Ah Paris!: From 'Bridget's Nights'

(I do enjoy it when Bridget drops by and spends the evening relating more of her experiences to me. This time she concentrated on tales of her times passing through Paris. If you have never met my little Irish vampiress before you can find my changes to the vampire mythos pretty well explained by her in the first chapter of "Bridget's Nights". Thank you Marian for taking time to read the story and offer suggestions and corrections.)

*

I flung open the doors leading out onto the balcony. The cool morning air flowed around me and opened my eyes as I leaned against the wrought iron railing. I surveyed my immediate surroundings and then let my gaze wander along down the street and lift to rest on the landmarks. From this upper floor apartment I could see the spires of the great cathedral of Notre Dame. If I looked farther I could see the morning sun reflecting from the water in a bend of the Seine River. And there was the tip of the Eiffel Tower. I grinned, remembering when it was brand new and what a stir it caused.

(1889)

I stood at the bottom of the pile of steel girders, craning my neck in an attempt to see the top of the structure. I couldn't. Of course it WAS night but then really, its not like I had a choice when I could visit. Vampires like me aren't much on day visits.

I had watched this tower go up for the last two years. Eiffel nearly ended up building it in Barcelona, Spain for the Universal Exposition of 1888 but the city council there decided against it. Instead it was here, the entrance arch for the Exposition Universelle. Celebrating the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution, there's nothing like a massive get together of people from all over to draw your average vampire to Paris. Not that we need much drawing. Paris is one of our favorite cities.

I look at that statement and roll my eyes. It makes it sound like vampires are some unified society ready to take over the world ala "Blade". Not hardly. First, there aren't enough of us. We really are pretty rare and most of us like that just fine. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, for pretty obvious reasons. Second, one thing that we pretty much have in common is that we are all individualists. You couldn't get enough of us together in one place to take over a city block much less the world. Besides, we'd be fighting each other the whole time.

Still, I had run across a couple of friends. Great crowds draw us for obvious reasons. I had spotted Samuel and Dolores, together of course as they had been for over a hundred years, but we were swept apart before having time to do more than wave at each other. That was okay though, what is time to us?

I was staring up at the tower when a snort close at hand brought me back to reality. I could have blushed had my body been capable of such a thing. I knew I must look like a country bumpkin, standing in awe of a structure, even one as breathtaking as this one. But after all, in some ways I was still the little Irish tavern girl I had been so long ago. I had traveled East and West, North and South, far more than most people would ever dream of, but I still was Michael and Mary O'Brien's youngest daughter and I WAS a country bumpkin.

Still, I was also going on two hundred and fifty years old and one thing that didn't impress me much was people. I turned and lifted an eyebrow.

"Was that a comment you were trying to make?" I inquired of the man I was now facing even as I looked him over. Not bad looking, around forty with a flowing mustache and a small chin tuft of a beard. He was of normal height, seemed a little thin and there was a fire in his eyes that attracted me to him immediately. I adore passionate people.

"I was referring to this monstrosity and to your adoration of it as though it was some primeval god."

"I vaguely sense a slight distaste for this structure." I indicated the tower with a wave of my hand.

For a moment I thought the man was going to explode. He took a deep breath, fixed me with a stern look and opened his mouth to deliver what I was pretty sure was going to be virulent diatribe. Then he relaxed and a twinkle crept into his eyes.

"Perhaps a bit more than slight." He surveyed me approvingly. "You almost had me. You have that wide-eyed innocent look perfected. But there was just a hint of mischief lurking behind it."

"Why thank you." I batted my eyes in the approved fashion I had learned early in the century when I was living in Savannah and Charleston in the States. A deep chuckle and an invitation to supper were both forthcoming. I accepted.

I ate dinner, or rather pushed the food around on the plate a lot and swallowed enough to make it look like I was eating. Food doesn't nourish me. This was delicately seasoned in the best traditions of fine French dinning and it was completely wasted on me. I felt like I was eating cardboard for all it did for me.

But the conversation now, that made it all worth while. Guy, as I learned his name was, turned out to be an author, and had tremendous wide-ranging interests and a marvelous sense of humor. The talk was wonderful, as was the subtle but delicious flirting that he commenced with me. Okay, yes, the French have their faults, but they do excel at seduction.

We talked most of the night away, until the cafe closed and we were literally pushed out the door. However I had snagged one more bottle of wine on the way. It seemed a marvelous idea to sneak over the closed gate of the iron steps and fumble our way up to the observation deck of what Guy still insisted was an eyesore and a blot on Paris.

"At least I don't have to look at it when I'm in the middle of it."

He did grudgingly admit that the view of Paris was spectacular. There was also a growing light in his eyes that indicated that perhaps he found me of interest too. I tried to confirm that interest with a look from my own eyes that took in his entire body. The frock style coat he was wearing did little to hide the erection straining against his pants.

He set the bottle of wine down and took me in his arms, kissing me. Now wine I can appreciate and the taste of his mouth was that of the best Burgundy grapes. I rubbed my body against his and yes, definitely he had a hardon that was threatening to tear the front of his pants.

I hoisted up my long skirt and dropped to my knees. Thank heavens the days of the bustle were now twenty years behind us. I never could have been that quick with THAT monstrosity riding my ass. Now it was long flowing skirts and tight bodices. There probably were rules that said I was supposed to wear something under all that material but rules have never worried me.

It only took moments to free Guy's cock and have it spring out at me. I admired it as I ran my tongue over the purple head and teased the slit. He must have enjoyed it nearly as much as I did for his fingers locked in my hair and his deep moans urged me on.

I slid my mouth over him, working down slowly, keeping a close grip on his shaft with my lips. I braced my hands on his hips, which were already rocking as he began to feed me his cock. The head bumped against the back of my mouth and I adjusted the angle of my body so I could take it down the opening of my throat.

Not for the first time, or come to think of it probably not even the hundredth or two hundredth time, I enjoyed the fact that I don't have to breathe. It does make giving blow jobs a lot easier and more fun for both me and whomever I happen to be with at the moment.

Guy was certainly enjoying it. After a few frantic thrusts down my throat he had settled down to a nice and slow but deep rhythm. He would draw back until the head was just inside my mouth and then slide his swelling cock forward until his balls could slap gently against my chin. His fingers in my hair held me without being overly demanding. I was enjoying it too. I do like rough sex in its place, but I prefer to build up to it.

Since Guy was doing all the work I fumbled my skirt up until I had it bunched around my waist and I could finger myself. I don't have a lot of natural moisture, probably for the same reason that I don't perspire. Those parts of my body just don't work since I am, after all, dead. So I need to work at it. Being fucked dry, and I certainly planned on Guy either finishing inside me or being able to go another round, isn't any more pleasant for me than it is for any woman.

I didn't have to imagine anything. The situation I was in was all I needed as my fingers danced over and then inside myself. Guy's breathing was getting ragged and the tempo of his thrusts was starting to build. He was swelling in my mouth and I could feel him beginning to shake. I tightened the grip of my lips on his cock and increased the slight suction I had already been applying to him.

I heard Guy groan and I got ready. There was a slight salty dribble and then his cum hit the back of my mouth. I was ready and greedily swallowed the stream as fast as he released it.

He softened in my mouth and I feared that the evening was over. Then he withdrew and whispered for me to get on my hands and knees.

Well I only have to be asked once. I settled into that position, my dress still hiked up out of the way and with a marvelous view of Paris below me. I sensed him behind me and then his tongue brushed my pussy and I lowered my head to hike my rear end in the air.

He gripped my hips and went to town on me. His tongue seemed to touch me everywhere. Now it slid over my wetness and now it plunged inside me and wiggled like a snake. It lapped at my ever increasingly wet slit and then curled under my hood and teased my clit to hardness. However he managed to reach where he did I don't know but soon I was bucking back against his face as hard as he had ever pumped against mine.

I matched his earlier moans, moans that became a whine of frustration as I felt him pull away from me. Then the head of his cock bumped against me and I stopped complaining and went directly back to moaning.

His grip on my hipbones was firm and he pulled me back each time he thrust into me. I was as wet as any mortal woman by now so it took only a couple of times before he slid fully inside of me. Once again his balls slapped me but now they swung up between my legs rather than smacking my chin.

Speaking of smacking, the cheeks of my ass were getting a good one each time he bottomed in me and his groin slapped against them. I braced my hands against the wrought iron railing and began to assist his pulling back on me.

The slapping sounds grew louder, mingling with his gasps for breath and my muffled cries of pleasure. He was picking up speed once more but he was not stinting on the length of his strokes. Deep inside me he plunged each time and then drew out until he was barely still in me. When he started his stroke I matched it with a push of my arms. He was hitting deep inside me and I wasn't going to last much longer.

Neither was he, I discovered, as I felt him swell against my inner walls. I tightened my internal muscles on him and then clamped down on his cock as I felt the first pulsation. He arched and slammed through the grip my pussy tried to hold him with and the head squished against my spot just as his second eruption took place. He gave a yell that the tower snatched away into thin air, matched by my own as my body also let go.

He continued to move inside of me once he had come, slower now and gentler, allowing us both to enjoy the sensations and calm down a little before he finally pulled out. I turned and we kissed again and I snuggled into his arms and we watched the light below us.

"I suppose this damn place is good for something after all," he murmured in my hair.

(The Present)

I shook my head. I found out later that my companion of that night continued to take lunch at that same restaurant, not because he enjoyed it but rather because he claimed it was the one place in Paris that one could avoid seeing the thing. I wonder if occasionally he might look up and remember that upper platform.

He might not have. It was only four years later, at 43, that Guy de Maupassant would die from, among other things, complications of syphilis. It's a darn good thing vampires are both immune to disease and can't function as carriers. Well, I had enjoyed the night. I hope he had. He DID sign a number of his books for me several evenings later. I suppose they're worth a small fortune. Of course I already have more than a small fortune so I've never been tempted to sell them.

I twisted the ring on my finger and smiled happily at it. I had been to more than one wedding in Paris, but one really stood out.

(1789)

"Do you, Samuel, take Delores to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

I listened to the words of the priest with half an ear. Not that I wasn't happy with what was happening, in fact I was extremely pleased that two old friends were getting married. Two REALLY old friends in this case. I didn't know exactly how old Samuel McAllister or Dolores Ibanez was; if either of them wanted to tell me they would. It's like when and how you were turned, you don't ask about it.

Oh, I guess that gives something away. Yes, the tall somewhat gangly Scot and the shorter and certainly more curved Spanish woman were both vampires. So were Rafael, the best man and maid of honor, yours truly. The priest wasn't. Not that being a vampire would in itself would be a bar to that, at least not for the vampire. The idea that vampires are afraid of crosses is pretty much a myth, except in a case or two where the vampire in question believed he should be afraid. However a priest who couldn't go out in daylight; now that would be a handicap.

I was only half paying attention because my mind kept wandering. I was listening to the sounds outside this tiny garden bower we were in. They were loud sounds, ugly sounds. No more than a week ago a mob had stormed the Bastille, freeing less than a dozen prisoners who mostly deserved to be there and also murdering the Governor. The sides were being drawn between the mob and the absolute monarchy and I wasn't willing to bet which side would come out on top.

The other thing that was diverting me was the interesting memories of last night. I don't know how Rafael spent the evening but I had quite a time myself. Dolores had always struck me as one-way, one-person woman. So I had been floored by her suggestion of a threesome to celebrate her and Samuel's last night as singles.

I must have looked as surprised as I felt because Dolores burst into laughter.

"Does Samuel know about this?"

"No, it's a surprise." For a moment she became serious. "Samuel and I have been in love for a long time and it has always been just us. Now before we met..." a roughish expression crossed her face, "Well, that was different. But for decades now we have been monogamous and we plan to remain that way for however long we are together. So as a sort of unusual wedding present I thought we might do something a little out of character."

"Works for me!" I replied, as well it did. Dolores had a marvelously full figure that would have tempted me in any situation and I HAD seen Samuel in tight pants without a shirt once when the two of us had fenced together. That had been during the Jacobite Rising of 1689. I had been part of the Irish contingent that had arrived in Scotland as the promised reinforcements for John Graham, known forever as "Bonnie Dundee". After Dundee fell at the Battle of Killiecrankie we had both fought and then successfully escaped from the defeats at Dunkeld and Cromdale. I had left Scotland for Ireland but Samuel had remained until the final uprising of 1745 and fled to France after the disastrous battle of Culloden. That was where he had met Dolores.

I didn't know the Spanish vampiress as well but chance remarks led me to believe she had fled the Inquisition, although that actually could have meant any time in the last three centuries. Still, I somehow felt that she was older than Samuel. But what matters age when you are immortal?

I would have cheerfully jumped either of them for years except of course you never do that to friends who are a couple. But now both of them? Oh my yes. So we surprised Samuel. He didn't object as we both appeared in the bedroom where, true to tradition, he was going to nobly avoid seeing his wife-to-be until the ceremony. He didn't seem to worry about any bad luck though as he trapped him front and rear.

There was a great deal of touching and fondling as Dolores and I undressed the male guest of honor. Foreplay is important to everyone of course but even more so to female vampires. The whole idea of us appeals to a lot of people but our bodies are different than human females. Obviously we can't have children, we don't ovulate and while we might get aroused just as fast as anyone else we take longer to be as physically prepared for intercourse. I mean, after all, we ARE dead you know!

We finished undressing Samuel and he stretched out on the bed, his nude body displaying well, as was the cock pointing straight up in the air. He gently rubbed himself as he watched Dolores and I turned our attention to each other. Her breasts were full, tipped with dark brown nipples sticking out from nearly chocolate aureole. They were quite a contrast to my small breasts and pink nipples.

The pair of us kissed. Now it may have been the first time ever that Dolores kissed another female but it certainly wasn't mine. Any hesitancy she had was made up for by curiosity and enthusiasm. My mouth opened to hers and she stripped the saliva from my questing tongue. Our bodies came together, hands on each others hips and we swayed seductively. Our breasts touched, our tummies rubbed together and our thighs and mounds brushed back and forth.

We both giggled when we heard a groan from the bed and we turned our attention to Samuel. His cock was so hard now it looked like it must have almost hurt. Breaking our embrace we moved to him. Dolores bent over and kissed him, then slipped sideways and made room for me to kiss him also.

I looked at the dark haired woman and bowed. "After you my dear."

"Enchanted," she replied as she mock curtsied. Then she straddled her fiancé, took his shaft in one hand and guided him between her legs. Slowly she sat down onto him, wiggling her hips to move his cock around inside of her as it reached deeper and deeper. Then she had engulfed him completely and his hands firmly gripped her broad hips and began to help her as she slowly started rising and falling on him.

I was just about to feel left out when Samuel lifted one eyebrow, pursed his lips and asked "Aren't you tired of standing Bridget?" He stuck his tongue out suggestively and winked.

Since I'm not completely slow on the uptake I immediately hopped on top of the Scot, straddling his face as Dolores was doing with his hips. His hands shifted to me and he drew me down to his waiting lips and tongue. His hips were still bouncing Dolores up and down but she took the opportunity of his attention being somewhat diverted to impose her own rhythm on their coupling. I took the opportunity of sliding my hands down her arms and lift her hands from where they were braced on her hips and put them back on my breasts again. Of course I returned to teasing and fondling her full tits and we began kissing again.

I had to say it. Dolores was getting some kind of lover. His tongue felt like it extended a foot up inside me and his lips massaged my labia. He teased my clit and when I announced my coming orgasm by trying to smother him under me he very gently bit it. Not with his fangs by the way, really, most vampire to vampire sex does not involve that. The bite of his front teeth was quite enough to bring me over the edge.

The moment I rolled off his face Samuel took charge of Dolores again. He sat up, tipped her backwards and pushed her around until she was on her hands and knees. From the eagerness she displayed I guessed that she had come once and also that this was probably a favorite position of theirs.