAC’s, WASP’s and WAVES’ and was able to move about without drawing too much attention. It also allowed me to meet more than one cute female in uniform who was attracted to other girls, including a senior WAC on the SHAPE staff I spent many a night with in London. My orders also permitted the wearing of civilian clothes when the uniform would have attracted attention.
I had done jobs, mostly counter-intelligence, in the US and Britain when I was called in and briefed for a mission to France to rescue an Underground Leader. Since I’ve covered that elsewhere, I won’t repeat myself except to note I was excited to be going back to the European Mainland and being ‘operational’. At nearly 400, new excitement isn’t easy to come by.
That evening I was returning from a meeting at the War Department when I caught sight of a familiar form. I chased Robert down, slipped up behind him and whispered, ‘Hey Sailor, looking for a good time?’
I never could surprise him, damn it. He turned and sighed. ‘Bridget, you’re about to go on a mission. You shouldn’t act so juvenile. Remember the Nazis have done a lot of research and exploration into the occult. They almost certainly know all about us and how to deal with us.’
He was right, as always, but I didn’t care. I decided I wasn’t going to spend the last night here alone.
‘Oh hell’s bells and buckets of blood, Robert.’ He winced at my vulgarity. I ignored it and took his hand. ‘We who are about to die and all. How long will it take us to get to your apartment?’ For a second I thought I had managed to shut him up for a change. Then he shrugged, grinned and dropped his free hand to my bottom and squeezed it.
Fifteen minutes later we were in his lovely ground floor apartment in a quite pricey Washington neighborhood. I paused for more a few seconds to appreciate the elegant decor. Robert is a gentleman and lives that way, with taste and style. I, of course, am still an Irish serving girl at heart, but the centuries have taught me to appreciate the finer things in life.
He turned as we entered the bedroom and I leaped onto him with a force that would have staggered a mortal. No luck with Robert though. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and started kissing him.
He kissed me back. He always could read my moods and knew that tonight what I wanted was hot and furious sex. Reaching behind me, he grasped my uniform
collar and pulled down. The cloth resisted not a bit as he ripped my clothing from me.
‘Nice outfit,’ he commented. ‘Not regulation though.’
He had left me clad in a bra and panties, and they weren’t the type covered in the WAC Handbook. That ugly cotton issue bra was bad enough. I was willing to give my unlife for my adopted country, but not that. As for the prescribed GIRDLE, I wouldn’t have been caught, well, dead in one, so to speak. So I ignored his comment. He probably would have liked it if I had been wearing stockings though.
I kept my legs locked around his waist. Awkwardly I reached between us and grasped the front of his pants. I squeezed his hard cock and tore at the zipper.
He turned around and dumped me on the bed. ‘Bridget, damn it, this is a hundred dollar suit and I don’t want it torn because you can’t wait 2 minutes.’ He draped the suit coat over a handy chair, following it with his tie, shirt and undershirt.
I took the opportunity to throw my underwear on top of my mangled uniform. When he sat on the edge of the bed, I waited just long enough for him to get his shoes off and pounced on him again. I scooted around and pushed him onto his back, catching him off balance. I kissed down his chest as my busy hands got his belt off and the fly open. My timing was perfect. I got his cock free of his boxer shorts just as my mouth descended on it.
Robert redoubled his efforts to get undressed as my lips slid down his cock. He rolled his hips into the air and I heard a noise that I interpreted as his slacks flying through the air. As his body settled back onto the bed I gave his cock one more lick and threw my leg over him, rising to my knees. I grabbed the head of that familiar shaft, guided it between my legs and let my knees collapse.
‘Hee-HAA, ride ’em cowgirl,’ I whooped as I impaled myself on Robert’s cock. I had ended up facing away from him in my haste, so I couldn’t see his face. I could imagine it though, eyes rolling in resigned acceptance of my antics. I didn’t let it worry me. I was having fun, as always, and I knew he was too, in spite of his mumbled protests.
I cupped my breasts and squeezed them as I bounced up and down on his hard cock. I rubbed my nipples and pulled slightly on them, stretching them away from me. I leaned back, arching to allow more of him inside me. From the times we had spent together over the last 250 years I knew that he was building as I felt his hips begin to push up to meet me.
Then he cut loose. His firm hands grasped my hips and lifted me until only the head was lodged inside my open pussy. Then he pulled down with all the strength of his inhuman arms. I yelled my pleasure as he thrust upwards into me, burying that lovely cock up my pussy until the head mashed against my spot.
Just using his arms and hips he pounded me. I simply rode his heaving body as though I was in some wild sexual rodeo. I felt him expand to fill me, his fingers digging into my hips with a force that would have bruised a mortal. I pulled hard on my nipples and leaned forward.
‘Damn you, Robert, fuck me. Fuck me NOW.’ I screamed. One last tremendous buck of his hips as he pulled me down on his up thrusting pole and I was coming as I felt him let go, releasing his own cum deep inside me.
As he shrunk after his orgasm, he sighed deeply and let go of my hips. Bad move. I had leaned too far forward in my efforts to grind my clit against him. With my hands still on my breasts I was overbalanced with no way to recover. Giving a startled squawk, I fell headfirst off the bed.
Sheepishly, I peeked over the edge of the bed. Robert was shaking his head, but he was trying to hold back his laughter to keep from embarrassing me more than I already was. I grinned, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore and collapsed in gales of mirth.
‘You,’ he gasped. He pulled me up onto the bed and into his arms. ‘You have been pulling things like that since I’ve known you. I swear Bridget, you will never grow up, no matter how many centuries you are with us.’
‘Nope,’ I admitted, stretching out against him. I pillowed my head on his shoulder and fell asleep.
The assignment to France went off without too much of a hitch. The one hitch was the surprise appearance of Thorfinn Olafson, a very old Norse Vampire, who was working with the Nazis. We had crossed paths before, although not for centuries. I swore to myself that one day I would settle accounts with him somehow. He was as evil as the stories have always made our kind out to be.
After returning to America, via England and a weekend spent with my WAC officer, I was debriefed and then put on standby. That’s fine for a while, but after a couple of months I was very tired of sitting around doing nothing but hitting the blacked-out nightclubs and keeping my strength up from the innumerable men and the occasional woman who crowded DC.
I went to prowl the domain of the case officers. I corned one mousy looking guy who couldn’t escape for all the papers piled on his desk, and on the chairs, filing cabinets and portions of the floor.
He groaned when I came in. ‘What do you want?’ Its nice when your reputation, whatever it may be, has preceded you. He obviously knew something about me, but what I didn’t know. So I smiled pleasantly, emptied a chair of papers so I could sit down, and crossed my legs. Sometimes that helps.
‘All I am interested in is getting another assignment. Someplace warm would be nice.’
The harried man shuffled wildly through the mass of papers littering his desk. He tugged one out.
‘This need looking into,’ he mumbled. Looking over the top of his glasses he asked ‘Have you ever been to Brazil?’
‘Its been a while, but yes I have.’ I saw no need to tell him the last time I had been in Brazil was 1914. I had been doing some private contract work for an American company. Just before leaving I had gone upriver to meet with Ex-President Theodore Roosevelt’s expedition as it arrived on its long journey from Paraguay. I had been much impressed by the man. I had been even more impressed by a younger member of the group, spending my last night in his bed. He enjoyed my being on top too.
‘Well good. Then you speak Spanish.’
I smothered a sigh. If the man was not aware that Portuguese was the language of Brazil I saw no need to confuse him with facts. I did speak Spanish, both Castilian and Tex-Mex in fact, so I simply nodded. Fortunately I had learned Portuguese along with the other couple of dozen languages I could speak well enough to get to the bathroom, order a drink or get laid.
‘Good.’ He handed me a file and had me sign for it. ‘Intelligence uncovered in Argentina and Uruguay indicates that the Germans are moving money into South America. Surprisingly, some seems to be showing up in Brazil too. We don’t have much of a presence there since Brazil is an Allied Country.’ He furnished me details of the local teams assigned there and warned me to be sure to avoid any contact with the FBI.
I flew to Rio de Janeiro and found it a vibrant, energetic city. I spent weeks snooping around under the guise of a not very bright but extremely nosey reporter. And I really didn’t find anything at all. I might never have, had I not gone shopping one evening.
While wandering from stall to stall in the huge open market, I made an abrupt leap to avoid a hand cart and bumped into someone. I turned with a hasty apology on my lips only to hear a voice cry out ‘Bridget!’
‘Benjamin! Judith!’ I smiled in genuine happiness and threw myself into the welcoming arms of the couple before me. They both kissed me and hugged me until I would have had to gasp for breath had I been human. I hugged them back for a long minute, finally breaking the embrace.
‘Look at you two. You look wonderful. How are the children?’
‘Growing every day,’ Benjamin announced proudly. ‘Please come and see them, and us. We have a place near the coast about 100 kilomet
ers south of here.’
‘Really? I would have thought you would settled here. You never struck me as the country type.’
A shadow crossed Benjamin’s face. ‘We have bad memories of cities right now.’
I understood. When I first had crossed paths with the Rubens in the late 1930’s, their future had been anything but bright. I had been in Berlin in a multi-functional capacity that strained even my powers of deception. I had been gathering political and economic intelligence for the US State Department. I had been assisting a Zionist underground railroad that was frantically attempting to get as many Jews out of Germany as possible.
I had been walking down a certain street when I had heard blows and loud curses. Since I have no sense when it comes to ‘minding my own business’, I dashed ahead to the source of the commotion.
What I saw infuriated my Irish soul. Five brownshirt storm troopers were pushing a couple around, spitting on them and cursing them. The man was trying, but failing, to shelter the woman. His fists were doubled, but I knew that he was aware that resistance would only make things worse.
I stepped up to the party and pushed my way between the two biggest SA men. Startled that a slight female would simply walk between them they fell back. My eyes were drawn to the yellow 6 pointed star patches sewn onto the couple’s clothing. So damn stupid. The two being called ‘mongrels’ and ‘bloodsuckers’ could have been the poster couple for Hitler’s Aryan Race. They were both tall, blonde and with ice blue eyes. But because of their religion, they were outcasts.
‘There you two are!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. I must have missed you at home. Well, come along them. No time to waste.’ I looked over the stormtroopers and smiled ‘Thank you for locating my charges. I do appreciate it.’
The biggest one stared at me. He may have been the ugliest one too, but it was hard to judge among the contenders. His mouth worked silently several times, and then he demanded ‘Papers’, in an arrogant voice. Before I could respond he added ‘Who are you? What have you to do with these Juden?’
I took my identification out. ‘I am a member of the staff of the Irish Embassy,’ I replied in as haughty a voice as I could muster. ‘What I am doing with these people is none of your business. I have diplomatic immunity and interfering with me could provoke an incident you don’t want to get involved in.’
He examined my papers, including my diplomatic caret, issued by the Reich Foreign Office. Silently, I blessed an unnamed older official in the Free State Diplomatic Service who had quietly issued me credentials as a Counselor Agent. Some people’s memories ran deep, and he recalled what I had done in the Irish struggle for independence.
Like all bullies, the SA man knew when to back off. He waved his arm and with muttered imprecations, the group left.
‘Thank you,’ said the man. The woman, obviously his wife, nodded her thanks, unable to speak.
‘You’re welcome.’ I replied. ‘Now lets get you out of here.’
They led me to their apartment, where I met their two small children. A glance at the woman, Judith I learned her name was, showed me that a third child was on the way. The husband, Benjamin, admitted they had been out on a fool’s errand. They had been hoping to obtain a Spanish Visa that would allow them to get out of Germany. They were well aware of the rising tide of hatred but had waited just a little too long before trying to get out.
I was able to fix that. The Irish government turned a blind eye to the permits I issued them, as I had done for other people. They went to Ireland and then on from there. No one was questioning applications from people already out of Germany. They had ended up here in Brazil.
A couple of weeks later I took them up on their offer. I had two reasons. First and foremost, I really did want to see them again. Second, I had caught wind of something. Something about ethnic Germans traveling to that area and a hint that more travelers left than had originally arrived.
Gigi
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