Shield Cohort Ch. 01

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Chapter 1: The Way She Talk


I am of Irish descent, but not Irish. My beautiful, smart young Irish lass Brigid is a fantasy, and is not based on any real Irish woman. She’s actually based in many ways on one of my favorite ex-girlfriends—who is actually as American as I am. In attempting to create Brigid’s accent and expressions, I tried to rely on some phonetic spellings, and slang I picked up from an Irish friend (male) I knew some years ago. But there are great limitations to my knowledge of contemporary Irish speech.

Please do not read her dialogue as being grammatically incorrect. She’s quite sharp.

PS—some of my stories are pretty much all sex. This one is more character-driven—but there is some “feckin’ good rootin'” at the end.


“She’s not a bitch, goys! She’s just feckin’ Oirish!” Jerry mimicked unfortunately well. The roughly a dozen people at the pushed-together tables at Van der Voot’s sports bar laughed, except for me, but you’ll see why later. The “young wan” in question was Brigid Cassidy. Brigid, was a member of our “cohort” at Shield Insurance Company. We were “the new bunch” at the corporate headquarters of a huge nationwide company located (for some reason) in the thriving industrial burg of Wanowee, Wisconsin. Every year, the company brought in two dozen raw college grads and put them through two months of orientation and on-the-job-training.

Clever as we all were, we nicknamed our cohort “Agents of Shield,” and made up elegant English translations for Wanowee. None of them are worth sharing, but most revolved around the fact that the town seemed to be composed of blue collar workers, middle aged Strongshield execs and us. We stood out like sore thumbs, mainly because we were drunk young assholes who thought we were better than the townsfolk around us.

Then there was Brigid. She was working-class Irish. She actually took the time to know many of the townies and struck up a close friendship with Gretchen Van der Voot, the bar owners gorgeous twenty-something daughter. Even when times got better after Ireland reinvented her economy, the working class values of Brigid’s family had stuck. Consequently, young Miss Cassidy had little time for those “puttin’ on airs.”

Her father and uncle had at last been able to find good jobs, and the bright and studious young Brigid had been able to earn a college degree. With her father and uncle’s encouragement, she set out for America for an advanced degree and after that, eventually wound up with us. Less educated than she, less ambitious than she, but more pleased with our mediocre academic accomplishments than she, we struck her as privileged brats “acting the maggot.” And when pressed, she had little trouble telling us that.

At the end of the second week, Jerry was the first to feel her wrath. Clever and popular, Jerry had made his play openly and confidently, sharing with the boys that he was going to be the first amongst us to claim her. “But don’t worry, Teddy. A few days after, she won’t be too stretched out for your little pin dick anymore. It might take a week or two to get back down to your size, Mikey.” With a few barbs returned his way, smiling Jerry Krauss left the “boy’s table” and headed over to where Brigid was laughing and joking with Gretchen. I tailed, pretending to need another round, but really just needing to watch the proceedings.

“‘Scuse me, Gretchen, can I borrow Brigid for a minute?”

“Sure, Larry. Talk to ya later Bridge.”

“It’s Jerry.” Gretchen smiled her “gotcha” smile, and Jerry knew he was being toyed with. “Right, GRETA,” he laughed as he spoke, showing he took as well as he gave.

“What kin I do fer ya , Jerry,” Brigid said politely. “Havin’ trouble with the underwritn’ manual ag’in?”

“No, no. Well, a little to be honest, but I’ll figure it out, eventually. Underwriting is boring anyway. I’ll never wind up in that department. We just need enough of an understanding of it to bluff our way through, anyway.”

“Sure, until someone calls ya on it. But yer not here ta talk work wit’ me, are ya?”

“No, I’m not.”

“This is a boy/girl thing isn’t it?”

“You are smart, Brigid.”

“Kind words.”

“Well-deserved. Well-deserved. Look, I was wondering…”

“I’d love to. She’ll be happy, ta tell the truth. She fancies ya, mate.”


“Well, yer a good-looking lad, and she thinks yer funny.”


“Gretchen, a course. Ya want me ta put in a good word fer ya?”

“Oh, no. I-uh-I was actually hoping to chat you up a bit. You’re an awfully good looking girl, and I thought maybe we could…”

“Oh…” Brigid looked a little sad. “Jerry, I’m glad ta know ya, and yer a fun one fer parties and all, but I can’t see you and I…well, that’s not the way I see us goin’.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not the way I feel about ya is all.”

“You said I was good-looking.”

“And that ya are, Jerry.”

“But—oh, shit—I get it. You always hang out with Gretchen or that Bohemian April bahis firmaları chick from the cohort. I’m sorry, Brigid. Look there’s nothing wrong with being gay. My favorite cousin, Tammy, she—”

“Jaysus! I don’t want ya ta horse it up in me, so ya think I’m a focking bean flicker, ya neddy!”

“Got no fucking idea what you just said there, Brigid.”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

“De-nial ain’t just a river in E-gypt.”

“Look, maybe we both need to relax the cacks a bit. I’m just afraid that people thinking I’m a lesbian would make things hard at work fer me. Don’t go spreadin’ a rumor like that, okay?”

“Well, then go out with me.”

“I don’t want ta go out with ya, Jerry.”

“Again, why?’

“I didn’t know I had ta state my case like a barrister. But since ya insist, I think yer always acting the maggot—um—playin’ the fool. I’m lookin’ fer a man who takes his life a bit more seriously.”

“You think I’m a slacker?”

“Good day ta ya, Jerry.”

“Did you just dismiss me?”

“I came out tanoight ta try and blow off a little steam and have some fun. This just isn’t fun fer me. Are you enjoyin’ it?”

Jerry made a ‘W’ with his hands. “What-ever.” He walked away.

“Get an earful, Ollie?” Brigid said, turning to me.

“I was just getting another round.”

“Don’t feckin’ spuff me, Oliver. Yer keepin’ sketch.”

“I love the way you talk.”

“Why don’t ya go back ta Jerry and his lads? I’m sure he’s tellin’ ’em all what a roight bitch I am.”

“Well you did go all Maureen O’Hara on his ass.”

“I did a bit at that, didn’t I?” She smiled slightly and brushed her black hair back from her lightly freckled face.

“All Irish girls so complicated?”

“Nah, some of me best friends are roight little Sallys. Buy ’em a drink and they’ll give ya a good ride. Muggins here, I’m a weapon sometimes.”

“I think I understood that. You can be sharp-tongued.”

“So, how do I get them all ta think I’m not a complete geebag.”

“You know how to play quarters?”

“Invented it.”

“A pitcher of beer and a smile goes a long ways.” I headed back to the table. Brigid showed up about two minutes later, a pitcher in one hand and a quarter in the other. Gretchen trailed behind, bringing another two pitchers.

“I don’t want ta look loike a stereotype, lads,” Brigid smiled. “So, let’s not let the Irish lass be the only one who shows up ta work hung over tomorrow mornin’!” With that, two of the fellows scooted aside and let her sit down. Studious Brigid Cassidy proceeded to drink us all under the table. All but Jerry. He headed back to the bar behind Gretchen. He had something to prove to the boys, and nailing the gorgeous bartender seemed the best way to do it.

Brigid enjoyed a brief bit of popularity for the next few weeks, much to Jerry’s chagrin. She ate lunch with us and taught us all kinds of Irish slang and told hilarious stories about her friend, Kathleen Manihan. She was a “right spare arse,” and stories of her exploits with “dirtballs” and “eejits” in parked cars, under piers and on the roof of the damned pub were favorites of all the guys.

Time would prove to be Jerry’s ally, though. Brigid the Weapon re-emerged a few Mondays later. The whole gang went down to the bar for a Packer/Bear Monday night game, and Mikey, a strapping young Wisconsin native who had played DIII college ball for UW-Whitewater, took it upon himself to explain the intricacies of the game to Brigid. She was an eager learner, and her rapt attention to Mikey throughout the entire game left him with the wrong impression. He met her in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom and tried to get her into the backseat of his new car. I first heard his voice rise above the din as the word “Pricktease” shot across the room.

Brigid had been annoyed with Jerry. She was fuming with Mikey. “Get yer fecking hands off me, ya shitebag! I’m sorry ya got all chubbed up because I listened ta ya talk about football. Fer feck’s sake, I just wanted ta learn about the game. Ye’ve been right nice all night, Mikey, but if ya grab me by the tits again I’ll shove yer clackers up yer arse!”

There were a lot more words that started with ‘F’ after that, and it didn’t matter which of them was talking. Gretchen’s brothers were working the door, and they moved to get Mikey out, which could have been really ugly if Mikey had decided to make it go that way. Jerry sprang up to talk him down, and Gretchen led Brigid toward the backroom. April, had been in a corner with Teddy, one of the boys from the cohort, proving that she wasn’t a lesbian either. She left him and followed the girls. Jerry decided he needed to come back in and make a comment to Brigid, and that led to Gretchen tossing some harsh words in his direction. The whole night was banjaxed for everyone.

Jerry used it all to his advantage, of course, because that was the sort of thing he was good at. And since his comments to Brigid had put him in Dutch with Gretchen—or rather out of Dutch, if you kaçak iddaa take my meaning—Jerry was pretty rough. That brought us to the night where our story began. Jerry was mimicking Brigid. Mikey was sold on Jerry’s line. So was Teddy. The flare-up with Brigid had kept him from taking the Bohemian April home. The bold thing for me to do would have been to challenge Jerry right there. But I didn’t. Brigid did combative very well; she didn’t need me to argue for her. And she sure didn’t need me to apologize for her. So I just thought for a moment about what it would be like if I wasn’t friends with the cool kids. (I’d always been with the cool kids. I was tall and I’ve been told I have cool hair. It’s brown, with a natural wave in the front. Believe it or not, that got me in the front door. Then I just went along with things, and I was “cool.” It had worked since junior high.) I caught myself thinking that I really didn’t need to be cool. I did what Brigid called “shlunking.” I got up like I was going to walk to the bathroom and just quietly slipped away.

It was still early. I walked around for about an hour before I finally pulled out my cellphone and called Brigid.

“Hello?” It was her roommate, April.

“Hey, April, it’s Ollie. What are you guys up to?”

“Gretchen’s off tonight, she’s coming over and we were going bowling.”

“I can’t picture you bowling, April. It’s a visual I’d like to see in person, if it wouldn’t be too big a pain to have me.”

“Really—well, um—wait a minute…” There was some speaking in the background.

“Ollie…we need a girls’ night out.”

“I understand. See ya at work.”

I went home alone and played with my Wii. Literally. “What do ya think I did? Pulled me skagdick?”

The next day, I was stuck down in underwriting all morning and didn’t see any other Agents of Shield except for Scary Steve, the guy who didn’t talk to anyone. It was at lunch that I saw the cohort again. There we were in junior high, again. Cool kids at two tables pushed together and April and Brigid sitting together at a table off in the corner. There was one difference, though. For the first time in over ten years, I wasn’t emotionally stuck in junior high anymore. I walked past the two tables pushed together and strode over to the corner where the Irish girl and her Bohemian friend sat. I had asked a lot of questions during my training, but at that moment I asked the first one that really mattered. “May I sit with you?”

Brigid looked up from her manual of federal insurance regulations. “Yer quite the chancer, aren’t ya?”

“Some people are just better company than others. Worth the risk, I think.”

“They’ll eat ya alive, Ollie.”

“Only if they catch me alone, but I’m hoping to have friends.”

“I think I’d better close me book, April. A man is goin’ ta sit at our table.”

“I don’t know, Bridge, with us being lesbian and all.”

“I could use a beard,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll have me gay by Thursday.” April smiled.

“I’ve been a ‘fag hag’ all my life, Ollie. Have a seat.”

“Miss Brigid,” I said, “I know you’re no Sally. But you are as beautiful a girl as I’ve ever known, and if it’s okay with you, I’d like to call on you some evening.”

“Well, when ’tis a man who asks…I’ll consider it. April, alright if Oliver comes over to ar gaff this evenin’?”

“You’ll love it, Ollie. We’re making popcorn and watching ‘Sex in the City.'”


“Look at this one, April. We’re watching ‘Inglorious Basterds,’ young Oliver.”

I looked even sadder. “Well, there’s a choice for you. My chances of being entertained by the movie went up, and my chances of getting a good night kiss just went way down.” It was a pleasant lunch, despite the cold stares I got from across the room.

Okay, I could practically recite the movie’s dialogue from memory. But I loved watching it again anyway. Even though April bailed out right after watching the Bear go all Ted Williams on the German sergeant. She was either very squeamish or the best roommate ever. I would find the answer to that out later.

Much to my amazement, Brigid used the interruption as a chance to change into her jammys and then snuggled in next to me on the couch and watched the rest of the movie, giving it close attention. Oh, the jammys. One of those huge cotton shirts that isn’t form fitting but shows plenty of leg. And when she folded her legs underneath her, it pulled the cloth tight enough to show the curve of her bust. It wasn’t exactly a schoolgirl outfit with the blouse buttoned down a bit, but it worked for me. By the end of the movie, Brigid had let her head drop to my chest, and I was a little fearful she’d fall asleep, but her blue eyes never even fluttered.

“That movie was a bag o’ swhag, Ollie.”

“Oh, I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I did. It was cla—brilliant.”

“I actually understood bag o’ swhag.”

“Aren’t ye the cute hoor?”

“I love the way you talk.”

“It’s not me best thing, Ollie.”

“Oh, kaçak bahis shite,” I thought. Yes, I actually was thinking in Irish slang. “I’m going to kiss her, now.” I was certain I read things right, but I didn’t want to would summon Brigid the Weapon. I liked this girl way too much. I kissed her good and proper. She wrapped her arms around my neck and dove right in. It was wet and passionate, and her tongue proved capable of being a lot of things besides sharp.

“Ollie,” she whispered. “I’ve been hopin’ fer ya to come ’round.”

“Wow!” I whispered back.

“Ya were so close fer so long. I fancied ya from the start, but I don’t just part me legs fer any boy with a pretty smile and great, great hair.” She roughed up my hair for a second. “I needed a man, and ya never stepped away from that pack a’ gurriers. But Gretchen was pickin’ up her check when ya shlunked away from ’em last noight. She told me about it, but I had to be certain. And sure as loife, ya showed up at the table today, bold as brass ta do it, too. And I said, ‘He’s boxed off now, this one is. Brigid, ya got a chance at a man!”

“Wow!” I whispered again.

“It’s been a long time, Ollie, a long time without a man. But I want ya, tonight.”

“Tell me again.”

“I want ya, Ollie. I want ya bad.”

“Tell me Irish.”

“Tell ya Irish? And dirty, too I suppose? Ya really are a chancer, aren’t ya? Alright, Oliver, I made ya wait long enough, it’s yer lucky night. Besides, when I give myself to a man, well, I give him what he wants…Here goes. I ain’t been flattened proper in along time, ya feck. I been on me tobler, too long. Put me down on this couch and throw it in me, ya long streak a piss!”

“I love the way you talk.” I kissed her again and began to massage her breasts through the fabric of her night shirt. She ripped the shirt off over her head in one quick motion, and her full breasts fell out. They were beautiful, with big wide areolas, and they were very sensitive. She moaned as soon as I touched them bare. I soon became aware that she had come back out of the bedroom with no panties at all. I had watched ¾ of a movie with her bare pussy just inches away from me! She had a neatly trimmed strip of very black hair with very little curl to it. I dove face-first into her warm and moist vagina.

“Eat me giblets, ya nasty focker!” She was playing up her brogue for me now. “Eat the giblets off me, then root me like I’m a dirty little slapper.” I actually knew what that one meant from listening to her tales about her friend, Kathleen Manihan. So, after I got her to the verge of an orgasm from oral sex, I did as she asked. I pulled down my pants and boxers and dropped them to the floor, kicking out of my loafers as I did so. Then I wrapped an arm around her and picked her up completely and bent her over the end of the couch. She reached back and stroked my cock a few times. “Jaysus, look at the pipe on this one!”

“I’m going to lay some pipe in ya right now, my sweet little slapper!” I said, unintentionally picking up the accent. I would have normally been very careful entering a precious and beautiful woman like Brigid, but she had me on the verge of madness. Plus, I knew she was wet and more than willing. I reached around and grabbed her tits while I easily drove myself deep inside of her, again and again. I don’t think that it was the accent that made her unintelligible for the next few minutes. It was a rough fuck. Not a mean one, just very rough. She snaked a hand down between her legs and played at her bean while I pounded away. She had been close to orgasm from the oral sex, and she went over the top well before I did. She wasn’t a screamer, but she moaned pretty damned loud. It’s always nice when you’re able to tell someone is enjoying your work.

Her sounds had started to bring me close to my boiling point. I dug in and rooted her for all I was worth. She had fallen more silent, but was still meeting my every thrust. “Don’t slow down when ye hit the vinegar strokes,” she whispered. “I’m on the smarties.” I hadn’t even begun to think about that, to tell the truth. I had just assumed I would pull out. Now I grabbed her by her hips and pulled her to me hard as I let loose long streams inside her. I began to feel exhausted as soon as the orgasm started, but it kept on coming in waves of ecstasy. She ground around the base of my pipe to get every final drop out of me, and I thought my clackers were going to shrivel up! When I finally was spent inside her, I slid back onto the couch, my t-shirt still on and now soaked with a little bit of everything. She curled up on top of me, stroking my chest. “Would ya like to stay the night, lover?”

“More than anything,” I somehow found the breath to whisper. “Brigid, I think I love—” she put a finger to my lips.

“Not yet,” she said. “Not after all we’ve done is fock like this. I want ya to hear beautiful words from my land as well. I want ya to know about me family. I want ya to know what yer getting’ inta with me.”

“Fair enough. That you can be with me the way we were tonight, how fully you gave yourself, is amazing. But I do so want to make sweet tender love to you, too. But I have to say it. I think I love—much more about you than the way you talk!”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boaltmam ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *