1. The Island, Chapter 4


    Date: 7/27/2017, Categories: Fiction, Blowjob, Erotica, First Time, Latina, Male/Female, Virginity, Author: Paperbackwriter, Rating: 89.8, Source: sexstories.com

    plump body appeared in many of my fantasies, fueled by regular stolen glances down her scrub top at her big, tanned, freckled breasts encased in the conservative bras she favored. Her long brown curls draped over her shoulders like a thick cape, and her coffee-colored eyes peered out of a stunning Inca-influenced face that would frequently split open in a luminous smile that lit up the room. She was curvy, with a generous ass that I loved to watch move around the OR as she helped set up my cases. On more than one occasion I had been treated to the site of her panties peeking over the waistband of her scrub pants as she bent over to pick something off of the floor. Once I had been pleasantly surprised to see a red lace whale tail cradling the top of her luscious bum when she had stretched over a patient to adjust a monitor. Maybe she had a naughty streak after all , I had thought, if she’s wearing a sexy thong to work! Alas, I had never dared make a move on her. I wrenched my attention back to the present. I knew I should have been freaked out at just having survived a terrorist attack and a plane crash, but somehow I didn’t seem to be overly concerned at the circumstances I found myself in. I glanced around. I was lying on the sand under a palm tree. I was shirtless, and I wondered how much blood I had lost from my forehead. Scalp lacerations bled like shit. Maybe I had soaked my shirt? I did seem to have a lot of blood on me. Joelle wrung out the cloth she had been cleaning ...
    me with and re-wet it in a plastic container full of seawater by the salty smell of it. She ran the cool cloth over my chest and I enjoyed the sensation while looking at her beautiful, familiar face. She was in a pair of tan shorts, and had on a white blouse that gaped open as she leaned over me to wipe the blood off my chest. I was treated to the sight of the lovely, caramel-colored expanse of her chest (no red lace this time, just a plain, white, cotton bra) for a moment, and my breath caught in my chest. She must have caught me staring, for she blushed and leaned back, a little flustered. “You look like you’re feeling better, Dr. Connor,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve told you before, it’s Dave. Especially after a plane crash.” I tore my attention away from daydreams of Peruvian poontang. I had work to do! I sat up, preparing for the pounding in my head to intensify with the change in position, but my headache seemed to have abated once I gave up trying to puzzle out how all this had happened. “How many injured? “ I asked Joelle. “A few,” she said. “ A couple of serious ones I want you to look at. For better or worse, most of the badly injured ones didn’t survive,” she said sadly. I understood what she meant. Not having any equipment or medical facilities would mean a slow, painful decline for anyone with a major traumatic injury. A quick death might be preferable. “There are about 60 survivors. Most of them are trying to salvage all they can from the plane. It’s resting on ...
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