Fun With A Fireman
(Episode #7 of Candid Confessions)
By Daniella Divine
This story includes sexual content, and is suitable for readers aged over 18 only. All characters in the story practice safe sex at all times, even if the details are not explicitly mentioned in specific scenes. This work of fiction is for adult readers who love red-hot romance books with sensual and exciting storylines. Enjoy!
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This work of fiction is an original romance by Daniella Divine. Smashwords Edition.
Copyright © Daniella Divine 2013. Published by Red-Hot Romance Books.
Well, I’ll say one thing for British men. They know how to fuck. I can confirm this with total confidence because in the two weeks I had spent in London, I had done what American tourists are supposed to do. That is, spending as much time as possible checking out the sights and attractions. I don’t mean the castles and all that shit – I mean the sights and attractions to be found in the male population. I discovered that you don’t need to go to the Tower of London to check out some crown jewels. I found plenty of guys packing impressive jewels that were worth examining more closely. You may have heard that English guys have a stiff upper lip. Well, in my opinion, that’s bollocks – but they do tend to get stiff in other parts of their anatomy.
So I liked London. A lot.
At the point where this story starts, I was getting a good look at Big Ben. No silly, not the clock thing…this was Ben Barratt, the photographer I was working with. The magazine I write for in the States had sent me to the old country to cover the latest upcoming nuptials at Buckingham Palace. I had been paired up with Ben, a local freelancer, to produce a spread on the big event. But we sneaked off work a couple of hours early and went back to Ben’s place to produce our own spread – that is, my legs spread on his bed. Forget the royal wedding – I was about to get a royal humping. If all English guys are built like Ben, I can understand why the royal wives are always smiling.
Anyway, there I was somewhere in Battersea on a grey, rainy day in June. It was supposed to be the best time of the year for sunshine, but the Brits don’t seem to go in for summer much. I hear they tend to skip it and go straight from spring into another winter. I guess that way they save money on buying bikinis and sun tan lotion. Makes sense to me.
But I digress. Ben’s apartment - sorry, they call them flats over there, right? Well, his flat wasn’t the biggest in the world. If Ben took up swinging cats for a hobby, he wouldn’t have much opportunity to indulge his passion at home…you know what I’m saying? The double bed took up most of the main bedroom. The flat was way up on the top floor, with a neat view across Battersea Park to the city beyond. Looking out the window, I could see a chimney stack from the old Battersea Power Station sticking up like a giant phallus. However, I was much more interested in the giant phallus that was approaching me across the squeaky bed.
‘Now I know why they call you Big Ben,’ I said, admiring the view. ‘You’re looking pretty fit in the underpants department.’ Ben was pretty fit all round, to be honest. He wasn’t super muscular, but he was tall and in good shape – probably in his early thirties or thereabouts.
‘I’m a professional photographer, darling,’ he reminded me. And oh, that Cockney accent was such a turn on! I was getting wetter with every sentence he spoke. ‘I know how to look after my equipment. You know what I mean?’
‘Yes, I see what you mean. And you’re certainly good with exposures.’
Ben grinned. ‘Actually, I was planning on taking a closer look at your exposures…’
I was exposed all right. I was stark naked and definitely ready for a little male-on-female action. And before you start calling me rude names, let me get in there ahead of you. If you haven’t met me before, my name is Angel deVries, and I’m a shameless sexaholic. So if you’re thinking of words like ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ you can fuck off. Sex is the most natural thing in the world – you wouldn’t be here without it – and I’m not ashamed to enjoy it whenever it suits me. And it tends to suit me quite a lot.
We had pretty much skipped the foreplay. Ben seemed to be in a hurry to get down to the meat and potatoes of the whole business. That was fine with me. I got the hots for him as soon as we met the week before, and I was glad to find he felt the same way about me.
‘I’ve never had sex with an American woman,’ he said, working his dick firmly to attention with his right hand. ‘I’m looking forward to finding out what it feels like.’
I giggled. ‘I guess we’re pretty much the same as British girls, except we scream in a funny accent.’
‘Oh boy, I can’t wait to hear that! It will be like watching sex in a Hollywood movie, but it will be real life.’
Too much talking, not enough action. I reached up, curled my hand around the back of Ben’s neck and pulled him on top of me. ‘Much as I love to hear you talk in that cute voice of yours, let’s get down to business.’
‘Love a duck…that sounds awesome!’
Love a duck? They sure talk weird over there. So I clamped my lips against Ben’s to make him shut up. That did the trick. He seemed to lose all interest in chatting, and I could feel his dick straining upwards as his body lowered down onto mine. Hmm...nice. My Mom always said it’s good to travel and get new experiences. And I had a feeling that this experience would make the long flight across the pond worthwhile.
Ben’s lean and hard body was on top of mine now, his naked flesh pressing against mine. He moved his lips from my mouth to my neck and shoulders, and then down to my breasts. I loved every moment, but I was impatient for the main course. I arched my back so that my body pressed tightly against his and whispered in his ear.
‘I want you inside me, right now.’
‘That’s what I want, too,’ he replied. ‘I want that more than anything.’
Ben shifted his position, making himself more comfortable between my legs. Then I could feel him fumbling between my thighs, seeking the right place to enter me. Another moment and he was inside me, sliding deep and grunting as he buried his flesh inside mine.
‘Oh yes!’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes, yes!’
OK, I know. A bit of repetition there. But what do you do when you’re having sex – recite Shakespeare? I didn’t think so. My affirmative response certainly worked for Ben…he got into his stride and started pushing into me deeper and harder. His breath was hot in my ear, his male scent making me whimper like a bitch on heat.
‘More Ben, give me more.’
‘I’ll give you as much as you like, darling. You are so sexy I could do this all day.’
I felt pretty much the same way, but at that moment, events took an unfortunate turn for the worse. We weren’t going to be at it all day. In fact, we weren’t going to get another moment. Ben suddenly froze in mid-fuck – his body poised over me while he strained his head to listen like a rabbit that just heard a dog bark.
‘Can you hear that?’ he said, a note of panic in his voice.
I listened. All I could hear was the noise of traffic in the distance, and the high-pitched whine of a small-engined motorbike approaching.
‘Hear what?’ I asked, becoming somewhat disillusioned. Ben’s dick was wilting like a banana in the sun, and I suspected that my afternoon was about to go downhill fast. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘That engine…the moped. I know the sound…but it can’t be. She’s not supposed to come home for another hour yet.’
My heart sank. I’ve had this kind of conversation before. ‘Who’s no
t supposed to come home yet?’
Ben didn’t answer. He was too busy scurrying across the bed to the window. The sound of the moped was louder now. It was clearly just outside the building, and the tone of the engine told me it was slowing down. Ben took one look out the window and then ducked down, swearing with surprising intensity.
‘Oh fuck, it’s her!’
‘Who?’ I demanded, although I was sure I knew the answer to that question.
‘My wife. She’s not supposed to finish work for another hour.’
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I may have found myself in a similar position once or twice before. OK, three or four times before.
Five, then.
Six or seven, tops. Definitely in the single figures.
Well, the exact number isn’t important, but the thing is I knew I needed to get out of there pretty damn quick. My experience is that when a wife catches you in bed with her husband, she tends to cross you off her Christmas card list pretty quick. And then she is likely to come after you with a carving knife. So I made a grab for my bra and panties and got them on in double quick time. Ben was hopping around with one leg inside his pants, trying to pull them on in a major league panic. But it was a case of more haste and less speed. He tripped and fell flat on his face. He took advantage of his horizontal position to get his pants on and zipped up, and made a grab for his shirt.
‘Angel, you’ve got to get out of here before she finds us.’
‘Yeah, Einstein. I’d worked that out already. How do I get out of here? Is there a back door?’
Ben shook his head while he buttoned his shirt. ‘No time for that. She will be coming up the stairs any second. You’ll have to go out the window and down the fire escape.’
I tried to pick up my blouse, but Ben was quicker and he scooped up all my clothes and shoved them to my chest, together with my shoes. ‘You don’t have time to get dressed. You have to go now before she comes upstairs.
‘Excuse me? Are you nuts? I’m not going down the fire escape in my underwear!’
‘Listen Angel, if you don’t, she’ll throw you down. My wife is not the kind of woman you want to cross. Do you understand?’
‘I…I…I…oh, fuck! Just get me out of here.’
Ben peered cautiously out of the window and gave me a running commentary. ‘She’s coming up the drive. Now she’s opening the front door. She’s inside. That’s it. You need to go right now. Quick! You’ve got about thirty seconds to make an exit.’
So that’s how I found myself crawling through a sash window in my bra and panties onto the ricketiest fire escape I had ever seen. Man, don’t they have fire regulations in England, or what? The fire escape was a very old and rusty metal staircase with short flights of steel steps that zigzagged down to the ground, five floors below. I didn’t fancy going down it at all, but the alternative was to crawl back through the window and face an angry wife armed with a carving knife.
The rickety stairs won.
I clutched my clothes against my chest with one hand and grabbed the guard rail with the other. Even though it was only late afternoon, it was wet and cold. I could see goose pimples rising on the flesh of my arms and legs. But that was the least of my worries. I had to get safely out of sight in a hurry, and then find somewhere where I could get dressed before I got arrested.
And that was when it happened.
Disaster.
I had tip-toed down one flight of steps and was starting on the next when I heard an ominous groaning sound and the whole fire escape staircase began to shake. I got the impression that no-one had ventured out onto this structure anytime in the last century, probably for very good safety reasons. But there was no point in going back…I had to go on. I took another step downwards…and then another. The sound of twisted and groaning metal increased.
And then there was a ‘snap.’
I don’t know what snapped exactly, but I guess it was the rivets or bolts that held the metal staircase to the wall. What I do know for sure is that the fire escape suddenly swung outwards, tearing away from the building and lurching several yards away from the perpendicular. I was jolted against the guard rail and my clothes and shoes were thrown out of my hand. I gripped the rail for dear life, and watched my clothes tumble down to the ground far below.
I was expecting the whole fire escape to collapse and follow my clothes to the concrete. To my relief, however, it jammed in mid-air, leaving me hanging several floors above the ground. I’m scared of heights at the best of times. Right now, I was absolutely terrified.
Down below, I saw an old man with a dog staring up at me. He looked a little puzzled.
‘Are you in need of some assistance, madam?’ he called up. Now is that British understatement, or what?
‘Help!’ I said, weakly.
The man lifted his hand to his ear. ‘Sorry…didn’t catch that. Hard of hearing, you know.’
I composed my shaking body, took a deep breath and yelled.
‘HELP!!!’
He got the message that time.
***
I have to say the fire service was quick off the mark. I had only been clutching at the twisted metal for a few minutes when a fire engine showed up in the street. It was one of those ones with the extending platform on the back. A few moments later, the cab doors opened and six firemen spilled out. They all stared up at me, and I did my best to cover my boobs and my ass with one hand, whilst holding on for dear life with the other. Of course, by this time, quite a crowd had gathered in the street. Most of them appeared to be teenage boys who were taking advantage of the opportunity to inspect my assets. I just hoped to God none of them had a camera-phone handy. The last thing I wanted was to become the star of a YouTube viral video. My Dad would have a heart attack.
The firemen didn’t hang around. Within what seemed like seconds, one of them had climbed into the platform basket thingy and was being raised up in the air to meet me. It seemed to take forever for them to maneuver near to me, but it was such a relief to see the basket inching closer and closer. As soon as the fireman was close enough, he reached out his hands and put them under my shoulders.
‘Don’t worry love, you’re safe. You can’t fall now that I’ve got a grip on you. Are you OK?’
I nodded dumbly, transfixed by the sight of my new hero. Girls, if you have never been rescued by a hunky fireman, I would highly recommend it. Especially if your guy turns out to be as hot as mine. I couldn’t see much of his body, due to all the gear he was wearing, but he had a classically handsome face. Better still, he had a disarming smile that somehow said ‘don’t worry…everything is going to be just fine.’
‘Bloody hell, you’ve got yourself into a right mess here,’ he exclaimed. ‘Do you usually walk around in your underwear?’
I managed a weak smile in return. ‘No, not usually. I had to leave in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Ahh!’ my hero said knowingly. ‘I hear an accent. You’re Australian.’
‘American.’
‘Oh, yeah. Well miss, I’m going to lift you over onto this platform with me. As soon as you are in here, you will be as safe as houses. So are you ready?’
The fireman put his arms around me and lifted me off my feet. I felt a moment of panic as I realized I was dangling in the air four floors above the ground, but the firmness of his grip reassured me. A moment later, I was relieved to feel my feet touching the base of the platform. I was safe. The fireman let go of me and gave me another of those winning grins, making me weak at the knees.
‘Well, I must say I’m glad we got you off that fire escape. Someone is going to get into big trouble over that. Never mind, no harm done. What’s your name, Australian lady?’
‘American…I’m American. My name is Angel.’
‘Good to meet you, Angel. I’m Duke. Now in a moment, we’ll go down to ground level. But before we do, let’s get you covered up.’ Duke shrugged off his fireman’s jacket and slipped it around my shoulders. It was way too big
for me, and weighed a ton. But at least my tits and ass were covered up. Duke nodded his approval at my new look. ‘You won’t win any fashion shows in that, but at least the boys in the street will stop gawping.’
I was the one who was gawping now. With his giant jacket removed, Duke looked like a normal human being…and a very impressive specimen of one, too. Working for the fire brigade seems to give guys muscles in all the important places. If Duke wanted to inspect me all over to look for fire damage, he was very welcome to do so. A few minutes later, we were down on the ground. And when I put my feet on terra firma, I was so happy I could have cried.
***
I won’t bore you with all the details of what happened next. I ended up spending ages giving statements to the fire service and the police, while they tried to pretend they weren’t laughing at the lurid details of my story. I had to tell them about Ben, of course, to explain why I was hanging outside his building in my underwear. I tried to tone it down a bit for his benefit, but the last I heard they were going to take a statement from him, presumably with his wife listening and taking notes. Serves him right for cheating – heck, he never told me he was married.
I had to give Duke back his fireman’s coat, but instead he offered me his personal leather jacket from the cab of the fire truck. I protested, but I couldn’t really refuse. I could hardly walk away in my bra and panties when the place was crawling with police. Duke wrote down his phone number, and asked me to call him when I was ready to return the jacket.
Perfect – I now had a legitimate excuse to call on my handsome hero and demonstrate how American girls show their appreciation.
Awesome!
***
As it turned out, Duke was very much a local boy. I rang him the next day and arranged to drop the jacket off at his place in the evening. I looked the address up on Google Maps, and found it was also in Battersea, but on the opposite side of the park to Ben. We agreed that I would call in at eight, so I was able to spend most of the afternoon and early evening getting ready for the big event. Ben had called in and told my London Editor that he was sick. I guess he just didn’t want to face me. Either that or his wife had made him sick with a rolling pin…who knows. I was given the day off while they flapped around to find a replacement.
Fun With a Fireman Page 1
