Doctor Heather's House

My wife Heather and I live very busy lives. My name is Roger, and I am a malpractice attorney ten years her senior Heather is an MD in her early 30’s just started in her first private practice. We met when I represented her boss, and after dating for a year we tied the knot. Our sex life was not very active, as our hectic professional lives took precedence, until something happened that would change our lives forever.

About six months ago, Heather’s office started a new practice called Priority Patient Services or PPS. This consists of a premium service offered to wealthy clients who pay cash for personalized services. This includes house calls, for which each doctor in the office rotated through an on call schedule. 

Before I continue, a description of Heather is in order. She is a stunning Playboy caliber blond, and was voted hottest female coed in her med college. Myself, I am average build, somewhat athletic and average in the pants as well. Heather has never complained about my performance, but I honestly don’t think I have ever rocked her world in bed.

So this leads me to the eventful day. It was a warm Saturday afternoon, and we were invited to a friend’s party. Heather was on call, but we decided to risk it and go anyway. It had been a long week, and Heather and I indulged in some wine. Suddenly, her cell phone rang. It was the answering service. My heart sunk, as we were having quite a good time. Heather came back after taking down the info. A new patient of another Doctor called complaining of palpitations. His name was Samuel Mwangi, and fortunately his house was only about 2 miles from the party. We brightened after hearing this, and Heather said she would hop over there for what was hopefully a quick house call. I agreed to stay behind at the party.

I should mention Heather’s outfit. She wore a quite short white dress (it was very warm), with a little g string panty and no bra. I vaguely wondered if old Mr. Mwangi would get a kick out of this. My musings would turn out to be prophetic. 

I was engaged in spirited banter with some friends after she left, and suddenly realized that Heather was gone for over an hour. My heart sunk, figuring that she was probably at the ER with the poor old guy. Then, my phone rang and it was Heather. I stepped away and answered. She told me she was on the way back to the party. Her voice was odd, almost sleepy. I asked if she was ok, and she insisted that she was. 

About ten minutes later, she returned to the house. I was instantly alarmed when she walked in. Her hair was tousled, and her makeup seemed to be smeared. There was a mark which appeared to be a love bite on her neck. She kissed me passionately and then quickly excused herself and went into the nearest bathroom. There was an unfamiliar pungent taste on her lips. Five minutes later, we rejoined the party. But Heather was uncharacteristically quiet. So after a short time I suggested we leave. When we got into the car, I started to question her about the visit. She cut me off, asking that we wait until home. So for the rest of the 15 minute drive an uneasy silence hung in the air. 

When we arrived home, she led me directly up to our bedroom. And she began to open up. From here, I will let Heather tell the story of the house call.

Heather’s turn to tell the story…

I arrived at Mwangi’s very impressive house, feeling some trepidation as this was not my patient. And I was unsure of what his reaction would be to my unprofessional and provocative attire. I read his chart on my blackberry after I parked my car in the large circular driveway. Samuel Mwangi was a healthy 50 year old black expatriate from Kenya. He passed his physicals with flying colors. Sam was a fit athletic man with low average BMI. He was quite an impressive physical specimen, or so it seemed. As I stepped out of the car, I pondered what could be going on with him.

I walked to the door and rang the bell. A very attractive petite black woman answered the doorbell. She was dressed in a maid’s outfit in the style one would find in a Fredericks catalog. She addressed me formally and proceeded to lead me out onto a large patio in the back where Mr. Mwangi lay on a chaise lounge. His skin was the shade of coal, probably the darkest person I had ever seen.

He immediately stood up and took my hand, introducing himself and his maid as Tia. Tia bowed, and walked back into the house. He was dressed in a silk robe and boxer shorts. We made small talk, and I inquired as to his condition. He indicated that he was having palpitations. He removed his robe, and I would not help but notice he was very muscular and fit. His pulse and BP checked normal, but I noticed the telltale popping on his left side. When I questioned him on his diet, he admitted consuming 5 cups of coffee earlier. So it was only caffeine palpitations. I explained this was common and usually not a worry. 

When I checked his lungs and heart, I happened to glance down and noticed something incredible. His silk boxers were stretched out with the largest erection I had ever seen. Part of the coal black monster was visible through the opening in the front. My pussy started to cream, and my rock had nipples had to be visible though my thin summer dress.

I should add at this point that I have always fantasized about black men, but my conservative upbringing prevented me from acting on my desires. In college I deftly deflected a stream of black male advances, fearful of getting a “reputation”. I mentioned it teasingly to Roger a few times, and it seemed to pique his interest, but nothing further ever came from it. 

With a dry mouth, I told Sam that everything looked fine, but he should cut back on his coffee intake. He stood up and smiled, and thanked me for coming so promptly. My eyes reflexively glanced down at the bulge in his shorts. One more thing, he asked. Could I check his prostate? He was uncomfortable with a male physician performing this test. My first thought was to decline. It would be very inappropriate and unprofessional since this was not a full physical exam. We were on his patio, for crissakes. However, my growing arousal led me to answer otherwise. He handed me a strange looking bottle of oil before I could reach for my case, and dropped his shorts. The largest and darkest cock I could ever imagine sprang out in front of me. He chuckled as I continued to stare. I numbly asked him to turn around, and lubed my index finger with his mystery oil, not even bothering to put on a glove. 

Mwangi was surely a chiseled ebony god. His buttocks were rock hard, with not a big of sag. He assumed the position, and I slid an index finger into his rectum. For what seemed like an eternity I probed, massaging his prostate, which checked out fine. I reached around with my other hand and cupped his huge balls, checking carefully for lumps, and asked him to cough. Without any thought, I moved my hand up to his shaft. It was amazingly hard, long and thick, and my fingers couldn’t reach all the way around. I was at least twice the size of my hubby’s average white penis. He let out a deep groan of pleasure, and my pussy was now swimming in my juices. 

He pulled away and turned again, and my finger plopped out. Hands on hips, his coal black cock was now right in front of my face. Without hesitating, I grabbed it and started licking the plum sized head, which was leaking copiously. My tongue bathed the shaft, and suckled his balls. He pulled me up and kissed me deeply, and my dress and panties just seemed to fall off. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tia standing by the window inside. I tried to get his cock inside my throat, but was only able to fit about one third of this ebony snake.

Still on my knees, he pulled out of my mouth and turned around again. “Lick!” he hissed. Without a word, I spread his tight cheeks and licked his taint and brown ring like a woman possessed. My long pink tongue snaked in, touching his prostate again and tasting his pungent manliness. 

Mwangi pulled away from me again, and lifted me up like a rag doll and carried me over to a patio table where a large towel had been placed. He laid me down on my back, and grabbed my legs. My eyes widened as he lined this black monster up with my shaved pink pussy. I mumbled something about being gentle but he was already working it into my tight cunt. Less than halfway in, I was hit with a wave of orgasms that had my legs quivering. Suddenly he pulled out, and Tia slid in front of him. She began to expertly lick my pussy, and my first lesbian experience resulted in more explosive orgasms. Tia then grabbed Samuel’s still rock hard cock, and gently pushed it back in. Mwangi took over and suddenly thrust all the way in, bottoming out in my cervix. I had never felt this before and nearly passed out from the wave of orgasms that hit. 

He fucked me for what seemed forever. Tia licked my clit, and then stuck a finger in my asshole, which sent me completely over the edge. Mwangi roared, and began shooting about a gallon of cum deep into my pussy. When he pulled out, Tia began to lick his cock clean, and then turned to my pussy and started to lap up the copious overflow, pushing some back into me with her tongue. My formerly tight pussy was gaping wide open. Mwangi collapsed on a lounge chair. Tia helped me off of the table, and then pulled my panties on past my rubbery legs. She began speaking in a soft melodious tone, telling me that I was a black cock slut now, and should have my cuckold husband lick the cum out of my pussy. And I will never be satisfied with a white penis again. Tia, helped me put my dress on, and told me I will be paying many more house calls in the future! I went over and kissed Mwangi on the lips, and then kissed his cock. After leaving, I sat in the car for about 10 minutes before my head was clear enough to drive off. 

Roger’s turn to pick up the story.

I sat on the bed in shock, as Heather relayed the tale. She had stripped naked, and fingered her swollen pussy as she spoke. To my surprise my cock was rock hard and seeping. My brilliant blond blue eyed cheerleader wife had suddenly morphed into a bisexual ass licking black cock slut. Then Heather asked me to lick her. Her pussy was gaping open and oozing white liquid. To my own surprise, I quickly complied, drinking the intoxicating mix of black cum and pussy juice until she came again. When I climbed on top of her, she gently pushed me off, and knelt down instead to give me a blowjob. I was amazed as she easily deep throated me, and I came in less than a minute. We both then collapsed into a sweaty heap on the bed. 

Heather continues…

Monday morning came too soon, and recriminations along with it. I realized that my actions on Saturday could cost me my job, and possibly my license to practice medicine. But I was in heat, and there was no way I could dampen the flames. I wore poor Roger out on Sunday, jumping his bones three or four times, and even dragged him to an adult store where I shamelessly bought a selection of black dildos and butt plugs. But inserting a butt plug in my ass and a massive Lex Steele replica black dildo into my pussy only seemed to be a temporary fix. 

I arrived at the office at 9am, wearing a conservative pant suit and a maxi pad inside my panties to catch the perpetual flow of juices from my overheated pussy. Right after I sat down in my office, Doctor Steve Adams popped into my office. He was Mwangi’s physician. His usual dour demeanor was replaced with a cheery exuberant look. “Staff meeting at one” he chortled. I could hear him whistling as he briskly walked over to his office. 

I spent the rest of the morning lying low with busy work, completing reams of insurance forms and other mind numbing tasks. But my juicy pussy would just not stop leaking. I even had to go to the ladies room to change my soaking wet pad, which I put on to prevent the crotch of my pants from getting completely soaked. I swore Mwangi’s cum was still leaking out of me, which seemed almost impossible considering the enthusiastic job Roger did of cleaning me out. And I could not help quietly fingering my pussy, coaxing out a few orgasms. This itch was going to be a real problem.

At twelve forty five Dr. Henry Stillman, burst into the office. He too poked his head in my door, a Cheshire grin on his face. “Conference room in 15” he bellowed in a giddy enthusiastic way. Now I was really confused. These two crusty old veterans of the medical wars were like two kids at Christmas. What the heck was going on?

I slowly walked into the conference room. The four other senior partners were in their seats, the low buzzing between them stopped as I walked in. Stillman was the principal and owner. He was the first to speak.

“I have very good news”, he intoned. He prefaced the story by relaying a phone call he had received late Sunday from Samuel Mwangi! I froze my mouth dry, Mwangi called specifically to praise me and my professionalism and excellent service. They discussed PPS, and he told Mwangi about his plan to move the practice away from insurance to all cash service. As we all knew, the problem was that in order to pull that off a huge capital infusion would be needed to offset the loss of insurance revenue. All the doctors dreamed of this. The insurance industry was eating their lunch and they hated it.

Stillman continued. “When I told this to Mwangi, he asked me to hold and had his director of business development on the line in like a minute.”We set up a meeting in his office for this morning with our lawyers, and I have in my hand a five million dollar venture capital investment from SSI!” he chortled. 

As it turned out, SubSaharan Industries was Mwangi’s global enterprise. Apparently he was a major player, with connections to powerful leaders all over the world. This money would enable our firm to farm out insurance patients to other practices and focus solely on private patient care. Mwangi even referred several contacts to us. 

“Heather, I don’t know how you did it, but our dream is being realized far sooner than I ever imagined” Stillman gushed. “And congratulations on your full partnership” I blushed, wondering how much Stillman and the others really knew, but mostly from thinking about that huge black cock every time the name Mwangi was mentioned. 

The men all buzzed excitedly on how they couldn’t wait to tell the insurers to pound sand, and how their work would be so fulfilling and way more profitable without the PPO and HMO leeches robbing them blind. And they would be the first major group practice to be solely a PPI provider. 

“And on top of that, Mwangi wants us to build an exam room in his house – no expense spared. And Heather, you will take over as his personal physician. I think that is the least we can do for this wonderful man!”

Stillman then invited us all to go to his club for golf and dinner. I begged off, saying I needed to take care of some business at home. The business was really to shove a big black dildo in my pussy, as the itch was becoming unbearable. 

But right after I sat down in my car, my blackberry buzzed with a text message. It was Tia.

She was relaying a request from Mwangi for me to stop by at 3 to discuss plans for the exam room. I responded back, telling her that I would be there. This would give me time to stop at home and get ready. But I was already ready, very very ready. I pondered jumping on top of the gearshift before I finally headed for home.
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