Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Armor of a Fire Warrior

This evening my Canadian Soldier Sir offered to meet with me and hang out for a while.  I had been resting and vegging out and needed some outside time so I was happy to walk downstairs and meet him.

After spending some time with him, we headed back to his place where I helped him organize his gear for his trip up to IML.  Eventually we began to talk of uniforms and he brought out a large suitcase.  He opened it and revealed one of my favorite uniforms.

An American firefighter's turnout gear.  He had the jacket, the pants, the fire retardant hood, the helmet as well as the rubber boots.  I was hard.  My Sir helped me into the large pants, the boots, and the jacket, all of which were too big, but you couldn't really tell, nor did I care as much as I did before when I tried on a RCMP uniform.  I felt amazing.  The weight of the fire armor, the feel of my feet in the hard boots, the thickness of the coat.  I turned around and fell in love with what I saw in the mirror.

The coat had been through hell, it was a 100% real, authentic, and used L.A. Firefighter's turnout kit.  Scorch marks, soot stains, tears, frayed ends, holes in various places, oxidation on the coat snaps.  All real, all from the hard work and dedicated service of some handsome, anonymous firefighter.  My Sir ordered me on the bed, to which I happily obliged. Laying back, his handsome face looking into mine, his warm and eager smile, the feeling of being in real firefighter's gear, my eyes were welling up with tears of pure joy and gratitude.

After some heartfelt affection, cuddling, holding, and embracing, my Sir then ordered me to cum.  Inside the pants.  I closed my eyes and followed my orders, letting my mind drift to images of hot, muscled firemen, using huge wrenches to open fire hydrants that sprayed gallons of water all over their overheated bodies.  Sweat dripping down their sooty faces, the light of flames reflecting off their helmets and masks, intense eyes framed by the grime of long hours spent battling merciless blazes.  I reached my climax and relished in the afterglow, laying on the bed inside the gear.  My Sir caressed my forehead and kissed my cheek, and I slowly fell asleep.

I awoke an hour later, head woozy, body weakened, I could barely stand under the weight of the fire armor.  I groggily walked in the thick, over-sized boots to find my Sir in his office.  He swiveled in his chair and smiled at me, telling me how long I was passed out for.  I thanked him, tears welling up in my eyes again, the gratitude swelling in my chest.

Thank you, Sir.

Thank you Los Angeles Fire Fighters.

Play Safe.

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