Morning Shift Surprise

Bridget walked out with the handsome man, hugging his arm to make it seem like they were a couple. Most guys will respect that and leave a girl alone if she is on a date. She walked passed the ticket booth, cringing as she saw that a couple of Night Shifters had drifted out from some filthy alleyway and made it all the way up here. Usually the police keep them in line, but with the layoffs at the aluminum megafactory due to supply shortages, more and more were ending up as homeless, drunken shells of their former selves. The poor, pouting ticket girl was sandwiched between two of them who were fucking both of her youthful holes. Bridget gave the man who'd been fucking her in the theater a peck on the cheek and hurried to her bike before they saw her.

She tore away from the theater, her body still occasionally quivering as the powerful Intimidator roared down the streets. She passed a trio of Bangalore Boys Motorcycle Club members on their custom choppers, each belching more smoke than the other from the dual, upswept exhaust pipes. They all wore matching US surplus vintage helmets and studded black leather jackets, rank in the club denoted by military style patches. She waved to them as she sped passed more out of courtesy than anything. She went full throttle, leaving them in the dust as she rumbled through the lighter traffic, and finally back to her apartment. She pulled the bike into the narrow garage and locked it up for the night before unlocking her door and stepping inside. She slammed the deadbolt home, and quickly peeled off her dirty clothing as she turned the water on in the tub.

She sat on the edge of the tub, cigarette hanging from her mouth; and dipped a rag in the lukewarm water. She washed the cum and grime from her legs before grabbing the safety razor and soap. Bridget lathered up her legs and pussy, and delicately removed all traces of body hair save for a neatly trimmed patch of fiery red pubic hair. She slid her aching body into the soothing water, covered her eyes with the cum rag, and drifted into sleep.

Her dreams were fairly typical, but influenced by the movie. In her dream, she was in the role of a dame getting brutally gangfucked by Frankie, Mike McManus, the KGB Agent, and the She Wolf, their studded strapons sliding in and out of her writhing body as Mike choked her while fucking her throat. Bridget writhed in the bathtub, her body responding to the dream. Next, the dream took a more sinister turn where Bridget was a She Wolf and was roughly fucking the ticket booth girl in the ass with her own studded strapon, the concession stand worker who had given her the popcorn driving his cock into Bridget's tiny asshole from behind.

The sound of a distant air horn woke her from the dream. She was shivering cold and too tired to remain aroused for long. She hopped out of the shower and crawled into her dingy, broken-springed bed and covered up with a US Navy surplus wool blanket; quickly falling asleep.

Morning started at 5 AM for her today. She groggily slid out from under the covers and walked nude into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out a large C-Ration, or "C-Rat", can that simple said "Breakfast" on it. She worked the twist key and popped the lid off, dumping the contents in the skillet. She opened the top shelf of the standing toolbox she used as a dresser, and pulled out a a zip up brown leather vest that came down to her ribcage, leaving her stomach and most of her cleavage bare. She then unrolled a pair of fishnet pantyhose that she shimmied into. Next, she slid on an incredibly tight pair of shorts that were cut so they only covered half her ass. She bent over, making sure the access cut framed her pussy lips and anus properly, and slid her feet into her tanker boots.

She flipped the "breakfast" once before scooping the egg-based meal onto a steel plate, and hungrily ate it down. When she was finished, she barely had enough time to rinse it off when the air horn sounded. Time to go to work.

As her pussy quivered on her seat, Bridget shamefully admitted to herself that she was still thinking about the dream from last night. She'd never been into girls, but she had to admit she wouldn't mind if one really gave it to her like the She Wolf did. Someone like Grace Westmore, the local Dame reporter than nailed a big scoop for exposing a Stadti plot to set the polluted waters of Lake Michigan on fire.

...............

Bridget imagined being tied to her motorcycle, Grace's heavy breasts rubbing against her back, the strapon hammering home into her quivering sex. Maybe she'd try it out, see what it was like to really fuck a girl. She imagined slamming into Grace from behind, her huge breasts shaking. She started to rub her exposed pussy against the smooth leather of the seat, leaving a slick trail of her juices.

She pulled into the garage lot, and noticed Johnny's bike was still there. Bridget threw the door open, ready and somewhat eager to let the guys get their morning fix. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the Detective and his assistant interviewing Sid. "Johnny..." she whispered, her imagination running wild.