Jerry Milner: The lady plays doctor

They were in the classic fucking position on the bed. Miss Beresford was on her back, dark hair beautifully tousled, long white legs bent at the knees and elevated high off the bed, big tits pillowed under the pressure of Dr. Morgan's chest. He was on his knees between her legs with his arms around her, with his slim hips flying. His big cock was sliding in and out of her wet cunt. His balls were heavily slapping against her anal region. He was making her come, fucking hell out of her, just as Joyce wanted for herself.

"N-o-o-o-o-o," she whimpered as her trembling hand fluttered down to her crotch. Despite the cold shower, she was already warm there. In a sudden sunburst, her twat was all hot again, and he was juicy and wet and ready to fuck. She ran her fingers up and down the slick slit, and she felt like weeping.

She had to change places with the statuesque Miss Beresford. She wanted to be flat on her back on the bed, with a cock in her. Those two had teased her and played with her and sucked her cunt. They had left her with one little dirty orgasm over the toilet, and they'd kept all the real pleasure for themselves. She hated them, but if she had had the strength in her legs, she would have thrown herself on top of the fucking couple and begged to join them.

"A-h-h-h-h," sighed the doctor, and rolled off the well-fucked form of his receptionist. She lay there basking in the afterglow of orgasm. Her cunt was open and drooling, and it looked as if it were smiling. His cock was covered with glistening juices, and its thick rigidity was slowly and sadly wilting under Joyce's hungry gaze. She found her clit with her fingers, rubbed it hard as she tried to recapture the heavy lust that had been upon her a moment before. She came, but weakly, frustratingly, not nearly as beautifully as Miss Beresford had just come.

Back into the bathroom again. They hadn't even noticed her standing there watching them. She sat down on the toilet and sobbed into her hands. What was coming over her? When did she turn into a nymphomaniac, as Dr. Morgan had implied? Was this lust in her just a fleeting phenomenon? Would she go on craving sex like this for the rest of her life? She knew the answers to none of these questions. All she knew was that her fingers smelled of cunt, of sex. It was easier to inhale deeply of their scent than it was to torture herself with questions. She sniffed her twat-smelling fingers. She licked them clean, and when she arose from the toilet her eyes were dry, and they were gleaming with new desire.

But the couple on the bed were gone. While she had sat there blubbering, the two people who could put out the fire smoldering in her body had left the little bedroom. Joyce's ordeal was over. Now she could go to work, and soon the madness of this morning and the night before would be forgotten.

Joyce put on a tight white bra and some trim white panties. She put on a white slip, and pair of thigh-length stretch hose. She covered herself with a very conservative dress, one with a high neckline and a hemline that came to just above her knees. Sitting before the mirror in the little room where she'd spent the night, she brushed out the tangle of her hair. As she arranged her hair in a spinsterish bun on the back of her head, she thought of nothing but the patients she would see that day. She absolutely refused to think about Dr. Morgan's hands on her tits, fitting there more intimately than even her brassiere did. And she absolutely refused to think back to the lesbian's tongue in her cunt, thrilling her beyond description. She blotted out the vivid visual memory of seeing the couple fucking on the bed, and she tried very hard not to think of how good it had felt when Phil had fucked her the night before.

A little pale-pink lipstick, brown shoes with heels of medium height, and she was almost dressed to see her first patient. Dr. Joyce Carruthers left the little bachelor apartment and cautiously wandered the halls of the old building in which Dr. Morgan had his medical practice. There wasn't a sound to be heard. Far a moment she felt she might be the last person on earth, but then she opened another door, and there was Miss Beresford.

The doctor's receptionist was seated behind a desk near the front door of the building. Now she was wearing a white nurse's uniform and a little white cap on her head. Her hair was neatly arranged, her makeup properly in place, and her smile was businesslike and friendly as she turned it on Joyce. There were two patients in the waiting room with Miss Beresford, a pregnant woman and an elderly man, and these two looked up as Miss Beresford said, "Good morning, Dr. Carruthers."

"G-Good morning, Miss Beresford," Joyce said to the woman with whom she'd just had homosexual relations. "I was looking for Dr. Morgan. And the linen closet."

Miss Beresford turned her lovely face to the patients and said, "Dr. Carruthers will be Dr. Morgan's new assistant."

They both smiled weakly and regarded Joyce suspiciously as she stood in the doorway. Rising from her desk, Miss Beresford said, "Dr. Carruthers is so new here that I've got to show her a few things. But she does know her medicine. Right, Dr. Carruthers?"

"Y-Yes," said Joyce, and a tingling rush of hot feelings flooded through her as the big brunette placed a hand on her arm and guided her toward the door from which she'd just come.

She was led through the doorway as easily as if she were a child. The eyes of the patients told her about her complete incompetence as a physician as she smiled wanly at them and closed the door behind her. Immediately upon being alone with the receptionist in the hallway, Miss Beresford's demeanor changed abruptly. Her crooked smile returned. She grasped Joyce firmly by the shoulders and said, "I can still taste your cunt."

"Have you got something else for me?"

Before Joyce could say a word, she was swept into the big woman's arms, crushed to her soft body, and a lipsticked mouth was pressed hotly against hers. Her head bumped back against the door as Miss Beresford's hot, sweet tongue was lanced into her mouth. Two large soft feminine hands were crawling up and down her sides. An outrageously prominent and distinctly warm cunt mound was pushing hard against her abdomen. Two big tits were squashed against her chest, their hard nipples searing her. The kiss was devouring her, dizzying her. It was wicked and wonderful and dangerous, and as breathless as she was, Joyce could not help but slip her anus round the curvaceous body before her and pull it even harder against herself. Soft nylon rustled and whispered under Joyce's clutching fingers. Through the thin uniform Joyce could feel only the narrowest of bra straps and the skimpiest of bikini panties. Those luxuriously big buttocks and those excitingly huge tits were very scantily covered. The big, dominating woman was all but naked under her nurse's uniform. Joyce's fingers dug in as if to tear off what little Miss Beresford was wearing, but then that wonderful soft mouth was torn from hers and she was left leaning weakly against the door.

"I like the way you kiss, Joyce," said the towering brunette, and, placed another warm peck on the little blonde's mouth.

"No," Joyce murmured, and turned her head away. "I just wanted to find out where the smocks are. I just wanted to get to work. Please. Don't even touch me now."

"The smocks are in that closet there," said Miss Beresford, pointing with a nod of her head, and sliding her hands in warm circle over Joyce's hips. "You'll be seeing Mrs. Green in just a few minutes. But first…"

The big brunette in white sank gracefully to her knees before the young intern. Ignoring Joyce's muted protests, she pushed up her skirt, hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties, and stripped them down her legs.

"Don't do that!" Joyce urgently whispered. "What if somebody comes?"