The Preacher’s Daughter

Nature versus nurture has been a long standing debate in the study of psychology. Am I a result of genetics, or environmental factors? When I let that firefighter’s cock pound me into my headboard last night, was it because I have predisposed genes that use unwholesome activities as coping mechanisms? Or is it because I lost my virginity to my first love at 20 and have never felt true love since he broke my heart?
Or maybe, we don’t have to have a psychological debrief for every stream of actions we take. Maybe, some of us prefer the feeling of being free. I worry about everything. I’m a germaphobe, I have a fear of flying, a fear of losing my job and now, like everyone else, I worry every day about what lockdown is next, or how much longer this will all go on for. Maintaining my own sanity is a necessity, and I do that through setting parts of me free. Yes, there are likely deeply rooted psychological reasons why I have become so obsessed with sex. But for me, jumping out of the driver’s seat and hopping in the back is the only way I want this ride to go. I spent most of my life in an overprotective bubble and now I must let go.
I live in an old house; it still has old school fuses as part of its electrical panel. From time to time, my hairdryer will set one off and I’ll have to replace one of the knobs. Last week, when I was doing laundry, I flipped the dryer on and within a second my entire fuse box blew up in smoke. I immediately called 911 and waited anxiously in the dark. Two firetrucks pulled up outside, and five fireman swiftly approached my front door. It was a rush of adrenaline I had not felt in a while. Fear-based adrenaline. I felt vulnerable, afraid and was seeking immediate comfort.
Four firefighters went directly to my basement to assess the situation, while the fifth remained on the main floor with me. I felt their heavy boots thump around on my old hardwood floors, echoing deep in my chest. I was scared. The fireman who remained at my side started chatting with me about things around the house. He asked me questions to familiarize himself more with his surroundings, but also to keep my mind from running off pace. The moonlight shone through my kitchen window as I turned to face him, his eyes gleaming through the darkness, and I began to feel some comfort.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked curiously.
“About three years, it’s a great neighborhood,” I smiled.
As we continued chatting he kept one ear open to his colleagues down in the basement. He offered updates to what they were looking at and assessing. His sincerity grew like a warm embrace and my heartbeat began to slow.
The firefighters emerged from the basement and concluded that an electrician was required to finish the job. My obvious confusion drew concern from my fireman friend, who asked me if I needed an electrician referral, as he’d be happy to ask around for me. I offered him my number to follow up after.
One week later, my house was fully powered and I was at ease. My mind however was now fixated on resolving my next problem. The hormonal rise from a hot fireman standing in my kitchen, staring intently into my eyes. I texted my new fire friend a big thank you for his help, and added some tease. I would not rest until he was in my bed.
It was a Wednesday evening when he texted me the address to his place. Earlier that morning I had received a shirtless mirror pic from him. I had confused it with what might have been a 2021 Firefighter calendar screenshot. Shirtless. Ripped. Skin so tanned it looked freshly torched. I was about to fuck a hot fireman. God bless me for I am about to sin so deep I may dig a hole straight to middle earth.
He opened the door in a tight shirt and ripped jeans. Off to the side of his entrance were workman boots and a cargo jacket. As I approached his living room, I stumbled across an old volunteer firefighting badge. I lay my fingers across it as I gently examined it.
I look up to find him staring at me. “Fuck me,” I state simply, with conviction.
His lips meet mine, wet and soft they gracefully move their way down my neck as he cradles my falling head with his hand. An image of him tearing through a flaming building flashes through my mind, his face blackened with soot and his hands hot to the touch. I gasp audibly as he backs me into his bedroom and onto his bed. He climbs on top of me taking control, pinning my arms above my head. He pulls my jeans off in one motion, as his lips meet my pussy. My breath gets deeper. “Fuck me,” I exhale.
He makes me wait.
He lays over top of me, his cock hard and wet, pushing into me as he kisses me gently. He rubs himself against me in swift motions as he whispers, “You feel so good against me,” in my ear. I shiver in delight as my eyes roll back in my head. He draws one finger down my pelvis, into my wet pussy. He mouth follows against my clit, driving me to instant pleasure. I can’t control myself. I orgasm and sink deep into his pillow as I reach for his hand to clasp mine. He cradles my body with his as he continues his motions.
My pussy still reeling from orgasm, he brushes the tip of his cock against me. My mind is already gone and I can’t think. He inserts himself from behind and moans with pleasure. I fall back into the pillow moaning.
I love when guys take me out of my own control.
My pussy throbbing against his cock, he thrusts swiftly. His hands reaching for my bare breasts, cradling them gently.
I love it so much. I’m wet even writing it.
He plows me into his headboard knowing I can’t take anymore. He hard cock rubbing against my g-spot drives me to a second, deeper orgasm.
Oh my. Oh my. He is dangerously bad for me.
He pauses, inserting himself on top of me as I lay in deep pleasure; he continues to fuck me, putting my legs above his shoulders, staring into my eyes as he cums.
An unexpected fantasy come true. I love it when that happens.
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