Part 1: The Fireman

Michelle's day was just not going her way. Stranded by the side of the road with car trouble, she had started walking. She hoped to find a service station so she could call a tow truck, but after more than a mile, all she had found were blisters on her feet. If only she had learned to change a tire, she could be on her way. Instead, she was limping along the sidewalk wondering if she would ever find help.

Block after block of houses, and not a single soul in sight. It was midday, a little after lunch, and the sun was hot as she trudged along the empty street. She stopped at an intersection and leaned against the stop sign to wipe the sweat from her forehead. She was considering turning back when she saw it: the firehouse. Up the side street about a block away was a fire station. Her thoughts turned away from the heat and the blisters to settle on the lean, hard bodies she knew would be inside the firehouse.

Turning aside, she started up the side street towards the firehouse. As she approached, she could see that the large overhead bay doors were all open, and she began to wonder if all the firemen were out battling a blaze. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of those men working up a sweat. She glanced down and noticed that her blouse was now accented by two hardening nipples, despite the heat.

She made her way up the massive driveway of the firehouse, and saw that all the bays were empty. She hoped at least one fireman would be there to help her. Just as her hand reached out for the doorknob, the door suddenly opened. Michelle jumped back in surprise. When she focused on the man in front of her, her heart dropped. The vision she held of the firemen was definitely not reflected in the man who had opened that door. He was old enough to be her father, with grey hair peeking out under the edge of his hat and a potbelly that stick out far enough to hide any trace of a belt.

"Can I help you?" he asked her in a gruff, yet kindly voice.

"I had car trouble and have been trying to find a gas station," she replied. "Unfortunately, I now have blisters on my feet and can barely walk." She fought the urge to cry.

"I'm Chief Newman," the man told her, "and most of the men are out on a call, but one of our guys always stays behind to watch the firehouse. He's back in the kitchen. I'll take you back and he should be able to bandage those feet." Her held the door for her and motioned for her to enter.

Michelle had not been inside a firehouse since she was a little girl, and the memories came flooding back. She had fallen in love with a fireman on a school field trip when she was just 8-years-old, and she never completely got over that first girlhood love. All of her boyfriends had been measured by the same yardstick ever since. So far, though, the only man she had seen at this firehouse was a poor example of her fireman fantasy.

Chief Newman led her down the hallway, past the office and into the kitchen. As Michelle walked through the door, her breath was taken away. Standing over the stove was a vision of manly wonder beyond her imagining. The sound of her heart beating nearly drowned out Chief Newman as he introduced the man as Stan, a newly assigned fireman. She regained her senses enough to notice the Chief excuse himself and leave. Stan had turned to look at her, and she seemed to lose ability to speak. He stood about 6'3", and weighed maybe 225 pounds. He was lean and muscular in his tank top and dark blue shorts. His chest rippled as he moved across the room to her, and she fought to keep from gasping as he took her hand and led her to a chair at the table.

"Let's get those sandals off," she heard Stan tell her as she sat down. She was not in control of her body at the moment, so she just let him take her foot and remove the sandal. He examined it carefully, then gently placed in on the cool tile floor and reached for her other foot. Removing her other sandal, he again looked closely at the blisters. "Don't wander off," he instructed as he stood. She couldn't help but notice an interesting looking lump in his pants. It was difficult not to stare. She watched his tight butt as he walked over to a cabinet and removed a first-aid kit. She made a point of looking at his eyes as he returned, and was lost in those steely blue pools as he sat in the chair across from her.

"This shouldn't take long," he told her. All business, he began washing the blisters on her heel, keeping a firm hold on her calf to keep her from jerking as the antiseptic cleansed the wound. His hand felt strong on her leg, and she wondered what it would feel like on other parts of her body. Some antibiotic ointment and a band-aid came next, and then he was working on the other foot. Was his hand a little higher on her calf? She must be imagining it, Michelle though to herself.

"If feels like you've worked a knot into this muscle," he told her as he gently massaged the back of her calf. Was this happening? Was this hunky fireman massaging her leg? "I can work it out for you, if you like." He looked up at her face, not waiting for an answer, but continuing to gently work the flesh of her calf.

"That would be nice," she said in a choked voice. He smiled and continued to knead the sore muscle. Michelle relaxed and leaned back in the chair. Stan worked the kinks out of her leg for a few minutes, and then moved to the other calf. His right hand was on her knee now, holding her leg steady as he massaged the back of her calf. Michelle wondered just how much higher he would go. She knew how high she wanted him to go, and that part of her was starting to get more than a little moist.

All too quickly the massage ended, and Stan was leaning back asking if she felt better. "The Chief didn't tell me your name," he said.

"Michelle," she replied, leaning forward to offer her hand to him. That wasn't the only thing she wanted to offer him, but how could she move from first-aid to what she had in mind that quickly? "Thank you for the help. I always knew a fireman would save me one day."

"You're more than welcome," Stan told her. "If you can walk, would you like a tour of the firehouse?"

Michelle's eyes lit up. "Yes, I'd love that," she told him. Anything to extend her time next to this specimen of manhood. Stan helped her slip her sandals back on, and then took her hand to help her out of her chair. Each touch of his hand sent an electric shock through her body. The wetness between her legs was growing. She was glad she wore panties, or the chair would probably be wet!

Stan led her out into the hallway and down the hallway to the living area. "No one's here now, so it's safe to show you the living quarters," he said as he opened a door at the end of the hallway. They walked through the room towards another door, which turned out to be the showers. Michelle began to imagine herself being soaped up by Stan, his hands moving over her neck, back, shoulders, breasts, etc... "Are you OK?" Michelle has stopped as Stan moved away from the shower room door. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Michelle's felt her face flush. "I was just lost in a thought," she told him. "Which one is your bunk?" she asked turning from the shower and pushing the soap-filled fantasy to the back of her mind.

"I sleep over here," he said, indicating a bunk near the wall by the shower door. Michelle crossed to it and sat on the bed. She reached down to touch her calf where his hand had been and gently worked the muscle with her fingers. "Do they still hurt?" he asked as her joined her on the bunk? She simply nodded, and suddenly his hands were on her leg again. He worked each calf in turn, gently working the soreness out of the muscle. Each time he switched legs, he moved his free hand to her knee to steady the leg. The next time he switched, his hand was just higher than her knee. Next time it was clear that he was moving up her legs on purpose. Michelle parted her thighs slightly the next time he switched legs, looking into his eyes as he moved his hand a little higher.

"Do your thighs hurt too? I can work on them as long as I'm here," he asked her. She could not form words, but simply nodded yes and leaned back on her hands and parted her thighs a little wider. Her shorts were not particularly short, but they had moved up her leg enough to expose most of her thigh to the attentive fireman. He was focusing his attention on her left thigh, rubbing his hands over the soft flesh, reaching a little higher all the time. Before he reached the edge of her shorts, he switched to the other leg, starting again at her knee and working up to her shorts. As Michelle parted her legs a little more to give him greater access, she wondered if the wetness between her legs had soaked through. If so, Stan would surely be able to see it in her current position.