The Making Of Medickimbee Pt 02

So, many of you have asked me and yes this is a true story. It happened and it changed me. It fused arousal with embarrassment and even humiliation. It also altered me in terms of submission. If you don't like this sort of story, don't try to moralize to me or in the comments about it please. That as much as anything is judgment, not only of them but me. If you like it, get off to it, want me to know, feel free to share.

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"Oh my God, yessssss," groaned the happy owner of the cock that was just sliding over my lower lip and tongue.

It was my last act of probation and after only a month I was going to be officially released from my duties to society under the guise of being a slut. Ironically, while many had considered me one already for being a topless dancer at the upscale club Totally in Houston -- and sure I had done some little extra things for customers -- it wasn't until I had started down the straight and narrow during my court-ordered service at the fire department that I really did become one.

Service. That was exactly the word for what I was doing to the station Captain. It had been for a couple of weeks now. I looked up at him with my pale blue eyes as I turned my head sideways and mouthed his thick pink shaft from the base and big balls all the way up to the collared head that was nearly pulsing now.

"Oh yesssss," he groaned as I repeated the slow mouthing along the other side.

As I reached the top, I sat up on my knees, craned my neck and slim shoulders lightly forward in a hunched posture and lowered my blonde head to engulf the head of his cock. Tasting that bitter little pearl of precum on the slit, I began a slow rhythmic bob, bob, bob, bobbing that sent him into a stratosphere of pleasure.

He sat back and sighed, letting me do my best work in the truest form of that word "service." In the back of my mind, I wondered if this was what that bitch of a judge who had sentenced me had in mind all along. To see me on my knees like some submissive supplicant, appealing with my slutty oral skills for social approval. Sadly enough, the thought got to me in a way it wouldn't have a month earlier but given everything that had happened since my probation started, I couldn't help but experience the fusion of shame and arousal as I sucked that firefighter's thick cock.

It was really swelling now, and I felt the now familiar sensation of his hand on top of my head. It was so patriarchal and condescending, and I really was offended and yet, I simply could do nothing other than double down on the expected effort as I pushed my own face deeper along his thick staff with each suck.

Suck, suck, suck, suck, suck. The sloppy, wet throaty sounds of my efforts was a perfect accompaniment as I also made that telltale gagging sound indicating that the insistent head of his cock was at the back of my throat. I bobbed again pushing past my own body's alarmed reaction and let it invade beyond where it should have.

"Oh yessssss," he mumbled again as my nose touched his curly little bush.

My eyes were watering furiously as I endured a disturbing throating by him.

"You know what I like, Kim. Pull on my balls," he said.

I obeyed the command and gently cupped and then barely tugged on them enhancing his pleasure.

"Oh yeah, now suck my big dick like you are starving," he groaned.

I did. Coming up for a gasp of air, I went to work like a human metronome, suck, suck, sucking that hard tense tool with my lips in a tight stimulating O around his mid shaft, the head and sensitive pink collar until I felt him tense, just as he began to spasm and jerk and erupt in a torrent of salty, acrid spunk in my mouth.

I knew to stay put and take it and the fact that his hand was firmly on top of my head holding me in place made it even less of a decision on my part. It was either swallow or drown now so...I swallowed and swallowed. Finally, after it seemed that every drop from his balls had been given up, I was allowed to come up for air. Sitting back on my knees I wiped my mouth as he complimented me.

"Oh my God, you suck the best cock."

It was quite the bit of praise. Quite.

He stood up from the chair behind his desk where I had been doing this very task for the last couple of weeks and pulled up his pants and fastened them before picking up his pen. Giving me a big smile, he turned to my probationary paperwork that had been sitting on the desk from the time I walked in, took off my clothes, and knelt down to do the deed. He scribbled his signature. I was free, and all it had cost me was a commitment to join the department, and a whole new form of "community service."

But I am getting ahead of myself. I should go back to that very first day so you'll understand how I got here, both physically, socially, and most importantly, mentally.

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I hadn't counted on traffic. Leaving George's place with my hair wet and in a ponytail, makeup all washed off, wearing just the track suit with a g string underneath, I had planned to head home, put on some makeup and a conservative outfit, and then go over for my probation meeting. Unfortunately, circumstances didn't cooperate.

I looked at the clock. It was obvious I wouldn't have enough time to get home, change and then make it to the probation office, so with a sinking sense of embarrassment, I made the decision to just head straight over. I really didn't want to go in there dressed and looking like I did but I couldn't be late. I drove over to the parking area near the courthouse, past all the bailbond service offices, and parked and climbed out of my car.

If you have never been to such a place, you can't imagine the culture shock I experienced. I had never been in trouble with the law, and I had for sure never been required to visit the probation department. The grounds around the building were crowded with individuals who either were about to or just had met with their officer, and they all had a kind of similar look of shame, culpability, and degraded solidarity. Now I was about to be one of them. As I walked, without a bra, my nipples stood out in a most humiliating fashion while underneath the loose, wobbling movement just shrieked free-form. I felt the smiles and looks of interest, which were really different from what I experienced even at the club, Totally, where I worked. This had a tinge of immoral affirmation. I pulled my baseball cap down over my face and crossed my arms over my chest as I walked up the steps of the building and entered.

The person I was looking for was designated on my probationary paperwork as J Kuskow. I walked down the hall past some of the most guilty-looking people I have ever seen until I found the right door and walked in. The guy behind the desk was a dumpy looking guy in a short-sleeved dress shirt and khkakis. As I entered, he looked up initially at my face, but then instantly his gaze dropped to my chest and his mouth fell open.

"I'm, uh, Kim Davis," I said trying to break the objectifying spell.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he said sitting up and adjusting himself under the desk. "Have a seat."

I sat.

"So, uhm, your probation is for the charge of..." He dug around in the papers on his desk. When he finally found the document, his eyes widened slightly, and he flushed a little. "Oh, indecent exposure and public lewdness."

If I had been sitting there butt-naked and spread legged, I couldn't have felt more publicly indecent.

"Yes," was all I said.

I noticed that he reached down and adjusted himself again. Then he looked at me.

"Uh, so, these are moral turpitude charges, and they limit what kind of probation you can do."

I frowned. "I don't understand."

"Well, because your crime was sexual in nature, you can't be allowed to do your probationary work around children, or the elderly, or people you could take advantage of," he said.

"My crimes???" I suddenly felt so dirty, so low, so ashamed. It was official. I was, according to society, questionable and immoral.

It wasn't like I hadn't felt that at times being a dancer. There had been some moments, at the grocery store or out in public away from the club, dressed modestly and normally, I might look up and catch a man staring at me. It was a different kind of look when our eyes met, a silent communication that told me he had seen me in nothing but a thong. In those moments I would feel suddenly embarrassed and exposed, even completely indecent, just like I was feeling in officer Kuskow's presence right then. I swallowed hard and crossed my legs protectively before folding my arms across my bolting nipples.

"Wh..what can I do, then?" I asked.

He shrugged and looked uncertain, then dug around some more for a list. "Okay well, uhm, you can clean up pet waste for the parks department, but you can't work in a park proper because, you know, kids are there."

I shrank in the chair a little.

"You could pick up trash along the highway, but..."

"But what?" I asked.

"Well," he looked uncomfortable about what he had to say next. "Judge Humphreys has a qualifier for moral turpitude crimes if you are working in public."

That didn't sound good, and I braced myself for what that might be.

"You'd have to wear a reflective vest."

I knew what he was talking about. Judge Humphreys had made the news for her "creative" punishments. Deadbeat Dads had to do time standing on a street corner wearing a sandwich sign declaring they weren't supporting their kids. She was politically ambitious and while controversial, her punishments always gained a lot of media attention. I remembered something from the news about a prostitution bust where she made the prospective John's fund the public service work by the women that had been found guilty of offering sex for pay. The women had to work with signage set up around the area, declaring that they were earning their "rate of pay" for the county by picking up "a different kind of" trash.

"What kind of vest?" I knew deep down I didn't want to hear the answer.

"It would have the word stripper on it," he said.

"No." I almost spat the word. I was so angry and frustrated. "Is there anything else?" Then remembering my attorney's words about public service work possibly shortening my sentence I offered, "Wait what about like a fire station or something?"

Kuskow looked like that was a good idea.

"Yeah, you know, now that I think about it. There is something..." He dug around in that rat's nest on his desk. "Oh, here it is." He held up a document. "You could wash trucks at the station."

I almost sighed in relief. It would be perfect. Away from the eyes of the public, just doing car wash duty. If he had said I had to do it naked, I wouldn't have hesitated.

"I'll take it."

Putting on a loose show under the track suit, I walked out of the building a little later, past even more intrusive, lustful looks with the address in my pocket. Now, they didn't matter as much. I had dodged a shame bullet from Judge Humphreys and my public humiliation was over. Besides, I'd be helping a bunch of heroes, even if in a very non-heroic manner.

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Station 00, also known as the home of the double naughts, or double knots, or double naughties, or the big O's as I would learn, was one of the premier stations in our local suburb's volunteer fire department.

As I pulled up for my first day, I saw a big engine truck, a booster, and an ambulance in individual bays next to a brand new building. Out behind it was a training area that looked to me like a bizarre playground for grownups. There were walls to climb over, an obstacle course of sorts, and a tower with stairs on the outside. My first impression was that it all looked really cool and that I had definitely finally gotten lucky. I was going to be washing trucks and cars, and so I had put on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a sports bra underneath that I didn't mind getting dirty.

I had just parked and got out when I heard a voice. "You must be Kim?"

I turned and saw a tall blonde, very fit, middle-aged man in short sleeved fire uniform with a cluster of trumpets on his collar.

"Yes, I am."

He extended his hand to shake mine.

"I'm Captain Kuskow," he said.

My brow wrinkled.

"Oh, I know what you must be thinking. And yeah, your probation officer is my cousin Jay. He said you'd be coming over"

I blushed a little at the word probation and my nipples stood out even more blatantly from their constant prominence. As I shared before, after my augmentation -- I went from a big b to a very full DD -- my nipples are always in a kind of thickened and pronounced state. I am 5-4 116 and have measurements of 34 25 35. At Totally where I worked, it was a huge asset in terms of earnings since any guy that saw me dancing and shaking them on stage instantly thought I was turned on. For the record I have medium large, pale areolas supporting pink nipples that are about twice the size of number two pencil erasers. In the club my kind of tits are often described as "palominos." Outside of a club, they send exactly the wrong message as when I am wearing any thin material, they stand out obviously and constantly.

To Captains Kuskow's credit he only looked at them for a few seconds before his eyes came back to my face.

"So, you will be washing the big engine over there and the ambulance today," he said.

"Okay," I answered agreeably.

He looked me up and down. "And we have your outfit in my office. You can change in the women's locker room."

"Oh," I said sounding surprised. "I just thought I would wear this."

He turned and started walking. I followed.

"Nope, these trucks go to some bad fires, get all sorts of contaminants on them. We, uh, toss whatever we are wearing after washing them off. It's too expensive to launder them properly."

"Oh," I nodded. It sounded perfectly logical.

"Trust me. It's better if you wear the throw away garb we provide here."

We walked into the office and he picked up a small folded stack of garments. What he handed me though did give me pause. The t-shirt was very flimsy, and while it had the department logo and the little Maltese Cross on it. It was one of those tank style, thin cotton numbers like you could buy 10 to a pack at Walmart or some place. The shorts were similarly cheap, though the fabric was lycra, low-rise, and a boy-short style. I looked at the sizing tag inside. They were XS.

"Uh, I am not sure these will fit," I said hoping there was another option.

"Yeah sorry," said Captain Kuskow. "Those are all we have. The good news," he said positively, "are that they stretch, so you should be okay. You can just get any open locker in the women's and store your regular clothes in there." He pointed in the direction of the women's locker room door. "I guess that's it. Welcome to station 00."

There wasn't much I could do, so I smiled and headed for the locker room. I have to say like the rest of the new station, the changing area was something. The place was incredibly orderly and clean. The shower area was sparkling as was the bathroom and all of the sinks. Finding an unlocked and open locker, I set my new work clothes on the gleaming wooden bench and start to change. I pulled off my top and jeans and was just about to pull on the t-shirt and shorts when the door opened and a big woman with brown eyes and a very short haircut walked in. She was a good 4 inches taller than me and looked to be about 140 pounds and was holding a pair of old fire boots. We both seemed startled at discovering each other. In my case, because I wasn't expecting anyone. In her case, because all I had on was a bra and thong panty.

"You the probie?" asked the woman whose little brass name plate read, Tuggersly.

"I, uh, I," I stammered feeling really embarrassed. "I am here to wash the trucks."

I really didn't want to go into any details or say more. I was already embarrassed, and my nipples were showing out through the sports bra in a humiliating fashion. She glanced at my chest and seemed to sense something as a near smile formed.

"Well, you can't wear that." She waggled a finger up and down indicating my underwear.

"I'm sorry?" I said not quite believing it.

She gave me a slightly condescending look. "Your bra. The panties. The shit you wash off the trucks will ruin them. Just put on the outfit they gave you. These are so you don't trash your shoes."

She set the boots on the floor next to me. Then she just stood there. A second passed before I realized she expected me to change in front of her. I had been around lesbians at the club. In fact, almost any woman that has danced longer than a year has had the moves put on her by a lesbian. A lot of dancers go that direction because of all the shit they deal with from men, but just then, being watched like that, I was really embarrassed. It renewed my nipples' show and honestly, I really wished she would just go. Then it occurred to me that maybe because I was on probation, this was some sort of security measure. Without a word more I reached down, grabbed the sports bra, and hauled it up. It pulled my big boobs with it until the material slipped free and they dropped heavily to shake and sway. My augmentation had been under the muscle years before, and my breast implants had "settled" meaning they actually sagged slightly and moved like real ones if I jogged or jumped or danced.

Lieutenant Tuggersly -- I would learn later that was her rank -- seemed to enjoy the display especially when I bent over and pulled my panties down to step out of them.

I grabbed the shorts and stepped into one leg, and then the other, giving a brief flash of bald lips before straightening and pulling them up. Now, I wear a small bottom in some styles and a medium in others, so yes, while the material would stretch it also insinuated into the worst crevices and anatomical spaces to show off way more than was reasonable. In the back, even standing up straight, the lower edge of my buns were exposed. In front, the resulting cameltoe was a perfect representation of my most private anatomy.

"I really have to wear this?" I said.

Tuggersly shrugged. "That or nothing I guess." Then she grinned.

I grabbed the white top and pulled it on. It was a really shitty material and even dry it outlined my nipples and areola. I could just imagine how much it would reveal when wet. Sitting down the cool wood reminded me of how much of my ass was exposed as I pulled on the boots and then stood back up. It was time to go to work.

Almost as soon as I started, I understood fully the purpose of the outfit. The trucks were huge and between the detergent hose that sprayed soapy material that I had to scrub in using a soft bristle carwash brush and the big water hose that seemed to jet everywhere, I was soon completely soaked. The top became completely transparent and the department logo and cross looked like a tattoo or something on my skin. The shorts because I was stretching and bending and contorting to get at areas under and on top, became almost as indecent as a g-string. In no time, word got out and I found that I soon had an audience. Of course, there was Kuskow and Tuggersly, but a bunch of recruits and squad firemen had gotten word that some slutty "hottie" was washing the trucks and they showed up for the show. Knowing full well that I was showing bare tit and with the shorts wet almost as much of my pussy and ass as if I were naked, I indulged them.