The Billionaires Doctor Pt 01

The billionaire's doctor

The journey starts

Actors

Doctor Holger Heidenheim--celebrity doctor, young, handsome, open-minded

Konrad Bergemann--retired multi-billionaire, almost 60, enterprising, and mysterious

Camilla, his wife--30 years younger, beautiful, boyish, and not averse to adventure

Sandra, his daughter, 28, very feminine, was unhappily in love and sought comfort.

Judith, his secretary--40, the most beautiful of all, inscrutable, an organizational genius

Gloria Countess von Greifberg--no longer quite young, Heidenheim's great support--he returns the favor in bed.

Corinna, Heidenheim's receptionist--and lover--misses him even before his departure.

The phone rang at the most inopportune time. I had just folded Corinna's white coat up over her magnificent buttocks, exposed the two crescents, and pushed the mini briefs down when it began to clang. She was lying prone over the desk with the best view of the display.

"Who the hell is that now?" I asked, panting, and brought my pecker to bear right in front of her dripping wet pussy, which I had massaged a bit before.

"The Countess Greifberg!"

"Shit, then take off!"

"Fine, but wait!"

How could I wait when the glans had already driven her thick labia apart and was halfway in the hot channel?

The moment Corinna said, "Good day! Praxis Doktor Heidenheim," I groaned, and she couldn't help the last part of my name sounding a bit moaned and louder than normal.

"Oh, Countess Greifberg"--the" "oh" also came more intensely than usual. That was probably because at that very moment I deposited the full length of my cock on her.

"No, this is extremely inconvenient right now. He's in the middle of an important examination. I can't get him out of there," the slut said, and I had to control myself not to let out a snort.

"Yes, Countess, of course, I'll pass the word!"

She threw the phone on the fork and turned her head back. "Are you crazy? I told you to wait. What if she's noticed something?"

"Then she'll have the utmost understanding; she's a horny bitch herself, and now shut up!"

I grabbed her by her gorgeous hips and began to fuck her properly, the way she loved it. That was the advantage of our practice. I had no walk-ins, only patients who came by appointment, and Corinna, my receptionist, was excellent at inserting breaks every now and then where we could fuck carefree.

She was a great girl, fantastically built with perfect curves and especially a dreamlike ass. That's why that was our preferred position--her over the desk and me on her from behind.

Sometimes I fucked her ass like that too, but only when we had a lot of time, usually in the evening, after the last patient. Today it was just a quickie between two appointments, but no less nice. She clung to the edge of the table and cheered me on, "Come on, Holger, fuck me, I'm almost ready. Come on, yes, come deep!"

We were well rehearsed, and it mostly went the same way. I fucked her to one or two horny orgasms, and then she turned around and crouched down in front of me.

Today was no exception. After she came, panting and with trembling legs, she pushed me back, got down on her knees, and grabbed my cock, jerking it with her mouth half open and her second hand on my balls.

"Come on, squirt!" She heated me up: "Squirt in my mouth, give me your juice!"

She knew when it was time, of course. She could feel my legs stiffening and my thighs twitching. Always at the right moment, she put her full lips over the glans and let herself be pumped full. Routinely she swallowed one load after the other, licked me until nothing more came, and after a kiss on the tip of my cock, she stood up. She arranged the smock that highlighted her figure so great and watched me pack my dick and pull up my pants.

Of course, I was not the only one she fucked. She had a boyfriend, "nothing steady," as she said, and a lover--a Black guy who sometimes picked her up when her so-called significant other was out. This was a huge guy whose dick was apparently enormous. Anyway, she reported that unabashedly: "Boah, yesterday I thought he'd tear my snatch. Today only goes in the back, Holger. Pussy needs a rest!"

Yes, she was a wild sweeper, but a top performer, an eye-catcher for my male patients, and also a nice guy. The fact that we fucked was also an expression of our friendship--we liked each other, and we both enjoyed these shepherd's hours very much.

"What did she want?" I asked when we got back on duty.

"She's expecting you for dinner tonight to make an important announcement. It seems you'll have to take it!"

I puffed out my cheeks, "Oho! Well, let's see. Maybe she has news about Bergemann!"

She made a sad face, "I hope not!" she said and immediately improved, "Sorry, but the thought that I won't get to see you for a whole year is terrible for me!"

I gave her a hug, "Oh come on, honey - it would be a year of paid vacation too, think about it!"

"Yeah, but without you and," now she grabbed my crotch, "and him, that's really a punishment!"

I laughed, "Well, you really don't have to complain about lack of utilization, with your two stallions!"

"Oh you're stupid, with you it's finally something else. I like you!"

That was it again - we just had a very special relationship.

I gave her a kiss, "Let's wait and see what Countess Greifberg wants. Maybe it's a rejection!"

"Yes, or she just wants to fuck, with her young celebrity director!"

That was also possible. She was my most loyal patient and pioneer of my career. Her fantastic connections in Berlin society opened numerous doors for me, and I had her to thank for a significant portion of my patient base.

The price for this? Every now and then she would invite me in and keep me there until the next morning. That really wasn't a bad thing, because despite her nearly sixty years, she was still a woman with charisma, sex appeal, and a well-groomed, exciting body. The only problem was her almost insatiable lust. A night with her meant hard work, because she did not get enough and demanded the whole man.

So it was with mixed feelings that I drove to her palace, not far from Ku'damm, which had been in her family for centuries.

Berthold, the somewhat decrepit butler, received me with an implied bow and a quiet smile. When asked, "How is the Countess today?" it deepened into what was actually an insubordinate grin, and he replied, "I don't think it could be better, Doctor!"

Of course he knew, of course he hadn't been unaware of my nightly sojourns with his mistress, even though she had always sent him away after dinner, usually with the words, "I'll let Herr Doktor Heidenheim out myself!"

This was true, but it happened only at six or half past six in the morning, a time when butlers on duty had long been awake and heard when the heavy front door slammed into the lock.

I was not bothered by his connivance; on the contrary, I had the feeling that he quite welcomed it when I prepared a few pleasant hours for the countess.

"Doctor Heidenheim!" he announced at the door, and with a polite wave of his hand asked me to enter.

She was seated at the top of a long table in the dining room, which, darkly paneled and illuminated by two huge chandeliers, looked more like a knight's castle than a city palace. In general, I could not understand how such a life-affirming person could live in this gloomy building, surrounded by oil paintings of her husband's ancestors. The count had been dead for many years - killed in a car race - and had left her alone, heavily rich but lonely. Of course, she had never remarried, though not yet 40 at the time and certainly a beautiful woman. Apparently she always helped herself to guys like me, thus satisfying her undoubtedly enormous hunger for sex.

She spent her time in contemplation, a great deal of gymnastics in a specially equipped gym in the back of the house, and at various receptions. She also enjoyed traveling, usually accompanied by her friend, Baroness Brausberg, a lady of similar age, appearance, and probably similar appetites. I was pretty sure that the two of them had already had one or two adventures together. However, I had never come in contact with the Baroness, she swore by Doctor Willibald, my old and only real competitor in this line of work.

"Countess, you look fantastic!"

I kissed her hand and looked at her with a smile. Her narrow face was inconspicuously made up; her blue eyes shone brightly and youthfully. She wore her blond hair pinned up--it would only fall later, still thick and curly over her round shoulders. The somewhat pointed nose gave her a stern look on the one hand, but on the other hand it gave her that hungry, almost greedy touch that women of her age possess whose libidos are still active.

Her delicate fingers were perfectly manicured, her nails painted pale pink, and her white blouse cut just enough to avoid appearing revealing. Nevertheless, she offered the viewer a glimpse of her cleavage, which showed tiny wrinkles towards the base of her breasts but was still quite presentable. So were her breasts, by the way, which, though already somewhat sagging, still had so much firmness that it was fun to squeeze them or bury one's face between them.

"Oh, you flatterer! What more can I do than strive to add a little luster to the old masonry? Believe me, it's getting harder every day!"

"But it is crowned with success every day!"

Outside the bed, we were without exception by ""you"--it worked completely automatically, and neither of us had made a single faux pas.

"Sit down, dear doctor, here, next to me!"

She pointed to a chair to her right, in front of which, as well as in front of her, was a place setting.

"I have good news, my dear, very good! But let's have a drink first. There's saddle of venison, and I've asked Berthold to decant a good Bordeaux. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course. You know my passion for your fine wines, Countess!"

She smiled insinuatingly, and I knew she had understood me.

"Yes, only too well, my dear, and there's plenty of it again today, never fear."

She didn't tease me, she was far too pleased with herself for that. After a sip of the lovely red wine, we set the glasses down and she confidentially placed a hand on mine, "Tomorrow at fourteen o'clock you have an appointment. He wants to sniff you out, that is, of course, he and his wife, that terribly vulgar woman. But he won't decide that without her, and if I may give you some advice, take this tramp for yourself, even if it's hard."

I nodded with a serious face, like an obedient student when the teacher is talking at him. At this I thought of the numerous pictures in various magazines and on the Internet, and on them Ms. Camilla Bergemann looked fantastic. Well, she had been a receptionist in a hotel on the island of Sylt, where her later husband had stayed during a conference, but that didn't say too much about her intellect or character. Of course, she was 30 years younger than him, only two years older than his daughter, and she spent his money with full hands, but there was really enough of it.

Of course, for a lady like the Countess, Camilla Bergemann was not befitting her station. She, too, belonged to those people who believe that money ennobles. At least that was true of the super-rich real estate tycoon Wilhelm Bergemann, a self-made man by any other name. Through clever investments, the former apartment broker had made a fortune of billions.

She had known him for years, had been friends with his first wife, who had drowned while sailing, and remained a loyal friend, even after what she saw as an ill-fated marriage. A few years ago, it had created a fierce buzz in the press. Logically, when a nearly 60-year-old billionaire marries a 30-year-old receptionist, it's food for the media.

But the two had endured it unscathed and, as I found, with a great deal of humor. They had continued to attend all their appointments, to appear in public, and to enjoy their lives--mostly as a couple. Sometimes, however, they were seen apart. He was an enthusiastic hunter; she loved golf and now and then took over the patronage of a tournament.

A few weeks ago, the Countess called me in great excitement and told me that Bergemann wanted to retire from his professional life and take a one-year trip around the world to gain some distance. He was planning to do this with his entire family, servants, and friends and would also like to have a doctor with him. He felt better not having to worry about his health and the health of the whole entourage. At their last meeting, he had asked the countess if she could recommend a reliable and resilient physician to him.

"Of course, I immediately thought of you, dear Doctor Heidenheim. Would that interest you?"

I laughed, "Of course, Countess, but only if you help me find patients for my practice again when I return. I think I will be resented if I dismiss them so easily!"

"You just let me worry about that. I promise that I will help you; that goes without saying, and," at this she paused a little, and I could see her smirking in my mind's eye, "and not entirely unselfish either. After all, I also want you back as a doctor and... well, you know!"

Anyway, I didn't think it would be particularly difficult for me to be nice to Bergemann's wife. But the Countess was already talking further: "I also found out a little about the itinerary. You start in New York, then Canada, Alaska, and Moscow. From there on to China--Beijing and Shanghai--and Japan. Everything else you want to decide according to mood and weather. There will probably be about 10 or 15 people who will be with them all the time, and friends will accompany them for a while."

"You too, Countess?"

"Yes, of course. Do you think I can stand a year without my personal physician? You won't get rid of me so quickly. An examination in between is a must, no matter where in the world!"

She squeezed my hand, which she had held all the time, and I said, "How nice, Countess. But it's not out yet that I'll get the job!"

"My dear boy"--she had never said this before--"when I say it's a go, it is. As I said, a few kind words to Camilla and you are engaged. Don't overdo the niceness, though. I'm pretty sure if you do, she'll end up in your bed faster than you can count to three!"

I acted surprised. "Honestly? Do you really think she would cheat on her husband?"

Now she laughed, and mischievousness flashed in her eyes. "Dear Doctor, even I would sleep with you if my husband were alive; I can tell you that. So why not Camilla?"

I made an astonished face, and she smiled, "Yes, don't look like that. You are a great man now. And don't worry, as far as I know, there will be other pretty ladies at the party. Do you know Judith, Bergemann's secretary?"

"No, I don't know anyone on his staff. After all, I've only met him once, and he probably doesn't even remember that!"

"Oh, you're mistaken. When I mentioned your name, he immediately asked, "Isn't that that black-haired Longinus from your reception last fall?" He had remembered exactly!"

Berthold and Frederike, the pointy-nosed housekeeper, served the food and now there was no more talking. That was part of the Countess's custom - the meal was taken in silence. It was grandiose as always, and as I put down my napkin and reached for my wine glass, I told her as much.

"Well, the variety of pleasures diminishes as the years go by, so good food and drink are always more important to me. By the way, may I ask you to join me in my boudoir for a cognac later?"

That, too, was part of the ritual, and I replied, "It's my pleasure."

Which it was. She was just a great woman who accepted her age, would never have had plastic surgery in her life, but tried to keep herself looking and feeling young as long as possible. If I could help her with that, I was happy to do so, especially since she was also an incredibly accomplished and experienced bedfellow.

We drank the bottle in peace, talked about God and the world, and of course about her health. Apart from a few minor aches and pains, her health was very good, and when Berthold asked for more wishes, she said: "No thanks, you can go back to bed.

"Of course, Countess. I wish you a good night, you too, Doctor!"

"Thank you, Berthold, sleep well!"

I was convinced that he knew what to expect and that sleep was out of the question. I was only surprised that she did not use the phrase about the front door today.

She rose and that was the signal. I also stood up and she took me by the hand. "Come on, doctor, another glass!"

At this she smiled so seductively that I felt a slight tugging in my loins, knowing full well what was coming.

Yes, she excited me, no question about it. In the dressing room adjoining her bedchamber, she had me take a seat at a small table, fetched a bottle of cognac and a snifter from a cabinet, filled it generously to the halfway mark, and smiled, "The bathroom will be free in 10 minutes. I'll be expecting you then!"

She disappeared behind a door that led into the bathroom. From there, there was another one that led to the bedroom. So it was possible for us to shower one after the other without seeing each other before I followed her to bed.

As I sipped the wonderful cognac in small gulps, I heard first water rushing, then soft sounds of glass on glass and I knew she was creaming herself. She was making her skin as smooth as possible for me and putting on a little perfume too. Then a door slammed and that was the signal.

I undressed, put the clothes neatly over the chair and went naked into the bathroom. There it smelled of her soap - she didn't use shower gel - and all sorts of cosmetics and, as every time, she had put panties and brassiere on a small linen shelf next to the shower stall. It was as if she wanted to show me how she covered her most intimate body regions during the day. Bra and panties were made of the finest lace, today in white and looked as if they belonged to a young woman. Especially the panties were almost a thong and incredibly sexy. She was already a great woman and that's exactly what I should feel, I was sure. That's why she left her laundry so visible.

I quickly finished, dried myself with the bath towel that was always ready in the same place, and opened the door. The first time I had knocked, she had laughed: "Once you get this far, you can forget about polite phrases, my dear. It's all about one thing in here.

She usually covered herself up to the neck and waited for me with the lights dimmed. Then, when I had slipped under the covers with her, we would begin to cuddle and slowly our activities would become more purposeful.

This time it was different. The room was shining brightly and she was lying stark naked on the sheet, her hair loose, spread out on the pillow. There was nothing to be seen of the bedspread and as I entered she smiled, "I wanted to see how the sight affects you. Come here, you my favorite doctor!"

With that, she spread her long legs - the only parts of her body that showed age. They were a bit thin and bony, and the skin on her thighs was sagging. But the ripe flower that blossomed between them could have been from a thirty-year-old. She was clean-shaven, the mons veneris still taut and bulging, and her labia dainty, like the wings of a small butterfly. With two fingers she unfolded them and with the other hand beckoned to me, "Come on, Holger, kiss me. You know where!"

Full of desire, she stared at my erect member as she did so - logically, she was getting me horny. It was a different kind of arousal than, say, that of Corinna and her swelling, power-thrusting body. It was the awareness that this mature woman would especially enjoy it, that she would do anything to also give me the satisfaction it took to tie me to her bed. I knew she would be completely shameless, without inhibitions or restraint, and make it a horny experience for both of us.