by Alexis Shore
“You’re not a doctor,” he said bluntly, which made her wilt a little. “You’re not even at med school.”
That stung; and that was the intention.
She’d been saving for two years now, and he knew she was still nowhere near close enough to being able to afford it. And it was the one thing she really wanted in this world.
But he was disciplining them, and it had to be said, otherwise it would be forgotten and it would happen again.
And the way she squirmed under his command made his cock stand upright under the desk, urging its way out of his pants. He’d never been aroused in a situation like this before, and it was odd that he now found himself this way. Was it a symptom of the earlier panic attack?
“I saved his life,” Amy said, sitting up again and sticking her jaw out in that way she did.
Patrick sighed and surrendered his authority.
She was right.
And he would have done the same thing.
This she knew.
And she knew he knew she knew.
“Last warning,” he said, holding one finger in the air. “Now go.”
They got up, Jennifer levering herself from the chair with some pain on her face. He watched her exit, then spoke.
“Hang on Suarez,” he said, and she stopped, turning back to re-take her seat, the door slowly closing behind her.
“She looks tired,” Patrick said, nodding his head to where Jennifer had been.
“She is.”
“She shouldn’t be on active duty.”
“Try telling her that.”
“I have,” he conceded. “But any day now, I’m putting her behind a desk.”
“I can’t ride alone.”
“Why not?”
“I got a note on my file.”
He nodded, remembering.
His eyes flicked to her chest, seeing the blouse of her uniform parting slightly at the swell of her tits. He caught a glimpse of her bra, soft pink against her olive skin, and he thought it was an unusual colour choice for her. The tip of his prick was pushing painfully hard against his pants now, and he wanted to tear that blouse open and bury his face between those delightfully swollen mounds of flesh, feel their coolness against his hot face, feel her nipples in his mouth, feel her wet lips coating his finger as he pushed it deep inside of her.
And he realised he was staring again.
She was staring back, the tip of her tongue licking at her upper lip, and he knew she was lost in her own little fantasy.
Or at least, he hoped she was, otherwise he’d just be the perverted boss ogling his underling as she squirmed under his covetous gaze.
He shook his head, and tried to ignore the sexual urge in his loins.
“Need some extra shifts?” he asked, by way of an unspoken apology.
She was lost in thought for a moment.
“Huh? What? Yes. Yes please.”
“How’s it going?”
“Gonna be another five years at this rate.”
He flashed her a look of sympathy, and she retuned it with a soft smile that made his balls tighten. He wondered what that mouth would feel like sliding down his prick.
And judging from the outline of her swollen nipples beneath her top, she was wondering the same thing.
Or he was imagining it.
Patrick told himself to get his mind off of it, and realised he was probably using this as a distraction from the attack. Now he needed a distraction from the distraction. Or he just needed to act like the man he was, forget it, let his prick wane and get on with being a firefighter.
That seemed to be enough to shake him from his erotic reverie for a moment.
“I don’t mind,” he began. “If you get shifts in another house.”
“Thanks,” she said, but he could tell the idea didn’t appeal to her.
“Keep an eye on her.”
“Will do.”
“And no more unsanctioned procedures in the field.”
“I’ll try.”
He shot her a look so stern she realised her joke had mis-fired.
“I mean,” she swallowed. “You can count on it,”
“Better fucking believe it.”
Amy got up and moved back to the door. Patrick tried not stare at her curvaceous ass.
“How’s my brother?” he blurted.
She stopped, and turned to look at him, catching his eyes on her butt.
“Joseph? He’s fine, why?”
“I dunno,” Patrick said. “He seems a bit … off at the moment.”
“Off? Or odd?” she asked, sort of relaxing to the thought as if she was having something confirmed.
“Odd is a better word, yeah. Does he seem odd?”
“A bit.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Me too.”
“Everything okay between the two of you?”
“Yeah,” she said, not sounding certain, gripping the door handle with the look of someone in discomfort.
“He’ll be an Attending soon.”
“He will.”
“Maybe he can put you through med school.”
“Maybe,” she said, again not liking the idea of that one little bit.
Her vulnerability in that moment made his ardour rise once more, and it took all his self-control to stop from getting up, rounding then desk and pushing his face to hers, grabbing those delicious swollen tits, pinching her nipples, letting her fish out his cock and fucking her hard and fast over his desk with the door open for everyone to see.
Just then, the station house alarm barked into the air, and a voice came over the tannoy announcing their next call out.
Amy smiled weakly, then trotted off to her rig.
Lieutenant Patrick Dooley sat in his chair, not wanting to get up, not wanting to run down the corridor, and not wanting to go near another fire.
This couldn’t go on.
Three
“He’ll be an Attending soon.”
Amy looked at her Lieutenant, sat behind his desk, his jaw chiselled, the fleck of grey in his dark hair most alluring.
“He will,” she said with an imperceptible swallow, not wanting to lick her lips again, knowing his eyes were caressing her body with each opportunity he got.
She wasn’t sure why her body was reacting to his gaze either, but her nipples were fighting against her bra, and her clit was beginning to call attention to itself.
It was natural to find your lover’s brother attractive, wasn’t it? Surely it was a shared physicality, some resemblance that made her body remember the sexy times with Joseph. Patrick was a cipher, especially as she had just come from sucking Joseph’s prick, leaving her unsatisfied and deeply aroused. Patrick was a Pavlovian thing, a reminder of what she truly wanted.
That had to be it.
But she’d never noticed him noticing her before, and for whatever reason, that was making her wet.
“Maybe he can put you through med school.”
“Maybe,” she said, dropping her gaze and trying to stop her pussy from expanding with anticipation. The thought of relying on Joseph for money was enough to calm her ardour though, thankfully. She could think of nothing worse.
Except maybe cheating on him with his older brother. Her boss.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
And in a flash, she saw herself straddled over Patrick’s lap, her tits bouncing with each deep and passionate thrust down her commanding officer’s cock. A cock that filled her perfectly, his hands on her swollen ass cheeks, slapping and spanking her with encouragement.
Just then, the sounding siren offered some blessed relief from the wrong-headed fantasy. Her rig number was
called, and she trotted off down the hallway, hoping her body would soon calm down.
She hopped in the driver’s seat, and Jennifer was already strapping on her belt. As they pulled out of the firehouse, the wind came in through the windows, and Jennifer had to speak up to be heard.
“I can’t be the only one who gets turned on when Patrick disciplines us.”
“What?”
Amy took a quick look at her partner, and saw that her face was flushing red with embarrassment, almost like she couldn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth. But she wasn’t the type to take it back.
“I said,” she added some volume. “I can’t be the only one who gets turned on when Patrick disciplines us.”
“What? You think some of the guys do to?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” Amy lied, remembering the way his eyes lingered on her chest and how that had made her clit ache for some attention.
“Must be my bloody hormones then,” Jennifer said with a sulky tone.
“Really?”
“What?”
“You get wet when he yells us out?”
“Shut up.”
Amy swerved the rig around a sweeping curve, and heard the siren of the fire truck someway behind them. They sped past a giant billboard, its advert peeling in the sun.
“That kid,” Jennifer said.
The cute face looking down from the hoarding had been there for weeks, a constant reminder of his suspected abduction, and Jennifer was always affected by it whenever they saw it.
“Stop changing the subject,” Amy said in an effort to lighten her mood.
“Alright fine,” Jennifer snapped with some amusement. “I just need a fuck okay? I can’t help being horny.”
“Tell me about it.”
Amy took another corner, and saw traffic up ahead, realising at that moment that she wasn’t sounding the sirens. Once they blared into life, cars started to make a path, and they were soon past the busy interchange and on their way to the call.
They pulled to a halt, and bundled from the cab, rounding the rig to the rear doors. By the time they had them open and their stuff to hand, the fire truck had pulled up alongside.
Patrick and his company all clambered down, and they stood there briefly, awaiting their instructions.
But no-one could quite see what was going on.
Usually the message over the radio was clear and concise, but this time it had been lacking in information. And usually someone was waiting on scene, directing them to their task. But again, no one was here. Not even whoever had called it in.
Amy thought she heard something, and strained to listen. Her efforts took her a few steps away from the company, and she was struggling to make anything out, even though she was convinced she’d heard something.
And there, a high pitched voice in the distance.
Crying for help.
She looked around, but couldn’t locate it.
The guys were chatting amongst themselves, moaning already about a false call. Patrick was gulping back the last remains of his take-out coffee.
“Shut up,” she hollered, and they all obeyed.
When they saw her listening, they too realised what was going on, and between them they managed to triangulate.
The kid was calling from below.
They ran to the edge of the road to see a deeply cut storm drain. From here, the kid’s cries were more obvious, echoing down a short concrete inlet. And then suddenly, a kid appeared from inside the inlet.
“He’s trapped,” the kid called.
Amy automatically reacted, clambering down the ditch with a speedy ease. Her feet splashed into the flowing water, and within moments she was letting the kid lead her down the pipe. It was big enough for the kid to stand, but Amy had to stoop, making her movement less fluid.
The kid’s hand was cold, and his clothes were so wet they were clinging to his skin. He’d clearly been down here a while, and his hand was trembling as she held it and let him lead her along.
“What’s your name?”
“Billy,” he said, distracted.
They were further down the pipe than she had expected, and the water was flowing around her feet with much more force now.
She could hear splashing steps behind her, and she looked back to see Patrick a few metres back, looking far too large for the cramped space.
Billy led her around a corner, and the light suddenly evaporated around them. She could barely see, and she felt Billy’s grip on her hand tighten. The roar of the water was quite deafening now, and because of the low light, it sounded even louder.
A beam of blue erupted around them, and she realised that Patrick must have turned on his Mag-Lite.
Up ahead, Amy could now faintly hear a second voice calling out above the din of the rushing water. She was up to her knees in it now, and the going was getting tougher. Billy was finding it even harder, the level up above his waist, so she scooped him up and carried him, which just made the going even slower.
His body clung to hers, trembling, and she felt his breath rasping with fear in her ear. She cooed and let him know everything was going to be okay, but it did nothing to relieve his tension.
The water was up to her thighs now, and she could hear the voice calling out more clearly. Patrick’s beam of light danced around, searching, until it finally picked out a rusting metal grate in the distance, covering the entire circumference of the concrete drain pipe.
A small head was bobbing up and down against the torrential flow of water cascading through the grate, barely able to stay above the water line. It took a minute more to reach him, before Amy handed Billy to Patrick and hooked her arm through a gap in the grate and spoke to the other kid.
“My leg’s stuck,” he screamed, as much from fear as to compensate for the howl of noise.
Amy took a deep breath and ducked down into the water. It was hard to see, and so she probed around with her hands until she found his leg, something warm oozing from it. She floated closer and saw a rusty rebar had bent loose and was impaled through the kid’s thigh. Clouds of pink gushed around the wound, letting her know the blood was flowing. Only the cold water was helping, keeping his veins restricted.
She emerged with a deep gasp for air.
“His thigh is skewered,” she told Patrick, then turned with a softer voice to the child. “What’s your name honey?”
“Stevie,” the kid said, eyes wide and shivering.
Patrick spoke something into his radio that was lost to Amy in the roar of water. But she watched him, struggling to keep his footing, before he laced an arm into the grating and held himself steady, the boy between them.
Even in the light from his torch, she could see he was sweating and struggling to breathe. It seemed wrong somehow, and she kept an eye on him as she held onto to Stevie to keep him warm.
“Billy,” she called over the din. “Go back out, get a blanket and wrap up tight.”
He nodded, gave a final look of concern to Stevie, then waded back the way they’d come in.
“Can we cut this?” she asked Patrick loudly, cupping Stevie’s ears as she did so.
“Underwater torch is coming,” he replied, looking like he was unable to focus, his feet lifting in the tide of water so he was almost horizontal in the flow.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
It was a clear and obvious lie.
Amy watched him a moment, deciding that he was in the midst of some kind of panic attack. She didn’t have time to deal with that now, and turned her attention back to Stevie.
His colour was concerning her, and she could feel how cold he was against her body. She wanted to pull him free of the rebar, but knew that w
as a bad idea, and that waiting for the torch was the best plan. In spite of everything, Patrick still had a clear mind on what to do.
Beams of light bounced around, and Amy realised some of the crew were headed their way.
And she knew they couldn’t see Patrick in this state.
“Hey,” she screamed, reaching over and slapping his face hard.
It shook something into him for a moment, and he wrestled his body under control, standing up against the torrent and trying to re-focus on the task at hand.
“I’m cold,” Stevie said through chattering teeth.
“I know honey,” Amy held him closer, but knew her core temperature was getting too low now.
She slapped Patrick hard in the face again, and that did the trick, at least for the time being.
Gottfried and Burly arrived, struggling to carry the torch and tank between them through the water. Within moments they were set up though, and Patrick grabbed the torch and ducked under the water.
A blue light burst up from under the surface, so bright it made Amy recoil.
“Stay still,” she instructed Stevie, speaking right into his ear. His body tensed up and she held him tight.
Moments later, Patrick burst up and heaved air into his lungs.
“He’s free.”
Amy could feel Stevie’s body being pushed by the water, and soon his trapped leg was at the surface, the thick metal rod still in his thigh.
Gottfried and Burly had assembled a makeshift stretcher, woven with lengths of webbing, and together they gently manoeuvred the kid up onto it. They took a corner each and began the journey back down the tunnel.
Every few feet, the going became much easier, and soon they were out in the daylight, the sun already warming their soaking wet clothes.
At the top of the incline, Amy felt the blanket over her shoulders as Jennifer draped it there, then put another on top of Stevie. He was stable enough for them not to need to rush.
Amy hugged the material closer, and looked over to Patrick, leaning against the side of the truck, making a good effort to hide the dying symptoms of his panic attack.