First time with Elsa.

She was pretty, and pretty smart. Well, that latter was kind of a given, being an ER nurse in a big city. We were in her department a half a dozen times a night, that being the nature of Big City EMS. We tucked our patients into her carts, gave report, and hung around, finishing our trip sheets and waiting for the next run.

We seldom had to wait long.

As one shift followed another, I began to seek her out, flirting and chatting her up. She, delightfully, reciprocated. One night, I got detailed out to another firehouse. When I returned, my partner, Doug, made a point of noting that Elsa had asked where I had been, on the night I was working across town. Good omen.

The bulk of EMS calls come in roughly between mid afternoon and early morning, like around 2 or 3 am. For that reason, the city opened a couple of houses as "power shifts", going in service at 1400, and closing up shop at 0200 (...or so the crews hoped!). Surprisingly (or, not) ERs have a similar bulge in their census, and so also established their own 1400 to 0200 shifts. Elsa was on that schedule. Nice.

We continued to run in and out of Big City Health Center, and I continued to flirt with Elsa. Eventually, I steeled myself, and asked her out.

Her eyes twinkled, as she answered me, "When?"

I stammered, vapor locked that she would indeed consider going out with me, until she saved me.

Just as if I hadn't turned red in the face, she continued, "Since we both ought to get off work about the same time, why don't you swing by my place? I have some rum and Kahlua, and you could grab some vanilla ice cream. We could make Hummers, and watch HBO. We could decide where we're gonna go on our second date, hmmm?"

I unlocked. "You bet!" She pressed an already prepared piece of paper into my hand, and directed me. "Here's my phone number, and address. Give me a call once you break out of the firehouse. I'll have my porch light on for you."

I heard the tones for our truck go off, and turned to leave. "Gotta go! I'll call you as I head out!"

We pulled up on the scene of our shooting after the police. (which, by the way, is my very FAVORITE sequence of events. I get kinda nervous, when I have to let dispatch know that our "sick person", is ill due to unbluprinted holes, leakage of Good Red Stuff, and unknown whereabouts of the shooter. Bad times.) One of the officers waved us over to the victim, and we set to work, searching for and stopping the bleeding, assessing his ability to breathe, and attempting to sort out his particular catalog of woe, with an eye to determining how much care we would render at the scene, and how much would wait for transport.

We looked at each other, and nodded. Doug tossed me the handie talkie, and grabbed the medic bag. "Need a board? Or a collar?"

"Nope. Just diesel."

He hot footed it over to the truck, returning with the gurney. Mr. Beenshot was eased onto the cot, and loaded into the rig. I heard Doug from the front, as he wheeled us through The City. "BCHC, from Medic 7, priority one. Approximately 35 year old male, GSW to chest and abdomen. ETA 6 minutes."

I heard Elsa respond from the triage radio, "Vitals?"

"Wait one". I bellowed the answer: "Palpable radial pulse, sat in low 90's, breath sounds diminished on right!" Doug relayed this, and again I heard Elsa, "Copy, we'll watch for you."

Most of us think of choreography as being a dance thing. Perhaps, a movie thing (think about movie fight scenes, for example). Well, emergency services have choreography, as well. On a smoothly running EMS scene, the responders know what is needed, set about doing it, and step back, looking for the next needful thing. Similarly, and with better lighting, an emergency department has choreography. When you have a cadre of nurses who know their shit, keep current on it, and know each other's moves, well, that dance saves lives, sometimes. The physicians adjust the flow, as the medical control determines this, or that, needs to be different, just so, from the routine, and the nurses identify unexpected findings, or responses, and communicate same to the physician, for further evolution of the dance.

Mr. Beenshot was rapidly undressed, multiply IV'd, and had a not inconsiderable amount of his blood sent to lab for analysis. Radiographers provided views of his chest, and belly, so the physician could determine why his breath sounds, on his right, weren't what were expected.

So, it turns out, when you have a .351 inch hole in your chest, and another, perhaps 6/10 of an inch, on your back, the nigh-perfect theory of action The Architect designed into your breathing apparatus, doesn't work so well. The loss of vacuum inside your chest and outside your lungs, allows the lung to flutter in on itself, and all the gasping and retching in the world is not going to convince that lung to inflate. If you are particularly unlucky, as was Mr. Beenshot, you can leak air into that formerly pristine void space, and it will not whistle out. With each breath, you will pump more air in, and more air, and more air, until the developing pressure shifts your heart and everything else, that belongs in the center of your chest, into the side that, otherwise, is working to oxygenate your blood.

That is unhelpful.

The treatment for this is a big tube, stuck between your ribs and into that void space, attached to low suction, and sealed to your chest. The lung follows the suction, drawing up tightly against the chest wall from the inside, and starts to oxygenate blood again. Good times. Except, of course, for the process of making that happen. As you might imagine, when you need it in a hurry, you are not anesthetized. Without anesthesia, it really, really hurts. In fact, I've been told that it hurts like a motherfucker. True story. Direct quote. On the other hand, the fact that my witness was able to draw enough breath to speculate upon my unusually close relationship with my mother, kinda meant that we all had done it right. (Sir, you're welcome! And, mom says 'Hi!')

Once all the RFN drama had been addressed (ie, stuff that needed doing Right Fucking Now!), Mr. Beenshot found himself on the way to surgery, so Our Friends the Surgeons could give him the benefit of their own brand of magic.

Fortunately, for specific values of "fortunately", all this excitement, as well as cleaning up and restocking from this excitement, took us past 0200. Elsa had been caught up in the activity, and so she found herself working past 0200, as well. Doug and I knew what we were about: we were about to head back to quarters, log out, and beat feet to Someplace Else, particularly someplace that did not smell like diesel fuel, or looming death. I caught the pay phone on my way out of the firehouse, and Else picked up on the third ring. "On the way! Still want that ice cream?"

"Oh, hell yeah! After tonight, I need to put my feet up, and not move for a while! You up to serving me?"

"I think I could be convinced. I'll be there in a half an hour, and we'll see."

Once in the door, I unlaced and removed my boots. We meandered into the kitchen, where her blender and our efforts soon provided us with about a liter of Hummers.

We had a few drinks, told a few stories. She lay down, her head in my lap, and I massaged her scalp, her temples. She purred, and I wandered to her neck, her shoulders. We continued for a bit, and she roused herself, telling me, "wait here. I'll be right back."

When she returned, she had abandoned her scrubs, now in a bathrobe, She settled in on the couch, next to me, and told me, "your turn. Here, turn this way." I complied, and she began to rub my back through my uniform. Didn't work so well, through my kevlar vest. "What? Why are you wearing that?"

"I didn't want to keep you waiting,. And didn't stop to stow it in my trunk."

She reached around me, flipping my buttons loose, and tugged my shirt off me and onto the floor. The vest was a bit more difficult, with the elastic panel carrier producing considerable friction. I wound up standing, and showing her the contortions required to remove it. She rolled my t shirt off, and drew me back to her. "That's better", kneading my back across my taut shoulders. Several minutes of that had my shoulders relaxed, and my johnston tight. I turned to her, and said "now it's my turn, to do you."

She grinned at that. "moving kinda fast, aren't you, cowboy? Don't I get a kiss before you 'do me'?" "Yes, Ma'am!" and I leaned in for a smooch. Our lips touched, tentatively, and we met again. Her probing tongue teased my lips, and I soon reciprocated. My hands, drawing her closer, meeting behind her neck, descended to her shoulders, and slid to her upper chest. I drew back, and looked a question to her. She grinned, released the belt, and drew her robe to her waist.

She had forgone her brassiere, it appeared, and the effect was stunning. Her brown hair framed her face, and her demurely downcast brown eyes lead my gaze to her firm breasts.

It seemed that the room was colder than I had noticed, because her nipples were erect. I reached for her, caressing her cheek with my fingertips. She turned into my touch like a cat does to a favored owner.

She reached with her own hand, drawing mine to her breast. My other hand joined in, and she moaned, almost a purr, deep in her throat. I tested the firmness of her globes, and drew her nipples between my fingers, as they reached like pencil points toward me. She rolled her shoulders, as if to get more of her breasts into my grasp. I bent, captured one turgid teat between my lips, teasing it with my teeth, and her hands met behind my head, drawing me closer to her bosom.

I lingered there, laving and nibbling at her breasts, for several minutes. Finally, I laid her back on her sofa, and kissed my way down her belly, licking her navel along the way. She giggled at that, until I drew her robe farther apart, and kissed my way to the hem of her panties.

I looked up at her, to discover her gaze fixed at the top of my head. She nodded at my unspoken question, raising her hips to facilitate the wardrobe change that I intended. Once she was bare, I returned to my explorations, and eased my way down, until I was nose-to-puss with her shaven sex. A tentative lick, and her indrawn breath, told me what my next move should be. I proceeded to lap her cooze, nuzzling my way into her folds, and her hands, coming to rest upon my head, directed my attentions where she wanted them most.

She seemed to enjoy what I was doing, wriggling and cooing as I searched her sex for the climax hidden within. Before I succeeded in finding it, she drew me to her, lips meeting my own, and she drew me into a quim flavored kiss. Once we broke contact, she licked her lips and reflected, "Hmm, I taste pretty good on you. Gonna have to keep that in mind, for later on!"

Taking my hand, she led me to her bedroom. Along the way, she discarded the bathrobe, and I trailed it along with us. She turned, reclining upon the bed. I released my belt, slid my pants (and all the EMS-y load the belt held for me) to the floor, and tossed my shorts on the pile of clothes I left at her bedside. I withdrew the sash of the belt, and crawled up the bed, until I was nose to nose with her.

I grasped her left hand, and wrapped the belt around it. Capturing her right wrist, I bound it to its mate, and she brought her hands before her eyes, looking at the binding holding them together. She looked a question at me. I grinned, and observed, "Sometimes a girl gets wiggley, and she has to be restrained."

She grinned back. "If your demonstration of noonie lapping a few minutes ago was any indication, I can see why a girl might get wiggley. How come the tie?"

"Well, if she is tied, she cannot stop me from ravishing her, can she? I can show her any sort of good time that I might want to show her, right?"

Dubiously, "Rrriigghhhttt...?"

"And, helpless as you are, well, all you can do is lay back and enjoy it, right?"

"Rriigghhtt..."

"So, let's suppose I find that climax you have hiding in that oh, so juicy noonie I was exploring a minute ago? Should I let her out to play?"

Dubiousness, gone. "Yep! Let her out to play!"

I slipped down the bed, and resumed my lingual explorations. Elsa soon remembered where she had been in that conversation, and indeed commenced to wiggle, and moan, and try to wrap her bound hands in my short hair. I spread her folds, and teased her inner folds with my lips, alternating with probing her depths with my tongue. She sure seemed to make up for lost time, and soon wrapped her legs around my head, arching her back, and jerking out her release. I carried on, unmoved, until she began to mewl and grunt again. Taking that as an indication of looming climax, I withdrew, and slotted my hardness at her entrance, sliding slowly home.

I am by no means any sort of porn star. Given that, it must have been all the prep work I devoted to warming her up. Once I finished giving her every one of my 7 inches, she locked up, twitched, and lurched through another, even more intense climax. I held on, providing an additional thrust when she seemed to be starting to cool down. It worked, and her orgasm seemed to drag on for long minutes.

Finally, she began to beat on my shoulders with her bound hands, murmuring "no more! No more!".

I withdrew, and watched her twitch through the final spasms of her crescendo. I snuggled in next to her, and she cuddled in closer to me. We drowsed like that for I don't know how long, until she whispered, "Is that thing poking me in the side, what I think it is?"

"I hope so, otherwise I'm some sort of alien, and you may be in for some trouble, earthling!"

"You didn't come yet?"

"Not yet."

She drew back, looked me in the eye, and said, "Well, we'll just have to see about that!"

I was transfixed as she made her way down my body, until she was eye-to-eye with my drooling scimitar of lust. I gathered pillows, so as to prop myself up and admire her technique and delivery. Once she began to breathe upon my trembling johnston, I knew I was at the mercy of a suck mistress, and needed to only lay still, and she would take care of everything.

She grasped my reltney with her bound hands, and opened wide. Slowly, she descended, engulfing my eager tool in a hot, wet, whirling maelstrom of swirling tongue, sucking lips, and moans of pleasure. She paused there, nearly all my joint in her mouth, and suckled. She drew herself off me, and then turned to me, "I was right! I DO taste pretty good on you! You must be pretty excited, because I can really taste you."

"Yeah, you kinda have that effect on me!"

"Good, because THAT is the effect I was going for!"

She returned to stuffing my throbber into her pharynx, and humming along the way. I felt my balls drawing up, and the tingling of my semen spout beginning to herald my eruption, and I pulled the slobbering sweetheart off my dingus for a moment. "I'm about there. Where do you want it?"

"In my mouth! In my mouth! I want to drink you! Please, cum in my mouth!"

I slid my hardness back into her mouth, and began to guide her movements up and down my joystick. She moaned as I used her, and reached for my balls, caressing and stroking them as I fucked her face. I accelerated my pace, until I was flat out chasing my release, and she moaned, and twitched yet another climax as I flooded her pharynx with my legions of spermatozoa. I pulsed my appreciation of her seductiveness once, twice, a third time, and then fell limp to the bed, as the remnants of my spend flowed onto her searching tongue. She lapped up that which had escaped her, and then curled up next to me.

"That was nice. I used to really like sucking my old boyfriend, but, now, here, with you, well, I don't usually come while sucking cock. I sure did tonight!"