Firefighter Fantasy Comes True

The dogs ran off through a hole in the fence. “Damn them!” I had to follow and had no option but to crawl on my hands and knees through the same hole. And then under the same bush that they had sprinted under. And come on! They weren’t even my dogs! My friend had lumped them on me for a week.

My hair got snagged, so I knew it would look a mess. My knees got a little muddy, my thighs were stung by nettles, and my arms were scratched by hawthorn I had seen when I’d rushed to my knees. By the time I got to the other side, I was feeling and looking like a mess.

On the other side, though, it was picturesque. The dogs had run to the lake, which was a private lake you had to pay to use around the other side for swimming or water skiing, but this side seemed pretty empty.

Empty but for one thing. There were two red vans parked up and about a dozen guys taking off dry suits. It had clearly been a morning for the fire service to do its water search and rescue training. And my dogs. My friend’s dogs. Had decided they should be able to join in.

I was already turning red from embarrassment.

Firemen! Yes, I know. What a cliché. You’d think a strong modern woman like me, etc etc, wouldn’t have as silly a fantasy as to go crazy over firemen. I mean, I like women just as much as men. My friend had promised to spend an afternoon ‘doing things for me’ when I got back to thank me for my kindness with her bleeding dogs.

And I am as likely to go out with a skinny tattoo-covered hippy as I am some hunk from a magazine. I seriously don’t like that stuff. But, sorry, firemen…

I have seen middle-aged women go goofy around their black training gear, tightly accentuating their tight well, trained asses and muscular bodies. I’m twenty-seven, as hot as fuck, I shouldn’t be like that, but…. My friends have been the same as long as I can remember, even though every single one of us hides it. We are too cool for that shit, but I can tell you we stop talking if firemen are nearby and try not to look each other in the eye.

One friend is always bound to say hello to them in a friendly way as if their presence is just a normal thing. Oh hell, it is a normal thing, of course. But when she says hello, and we all nod, all I can imagine is an orgy.

All I can think of is me and my very hip and cool friends ripping their clothes off, or them ripping our clothes off and riding their poles (oh yeah!) right there in the street. One guy over my shoulder pushing at my ass hole, another presenting his dick to my face. And no, I wouldn’t have them taking their clothes off. I want them in those tight black, smart uniforms, I want them to fill me in every hole. I WANT TO FUCK FIREMEN!

LOTS OF FIREMEN!!

There. I’ve said it. Maybe I shouldn’t have said it so loudly out loud in front of them all…

I didn’t! Don’t worry. But god did I think it so loudly I bet they could read my thoughts.

And that’s the other thing, firemen must know. They must know every time a couple walks past them that the woman is suddenly thinking, “Why did I marry an accountant, a teacher, a doctor, a nurse, this high-flying businessman? I should have married a fireman…” And her eyes are up and making contact with each of the guys as they walk past. And each of the guys who walks past her knows they’d cheat on the husband, the boyfriend, the fiance with her if they tried.

The other point is that the guy always knows this. I had an ex who figured my weakness out. He had seen it before. And once, after we’d watched some innocent, deep, fat friar fire demonstration put on by the local lads in red (or that black, tight, clinging, smart... oh boy…) uniform, I said hi to one of the firemen standing nearby to help people stay at a safe distance. It was a thirty-second conversation.

My boyfriend dragged me across the town square, through a gap between the buildings, pushed me against a wall behind an industrial-sized bin and pushed his hands down my loose pants.

“You’re fucking soaking,” he growled in my ear. And he wasn’t wrong, my damned pussy always gives me away. And so he figured me with an intensity I wasn’t used to. “You wanted to fuck him didn’t you?” I didn’t reply properly, just bit my lip and nodded and made whining noises. The man I’d just spoken to was a god in my head and my boyfriend was nothing more right then than a sex toy to get me off to my fantasy.

“You wanted to fuck him because he looked so hot. His muscles were so big. Did you see those arms? He would pick you up if he was here right now and hold you against the wall. He’d rip down your pants and push himself up into you in one thrust. He’d bounce you like he was a god and you a mortal slave girl.” My boyfriend then was a poet. And loved the classics. I can’t even remember what he said but it was all that stuff greek gods stuff, but all so true. Don’t expect the right references! Just that Greek gods took what they wanted from people and were very strong. Yes, I was cumming instantly. But he wouldn’t let me stop.

“You want him to turn you over and fuck you in the ass. I know you do. You want to feel filled by him. You want to have his hands crushing your small breasts and both of your wrists in one of his big hands. You want to feel him push you to the floor so you have to suck on him. And you’d do it. You’d have done it right there in the square with all those people watching.

“You want to be his slut. Hold his hard ass and push your head down on him. Gag and gargle and let yourself get used. Oh, you are a slut.”

And he was so right, so awfully right. And as I came for the third time from two fingers up inside me and his thumb pressing on my clit I also thought, ‘no not quite, what I really want is all his friends to rail me too. I want to be passed on, one at a time, no three or four at a time, and let them have their way with me and not stop until they don’t need me anymore. Not stop until they are exhausted, and well, I’d be done too. But I wouldn’t stop.’ And on and on.

Of course, he was turned on, too, my skinny little poet boyfriend. He was hard against my hip. He needed something. I let him take his fingers from my cunt and placed them in my mouth. I actually think I taste nicer than any man or woman I have gone down on, and I’ve done plenty of both.

In fact, as an aside, I have been working on getting flexible enough to be able to lick myself. Some women can do it you know! Thing is it won’t be the same because I’ll never be able to dive my tongue right inside my own hole. So, I put up with others fingers who have been driving me crazy in there or, often enough, late at night, even with lovers asleep beside me, I will thrust my fingers in and taste with one hand while touching with the other.

Believe me; I am full of embarrassing secrets that I just keep hiding despite how openly horny a bitch I am. Seriously I shouldn’t worry. I’ve been to swingers clubs and orgies and dungeons and entertained couples and even been paid on occasion but I still hide so many of my fantasies and feelings so deep down that I think I might explode one day and go crazy.

And yeah, the firemen, as obvious as it sounds, is one of them. The poet boyfriend let me feel it for one time, and I thank him for that.

When I was on my knees sucking him off in that dirty little alley, the sounds of daytime shoppers only meters away, I indulged in my imagination of one day having a dozen firemen all to myself, no one else around, just me and the men. Not even a firewoman. I love women, I fuck women more than men, but somehow I get a bit stressed when I see them working alongside those men I lust for.

I can’t decide in my head if I am jealous of them for getting to be gangbanged every day at work (yeah what a feminist I make! Pah! I am so dumb sometimes!). Or if I think they must get in the way of all that screwing of needy ladies that the men would normally do as part of their job, if the woman wasn’t there. Or if I should really just enjoy the chance to have sex with them as well?

You can see why I don’t normally talk about these things! I must sound a fool.

So I am sucking my boyfriend and wishing I could get these lovely uniformed men alone. And, of course, he cums in my mouth very quickly. He’s not like the old guys I sometimes have. He doesn’t need a lot of hand work and hard work, he just looks down at my beauty, my eyes staring at him, my juicy lips popping on the end of his dick and that’s enough. Plus, he knows how well he’s made me cum, and he knows what’s probably in my head, and all of that is enough.

He fills my mouth with sharp, hot cum; some hit the back of my throat and make me gag, and some I catch on the end of my tongue as I lick at his cock’s eye. Plenty swirls around inside my mouth and into my cheeks. He only came this morning when I woke him up by riding his morning boner, and here he is, still good to go, with plenty of seed left.

I stand up and stroke his cock, milking the last of it out and not minding if a bit ends up on my top. It won’t show, not really, and I’ve never minded being seen as a bit of a tramp as long as those who love me love me.

I show my mouth full of his cum and then swallow it all away dramatically. I could have passed it to him, he is into that, but right then, I wanted to feel the heaviness of it in my stomach because to me, it wasn’t his cum at all, but the man in the square’s cum. I was looking forward to walking right past him again, maybe even saying hello. Cum in my stomach, cum on my clothes, cum that should have been his, that was because of him.

So, you can probably see that when I came crawling out of that hole on that sunny day, looking like I’d been dragged backwards through a hedge (well, pretty much the truth!) and then being confronted by a dozen half-dressed firemen was not an easy thing for me.

All I can say, until next time, is that firemen are used to damsels in distress and they know how to handle them.

Fuck, do they know how to handle them…