I’m all oiled up and ready to rumble.
Last year, our local fire department put out a racy calendar featuring a squad of sexy young firefighters. Oiled-up studs wearing nothing but their helmets and suspenders attached to red speedos.
I bought copies of the calendar for every room in the house. I even laminated one so I could take it into the bathtub with me. Every Friday night, I would light some candles, play some Barry White, sink into the bubbles, and go to town.
As the months passed, I found myself growing more and more obsessed with these smoldering hunks until fantasizing about them was no longer enough. I had to meet them in the flesh.
I attended parades, fundraiser events, and even company softball games, but I could never summon up the courage to talk to any of them. To me, they were celebrities — models who also happened to save lives.
I bought a scanner radio and followed them around town to watch them in action. It was like live porn. The athleticism on display as they climbed ladders, chopped down doors with axes, and carried people out of burning buildings turned me on so much that I thought my insides might melt.
Then it occurred to me: why should I chase them when I could bring them to me?
The next time my cat Princess Pringles was hanging out in the tree in my backyard, I called them to get her down. She wasn’t really stuck, but how would they know that?
It didn’t matter; the fire department doesn’t rescue cats from trees anymore. Apparently, that’s a job for Animal Control — of course, the men in the Animal Control calendar aren’t nearly as sexy.
It’s just as well. It wasn’t Princess Pringles that needed to be saved. I needed to be rescued from the fireball of pent-up sexual energy that had been building inside me all year.
I longed to be thrown over one of their shoulders and dragged to safety as fiery timbers collapsed around us.
I imagined my hero tossing me onto the ground, tearing open my shirt so he could give me chest compressions, then bringing his lips to mine for some mouth-to-mouth.
It’s a felony to falsely report a fire, so I had to start one for real. Obviously, I didn’t really light my house on fire — that would be crazy. I just lit up the shed in the backyard.
The problem was there were tons of old oily rags and rusty gasoline cans in there. Also, my stash of illegal fireworks.
The explosion sent my poor kitty scurrying up the tree. As I stood under it trying to coax her down, a spark blew over from the shed, and the tree went up like a match.
Now, she was genuinely stuck.
Oh, the hot, crackling irony! What started out as an innocent ploy to meet the men of my dreams had spiraled into a hellish nightmare that threatened to destroy my whole life.
The truck finally arrived at my house, and five strapping lads sprang into action. Though they were wearing their uniforms and face shields, I recognized the men as Mr. November, Mr. March, Mr. July, Mr. August, and Mr. December.
They worked quickly to battle the flames, preventing the blaze from spreading to my house or any of my neighbors’ property. Their heroism was a beautiful sight to behold, but I was too worried about my cat to fully enjoy it.
By the time the blaze had been extinguished, my yard was a black swamp and my shed was a pile of ash. They managed to put out the tree, but Princess Pringles was still stuck.
“Please! You have to get her down!” I said to the rugged Mr. November, who appeared to be in charge.
“We don’t do that sort of thing anymore. And to be honest, you’re lucky that the entire Bureau of Arson Investigators has food poisoning right now because I have my suspicions about how this thing got started.”
I gazed down at my bare feet, which were soaked up to my ankles in mud. I was wearing nothing but a satin nighty, and once the fire was out, I was freezing.
“Go easy on her, Ed,” the tall, broad-shouldered Mr. March said as he threw a wool blanket over my shoulders. “She almost lost her house.”
“Yeah, and I have a feeling she’ll be getting a pretty fat insurance settlement out of this,” said Mr. November. “Come on, let’s load up and get out of here.”
I turned to Mr. March. “Please! Princess Pringles is my only family!” Opening up the blanket, I made sure he got a good view of my body. My wet nightgown clung to my perfect champagne glass tits like a second skin.
He cleared his throat, trying desperately not to stare at my nipples, which were on full display through the translucent fabric.
“We’re already here,” he said to November. “How hard will be it to get this poor woman’s cat out of a tree?”
November got in his face. “The rest of us are leaving. You want to stay, then you can find your own ride home.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll see you back at the station.”
The four other firefighters packed up their stuff and took off in their big red truck, leaving me with my biggest crush. I wanted so badly to pull him against me and shove my tongue down his throat, but there was a more pressing matter at hand.
“Don’t worry ma’am. I will take good care of your kitty.” He removed his heavy coat, revealing a ribbed white tank top underneath. “Would you mind holding this for me?” he asked, offering the coat. “It’s too bulky to climb with.”
“No problem,” I said.
When he wasn’t looking, I sniffed it and shuddered.
His muscles, damp with sweat, rippled as he pulled himself from branch to branch. Though his pants were thick and baggy, I reveled in the view I had of his ass.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” Mr. March cooed when he finally reached Princess Pringles.
When she wouldn’t come to him, he was forced to pluck her from her perch by the scruff of her neck and hold her against his chest. She dug her claws into his flesh and held on for dear life as he made his way back down the tree.
“Thank you so much!” I said as I took my shivering cat into my arms.
“It’s all part of my job.” He smiled. “Though, according to my boss, I guess it isn’t. Anyway, it should be.”
He had four gashes across his collarbone, and his tank top was soaked with blood.
“Oh my God, what did she do to you?”
“Aw, it’s nothing.”
“Nonsense. Let’s go inside so I can get you patched up.”
Could I have cleaned his wound without taking his shirt off? Maybe. But this way was more fun.
His pecs flexed as I dabbed the cuts with alcohol-soaked cotton balls. Though I knew it must burn, he wore a stoic smile. Was he just trying to be macho, or was he enjoying our closeness as much as I was? My lips were only inches from his, and I could practically taste them.
But then I remembered how we got here, and I let out a guilty sigh.
“Is everything ok?” he asked.
“It’s just something your boss said.”
“About cats?”
I laughed. “No. About arson.”
“Oh, no. Did you actually start that fire back there?”
I nodded, unable to look at him. I hadn’t set out to bare my soul and come clean, but suddenly, it was happening.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to meet the guys from my calendar. I’ve developed quite a schoolgirl crush on you, and I guess I let it get a little out of hand.” I walked away from him and stared into the bathroom mirror. “Is that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard?”
“Unfortunately, no. It’s not the strangest motivation for arson that I’ve heard this week.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
He got up from the stool and stood behind me. Seeing us together in the mirror magnified my feelings of lust even as I confessed my embarrassingly irresponsible crime.
“Well, you did waste taxpayer money, and endanger the lives of five good men. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered.”
“Really?”
“You’re a very beautiful woman. Trust me; I wouldn’t have challenged Ed like that if I didn’t want some alone time with you.”
“Well, we’re alone. The fire’s out and my cat’s safe. Whatever should we do now?”
He wrapped his arms around me from behind and began kissing my neck. I kept my eyes open and watched in the mirror as he groped me over my still-damp nightgown. His hands stopped roaming when they came to my hard nipples, which sent a shiver up my spine.
I spun around in his arms, reached up, and pulled his face to mine. His breath was minty and hot like a melting candy cane. His embrace was powerful, like a hairless gorilla.
My mind wandered: did he shave his body for the calendar, or did it have something to do with being around fire all the time?
I came back down to earth as he slipped his fingers between my panties and skin and grabbed ahold of my ass. I slithered my hands around his tight, narrow waist, down into his jeans, and squeezed what felt like two slabs of ham-shaped granite.
Mr. March definitely doesn’t skip leg day.
He yanked down my panties, then hoisted me up and placed me on the edge of the sink. I slipped my nighty over my head, then went to work on his belt buckle and fly. His pants dropped to the floor, exposing the head of his cock as it peeked out from the top of his boxers.
I ran my finger around the rim, then took his eight-inch shaft with both hands. He was already rock-hard.
He parted my legs, licked his thumb, and began rubbing my pussy. Once I was nice and wet, he slipped a finger inside me. Then another. My clit puffed up like a blowfish.
I scooped up some of my own wetness and used it as lube while I jerked him off. I felt his heartbeat through the fat, throbbing veins in his dick.
He playfully flicked my nipples before taking them one at a time into his mouth and sucking. And then he gently nibbled.
We locked eyes as we got each other more and more worked up. Finally, when we couldn’t stand it anymore, he lifted me from the counter with one hand, then stuffed his cock into my pussy with the other.
I’ve seen couples do this in movies, but I’d never before been with someone strong enough to pull it off. It was like dancing and fucking at the same time. I wrapped my legs around him and squeezed, keeping us locked together as he thrust into me.
I had fantasized about this for so long, and now that it was happening, I couldn’t contain myself.
“Keep fucking me, Mr. March! I’m gonna cum!”
A flash of confusion swept over his face, but he didn’t stop. He drove me back against the tile wall and kept on pounding.
The photo of a lighthouse hanging above the toilet fell from the wall and clattered onto the porcelain seat. My towel slipped off the hook on the back of the door and plummeted to the ground.
My pussy began to quake.
“I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
“Me, too,” he panted.
He pressed his tongue deep into my mouth and kissed me. His whole body tensed as he exploded inside me like a shed full of unlicensed fireworks.
With cum still dripping from my pussy, he carried me into the bedroom and collapsed onto my bed. As we lay there in post-orgasmic bliss, I pushed aside all thoughts of the fire, my recklessness, and the possible consequences of my actions.
But eventually, the euphoria passed.
“Am I going to go to jail?” I asked as I ran my fingers over his smooth chest. “Because I’d rather not.”
“Well, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. And Ed was right. There probably won’t be an investigation unless you put in an insurance claim.”
I shrugged. “I probably needed to replace that shed anyway. But I will definitely be making a big fat donation to the fire department at the next fundraiser.”
“We would all be very grateful,” he said with a soft kiss on my cheek. “By the way, my real name’s Manuel. My friends call me Manny.”
“That’s cool, but to me, you’ll always be Mr. March.”
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