Born from the union of a speed boat racer and a professional athlete, I was probably hooked on it in my mother’s womb. Being involved in the races with Dad only did it for me until my teenage years, then I wanted, needed more. A career in the forces was an obvious choice.

As a little boy the sirens used to mesmerize me. I’d like to say that these days they’re just a part of my everyday life, but God, a bit ashamed to admit it, they still turn me on.

It doesn’t help now that Sgt Chesterfield aka Chez drives like a maniac, speeding through red lights at 70mph. When I question her, she replies over her shoulder, “The sirens are loud enough for the fuckers to hear.”

She has the same devilish grin, her eyes flare up the same way, as when I first saw her with a detonator in her hand in Shoeburyness getting her fix at a controlled explosion site. “Can’t help it, I just fucking love blowing things up.” And let me tell you, it’s not only bombs she has that effect on.

She wipes pearls of sweat off her forehead before doing a 180°-handbrake-dirt-cloud drift, parking up in front of an abandoned factory building. She springs out of the vehicle leaving the engine and the blue lights on, shaking her long blonde curls out of her beret, while I get the bomb suits from the storage compartment.

“I let you take charge,” she announces. “I’ll be no2. Whatever we’ll find in there, I’m sure you can handle it. I’ll only intervene if you do something foolish.” Being here is foolish… risking our lives every day is foolish.

But my cock disagrees. It craves this high and her lunatic attitude drives me insane. And her hair… I just want to wrap it around my fist and… As we raid the collapsing building part of me thinks, fuck that bomb, just drag her into one of these decaying rooms. I know she’d be up for it, she’d let me know in no uncertain terms by rubbing my hard-on while we detonated WW2 warheads in situ. “It’s ok,” she’d said suggestively stroking her thigh, “danger does it to the best of us. Just make sure you find an appropriate outlet.” 

Despite her constantly ripping out pages from the rulebook, I’ve so far remained professional and kept my rocket in my pants. But we’re walking on tightrope now and once I lose it, she won’t know what’d hit her.

I follow procedures stringently, securing the building room by room. Then in a foul-smelling locker room we find the device on a makeshift brick table. The deafening high-pitched wail of sirens penetrate the walls and I watch her lips tremble as she curses under her breath, making the room spin around as I briefly consider passing the reins back to her.

As I proceed to peel off a cosmetic cover from the IED, I reveal a timer with angrily flashing numbers, 17:54.

Chez goes on to do something dumbfuck crazy.

“Surgeon, you’re not to remove your helmet!” I warn her, “Or your suit.” Which she does, regardless.

“Don’t mind me, just get on with the bomb. I trust you.” She rips all the clothes off her upper body and starts playing with her hard nipples.

“What the fucking hell?” I try in vain to shackle my eyes and not glare at her as she’s tucking her hand into her combat trousers. She’s obscenity fingering herself while watching me thread the wires. “Mmm yeah, basic IED, almost too simple to arouse me,” she giggles. Then as if needing a catalyst, she tastes herself. Whatever bomb defusing manual I had running in my brain, it now disintegrates into blurry particles.

“I bet you’re fucking hard, aren’t you?”

I want to tell her to shut the fuck up and quit playing sick games. I can’t breathe. Need to get out of my helmet. Whatever the movies make you believe about the colours, they mean jack shit, it’s what they’re connected to that matters.

“How ‘bout I help you concentrate?” She’s reaching for my bulge, doing the opposite. But I can’t stop her with live wires between my fingers. “Relax, you still have twelve minutes. I could make you cum twice and you’d still have time to disarm it.

11:24, “Chez, for fuck’s sake!”

“Please, remain professional, Sergeant.”

“Because you’re professional, right?” With your grip on my mortar.  She grabs my cannon-balls and claws at them.

“Just testing how easily you get distracted”

“That’s sexual harassment.”

Her hand freezes. “Oh, is it now? You want me to stop, Sergeant?”

9:47, losing time rapidly. She’s rubbing my cock and I’m so close. Under normal circumstances I can go on ’till the troops come home but this ain’t an ordinary affair.

8:35, she unbuckles my heavy belt and purrs when my cock springs into her face. As soon as she takes me between her warm lips I fire a round inside her. 

6:35, “Now you can think with a clear head,” she grins licking her lips. I don’t know if I want to kiss her or punch her. Instead, I pull her closer and lose my fingers in her wet cunt.

“The bomb!?”

“Oh yeah, that.” I pull the green wire out. The timer stops at 4:25.

“Boom, boom, boom!” she laughs making my torpedo stir again.

My tongue invades her mouth and our lips launch large scale assaults.

“Take your prize for not blowing us up,” she urges between ragged breaths. Fleetingly, I wonder whether she does this all the time with others too, but then again, I don’t care. Her hot pussy is mine now, enveloping my throbbing cock and it feels fucking fabulous.

“It was almost as good as blowing things up,” she grins at me in the car. She’s driving slowly and carefully now, which doesn’t suit her at all. I still ask her to pull over somewhere to do her again.

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