Janet Tillman ("Tiller" to her friends) sat quietly in the shotgun seat of Engine 69, her red captain's New Yorker propped back from her sweat and soot-stained brow. GOD I need a shower, she thought as she stared out the door's window at the new Hooter's restaurant that had opened a month ago. A sagging, tattered banner stretched between two light poles in the eatery's parking lot still proclaimed "Grand Opening Tonight! All You Can Eat (Buffet)!" Tiller turned to her left and caught the engineer's wanton glance upon her braless tee-shirt clad chest. She had removed her bunker coat when the apparatus stopped at the light.
"What?" the Captain said, with a disguised wanton look of her own.
"Huh?" the young firefighter said, snapping back to reality.
"What are you looking at?" Tiller barked, pretending to sound irritated that the light was green and Engine 69 wasn't moving yet.
"Uh... nothing' Cap," Pete Phillips offered, noticing finally that the light was yellow, and feeling his face blush as red as the truck's glossy paint. The truck lurched forward just as the yellow light turned red.
"Careful Probie!" Tiller snapped. "Your driving test ain't done yet!"
Watching his sudden sullen expression as he concentrated on driving the 10-year-old FMC through slowing traffic, she couldn't help but feel proud of this young man. Probies generally don't drive on an actual call, but since they were 10-9 and heading back, Tiller gambled that it would be a good time to finish Pete's qualification exam. She had driven to the scene--one of those annoying dumpster fires behind the Giant Eagle, again--and had turned Pete loose on the pumper's control panel when they got there. He had performed flawlessly for his first "real" fire; after months of drill and classes, she wouldn't have expected any less out of him. He's good, she thought. Damn good. And I taught him everything he knows!
"Good job today, Pete," Tiller said to her prodigy, and touched his arm lightly, wanting him to know that she really wasn't upset with his jack-rabbit start. "And you, too!" she said when she turned to the pair of probies in the rear of the cab.
"Thanks Cap!" Debbie Brown ("Saddle" to her friends, because she owned horses, and maybe for other reasons that only her friends knew about) mumbled through her face mask.
"Saddle, Honey, you can go off air now... we're done playing with the fire," Tiller said, remembering how cute this one had looked all bundled up in bunker gear struggling to don the MSA pack and finally getting it just right just as Kathy Jackson ("Caress" to her friends, for reasons that only her friends knew) easily extinguished the dumpster's blaze.
"That was a good advance on that, Caress," Tiller said to the other back seat rider who seemed lost in her own daydream beyond the side window.
"Huh?" Caress asked, returning from wherever her mind had been.
"I said, nice hose handling," the Captain repeated, and flashed a sincere thumbs up sign.
"I've had lots of practice," Caress smiled, then stretched the wad of grape Bubble-Yum past her lips, stealing a wanton look of her own toward the hunka-hunka-burning-stud in the driver's seat.
"Yeah!" Saddle howled, her face mask now hanging from its strap around her neck. "But nothin' that big, eh Caress?"
Hmmmm, Tiller thought as she focused her attention back through the windshield, but not before stealing another wanton glance at the nervous driver.
"Relax Kiddo," she told him. "You're doing fine." And you'll be doing even finer when we get back, she smiled to herself.
(LATER ON BACK AT THE STATION...)
"Hey Caress! Can I borrow some shampoo? I forgot mine at home," Saddle asked, trotting to catch up to the two women in the middle of the crew's lounge.
"No problemo amigo," Caress replied and tossed the half-empty bottle of Suave over her shoulder without looking back.
Ahhh... Tiller Time, the buxomly Captain thought. Near the end of the shift, and assuming the back-up crew got back from their call in time, she felt sure this could be the long and relaxing shower she'd been looking forward to since that moment when the garbage bag inside the dumpster exploded, sending the butcher department's scrap all over her.
As long as they don't come back TOO early, she chuckled to herself, thinking of the Probie Initiation Ceremony that she had put together in her mind on the trip back from Giant Eagle.
"Stop it Saddle!" Caress snarled, slapping Saddle's hand away from her butt. "Yeah... Yeah... I know what you're thinking," the feisty redhead giggled as the breath-takingly beautiful blonde mimed a hose handling technique.
"Shhh!" Tiller whispered. Standing outside the pair of doors leading into the locker rooms, Tiller decided to let the giddy girls in on her "Initiation Ceremony" plan.
Like the Three Musketeers on a mission, the Captain and her crew of two crept into the men's locker room. Pete had hung his uniform back in his locker and laid clean underwear on top of the neatly folded civvies he had set on the bench. Bare feet and naked ankles danced on the tile floor inside the nearest shower stall as the unsuspecting and usually shy guy sang a bad impression of Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night." Tiller motioned with one finger over her lips while trying desperately to stifle her hard-to-hold laughter. Caress was biting her hand trying not to laugh as well, while Saddle pranced noiselessly in front of the stall's curtain pretending that Pete's thong was a sling-shot.
The first thing Pete felt upon emerging from the his soothing respite was his red panties landing on his nose.
"TIME FOR PROBIE INITIATION!" Tiller shrieked as Caress and Saddle each took one of Pete's frantic arms and led the nearly fainted firefighter to the bench.
"They're probies, too!" Pete whined as the Three Horny Amigos thrust him onto the bench and forced his legs on either side of it.
"Oh, they're gonna get theirs!" Tiller assured, as Pete tried to cover his wakening manhood. "Grab his arms Saddle--Caress, take his legs," she commanded her all-to-willing co-conspirators.
Sweat beads formed on Pete's brow as he tried to keep Saddle from rendering his hands helpless. What was once limp and lifeless suddenly laid fully erect below his naval; his testicles tightened in his sac.
"Please don't hurt me," Pete mumbled, suddenly realizing that he sounded like a wuss and hoping that the Captain hadn't heard him.
"SILENCE PROBIE!" Tiller shouted. "You're gonna pay now for the way you was looking at my tits on the ride back!"
"I wasn't loo..." he tried to say before Tiller's hand covered his mouth.
"I said SHUT-UP!" Tiller growled, then grabbed his stiff shaft. "Not another word or you'll be singing soprano REAL soon!"
If his boner had been an actual bone and not raging blood pressure trapped inside a tube of flesh, she surely would have snapped it like a twig. Before his body's auto-protection system could take over, though, Tiller's free hand cupped his hairless sac and gently stroked it.
Ahhh... shaved balls. How nice! she thought, licking her lips.
"I know you want this, Pete," Tiller cooed as she leaned close to his face, close enough to kiss him, but didn't. "You want all of us, don't you Probie?"
Pete struggled fiercely to free himself. Oh yeah, Babe--I want you. But not like this. Oh no. If we're gonna party, we do it my way! he thought as his near-tear look became an arrogant sneer.
He fought harder for his freedom, but was met with only rougher resistance from Caress and Saddle. Tiller straddled the bench then in such a way that if she had been undressed, he could have easily penetrated her. She stood slowly and pulled her uniform tee-shirt over her head, exposing the luscious mounds of flesh that all the guys in the station had only just imagined. Pete was not imagining them now. Her nipples were like bits of rock to her touch; her tongue danced from one nip to the other in a most tempting and teasing manner.
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