Jet-lagged, I drag my suitcase into the airport hotel. Keycard beeps, door clicks open. Room overlooks the runways, planes roaring. Anonymity hits hard—no one knows me here. One night stopover before dawn flight. Stomach cramps twist. Not good. Hotel has a clinic downstairs. I head there, blouse loose over no bra—too hot.
Chantal—that’s me—at the reception desk? No, I’m the patient now, but they need cover. Wait, I’m secretary temp for a quick gig? Nah, traveler playing it. Doctor spots me fidgeting. Patient late. ‘Come in,’ he says. Dim cabinet, AC humming. Corridor noises filter—wheels rolling, voices.
The Layover
I lie on the exam table. He nods—blouse off. Naked tits out, nipples perk in cool air. He taps ribs, presses belly. No pain. Fingers dip lower, tugs panties. I lift hips, help slide them off. Feet free. ‘Didn’t know you like this,’ he grins. Palpates smooth-shaven pussy, ass too. Nothing wrong.
Door open. Doorbell buzzes. Late patient pushes in. Empty desk. Turns—sees me spread nude. I flush crimson. ‘Nice welcome… Doc here?’ ‘Yeah, coming,’ I stammer. He smirks, eyes lingering on my slit, then waits.
Doc back with colleague. Door still ajar. They question. ‘Gyno check?’ ‘No.’ Legs spread wide. Nearly bald everywhere. They smile. One hand strokes my sex—caress, not exam. Other gloves up, lubes, spreads lips. Two fingers plunge in. I jolt. ‘Hurt?’ ‘No.’ Opposite, actually—wetness builds.
Fingers probe deep, hit uterus. Sensitive spot—shiver, moan. Eyes shut. He targets G-spot precise. Hips buck, gasps loud. Other doc hushes, kisses me. Tongues tangle. Fingers relentless. I arch, scream into mouth, orgasm crashes. Arms around him.
Hands roam my body. ‘No pathology. Tension maybe. Check tomorrow.’ I skip panties, pocket them. Blouse barely closed. Call patient in—he notices gap, grins.
Next day, first in. Appointment book blocks 12-1pm. Doc arrives. ‘Better?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘For you. We see later.’ ‘We’? Morning drags—patients, phones. Flash tits over counter for fun. View runways blinking.
The Transit
Noon, first doc calls. New guy—derm. Then other doc, physio. ‘His opinion too. Undress.’ Blouse, panties off. Naked before four men. Derm checks freckles, spreads ass cheeks. Crimson. Table now—pits, under tits, max legs: perineum, pussy inspected.
‘All good. Sunscreen.’ Physio next. ‘Internal massage training.’ Legs frog-wide, ass up. Lube fingers, slides in. Two, then four. Vagina relaxes. Fist in—wrist out. Pleasure surges. Eyes closed, no force.
Massages cervix. Hits spots—cries of joy. Belly heaves. Targets thin wall to ass. Fire builds. I writhe. They steady, caress arms, tits, nipples hard.
Hands flail, find zippers. Pull cocks out—rigid. Stroke foreskins. Fist twists—explosion near. I yank back, they spurt on belly. Turn—derm’s out, suck. Tongue swirls frenulum, deep throat. Cum floods.
Physio smiles, wiping. Pull him close, kiss, squeeze cock through pants. He cums in briefs.
Silence. They help up. Shower in empty clinic bath. Towel dry, majestic stride back.
Afternoon patients: blouse gaps, tits tease. Aimable, glowing. Keycard ready. Night falls, runways light up. Tomorrow’s flight. This stopover—best detour ever.