A Somber Tradition

Bridget rolled into work and retrieved the harness from her saddle bag. She was sure the guys would want to see it in action at some point; or at the very least be willing to refill it. Doug was standing outside having a smoke before their shift started. She smiled at him warmly as she approached. "Doug, you and the guys..." she quipped as she dangled the harness from a finger. He blew out a puff of smoke as he grinned back at her.

"What can I say, we got inspired." he replied with a shrug before flicking his cigarette across the parking lot to smolder on the oil-stained concrete. She walked in, tensing for a second as he playfully smacked her ass before he followed. She didn't even make it to her work station before he was pushing her by her hips over to one of the work benches. Bridget braced her hands against it as she felt his fingers rub her exposed sex.

"Ahh, you missed me?" she said with a sudden gasp as his fingers slid into her. She already heard him unzipping his pants as she sat the harness on the work bench and spread her legs for him. Doug wasted no time sliding his cock into her. Jake walked out of the break room and scoffed.

"Been thinking about you and that harness all night." he said as Jake chimed in.

"Just steppin' out for some fresh air, eh?" he said sarcastically as he rubbed his own erection over his work pants. Bridget patted the table and watched him sit on it before swinging his legs around to face her. She quickly unzipped them and watched as his cock sprang out. Doug picked up the pace as began stroking Jake to full erection. He wasn't being as bashful as usual, but it was the beginning of the work week, after all.

She quickly engulfed his manhood; but was surprised when he started thrusting up into her mouth from below. She wasn't sure what had gotten into them this morning, but her body was responding already. She concentrated on breathing through her nose as Jake's cock slid deeper into her throat as Doug used two handfuls of ass as a handle as he pounded into her.

Jake reached over, pausing his thrusts and allowing her to catch her breath before she began licking him from testicles to tip; and retrieved the harness. He fumbled with it until he unscrewed the shaft and sat it beside him, ready to grab for when he was about to cum. Bridget rewarded him with a full deep throating before pulling off and smiling at him before he held her by the sides of her head and started face fucking her again. She heard the door open and close behind her, but was being impaled too fast and hard to turn around.

"Aww, shucks." she heard Michael playfully as he walked over to his work station and tossed his leather jacket onto his stool. Bridget's legs started quivering from Doug's hard and deep thrusts as Michael turned on the radio.

*Fsshhht*...."...low humidity and slight chance of rain"...*Fsshhht*...*Fsshhht*....will be rationed until further... *Fsshhht*.... "of the Navy has issued a statement about the recent resumption of Luftwaffe air raids in Ireland today, noting grimly that the factories affected produced steel components for the Allied R.A.I.D gear that has been so vital to match the genetic monstrosities on the battlefields of Europa. In response, Factories 55/D and 108/F will be retooled to make those components locally, and are expected to complete renovations by Thursday." Michael looked over at her, his eyes wide at the news.

Bridget's eyes went wide as she started slapping Jake's thighs and pushing back against Doug. Her heart was racing as a sudden panic for her parents filled her thoughs, but they were already grunting and ignoring her. Jake let go of her head suddenly and jammed the shaft onto his cock to empty his testicles into the reservoir. She stood there, her legs spread as Doug was slamming into fast and hard while Michael turned the radio up. The announcer's voice cut to a pre-recorded audio message from the Secretary of Defense.

"Good morning. The office of the President has approved an immediate increase in the number of Irish refugees that will be allowed into the United States as a result of these attacks; which we expect will only increase should this be a precursor to a full-scale resumption of bombing raids on the British Isles. I have approved the deployment of several escort ships and aircraft to ensure the safety of the relief boats; and have diverted a number of heavy transport planes to begin an immediate extraction of non-military personnel and their families to our shores."

She looked over her shoulder. Doug was still hammering into her, but with a concerned looked on his face. "Doug, do you mind?" she asked, a quiver in her voice. His attention snapped back to her, and he pulled out of her with a blush on his face.

"In other news, the Yankees star pitcher will be out for a..." where the last words she heard before she ran to Sid's office. He glanced up from his morning paper, a steaming cup of black coffee in hand and cigarette dangling from his mouth. He grinned at first at the sight of her, but his face quickly fell when he saw her expression.

"Sid, I need to use the phone." she said, a tear welling up in the corner of her eye. He pushed it closer to her as he stood up, trying to figure out what was so important.

"Sure, Birdie; whatever you need. Everything okay?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder as she feverishly dialed the operator.

"How may I direct your call?" the bored sounding woman who answered said.

"Kildare, Ireland, please." she blurted out. Sid began to piece it together. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the operator put her on hold. A slight pop of static filled her ear as she held her breath.

"I'm sorry. All lines in Kildare are down at the moment. Please try again later." At that, the operator disconnected her call, and Bridget began to cry. Sid wrapped his arms around her and looked out the window as she let the handset slide from her suddenly weak grasp.

"My parents..." she said, sniffling. He patted her back as the other workers appeared at the doorway; all with grim expressions.

"Shhh. We don't know anything yet. Why don't you take the day off, huh?" She nodded her head without looking up at him. "Doug, can you give her a ride home? Jake, load her bike onto the truck, will ya?" Michael threw his jacket over her shoulders as she quietly walked to the truck; an empty feeling in her stomach. "Mom..." she thought as she stared blankly ahead.

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

Peter and Moira O'Dell exited the enormous six propeller troop transport airplane on the tarmac in preparation of boarding the"_Bloemfontein Castle," _which had once been a passenger liner but had long since been repurposed to be a supply ship transporting the tools of war and vital supplies from the United States to Ireland. They were each allowed one suitcase and no other possessions. The flurry of activity quickly swept them and the hundreds of others they had arrived with into waiting buses to take them to the docks.

The ship gently rocked in the dark ocean water as they approached, the occasional bit of flotsam and jetsam clanging against it as the charred debris of wreckage washed against it with the incoming tide. The bus was crowded with mothers attempting to quiet their crying children, veterans whose injuries even prosthetics couldn't fully mitigate, and men like Peter who possessed skills deemed desirable by the Allied command. Moira looked out at the line of twenty buses in their convoy; her mind numb to the idea of leaving her beloved country like some many other Irish had done before her.

"You know what we should do?" she heard from behind her. The speaker was a young man from the factory, Sean Fallon. He'd been a mechanic in the Royal Navy before his boat was bombed and he'd taken a chunk of flying debris to the back; severely damaging his spine but not severing it. "We should rebuild Boston and just live there. God obviously hates Ireland, for some reason."

"God doesn't hate Ireland, you twat. The Brits just don't want ta divert any of their "precious Air ****" to defend it. Those weren't Spitfires that came to the rescue," an older man said from beside him. "Besides, things have gotten better for us over there. You hear they got an Irish Catholic that ran for President? They had a nice Saint Patrick's Day parade before the Bomb as well."

Fallon scoffed. "Well, I guess they are a few hundred thousand Irishmen short and will just welcome us with open arms then! After all, fleeing to America in times of trouble is an Irish tradition" he said sarcastically.

"Both of you knock it off. We've got a month at sea together and there's no need ta' be antagonizin' each other just yet." Peter said as they pulled into the shipyard. Their ship loomed against the gray sky, and quickly filled their vision.

"I worked on that boat. Had a capacity for 740 passengers. Seems we've got about a thousand if my math's right." Fallon added. "Guess I'll be gettin' real close to Mrs O'Dell." he said with a slightly threatening tone that hinted at how he planned to use her.

Moira smirked. "Guess its a good thing you've got such a tiny prick for cramped spaces then." The men and women around them laughed as Fallon set his mouth in a stern line. She knew he'd get a little rough with her once they were on board, but it was worth it. Peter patted his wife's hand. It was the first time she'd cracked a smile since the bombing.

"Maybe things will be alright." he mused as their bus door opened on people began to exit. He could see the explosions out on the Steel Sea, and almost believed it.