Loose Lips...

Bridget woke, the feeling of the silk sheets on her body and the softness of the mattress disorienting her. Her mind was groggy and a little hung over from the wine, but what was most odd to her was not being woken up by the factory air horn. She realized she hadn't heard a single blast from that damned thing all night. It was then she remembered where she was. She glanced from side to side, realizing she was alone in the huge, soft bed. She stretched her pale, nude body before slipping off on it, her toes playing in the plush carpet. She smiled like a schoolgirl.

Bridget slipped the silk robe back over her toned, shapely shoulders; and walked down the staircase. Elliot stood in the kitchen smoking his pipe and holding a cup of steaming hot coffee as he looked out the window. Bridget could see passed him and out into the back yard. Cynthia was in the garden on all fours as a short line of neighborhood teenagers waited their turn to use her. Bridget walked up behind him and pressed herself against his back, crushing her pale breasts against his cotton robe.

"Good morning." he said, taking a sip of coffee but not turning his gaze from the gorgeous blonde being haphazardly fucked by an inexperienced high school senior.

"She need some help?" Bridget asked, snaking her hand around to tightly grip his permanent erection. He puffed his pipe as she stroked it, and shook his head.

"No. They know they aren't supposed to trespass, but she enjoys it." he said. Bridget stroked him harder as they watched her give up on weeding the garden and turn her attention to them; laying down between the rows of tomatoes. He patted her hand and held the coffee up. "Wouldn't want to spill it." he said, turning to face her. She held eye contact with him as she took the cup from his hand and set it on the counter. Slowly, she slid down to her knees and tightly gripped his cock. She pumped him hard as he puffed his pipe, his body responding unconsciously. She took the tip of his penis into her mouth and sucked it as hard as she could until her mouth came off of it with a loud POP!

He ran his hand through her hair as he sighed. He appreciated being able to feel something again, but without causing at least some pain he just wasn't going to be satisfied. He closed his eyes, imagining himself inserting an anal hook into her and suspending her from the ceiling while strong German coal miners took turns attempting to breed her lilly-white body. Bridget smiled, thinking it was her work that was making his cock twitch, and started to slide her mouth further onto his scarred shaft. She had to admit, in the light of day it was a bit more shocking, but she quickly overcame her hesitancy. He started shuddering and rubbing her hair.

She used the edges of her teeth on his swollen cockhead, and he lost it. She ran them up and down the sides of his shaft as she quickly jerked him with her iron grip. He sat his pipe down and held her head in place as if he were cumming. Bridget looked up at him and smiled as she stood quickly. She turned around and bent over, quickly backing her pussy onto his shaft. "It's been...ugh!...a long time since I felt...ugh...that....Hhhnnnn!" he said, driving his tenderized meat into her and holding it there as Bridget's strong inner walls gripped him tightly. Finally, he relaxed and exhaled. She slid herself on and off of him few more times before taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"So, you worked on jetpacks? That's neat. Like the one's they use in baseball?" he asked, forcing his mind to focus on the task and not imagining her bound thigh-to-ankle, kneeling nude and whimpering in the dirt before an advancing SS regiment. She laughed as he poured her some coffee. She chuckled as she took a sip before blowing on it.

"Haha no, not like baseball." she said. He pulled the paper towel off of the plate in front of her to reveal a pile of bacon and biscuits with cum-based gravy on the side. He had to frame his questions in such a way that he could get information but not arise suspicion.

"How so? They look the same." he said, taking a seat across from her. She looked at him for permission to start eating. He nodded, watching her devour two slices of bacon and then tear into the biscuit.

"You see," she said with her mouth full before swallowing so she could speak. "Those little toys they use in baseball can propel an outfielder what, 50 feet into the air at best. A good R.A.I.D pack will get you a full 500 yards on open thrusters." she said. He looked kind of surprised.

"That much? Wow... Are they fast?" he asked, nibbling at a strip of bacon. She nodded, taking another sip to wash her food down.

"Oh, you bet on it. The commandos who use them have to have special training to withstand the acceleration." He smiled. There were only a handful of training facilities in Ireland that could facilitate that.

"What, like G **** training? I know about that." he said; baiting her.

"You do? Were you a pilot? Is that what...is that how you were injured?" She asked, finishing her cum-soaked biscuit and grabbing another one. He grinned.

"In a way. I was an astronaut. We were going to go to the moon." he said. Her eyes lit up.

"Really!?" she said, leaning forward to hear his tale.

"Yes, really. We used the same technology that gave birth to the jump packs. Unfortunately, a miscalculation led to us breaking up almost immediately on launch. We kept it quiet so the Stadtis wouldn't get the same idea and beat us there." he said. Most of that was true, apart from the nation launching the mission. He remembered waking up in Berlin itself, his body and mind broken in a thousand ways. He was never going to fly again, and even though his prosthetics were expertly crafted by the Fuhrer's own surgeons; some of his superiors were repulsed by his "less than human" appearance. He was partnered with Ingrid and placed in America as a spy.

"Too much stress on the hull?" she asked. He nodded.

"How'd you know that?" he asked, satisfied with the answer.

"If you just scaled up a jump pack, you probably ran into the same issue the gen 1 R.A.I.D gear did. The frame was 1.5 millimeters of aircraft aluminum, same of the Hopper prototype. We replaced them all the time for stress fractures before ungrading to a full 2mm thick M2 Tool steel honeycombed frame." Eliot couldn't believe his luck. Ireland only had two factories capable of producing high end steel like that. Intelligence was going to be thrilled.

"Uh! Oh!" they heard, drawing their attention to the back yard. Cynthia was straddling one of the boys, bucking her hips quickly up and down as another was fucking her tits. Elliot cursed to himself. It would difficult to bring up the rocket packs again. He sipped his coffee; and made up his mind. He had a nickel plated .32 caliber Walther in his robe's front pocket. He reached in to the empty pocket first, then the other and quietly flipped the safety off before making a show of looking around. He mimed a "there it is" motion and grabbed the box of matches. He struck one, and began puffing his pipe. His other hand slid into the pocket and gripped the handle of the Walther, his finger indexed next to the trigger.

"If I got one that had been decommissioned, could you rebuild it?" he asked. She had no clue that her life depended on her answer.

"I could, but how are you going to do that? Its government property, and kept in a secure location, I'm sure." she said, finishing her meal. She lit her own cigarette and sipped her coffee, imagining the look on Sid's face if she showed up to work via R.A.I.D rocket pack.

"I told you, I was an astronaut. I have access to some highly classified material." he said. He looked down into his coffee for effect. "I just want the feeling of flying again, Bridget." He sat quiet for a moment. "Besides, Uncle Sam owes me a favor." he said, holding up his prosthetic hand. Bridget's sympathy kicked in, and he could see it on her face.

"Yeah. I could help. Might be fun!" she said. He warmly smiled back at her before turning his attention back to see his wife take another load of semen from yet another person.

"You can bring your harness." he added. She giggled at the thought. A second boy was attempting to fuck Cynthia in the ass, much to her annoyance. "Okay, looks like she could use a little help." he said. Bridget chuckled again before sliding the silk robe off of her shoulders and walking outside.

"Hey, could you use a hand?" she said as the door closed behind her. Elliot watched as she knelt down beside his wife. She sipped his coffee again as two of the boys immediately descended on the offered holes of the gorgeous redhead. He did enjoy the view, but he had some calls to make.