Mary and Danielle discussed the matter for a moment and agreed. “Obviously I’m not going to be much help,” Danielle said, “but Mary used to bow hunt with her dad. I bet she and the girls will keep us in pork chops soon enough.”
“Good,” said Janie. “It’s decided. Can I leave you two in charge of the project?” The two women agreed and Janie headed back to the pile of salvage. “I’m working with Horace to see if he can’t get some shelters built,” she said to me over her shoulder. “We don’t know when we’re going to get hit with a monsoon or something.” I admired that taut butt as she left. What a woman! Turning back, I caught the two coaches checking out her ass, too. I smiled to myself, thinking that Janie might surprise them if they ever hit on her.
Joelle said that she had splinted Connor’s leg with a more sturdy set of bamboo poles, and that he was able to hobble around using another pole as a crutch. I knew bones healed faster if they were stressed slightly, so I OK’d the idea.
“I’m going to head out with Falani—one of the African ladies,” she said. “She thinks she can find us some plants and herbs that have medicinal properties. I figured since there’s not a lot of meds in the kit from the plane that might be a good idea.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and left. I puttered around organizing our supplies for a few minutes, until I was interrupted by a hesitant voice.
“You are the doctor?”
I turned to see Gabrielle, the young Frenchwoman. She was dressed in red capri pants and a striped shirt that accentuated her fine figure. “Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“I ‘ave a problem,” she said in her delightful accent. She glanced at the nearby coaches. “Can we talk en prive’? Um…in private?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s walk down the beach.”
I led her past the rocky outcrop that bordered our camp beach and motioned her to sit on fallen palm tree near the edge of the stream.
“What’s the problem?”
“It is stupid, mais tres uncomfortable,” she began. “First, you must know I have an unusual métier—profession.”
“I thought you were a student.”
“Non, that is what I tell people. It is easier that way. In fact, I am une nourrice. What you call in English a wet nurse.”
Really? I was intrigued.
“I have finished my last job in Johannesburg for an English couple,” she continued. “The child is now weaned. I am travelling to Korea for my next job. The client is a wealthy elderly man. It is now quite en vogue for older Asian men to take le lait maternel. They feel it makes them young again. They pay much if they can take it directement from le sein—the breast.”
Now I was really wondering where this was going.
“Sadly, my suitcase was one that was wet by the sea. My…my…,”she struggled for the word. “My pump will no longer work. Do you know if there is another among the bagage?”
“No,” I told her. “I helped inventory our supplies. No one had a breast pump.”
“I must get the milk out of the breast, “ she said with a frown. “It becomes painful.”
“Can’t you express it—um, squeeze it out by hand?”
“It is very slow. And the mamelon—the nipple—it gets sore.”
“I’m not an OB doctor but the only other way I know is the old-fashioned way.” She looked confused. “Have it sucked out,” I clarified.
She nodded seriously and thought for a moment. “Bon. Alors…” She suddenly pulled off her blouse, revealing her hairy armpits and a well stuffed bra.
“Wait!” I said. “I didn’t mean me. I thought…” She unhooked and removed her bra in that most feminine of motions. Her swaying breasts, pale white and tipped with huge dark pink nipples almost an inch long, caught me in their spell. I didn’t know what I thought anymore. I was speechless.
She gave me a small smile. “You are the doctor. You must help me. Do not be embarrasse’. It is what I do. I do not mind. I enjoy it.” She motioned me to lie next to her on the log. I complied, in somewhat of a trance. She pillowed my head in her lap and hefted one dripping udder. I opened my mouth and she slipped her milky mammary between by lips. Instinct took over and I began suckling. A jet of warm, sweet milk bathed my tongue. I had never tasted breast milk before (not counting as a baby), and I found it wonderful. It was thinner and much sweeter than cow’s milk, with a slight musty aftertaste that was intriguing. I pulled harder on the swollen teat, and she sighed in contentment as a gush of white nectar flowed into my mouth. I had skipped breakfast this morning, trying to ration our food, and so had plenty of room for this lactating lovely’s output.
When she indicated that side was empty, I lifted my head and she shifted position to slip the other dripping pink nipple in my waiting mouth. As I started draining the other side, she began signing softly in French, stroking my hair. I looked up at her with one eye, past her bulging breast, and admired the curve of her pectoral muscle as it rose from the top of her breast to her shoulder. A tuft of dark hair peeked out of her armpit, in sharp contrast to the alabaster shade of the surrounding skin. I had only ever dated American girls before, and had never seen an unshaven armpit on a woman before. Somehow she made it seem not only attractive, but feminine.
The sensation of her stiff nipple in my mouth, the sweet taste of her milk, and the sight of her beautiful body were working on me in predictable fashion. My dick was as hard as an iron bar, and I began wondering if I could score some “dessert” after this sensual breakfast. She indicated I had completed my health care duties and I opened my mouth to suggest some additional activities, when I heard my name being called from behind the rocks.
Gabrielle quickly redressed, to my dismay, covering up those now slightly less heavy jugs with her bra, then her top. As the calling voices came closer, she kissed me on the cheek and said, “Merci. We must do zis every morning. Will you meet me here demain—tomorrow?”
“Of course!” I said quickly. How could I turn down that offer?
“You are sweet,” she said. “If you are a good boy for maman, I may have a treat for you tomorrow.” She trailed her hand across my cheek and disappeared into the jungle. God, my balls were going to burst!
“Dave!” I heard a familiar voice call from just around the bend. “Are you over here?”
“Yes!” I called hoarsely. “Just on the other side of the rocks.” I quickly adjusted by aching boner just as Sharon clambered over the rocks, trailed by her chubby blond coworker.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “Somebody told me you had headed this way. Watcha’ doin?”
“Oh, just a little me time for breakfast. How about you?”
She gave me a hug and turned to her friend. “Jill, I want you to meet Dr. Dave Connor. Dave, this is Jill Morgan. She’s a good friend of mine.”
We said our hellos and shook hands. “I wanted Sharon to introduce us so I could thank you for helping to break up the hijacking plot. You probably saved my life.”
“Hey,” I said, “it was no big deal. I was in the right place at the right time. I didn’t do nearly as much as those poor guys who rushed the shooter and died.”
“Don’t be so modest. I think you’re a hero.”
Sharon piped up, “Guys, I need to get back to camp. Rodney and I are going to break out one of the life rafts from the plane. We’re hoping there might be some fishing supplies in the survival kits. Toodles!” She fluttered her fingers at me and Jill and climbed back over the rocks.
Jill looked at me shyly. She was about 5’3, with a shoulder length blond bob, a pert nose and cute chipmunk cheeks. She was fairly topheavy, as full figured girls often are. She had a perky, childlike quality about her that I found endearing. I’ve never been much of a chubby-chaser, but she looked more like a bunch of fun packed into a small package than an overweight slob.
“I know what you and Sharon were doing on the plane earlier. She recruited me to be the lookout so you had some privacy.”
I had the grace to blush a bit. “Yeah, well, thanks for that,” I said. “She kind of took me by surprise with that maneuver.”
“She tends to get what she wants. She’s so elegant and sexy, guys are always coming on to her.” Jill shook her head wistfully. “I get a little jealous sometimes. Fat girls like me don’t get much attention from men.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I think you’re pretty.” I really meant this. She really had a cute face, and a pair of knockers that didn’t quit. It may have been my erection talking, but I wouldn’t mind flying her friendly thighs.
She looked at me with shining eyes, and said, “Really? Because I think you are very handsome.” She hesitated for a moment, looking away, then seemed to collect herself. She looked me in the eye. “I’ve been lonely for a long time, and you seem like a nice guy. Sharon says you were good to her. I’d like to show you how grateful I am for you saving my life.” She began unbuttoning her top with trembling fingers. “Is this OK?”
In answer, I put my arms around her and planted a long, slow kiss on her full lips. She returned it hungrily, her quick tongue darting between my lips. When we separated, she pushed me back onto the log and stood in front of me. As each button popped loose, I saw more and more of her lacy underthings. She finally pulled her top from her shoulders, exposing a glorious expanse of female flesh. She was wearing some type of corset—I think they called it a merry widow—which confined her ample curves in a black lace embrace, her massive breasts pushed up out of the tight cups to unlikely heights.
Her skin was smooth and milky white, and I spied traceries of light blue veins under the surfaces of each pillowy boob. She shimmied out of her skirt, letting it drop to the sand. Her plump thighs were smooth and firm, and her generous hips were clad in black lace panties of substantial proportions. There was no way she wore this around the island! She must have put this on especially for me. I was touched by her desire to arouse me (it was definitely working), and decided I would do my best to make this a memorable experience for her.
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