#3035: High Tatras, Slovakia
Original photo: @robwoodcoxphoto
After a skiing accident ruins Tamara’s vacation, her doctor’s hands offer more than just healing. What begins as a check-up becomes a steamy adventure she’ll never forget in the snowy town of Tartas.
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Transcript
Tamara buzzed with excitement as she arrived in Tartas. She hadn’t known much about the place before booking her trip, but the photos—snowy peaks, rushing rivers, cloudless skies—had promised an unforgettable escape. It was everything she craved: beauty, calm, and a hint of adventure.
She rented a rustic little cabin that looked like something out of a storybook. Cozy and charming, it featured a fireplace, thick wool blankets, and the kind of stillness that begged for indulgent solitude. Tamara imagined long nights curled up with wine, books, and the soft hush of falling snow.
But everything shifted on the first day.
She rose early, slipped into her ski suit, and hit the slopes brimming with energy. Her equipment was solid. The snow perfect. Nothing stood between her and a flawless descent—until her ski snagged something beneath the surface. She tumbled sideways, pain flaring sharp and immediate in her ankle.
The injury was serious. Help came quickly, and by the time she reached the small town clinic, she was limping with every step. The doctor who greeted her was young, tall, and striking—but in that moment, pain drowned out any other sensation.
His hands were steady as he examined her ankle, his touch surprisingly gentle. A diagnosis followed: a sprained ligament. Not broken, but rest and no weight for several days. Her dream vacation unraveled in that moment.
Later, as the medication softened the ache, she looked up at him again. This time she noticed the messy red hair, the soft smile, and the piercing blue eyes that lingered on her a little too long. Something warm bloomed beneath the frustration.
The days passed slowly. No skiing. No wild thrills. Instead, Tamara strolled the cobbled streets, lingered in quaint cafés, chatted with locals, and allowed herself to sink into a slower rhythm. What began as a disrupted vacation started to feel like something else—quieter, more personal. Tartas no longer felt temporary. It felt like a place that had been waiting for her.
On her last full day, she returned to the clinic, this time walking on her own. Her ankle had improved, the stiffness minor. He was waiting. And when their eyes met, the energy between them shifted—charged, close, unspoken.
As she sat on the table and pulled up her pant leg, she revealed the smooth line of her calf, the slight curve above her boot. His hands moved over her skin with a slowness that felt deliberate now. Their gazes met, and the tension was undeniable.
The examination ended, but neither of them moved to leave. The clinic had grown quiet—the halls empty, the front desk abandoned. Tamara acted on impulse. She leaned in, undid the top of her shirt, revealing just enough to blur the line between flirtation and invitation.
He hesitated only briefly before closing the distance. His hands reached for the stethoscope, warming it with his palms before pressing it to her chest. His fingers brushed the edge of her open shirt, lingering.
Then came the kiss. Tentative at first, then deepening—heated, hungry. Her legs parted to pull him closer, inviting his body between hers. The slow burn of the last few days erupted all at once, and everything else—the clinic, the snow, the quiet town—faded into the background.
He began unbuttoning her shirt, lips trailing her skin. Her bra slipped away, and his mouth replaced his hands, lips closing around her nipples, sucking gently as she moaned into the quiet air. She teased him back, a coy grin on her lips, even as she melted beneath his touch.
He undressed her fully, piece by piece, until she sat naked on the exam table—legs spread, heart racing. When he knelt between her thighs and his mouth met her clit, Tamara gasped, head falling back.
His tongue moved with skill and urgency, licking and sucking with relentless rhythm. His hands gripped her thighs, keeping her open and vulnerable as he devoured her. Tremors ran through her body, each flick and swirl bringing her closer. Her orgasm hit hard—fast, sharp, consuming.
But she wasn’t finished.
Desire still burning, she urged him up. He undressed quickly, revealing his cock—thick, hard, ready. A condom was rolled on with practiced ease. Their mouths met again, deep and breathless, as he pressed the head of his cock against her slick folds, teasing.
When he pushed inside, her body opened around him, stretching to take him in. She cried out, hips rolling to meet his thrusts. The rhythm built—deep, rough, perfect. The exam table rocked beneath them with each movement. Her nails raked down his back as he drove into her, hitting every sweet, aching spot inside her.
Her second orgasm came slower, thicker—a full-body quake that left her shaking beneath him. He followed with a low groan, buried deep inside her, clutching her tightly as he spilled.
They collapsed together, skin slick with sweat, the room quiet but for their breath.
Afterward, they dressed slowly, the weight of what had passed settling in—warm and certain.
This trip hadn’t gone as planned. But Tamara knew, as she smiled to herself and glanced at him again, that it had become something far more memorable.
Something she’d return to—again and again, in memory and maybe even in person.
Not for the mountains. Not for the slopes.
But for him.