Seasonal Winds: Summer Wind Read online

  The exam room had no windows but was brightly lit. It had the requisite counter with sink and assortment of glass jars with tongue depressors, swabs, and the like. A wall cabinet hung over the counter. There was a rolling stool and a rolling cart sitting side-by-side but the main piece of furniture in the room was the black vinyl-padded exam table with its white paper cover.

  Staring at the stirrups at the end of the table, Barbara felt her knees grow weak.

  "Please undress and put on the gown—opening to the front and then have a seat on the table,” Jackson said, indicating the cotton garment lying on the exam table. “The doctor will join you in a few minutes.” He went out, closing the door gently behind him.

  Nervously slipping the caftan from her, Barbara felt the perspiration slicking her palms. This fantasy was one that she'd had since she'd discovered touching herself was fun. Her first gynecological exam before going off to college had been by a woman doctor older than Methuselah—at least to Barbara's way of thinking—and had been acutely embarrassing. There had been nothing even remotely enjoyable about it. The second—two years later—had been performed by a male doctor whose breath smelled like he'd immersed his mouth in garlic. That had not been anything to write home about, either. But now...

  She shuddered and quickly donned the patient gown, struggling to tie the laces, for her hands were shaking so badly. Clutching the front in her left hand, she hopped up on the table and sat there licking her lips, her breath ragged.

  The door opened and in walked a tall, tanned, gorgeous white man with a shock of curly light brown hair and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen on a male. His smile was 500 watts of pure sexiness.

  "Miss Allan?” he asked, offering his hand. “I'm Doctor Sullivan. How are you feeling today?"

  She was becoming lost in the bright blue intensity of his gaze and the warmth of his hand was sending shivers along her sides as he cupped her hand between his strong ones. “F ... fine,” she managed to reply.

  "Good,” he said releasing his hold. “What can we do for you today?"

  "I'm here for an exam,” she replied, blushing to the roots of her hair.

  "Your yearly pap, eh?” he asked. His smile was warm, filled with a sensuousness that made her sex throb.

  "Ah, yes,” she agreed.

  Beneath the white lab coat, she could see a pale blue pullover and the navy slacks he wore had a crisp crease that fit him without a solitary wrinkle all the way down to his loafers. With broad shoulders and large hands, his closeness overpowered her.

  "Well, let's get to it,” Doctor Sullivan said. “I'm sure you're anxious to be out on the beach."

  That wasn't at all what Barbara was anxious for but she nodded, too nervous to answer.

  Once more the door opened quietly and Neville walked in. He wore the white short sleeve shirt and white cotton trousers of a male nurse.

  The doctor began by giving her eyes, ears, nose, and throat a quick look. He checked her neck then unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck to check her chest and back sounds.

  "Okay, why don't you swing those pretty legs up on the table and I'll check your breasts."

  Those words sent a wave of moistness between Barbara's legs. Neville took a place at the head of the exam table and she couldn't see him until she brought her legs up and lay down, her head on the little pillow. She had a vague impression of the male nurse's brawny body beyond her head.

  "Comfortable?” Doctor Sullivan asked. He was looking down at her with those beautiful blue irises that made her want to melt right into the table.

  "Yes,” she whispered.

  With sure fingers, he untied the laces of her gown—the backs of his fingers grazing her flesh—and pushed the two front sections to the side, exposing her breasts to his view.

  "Lovely,” he complimented her in a husky voice.

  The moment his warm flesh touched the mound of her left breast, Barbara squeezed her eyes closed. His fingers were so firm, the flesh slightly calloused. His index, middle and ring fingers were making little circular motions all around the farthest perimeter of her heavy globes. As his hand circled her, his palm grazed her nipple and she drew in a shaky, quivering breath for her flesh was swollen and puckered with need.

  "Very nice,” the doctor said. “Firm and beautifully formed.” He hefted the pendulous weight in his palm lightly. “No sagging here."

  His fingers moved inward to make the same course around and around her breast, moving closer toward the nipple with each circuit. When at last he ran his fingertips over her straining tip, she could not stop the groan.

  "Did I hurt you?” he asked, but did not remove his fingers. If anything, the light pressure against them increased.

  "N ... no,” she replied. Her breathing was coming in quick little gasps.

  He dragged his fingers back and forth over her nipple.

  "I would certainly never hurt you intentionally,” he said and then his voice went throaty, deep. “Not unless you wanted me to."

  Her eyes flew open and she stared up into his as she stopped breathing. He was leaning over her, so close she could see the faint smile lines at his temples.

  He took her nipple between his thumb and middle finger and deftly rotated it. The action held no pain but sent tremors down Barbara's sides and straight between her legs. He pinched her nipple until she groaned with the slight discomfort.

  "Good,” he said. “No discharge.” He glanced up at Neville. “Our patient seems a bit nervous. Would you reassure her, Neville?"

  Neville's hands slid over her shoulders and she craned her head to look up at him. He was staring down at her with an expression that made her quiver. His strong black fingers were pressing her to the table, the tips just touching the tops of her breasts.

  Doctor Sullivan smiled wickedly then put his hand to her other breast, beginning the slow, methodical exam he had given the first one. By the time his fingers closed on her nipple, she was panting.

  "I bet you're a handful,” he said, removing his hand.

  "Scoot down to the end of the table,” Neville said, also removing his hands from her.

  Doing as she was told, she obediently slid down the table, surprised when the doctor took first one then her other foot, slipped off her sandals and placed her right foot feet into the stirrup.

  "You have very pretty feet, Miss Allan,” he said, gently massaging the instep of her left foot.

  "Thank you,” she said as she tucked her lower lip between her teeth. Her feet had always been sensitive and to have him kneading her foot between his strong hands, feeling his fingers trailing over the top, in between her toes, she was so hot she thought she would spontaneously combust.

  He settled her foot in the stirrup and then hooked the rolling stool with his foot, pulling it toward him. “Relax and let your legs fall apart,” he said as he sat down.

  Barbara swallowed nervously. He was only inches from her bare bottom, looking at the intersection of her thighs and she closed her eyes again, feeling self-conscious and awkward.

  "Relax,” he said in a soothing voice. “You're too tense."

  She consciously tried to relax her body but just knowing he was looking at the most intimate part of her, was...

  Touching the most intimate part of her!

  His fingers were cool against the folds of her vagina as he softly stroked them down the crease between her thigh and the vaginal lips. She could hear herself breathing and it sounded loud and frightened.

  "Relax,” he said again in a near whisper and she felt his thumbs at the top of her labia—between the inner and outer lips—and he was stretching the folds apart. His fingers were spread on her thighs as he worked her open.

  It was then that Barbara felt Neville's hands slide over her shoulders and onto her breasts, cupping her gently, molding her, kneading her. His clean white shirt was pressed against the top of her head as he bent over her and when she forced her eyes open, she looked up at him and he smiled.

  "Let yoursel
f loosen up, Miss Allan,” Neville said in his deep, bass voice. “Just let yourself go.” His palms were sliding against her nipples with each light squeeze of her breasts. “Put yourself in our hands. We won't hurt you."

  "No unless you want us to,” the doctor said again and then slipped one thumb into her vaginal opening.

  "Oh!” Barbara said, instinctively arching her hips up from the exam table.

  Doctor Sullivan reached up with his free hand and—fingers spread on her belly—pushed her back down. “Unh, unh, unh,” he said. “Lie still now."

  Barbara sucked in a harsh breath, for his hand was pressing firmly on her stomach and the weight of it was sending the blood into her sex, heating her to a fever pitch. His thumb twisted gently inside her, came part way out, went in deeper, twisted again and then he removed it.

  Barbara moaned for she had been experiencing the beginnings of a release she knew damned well would be shattering. But before she could protest too much, she felt his thumb and forefinger to either side of her clit, tendering pushing back the delicate hood.

  "Ah, yes. Good color,” he said. He put the thumb of his other hand on the exposed clitoral head and began to circle it gently.

  Barbara's hands dug into the paper sleeve covering the exam table, crumpling it. With Neville's hands manipulating her breasts—stroking her nipples, plucking at them, pinching them gently—and the doctor now rubbing her clit in soft up and down motions, she was beside herself with arousal. She squirmed her hips and was told to lie still.

  Vaguely she heard the door open again but didn't open her eyes. She was too far gone with the pleasure she was receiving to care who had come in. It wasn't until Neville released her right breast and moved to the left side of the table that she pried her eyes open just enough to see Jackson now standing on the table's right side. His big hand came down to clamp firmly on her right breast.

  "I am going to taste her now, gentlemen,” she heard the doctor say and before she make a sound, she felt his mouth pressed hungrily to her sex.

  "Oh, lord!” Barbara exclaimed.

  Neville and Jackson began a taste test of their own: each man leaning over her to capture a nipple between their teeth, tonguing the straining peaks with rapid flicks that sent Barbara right over the edge.

  He must have felt her getting ready to come for the doctor inserted first one, then two fingers into her cunt, probed deep and began to press upward on her g-spot.

  "Holy shit!” Barbara said and wave after wave after wave of release rippled through her lower body. Her toes curled downward over the stirrups, and her fingernails were scratching through the paper and scraping the vinyl pad.

  Her entire body felt as though she were getting a strong electrical current undulating through it. Between the hot, moist lips on her nipples and the hard fingers in her cunt, the expert lips on her clit, she was humming like a telephone wire during a high wind storm. Pulse after pulse of sheer ecstasy shot through her until she bucked beneath the intensity and the doctor released his hold on the sensitive little nub.

  Neville and Jackson straightened up as the doctor stood and pressed himself between her legs. He pulled out the step stool at the base of the table, stepped up and then bent over her until his mouth was almost touching hers.

  "You taste good, Barbara,” he said in that husky, sensual tongue. “I could eat you all day."

  He slanted his mouth across her, thrust his tongue between her lips, and raped her mouth with that flicking muscle. He tasted of her and that caused her to grow instantly aroused again.

  She could feel him fumbling with his pants and then she felt the slickness of his bare flesh against her thigh a second or two before he impaled her on his hot, thick rod. He thrust deep until he was seated all the way to the very end of her.

  "Put your legs around me, baby,” he said, hooking her left thigh to draw it up to his waist.

  She reacted immediately, anxious to scratch the itch he had started again between her legs. When he shoved his hands under her hips and levered her up for a better push into her moist channel, she felt a trickle of perspiration run down her temple. She clamped her legs around him. She plowed one hand through his hair to anchor his head while she used the other to grip him hard on his powerful biceps.

  His lips were on her breasts and he was suckling her as he began to pump into her hard and strong and with such purpose, she grunted beneath each upward assault. Only peripherally she realized Neville and Jackson were standing there watching and that, too, increased her arousal.

  "Come for him, Barbara,” Jackson said. “Come hard for him."

  She could feel the trill building deep within her again and when he pushed deep inside her and held himself still, working his teeth against her nipple, she came so hard that she screamed. As the ripples claimed her, she felt him pour his cum into her, the flicking of his hot, thick rod gyrating against her womb.

  Spent, she collapsed like a deflated balloon, her eyes drifting shut as she gasped for breath. She felt his tongue laving her nipple for a moment before he pushed himself up, stuffed his cock back into his trousers, then stepped back.

  "Who's next?"

  Barbara's eyes flew open along with her mouth but Jackson was already at the foot of the exam table, his luscious black cock in hand. “Oh my,” she breathed then drew in a shaky breath as he slid unerringly into her hot box.

  For the next half hour she lay beneath the tandem assault of Jackson and Neville and when they had spent themselves in her and Neville had gently swabbed away the sticky residue left between her legs, the doctor once more moved into place between her legs.

  "No more!” she said, holding up a hand.

  Doctor Sullivan smiled slowly, evilly, and one thick dark brow crooked upward. “Baby, I haven't done your rectal yet."

  Chapter Three

  Barbara begged off her third fantasy that had been planned for that night. She was too sore, too tired, and too sated to indulge in any more make believe until she was rested. Still basking in the afterglow of the delicious sex she'd had earlier that day, she was content to eat the chips and fresh salsa loaded with cilantro and the ice-cold Pepsis in a cooler beside her.

  Lying in a chaise lounge on the patio outside her room, she was enjoying the cool wash of the night breeze wafting over her. It was a balmy night and somewhere the soft sounds of a guitar accompanied the soft rustle of the palm fronds overhead and the rhythmic crash of the waves upon the beach. It was serene and pleasing and she was completely relaxed.

  And when she saw him—a gorgeous stranger—coming out of the water without a single stitch of clothing on and his cinnamon body kissed by loving rays of the moonlight and the sea water rippling off his brawny chest, she sat up and took notice.

  "Hung like the proverbial race horse,” she said to herself, staring at that long, thick portion of his anatomy that swung gently against his muscular thighs as he walked through the sand. He was plowing a hand through his shoulder-length hair and when he saw her, he stopped and gave her a long, unwavering stare.

  "Hubba, hubba,” she said under her breath. In the bright moonlight she could see his face and if she thought Denzel Washington was the most gorgeous man alive, she was going to have to rethink that opinion.

  His chest was wide, his chiseled pecs flexing as he stood there, and that muscular chest was sprinkled with dark curly hairs that tapered in a dark tiger line down to the triangular patch at the junction of his thighs. His waist was lean with washboard abs—an eight-pack for sure—and he had slim hips that tapered to two of the finest legs she'd ever seen on a man. The sight of him actually made her cunt ache.

  As he started toward her, Barbara's eyes flared and she drew in a quick breath. Surely he wasn't coming over to her patio. He must be in one of the rooms to either side of hers.

  "Hi,” he said as he walked right up to the concrete pad.

  "Hi,” she said and was stunned when he put one bare foot on the patio.

  Though she was clothed in one of
the soft, silken caftans, she felt completely naked as she watched him coming toward her. Her nipples were straining against the material and a wash of moisture pulsed between her legs.

  He was completely at ease with his nudity as he came right up to her. “I'm Bret,” he said and put out a long-fingered hand. “Bret Simpson."

  "Barbara Allan.” She leaned forward to accept his greeting and smiled at the coolness of his flesh. “Water must be cold,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I'm used to it,” he said and as casually as though he were pulling a chair up to her table in a crowded restaurant full of clothed diners, he slid into the chaise lounge beside hers.

  "Barbara Allan, eh?” he asked, one dark brow slanting upward. “Like the folk song."

  Barbara sighed. “It was my father's favorite song,” she said. “I guess it could have been worse."

  "I think it's a lovely name.” His voice was sexy as hell and his dark eyes were boring straight into hers.

  "You work here on the Cay?” she asked.

  "I just started yesterday,” he replied. “I'll be re-designing their computer network and be running the whole shebang."

  "Man, that's a lot of work. I'm an IT so I know what goes into doing a network,” she said.

  "An IT, huh? Small world."

  "So you're not one of the helpers,” she said, a bit disappointed.

  He laughed. “No, but a boy can dream they'll get in a bind one day and call me in off the bench.” His dark eyes roamed over her. “I take it you're one of the guests."

  "Yes,” she said and ducked her head.

  "You're the first Afro-American woman I've seen here,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if the sisters had discovered this paradise."

  Barbara smiled. “It is definitely that."

  "Enjoying your vacation?” he asked, meeting her gaze, his own wandering over her face in the moonlight.

  "Thoroughly,” she said.