Please welcome my latest guest blogger, Isabella Johns, who is going to talk about her new book My Hot Fireman. Please give her a warm welcome. Thanks for being here today, Isabella.
WHY I WROTE MY HOT FIREMAN
by Isabella Johns
Okay, let’s be honest, marriagecan sometimes be a mixed bag…and so can dating…and so can being alone.
You know the heat in a marriage is disappearing when getting him to vacuum just one time is hotter than his perfunctory kisses.
You know dating has become a grind when you make up new life history details just to keep things interesting.
And you know being alone with the vibrator is getting old when you have trouble going all the way because your mind wanders to who got eliminated during the last episode of Dancing with the Stars.
Perhaps like me you find yourself staring at every hot fireman, policeman, tennis pro, personal trainer, lifeguard, handsome stranger…and wondering what if?
What if somehow he was interested in me and we had a chance to start a mind blowing bonfire, sparks everywhere, body coming alive again?
I catch myself ogling and wondering far too often, with desire and need that continue to grow as my thoughts take on more intensity, lust, kink, and downright dirtiness. I’m sure that if I don’t get the real thing soon I’m going to burst. My salvation? Putting hands to the keypad (at least it keeps my fingers occupied).
I wanted to take a classic female fantasy and put that together with a very real female protagonist and make it happen so sweetly it’s as if you are there in bed with them.
So I hope MY HOT FIREMANgives you one enjoyable variation on my theme (and the many stories to come in the MY HOT… series add even more titillating variety). I’ll be most pleased if it inspires in you, as it has for me, a little joyous relief, a splendid break from the carpooling, food shopping, dinner planning, commuting, annoying boss, boring partner, and demanding children.
I’ll be most thrilled if this tryst, this steamy encounter, this vulnerable expression of pure intimacy—that is so vivid in my mind, in my heart, and a few choice other places—seems as deliciously real and true for you.
WE DESERVE IT!
If you’re single, perhaps this story will give you some motivation to go out and make it happen just the way you want.
If you’re dating, perhaps a naked read aloud with your beau can start some sparks (and hopefully he’ll pick up a few hot tricks from Fireman Paul).
If you’re married (like me), reading my story is ABSOLUTELY NOT cheating! Our minds are our own, completely.
EXCERPT FROM MY HOT FIREMAN
by Isabella Johns
Or perhaps he knows I’ve undressed him from my window while fingering myself into profound dirty ecstasy.
Who the fuck cares?
I literally rip off his shirt, scattering a few buttons, because I’m so eager to see and touch his masculine fineness.
It’s exactly like I envisioned from my window, imagined in my bed.
So completely smooth and hairless, it’s for sure he has done some waxing of his own. And those nipples, perfectly brown and large, jutting with muscled strength.
But this is really not like my bedroom fantasies where I lay back and allowed him to have his way.
I’m a tigress set free as I break away from his mouth and attack his chest with my tongue, licking a set of wet stripes all over that sweet body.
I take the brownish nipples into my mouth and suck and his head goes back and he lets out a deep moan.
How invigorating that I can still make a man react like this.
How different his body feels compared to what I’m used to.
My ex was never fat, but his chest and stomach always had a sort of looseness, never toned.
Give toned a Google search and you’ll see Fireman Paul’s picture.
He’s a lot gentler with my blouse, which I’m grateful for, considering what I paid for it, but the results are the same and my blouse and bra soon join his shirt to form a pile on the floor.
He wants to return the favor with my nipples, but I just can’t get enough of this man. I manage to reverse our positions and soon have him pinned against the wall as I lightly rake my nails over his upper body, causing lines of full blush wherever I wander.
I lean real close to lick the peaks and valleys of his muscled abs, then trail up his chest along his left side until I come to rest by his armpit where I notice a small, short, discreetly manscaped thatch of soft brownish blond hair. I breathe as deeply as I can…as if I’ve been trapped underwater for ages and I’m finally allowed a beautiful earthly scent.
Again he makes an attempt to reciprocate—and my nipples do ache for his rough callused fingers to make them twitch—but I just can’t stop myself.
I’m on my knees, not caring if I shred my stockings, unbuckling his pants.
His head goes back, body goes limp, and I hear him say, “You’re so fucking amazing!”
I sometimes believe I am.
I can remember in college having boyfriends who thought I was a good lover and seemed to want me with an insatiable appetite.
At least that’s what I thought.
What about marriage turned me into such a dud?
The pants are soon down, off, along with his boxers and boots.
I want him completely naked, as I envisioned.
The legs are like those of a stallion. Perhaps he works out in the basement gym we heard about on the tour, or maybe all of the grunt work from his training and probie duties have sculpted this Adonis. I let my fingers cascade down the thickness of his flesh, the hairless feel of his legs causing my heart to hammer against my ribcage and my pussy to melt against the black lace.
I can’t stop kissing his robust thighs and powerful calves.
Kisses of lust. Kisses of gratefulness.
Thank you, Fireman Paul! I want to shout. For helping me remember this kind of living. For helping me know that all of this is still possible.
And finally I take the time to stare at his bull’s eye.
More curved than I imagined, but not one iota less beautiful.
The sight of it so rigid and hard without it even being touched—simply because of my presence, my ministrations everywhere else on his body—leaves me breathless.
It seems even more powerful and magnificent because—unlike what I had envisioned when I welcomed him into my bed—and clearly not a practice from my generation—there is not a follicle of hair anywhere, the full shaft revealed along with every curvy detail of his prized balls.
The smooth skin of his cock flowing seamlessly onto his hard creamy stomach makes it that much more princely and grand.
I kiss him there.
I kiss his cock all over.
I kiss it like it’s my long lost lover and I’m just so happy we’re in the same room again.
Is it possible to fall instantly in love with a cock?
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