(Washington, D.C. 1862)
"Oh crap, crap, CRAP," I muttered under my breath as I saw the hooded figures pass the alleyway where I was precariously balanced on a stack of wooden crates. I redoubled my efforts with the pick head I was using to chip the cement from around a pair of steel bars.
"What is it?" replied a soft Southern voice from inside the tiny room I was trying to open.
"They're here. They're here now." I said. "I thought we had more time." I put the pick aside, its tip blunted from hammering the stone window frame and grasped the two bars in my hands. "Stand back." I exerted my stronger than human strength. The time for subtlety was gone.
In the back of my mind I thought, "This is a fine mess you've got yourself in Bridget. An agent of Allan Pinkerton's Secret Service and a trusted one at that, breaking a notorious female Rebel spy out of jail. Well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."
This had all started prior to the war. I had been living, so to speak, in Chicago for several years, having moved from Charleston in South Carolina when it once again had become a little too obvious to acquaintances that I didn't seem to be getting any older. I had made that move many times before and was certain I would do it again. With the increasing tensions between the areas of the country, I expected by the time I ran into anyone who knew me, well, they'd be too old to remember me.
Once there I looked for a job. I didn't need the money, having carefully invested the proceeds from a large number of jewels that unexpectedly had come into my possession about 70 years prior. However I could only lay around so long, snacking on the occasional salesperson and reading lurid romances. I guess it was my upbringing. Mother and Father taught me to work. Some lessons aren't forgotten even after 250 years.
However since I didn't HAVE to work, I was able to look around for something that fit my wants and needs. Something exciting, interesting and most importantly, something that could be done at night. I was amazed that I found it. Allan Pinkerton had an amazingly advanced opinion of the capabilities of females and hesitated not at all in hiring me. Nor did he have a problem with my desire to be a nocturnal detective. In fact he told me that he preferred that, he had plenty of daylight operatives.
One line of questioning that he pursued in great depth had to do with my having lived in Charleston and before that in Savannah (although I certainly didn't tell him just how long I had been there). He wanted to know where my loyalties were and I was able to reassure him that as an immigrant from Ireland I owed my allegiance to the Federal government. He was very intrigued as to my ability to speak with an upper class Southern accent.
I worked in the capacity of a private detective until the events of January 1861. One night I was ordered to report to a certain passenger rail car. I was also instructed to come armed, something I generally did not do. Clutching my Navy Colt, which I had never actually fired, I became one of the agents who surrounded president-elect Lincoln as Allan brought him safely past the attempted assassination in Baltimore.
Following this, I was one of the agents who followed Allan into his new position as President Lincoln's personal intelligence chief. When the war broke out arrangements were made to smuggle me into Richmond, along with a considerable sum of money and enough dresses and accessories to allow me to masquerade as a Southern woman of independent means.
I didn't go crawling through tunnels and sneak into the Confederate Headquarters to steal secret documents. I attended and hosted parties. I danced and batted my eyes and stared dreamily at various Southern officers. I held supper parties and listened to women talk about their husbands or boyfriends, or sometimes both. I kept the information in my head, writing it down only when I sent a report to Allan via the channels he had arranged.
Generally I found that although they were every bit as hot-blooded as I had known them before, most of the officers were susceptible to a kiss and a caress. After all, they were fighting for Southern Womanhood to begin with. I actually was getting a bit frustrated when I couldn't get any of them to do more than daringly brush a hand over my breast. I was taking care of my other needs by slipping around the city late at night, careful to never visit the same place twice, nor to take too much blood from any one person. But damn, I was getting horny.
Then I met someone my match. He was a ship captain, a dashing rake of a man. He was dark and handsome, if not tall enough to satisfy the requirement for the third factor in the old prophecy. He was suave and his interest went far beyond a kiss or a casual touch.
The friends I had made warned me that I should be careful, that he would pursue me and even, they shuddered, attempt to debauch me. Well about time I could tell you that! I needed a good debauching. Female vampires do not live, so to speak, by blood alone.
Now I certainly led him a merry chase. Several nights he thought he had me cornered but I slipped away. Finally, one night after a particularly successful party I "inadvertently" dismissed the hired help and found myself alone with him.
He strolled out of the drawing room with two glasses and a bottle of port. He extended one glass to me.
"A taste before, Mistress Smith?" If "Smith" sounds absurd, I couldn't go by "O'Brien" and move in society circles. The Irish were SO not acceptable.
"Before what, Captain Butler?" I inquired. My tone was innocent but I knew the devilish amusement that flashed in his eyes was matched by mine. I sipped the wine. Good port.
As I placed the glass on the end table he came up behind me. His arms slipped around my waist and his lips nuzzled the side of my neck. For just a moment the thought flashed through my mind, "Could he be?" The common sense took over. I had heard enough to know he wasn't a vampire.
"Why Captain Butler." I purred, reaching behind me to where the front of his trousers strained against me. My nimble fingers began to free him as I continued, "This seems so sudden." His hands rose to pluck the shawl from my shoulders. Since my long dress was both strapless and sleeveless, the downward motion of his hands pushed my dress top down to my waist. He took my breasts in his hands and squeezed them. I gasped and responded by pulling his cock free.
"Oh perhaps I am too forward, Mistress Smith," he replied. One hand pressed me forward over the edge of the table. The other hoisted my flowing skirts up, bunching my dress around my waist. In defiance of fashion, I had neither innumerable petticoats nor pantaloons under my dress. "I would hate to think that you consider me hasty in my actions." He emphasized his last point by leaning against me, the length of his cock filling the cleft of my ass.
"I am sure the thought never would cross my mind to consider you 'hasty', my dear captain." I answered him as I grasped the far side of the table. I stood on my toes, bowing my back and presenting myself to him. He moved back slightly, until the head of his cock slipped over my dark hole, causing me to gasp deeply, and then it slid along my pussy. "Indeed," I managed to say between clenched teeth as he rubbed the head back and forth in my wetness. "I would hope that 'hasty' is anything but what you have in mind."
"Certainly, my dear lady." I moaned deep in my throat as the thoroughly wet tip of his shaft slipped back to my ass. "In fact, I plan to take all the time to properly express my appreciation at your hospitality that you would desire." His hips pinned mine against the table. I felt my anal ring slowly giving way as his weight opened me until, with a satisfied grunt, his cock head slid inside my ass.
"Mmmm, Captain, I feel your thanks." I gave a louder moan as he proceeded to fill me with the remainder of his cock. "In fact, I feel them quite deeply."
