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Tracey in the Brigade

Stories about "Tracey", written by various other authors (except Katie)
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Joex
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Joined: Sat Oct 24, 2020 5:33 am
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Tracey in the Brigade

Post by Joex »

Westfield Volunteer Fire Brigade seeks new recruits.

Tracey had read the article in the Westfield Gazette with interest. She could see herself now driving the big red fire engine, sounding the siren, spraying water on things. Yes! The fire brigade was for her.

Chief Fire Officer McGonagle hadn't been so keen. He didn't hold with girlies doing men's jobs but he had got this Equality and Diversity Directive saying that they had to employ at least one female.

"So you think you're as good as a man?" he asked at Tracey's interview.

"Of course I'm as good as a man," she replied, "I'll do anything a man would do."

So he had no choice. Anyway, he thought, they needed somebody to make the tea. And she had got big tits.

So her first day as a Volunteer Fireperson started with a warm welcome for Tracy.

"I'm sure you'll be a great asset to our little band," said McGonagle, "Mine's a milk and two sugars please."

"What?" said Tracey.

"Milk and two sugars," Tracey looked blank, "for my tea."

"You want me to make tea?" That was no job for the likes of Tracey. She wanted to drive the Fire Engine.

"He's just joking," sneered Rupert Chambers, the smarmy posh member of the team, "you're out of touch McGonagle. You can't expect Tracey to make tea," Tracey looked relieved, "nobody drinks tea nowadays. I'll have a skinny latte Tracey darling, with chocolate sprinkled on the top."

"Double cream cappuccino."

"Americano"

"Full strength espresso."

"Lapsang suchong with a slice of lemon," this latter from Herbert who was always considered a bit quaint as the saying goes.

"Oh," added McGonagle, "and there's some buttons need sewing on the uniforms and you can polish my trombone while you're at it."

"What!" said Tracey, "polish your trombone?" she hoped it was some sort of firefighting equipment rather than a euphemism.

"It's a musical instrument. You blow in it and it makes a loud noise," McGonagle seemed surprised at her ignorance.

"Why do you have a trombone?"

"For the Fire Brigade Brass Band of course. That's why we're here. For the brass band."

"I thought you were here to fight fires."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" McGonagle knew they should never have employed a girl. Brass bands were for men. Girlies didn't understand.

"You're called a Fire Brigade," said Tracey.

"Yes well. The real fire brigade in Eastfield fights the fires. We're what's called a volunteer fire brigade. We can't be expected to fight your actual fires. We provide the brass band. And very good we are too."

"But you do have a fire engine?"

"Of course. What did you expect? You can't have a fire brigade without a fire engine."

"And it is red?"

"What other colour would a fire engine be?"

"And can I drive it?"

"Ah well," the unctuous Rupert butted in, "first you would have to pass the trial."

"What trial?" Asked Tracey.

"We have a special initiation for the fire engine driver."

"Oh yes," said Tracey.

"You have to run round the yard while we spray you with water from the hoses."

"What's that got to do with driving the fire engine?"

"Absolutely nothing at all," but it is good fun, and you don't get to drive the fire engine if you don't do it!"

"But my clothes will get soaking wet."

"Oh no they won't."

"How come."

"That's simple. You won't be wearing any!"

"But I can't run round the yard with nothing on!"

"Everybody who drives the engine has to do it," Rupert smirked.

"But I’m a girl."

"You said you were as good as a man. You said you would do anything a man would do," McGonagle echoed Tracey's words.

Hoist with her own petard! Poor Tracey, when she had said she would do anything a man would do, she had had driving the fire engine in mind, not running round the yard in the all together.

"Well, are you going to show us what you're made of?" Rupert smirked again. She was a so gullible this girlie. He never thought she'd fall for that one. As if any of them would run round the yard with nothing on! They'd have real fun now. He wondered when they'd let her have her clothes back.

Tracey still hesitated though.

"You get to ring the bell on the engine."

That decided it. Ten minutes later Tracey stood in the middle of the yard stark naked. It was a chilly morning and her titties stood out firm and hard, her nipples pointing straight in front of her. Despite their prodigious size her titties were as firm as two bumpers on her chest.

Rupert held the hose.

"Bend over Tracey," he shouted. He knew exactly where he was going to aim. Straight at that lovely, if rather expansive bottom.

Tracey bent over, offering a target of inviting proportions.

"Oooooooooh!"

Tracey let out an involuntary yelp as a powerful jet of freezing water hit her square in the behind.

"Waaaaaaaaaaah!"

Tracey shrieked as more jets of water bounced off her naked body. She started running. It seemed the only way to get away from the water jets. But no matter where she tried to run, more jets of freezing water hit her. At last, exhausted and frozen she knelt on all fours, showing perhaps more from behind than she ought.

McGonagle took aim with his hose at the target displayed. If he aimed right he would get her right up the bull’s eye. It was a really cute, tight little bull's eye. He pressed the trigger on the hose.

Oh dear! What had she been displaying kneeling on all fours like that? Tracey had a good idea as freezing cold water went straight up it. Tracey shrieked and closed her eyes.

"Well done," said McGonagle, "Second part of the initiation. All you have to do now is blow my trombone."

Oh no. Tracey was supposed to be in the brass band and she couldn't play the trombone. Only when she opened her eyes did she realise that McGonagle had something very different in mind.

The second part of the initiation, Tracey realised, involved an orifice at either end, and a cock in both of them.

With a sigh of resignation she wondered why every job she started ended with her losing all her clothes and getting fucked. If she had thought about it she would have known why. She was just so temptingly, adorably fuckable.

"Does everybody who drives the fire engine have to do this?" She asked.

"Absolutely every body," said McGonagle.

"Oh," Tracey opened her mouth and...

Well she was very fuckable.

Tracey's yelps were drowned out by a loud noise. A siren going off. Suddenly Tracey discovered she was no longer being fucked. She looked round. They were all rushing for the Fire Engine. And Tracey hadn't been brought off yet. She so hated that.

“Here! Wait! What’s happening,” she cried.

“Emergency,” shouted McGonagle, “Hurry up, we need you to drive the Fire Engine.”

“Me?” said Tracey. She must have passed the test!

“Yes, of course. Why did you think we took you on?”

“I thought one of you lot would want to drive the engine,” Tracey was puzzled.

“We can’t drive the engine,” said Rupert, “None of us can drive.”

“But you said you’d all been through the initiation.”

“No I didn’t. I said everybody who drove the engine had to go through it. I never said we drove the engine.”

It suddenly occurred to Tracey that she had been fucked for nothing. Nobody but her could drive the engine. That said she did so hate not being brought off.

“Wait till I get my clothes,” shouted Tracey.

“No time for that,” said Rupert, “this is an emergency. Time is of the essence. Can’t waste time on silly things like wearing clothes. Get in that engine and start driving!”

Tracey was abashed. How could she have been so selfish as to think about wearing clothes when it was an emergency.

"Where are we going?" Shouted Tracey as she started up the big engine.

"Westfield Duck Pond."

"A duck pond? How can a duck pond be on fire?"

"I told you. We don't do fires. This is a different sort of emergency."

The fire engine screeched to a halt and they all tumbled out, Tracey trying to cover herself with an old fireman's helmet.

"There she is," wailed an old lady, "Poor Tiddles. She can't get back."

Tracey looked out over the pond. A small black and white cat was trapped on a log in the middle miaouing plaintiffly.

The fire crew were standing looking out over the pond.

"Aren't you going to go and rescue Tiddles," Tracey had quite forgotten that she had no clothes on at the sight of the poor stranded Tiddles.

"We're not trained in deep water rescue," said McGonagle, "we're the brass band."

"Deep water," Tracey was shocked, "it's only two feet!"

"It's not the water," explained McGonagle, "it's what might be lurking beneath."

"It's a duck pond," said Tracey, "it's not going to contain piranhas."

"I wouldn't be so sure," McGonagle looked doubtful.

"Please rescue Tiddles," the old lady was getting desperate.

"But I can't swim," said Tracey.

"But that doesn't matter dear," said the old lady adjusting her pebble lensed glasses, "you're wearing water-wings."

"They're not water-wings," said Tracey, "hastily trying to cover her voluminous bosoms."

"No good trying to hide them dear. I can see the nozzle where you blow them up. Perhaps this kind gentleman can blow some more air in."

Before she could object McGonagle had his teeth round Tracey's nozzle. Well, he was a kind gentleman, wasn't he?

Tracey yelped. She didn't mind a little nibble of her nipples, but this was a bit much. There was only one way to escape. Tiddles had to be rescued.

Removing her all too prominent nipple from the mouth of the slavering McGonagle she plunged into the water and waded out.

Even to this day the inhabitants of Westfield remember the daring rescue, well they would wouldn't they, it isn't often that a naked girl emerges from the local duck pond grasping a pussy and rubbing it into life.

Tiddles meanwhile had swum ashore and run home.

Tracey should have known. It wasn't the water, but what lurked underneath. Why had somebody thrown a rake into the pond? That was what she wanted to know. She had been just about to reach the ungrateful Tiddles when she had stepped on the rake. The water only came half way up her calves and the rake had shot up and caught her *WHACK* right between her legs.

The commotion as the naked Tracey had fallen over backwards had stimulated Tiddles into action and he had headed for the shore.

Poor Tracey stood up soaking wet and covered in pond weed, and felt her pussy where it had caught the full force of the rake.

It has just occurred to me that all you lovely girls reading this story (and I know there are lots of you) will have tears in your eyes and a tingle in your pussy at the thought of it being hit by a rake. Just pull down your knickers and do what Tracey did. Give it a little rub. It will feel a lot better. Indeed you will feel a lot better for it. Just as Tracey did.

Tracey came out of the pond rubbing her pussy, it did make it feel better, it made it feel very good. It made her want to...

Tracey knelt on the ground and opened both sets of lips.

"Come on," she said, "one at each end. I haven't been finished off in my initiation yet."

Well she had just finished a daring rescue. She deserved a reward. And she was so eminently fuckable.

(Right girls - you can stop rubbing your pussies now.)
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