Engines & Lace

Lust in the quiet of a firehouse ignites the first part in a series on rough trade lessons.

Chapter 1: Engines at Rest

It was 3 AM when I pulled off the back road and into the gravel lot, in town visiting and borrowing my friend’s car for this late-night rendezvous. The firehouse sat quiet under the orange glow of a single floodlight, bay doors shut tight. Engines sealed away like giants at rest. To anyone else, it was just another rural station waiting for a call. To me, it was an invitation: he wanted me badly enough to bend his own rules.

I texted I’m here. Seconds later, the back door cracked open. He was already there, one hand on the frame, scanning the lot like every second I lingered was a risk. No wave, no words. Just a quick nod, and he stepped back in.

I killed the lights, shut the car door as softly as I could, and crossed the gravel. My pulse was loud enough that I thought it might give me away before I even reached him. Then I slipped past the threshold, into a hallway of dim light and silence.

His “room” sat right off the entrance, barely more than a bed and a chair, a loud fan roaring in the corner to drown out the noise. A whole firehouse of men slept just yards away. That fan was our only shield.

He shut the door behind me, shoulders tight, chest rising quick. Nervous, but hungry. I’d seen that look for years. His words stayed locked up, but his body never could.

We didn’t waste time. He pushed me down to my knees before the fan had even swallowed the sound of the door. I pulled his pants down fast, his sweatpants loose enough to yank down in one motion. His dick swung heavy and thick, smacking against my lips before I could even get my mouth open. I wrapped my lips around him, drool spilling almost instantly as I tried to take him deeper. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

He was too big to swallow all at once, my throat fighting to open while he held my head steady, guiding me down his shaft. He groaned low, hips rolling, his fat dick sliding in and out of my mouth, spit dripping down my chin onto my shirt. The fan roared, but every gag and slurp felt like it echoed. That risk made me suck him harder, wetter, choking myself on his dick until my eyes watered.

“Fuckkk,” he hissed, pulling free. He wasn’t about to cum in my mouth, not yet. He shoved me forward, my face against the thin carpet, ass in the air. His tongue was on my hole in seconds, licking, spitting, eating me out like he was starving. The sloppy, wet sound of it made me bite down on my arm to stay quiet. He didn’t care. He spread me wider, tongue drilling into me, then pulling back to spit directly on my hole before going in again.

By the time he lined up, I was dripping wet. He spat once more, rubbed the head of his dick against my ass, and pushed in raw. No warmup beyond his tongue. Just his long dick stretching me open in one brutal stroke. I gasped, my nails digging into the carpet as he gave me his all.

He started slow, grinding, making me feel every inch, then pulled back and slammed forward. The floor creaked, his balls slapping against me, his breath hot in my ear. He stroked me to the rhythm of the fan, hole clenching around his dick with every thrust. I was leaking onto the carpet, wet and messy, while he used me hard and deep.

“Mine,” he growled, teeth grazing my neck. “Fucking mine.”

I could only nod, face pressed down, ass taking everything he gave me. He didn’t stop. He shoved me flat, legs spread wide, and kept stroking until his thrusts turned ragged. Then he buried himself all the way in, dick throbbing as he emptied inside me. Hot, thick cum, his grip crushing my hips as he held me down to take it all. I felt it leaking out the moment he pulled free, dripping down my thighs, soaking into the carpet below.

We didn’t linger. He pulled his sweats back up, face shuttered closed, rebuilding himself into the firefighter the world knew. I wiped my mouth and ass with the edge of my shirt, still shaking, and slipped back out into the night.

My friend’s car sat at the edge of the lot, gravel crunching loud under the tires as I pulled away. Behind me, the firehouse looked quiet, untouched, like nothing had happened. But inside, I knew one engine had already been run hard and emptied.