tagInterracial LoveWhite Women's BBC Clinic Ch. 03

White Women's BBC Clinic Ch. 03


African American Doctors Rod Pierce and Dr. Hyram Tailsman have become the world's leading authorities on the sexual advancement of white women. Together, they run the White Women's BBC Clinic, a cutting edge facility, where, with the help of the dedicated nursing staff, and a group of capable young black men, they seek to unravel the mysteries of the white woman's desire for big, hot, throbbing pieces of long, black fuck meat.


The four white women were in a small cramped examination room. All four leaned across the cold metal exam table, side by side, their four butts presented to the doctor. Dr. Pierce had the syringes of Hypocuntenin ready. He quickly went down the line, roughly jabbing the needles into each woman's butt, and pressing the bright yellow medicine into their cheeks.

Dr. Hyram Tailsman entered the crowded exam room. "Ah, very good Dr. Pierce, I see you've given the women their 25 milliliters of Hypocuntenin!"

Dr. Pierce looked up, alarmed, "25 milliliters? I thought you said forty five milliliters!" The black doctors looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

Nurse Pinkwahls squeezed into the tiny room. "I have the Viagra ready for consumption, Doctors, and Nurse Fiste has distributed the medical marijuana to the men."

"THE FATTYS!" Dr. Pierce exclaimed, even more alarmed. He gave a worried look to Dr. Tailsman. "Oh lawdy, we better get in there!"

"NURSE PINKWAHLS, GET THESE WOMEN TO THE PLEASURE ROOM, STAT!" Dr. Tailsman shouted at the nurse as the two doctors rushed out the door.

The doctors could smell the men in the hallway long before they got to the Pleasure Room. They raced down the hall and busted through the doors as a huge, Cheech and Chong style cloud of marijuana smoke hit them squarely in the face.

The large Pleasure Room had a big, half round elevated stage against one wall, with couches, tables, and chairs around it. Off in one corner of the large room, two soul brothers played a game of pool at the Billiards Table. Against another wall, a TV, with a ridiculously large hi def screen, was tuned to ESPN-2. Two Mexican featherweights were landing brutal punches to each others bloody faces, in HD, but nobody was watching. The group of black men were kicking it near the stage, passing fattys and drinking pink champagne. Nurse Pinkwahls came through, passing out Viagra like it was Halloween candy.

"What is your name again?" The tall, handsome brother flirted with the white nurse, as he swallowed the little blue pill.

"That's Pinkwahls," she said, "with an h." She winked at the man, before turning around. He studied her tiny ass as she walked away.

The white women entered the room to a round of applause, hoots, and whistles from the men. They wore slutty outfits in colors of red, pink, yellow and black. Sheer panty hose came up to their thighs, and attached to a garter belt that stretched over their butts. A pair of skimpy panties just barely covered anything at all. Cindy and Jennifer wore baby doll teddies that came to waist, their nipples hard under the see through negligee. Gizzelle and Carol wore tight push up half-braziers that left their nipples exposed, and tits presented nicely. The women walked tentatively on their tall high heels. They were led up the steps to the elevated stage, their tits bouncing as they walked.

"ALRIGHT LADIES!" Dr Tailsman's voice boomed over the PA system. He was in the DJ booth. "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED! I wanna see some ASSES SHAKIN' and some big TITS A' FLOPPIN'!"


The infectious Hip Hop rhythm blared through the sound system. Some of the black men got up out of their chairs and started grooving. Dr. Tailsman's voice boomed even louder, over the music, "C'MON BITCHES! SHAKE THAT ASS!"

The rapper spat out his words to the relentless hip hop beat.

"Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-

Listen niggaz I'm talkin sit ya black ass down

Ain't cha heard mutherfucka I's the man in town

Got my white hos workin off 'aJefferson street

You need da boom boom boom cum in talk to me

White ho alwa need da blackberry jam

The boom boom boom

And the bam bam bam

Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-"

The ladies danced to the horrid rap song. Gizzelle's flimsy bra offered little support for her big melons. Her tits bounced and flopped as she moved, her big meaty nipples were hard as a rock. Wadsworth's large damp pussy lips could be clearly seen through her wet flimsy panties.

Cindy Holesgood had always been a good dancer and she moved her sweet curvaceous body to the beat, her adorable ass twitching from side to side. She was a crowd favorite.

Jenny Tendergash's pussy was on fire as she swayed her lithe body to the music. She too had a big wet spot on her panties. She had been fitted with a clitoris stimulator, operated by the remote control in Nurse Pinkwahls' hand.

Carol Cundermouth really couldn't dance worth a shit, but some of the men still thought about ramming the red head's big white ass as it twitched, unsuccessfully, to the beat of the rhythm.

"Turn around now ladies," the doctor instructed, "Yes! Now spread ya legs! Now BEND OVER! ALL the way over, Mrs. Tendergash. YEAH! That's it! Now SHAKE SOME ASS!" The white woman's asses were bouncing with the hip hop beat.


The men passed around fat, sticky roots of the El Suprema. The medical marijuana had been air freighted directly from Humboldt, California, especially for the Clinic. The skunky sweet smell of pungent herbs, with names like Goo, Purple Jizz and Sour Spunk, filled the air. Comments such as, "Where did the skunk die?" were heard, even in the most polite of company.

"Shit nigga, pass that thing over here," Dr. Pierce said to the dark skinned brother with dread locks in his hair. Dr. Rod Pierce took the burning spliff from the young negro and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs to capacity with the sweet, strong smoke. He held his greedy hit in. The seconds ticked by. His eyes got really wide. Then------- eruption.

AHCK, AHCK, AHCK, HAK, HAK, HAK, HAK. AHHHHHH AHCK, AHCK, AHCK. He exploded in the violent coughing fit, the immense cloud of gray smoke bellowed out. "WHHAAAHH!" he belted, as he hacked, spewed, and sputtered, his bloodshot eyes tearing up. "SON of a BITCH!" he croaked, while the men laughed. "WHOOO!" he exclaimed as he finally recovered, "That was just uh. . .uh. . .uh. . outstanding! I think I had a HEAD RUSH there for a minute!" He composed himself, then inhaled another deep toke of the kind bud.

Dr. Tailsman's loud voice blared over the persistent rap groove. "Alright ladies, get 'em down now! GET THEM PANTIES OFF!"

The rapper continued his verbal assault on women, acceptable social norms, and the English language.

"White ho workin all night n'day

Betta have my money sall I gotta say

They call me da man with da cheese n' ham

The boom boom boom

And the bam bam bam

Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-Cuz a nigga gonna know-"

Carol Cundermouth moved awkwardly to the groove. The white woman's spasmodic movements clutched here and there, always a moment off the beat. She seemed to have all the funky rhythmic timing of an Amish Librarian. It didn't take the black men long to notice.

"What da fuck is THAT!" a brother exclaimed, "some kinda mofuckin' epileptic seizure shit going on up there? Is there a doctor in the house?" The men laughed.

"That shit is miswired, yo," a young man mumbled from under his hoodie.

Carol's big ass twitched and tossed from side to side, in a rhythmically grotesque fashion.

"Shit nigga, my left testicle can dance betta than that!" a skinny brother said. The group chuckled again.

"Her dancing soooo bad," the big fat man wound up, "If she had Michael Jackson's sparkling glove------ she'd use it for a tampon!" The men snorted and laughed loudly. One negro doubled over in laughter, spitting his drink out his nose and mouth, and splattering the lap of the man across from him with Bacardi and Coke.

"AWW, MUTHA FUCKA!!" the man said, in his newly wetted pants. "NIGGA, PLEASE!" he said with disgust, and wiped his crotch with a flimsy paper drink napkin.

Carol continued shaking her ass, off the beat, oblivious to the men's dialog.


The nurse worked the controls as 2 heavy duty sex swings, suspended by a set of cables, began to lower from the ceiling. It was like something out of a James Bond movie, and the men were highly impressed. Applause rang out.

The other nurses took to the stage. Nurse Fiste rolled out a padded leather box, with leather straps placed strategically around the odd fixture.

Nurse Pinkwahls brought out the stationary bike, outfitted with the CZY-9000 Fulfillment attachment accessory option. More applause.

A long railing was rolled into place, long enough for all four women to bend over.

A low mounting bench was brought to the stage. The apparatus had a long, obscene dongle in the middle of its seat, with graduating rings on it that got wider and wider towards its base, and a 20 foot orange power cord, coiled neatly on the side.

When the doctors came on stage, the music level came down too. Dr. Tailsman spoke into the Shure SM-58 microphone.

"Gentlemen, we've used a sophisticated lotto method to determine the sequential order of your spermitudical advancement. These results have been sealed and verified by the accounting firm of Jerkums & Cumingson."

The doctor continued his rambling preamble while the nurses got the women into their proper positions. Dr. Hyram Tailsman spoke. "Each of you plays a vital and necessary role in our mission here at the Clinic...."

Cindy and Jenny were strapped into the pleasure hammocks, on their backs, their cute little legs raised up high. Their spread pussies glistened in the light. A press of a button on the control panel could lean them------ backwards, their faces tilted back, their mouths right a crotch level. Or, they could be flipped over on their stomachs, and raised and lowered as needed. The multi position sex swings could be used in an endless variety of ways.

" ---and it's very important we understand the true nature of the white woman's desire for big black cock. . . ," the doctor continued his long winded speech.

Gizzelle Wadsworth was led to the strange padded box. She was placed over it, her long legs spread wide apart, and her ankles locked into the wide leather straps.

"-----that generations from now, people will look back on our work here at the Clinic and say, 'Well done.'"

Her wrists were secured down the other side of the box. Another wide strap came across her back, pinning her down tightly. Her big ass poked out, invitingly.

".----and you can look yourselves in the mirror with pride, knowing you've helped these white women immensely."

Lastly, another strap was attached to the one across her back, then attached to a leather face harness that went across the woman's forehead and chin. The nurse cinched the strap tight, forcing her pretty face up, right at dick level. For a last touch, a leather paddle was hung on a hook next to the immobilized woman's exposed ass, as an open invitation.

"-----and it's only through your hard work, discipline and dedication, these white women can be the sluts they truly need to be. . . ."

Carol Cundermouth looked at the stationary bike she had been told to mount. A big dildo arose from where there should have been a seat.

"C'mon, Mrs. Cundermouth, on you go!" Nurse Fiste insisted, helping the woman on the bike. The big black nurse guided the monster rubber wang into the woman's pussy hole. "All the way down now, Mrs. Cundermouth."

"----that these white women come to know exactly what it means to be the few, the proud, the big black cock sluts."

"OOOHHH," Carol Cundermouth wiggled her body down the large CZY-9000 Fulfillment attachment, until her feet rested on the pedals of the bike.

"----until every penis has been completely satisfied!" There was a roar of applause as Dr. Tailsman finally finished his inspirational speech, and a group of 15 nude black men walked on the stage. Their fat swinging dicks swayed as they walked.

"Gentlemen, proceed with your assignments!" the doctor said, as the loud hip hop beat cranked back up.



A chant began among the audience, softly at first, then rising in intensity.

"pierce, pierce, pierce, pierce, Pierce, Pierce, Pierce, Pierce, PIERCE, PIERCE, PIERCE!, PIERCE!, PIERCE!"

Dr. Rodney Pierce was also known affectionately among the staff, as Dr. Kingsnake. His impressive weapon hung like a long sword. His balls; two golf balls in a long leathery potato sack. The man's bull's nuts fell a good 6 inches. Even limp, the heavy black tube steak was the pride of the meat market. It flopped and swayed like a stallion's prick as he walked. The other men cleared the stage for the Kingsnake.

"Respect," one brother said, and stepped aside.

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