MeatLocker

Chapter Eight-1

Chapter Eight

The man in room two hundred and fourteen turned his hand in the light, admiring the strands of goo that clung to his fingertips; Emily’s goo, like sugar-glazed frosting. What a nice tight snatch, he thought. He had managed to push the crotch of Emily’s panties aside and, with difficulty, wedged two fingers up inside. As tight as she was, he got all the way in; even touched the tip of her cervix, before she could complete the blood pressure reading and wiggle off his hand. The thought made his ass pucker and a shudder compressed his spine. He imagined the sensation of that tight puss squeezing down around the head of his p***s.

He brought his hand to his nose and inhaled deeply.

The man had just finished sucking off the mucus secretions that Emily had left behind, when the door opened and Dr. McAllister walked through, followed by two male orderlies pushing a wheelchair.

“Lucky you, Mr. Stirling,” Dr. McAllister said. “You’ve been bumped upstairs; propriety suites for our preferred patients.”

Mr. Stirling scoffed. “If you want to give me preferential treatment, you would see my offer.”

Dr. McAllister laughed nervously and the two orderlies glanced at each other then lowered their eyes.

Mr. Stirling’s eyes were on Dr. McAllister’s chest.

He thought she was an extraordinary woman and soon after meeting her, had offered her five-thousand dollars to spend the night in his bed. She had laughed lightly at the offer, without humiliating him. He liked that about her. Oh, and also, he liked the fact that she was married...

He liked nothing better than to take a woman, right out from under her husband’s nose. And then much later, at a cocktail party perhaps, he would meet the husband, with his arm proudly parked around his lovely wife’s waist; showing her off. And Mr. Stirling would laugh, sip his drink and joke with the man, knowing full well how lovely the wife looked without the sexy party dress. He would remember how she looked on hands and knees; his fat prick buried in the hairy knot between her legs as she worked her way toward a new mink coat or a sports car. That’s what power and money were all about: taking what you wanted.

And he wanted Dr. McAllister; all the better, she was married. Perfect.

He had upped his offer to ten-thousand dollars; but with the same non-result. And again, somehow, she had done it without belittling him, or worse, making him feel rejected. Dr. McAllister was good, and she had, instead, offered him a couple of her regular girls. Those girls were great, true enough, and he had enjoyed them. But every once in awhile, a man deserved an extraordinary women.

But Dr. McAllister wasn’t about to budge. And then he had struck up a conversation with one of the hospital directors. He found out that Dr. McAllister was well into the six-figure salary range and, with her bonuses and dividend checks, she was probably doubling her yearly take-home pay. His eyebrows had lifted. He had offered her ten-thousand measly bucks. f**k, she probably spent that on her husband’s birthday gift. He had felt like an i***t.

But it wasn’t Dr. McAllister that had made him feel small; he was doing it to himself. He thought about upping his offer, but that would seem like begging. Neither one of them could condone such behavior, or feel comfortable with it. So in the end, he had let it go. There would be other extraordinary women. Or there may be another opportunity to hit on Dr. McAllister, but he doubted it.

The next morning, Mr. Stirling awoke from a luxurious, child-like sleep, in his new room on the third floor. Dr. McAllister had arranged for him to have an injection the night before and the nurse had come in, carrying her tray, at about nine-thirty. Pauline was a sweet Irish gal: a mass of red hair and freckles. She flipped the sheet aside and gaily told him bedtime stories of the Irish countryside, describing the green hillsides of Derry, where she had grown up. She called him “dear” and “love” and made all the right, delightful girlie noises, and all the time, she was holding his p***s lightly in her hand, playing with it like it was her first dolly. Under the soothing stroke of her thumb, he had quickly hardened and when she felt he was ready, she had bent over him, swabbed him and slipped the needle in. She pricked the vein that ran along the top of his p***s and squeezed the plunger.

It was a loving, caring, moment and he had felt himself swoon. The slight prick, the motherly squeeze after, and the drug drifting though his veins. His eyes drooped to half-mast and the last thing he remembered was Pauline leaning in to place a goodnight kiss on the head of his c**k.

He blinked. His eyes fluttered in the early morning sunshine that streamed through his window. He gawked, struggled to rise up on his elbows, and he rubbed the gumminess from his eyes. A tall woman stood with the curtain held back in one hand, her eyes surveying the view of the common that lay beyond his balcony. She was extraordinary!

She had to stand six-foot and a half in her heels, and her white-blond hair was combed straight back off her handsome, angular face; hanging down her back to where it had been hacked off as blunt as a ruler. She looked deadly in her navy blue business suit and nude nylons, though he figured she would be just as attractive in a knotted flannel shirt, turned up denim shorts, woolen socks and hiking boots. She looked as if she climbed vertical cliffs on the weekends; just for the fun of it. She felt his eyes on her body and turned. She smiled. She had a wicked mouth.

“Who the f**k are you?” He was wide awake now.

“Mr. Stirling. I am very pleased to finally meet you. My name is Stella Zettel.”

Sounds Scandinavian, one of those countries where all the women look like they’ve been spawned from an Olympic ski team, he thought. Hence the brilliant hair. She let the window curtain drop and covered the length of the sizable bedroom in three purposeful strides. “I am the Director of Philanthropy here at the hospital.”

Uh-boy… she’d want money. But just look at the b***h! He wondered what man could possibly refuse to open his wallet to such a gorgeous cow? He eyed the file folder she carried in her right hand.

“You have operated a very successful law firm for many years so I think you will appreciate my direct approach,” Stella said from where she towered over his bedside. “I am hoping to convince you to set aside a bursary, in your last will and testament. Bequeathing a little something for our hospital.”

“You’re presuming I’m going to die.” he chuckled.

“Eventually.” She twisted her lips into a sinful smile.

“And when I die, you want something set aside… for the hospital. And just how much is this little something going to cost me?”

“I’m a blonde, Mr. Stirling,” she spun her well rehearsed lines. “I like to think in simple, round numbers. I think five-million would be sufficient... to show your generosity.”

“Five fuckin’ million? Dollars?” he spluttered, his eyes lighting up with astonishment. “And what do I get for this five fuckin’ million? A bronze plaque?”

“Oh my dear Mr. Stirling...” She graced him with the wicked smile again. “Oh no, dear.” Stella leaned forward to place a hand on his arm. “You get to f**k me. In my mouth.”

The room went quiet. The buzz of the overhead florescent light fixtures filled his head like angry bees. Or was that the blood pulsing through his ears. She had unsettled him. Virgin territory. He had never been unsettled by anyone; and certainly not by a woman. He turned his eyes away and pushed himself up into a sitting position against the pillow. It was an obvious buy for time and the fact that he had to resort to it, to stoop to a diversion, was an embarrassment. He took a breath to settle himself and wished he could reach for the bottle of scotch on the lower shelf of the side cabinet.

She smiled knowingly and settled onto the side of his bed; opened the file folder.

He gathered himself. “What if I want to f**k you somewhere’s else? A couple of places come to mind.”

She looked up, flashed icy green eyes. “I usually reserve those for my husband,” she said.

Husband! He thought. Oh boy.

“Usually? That implies some latitude for negotiation.” He eyed the rock on her ring finger; large enough to skate on.

“Yes, well...”

He was back on his game. “Okay. Here’s the deal, sis.” He was not about to make the same mistake he had made with Dr. McAllister. “Two hundred grand. Check made out to you, personally. You stay the night and I have full privileges.”

He noticed her eyes widen slightly. “Fine,” she said without hesitation, “but first you sign off on these papers for the hospital. Five million. And you make a call to your attorney. Agreed?”

“You got it,” he laughed, thinking himself the luckiest ass in the friggin’ world. After all, you can’t take it with you.

“And while you’re at it, is there anything else I can sell you?” Stella asked, feeling she might stretch her victory.

He thought for a second, then smiled. “You want another quarter of a million, right to your hand, without waiting for me to croak?”

“I’m listening,” she said.

Stella walked into Dr. McAllister’s office, plopped down in the guest chair and pried off her heels. “You got your five mil,” she announced, and stretched her legs out; wiggled her toes. “That’s when he dies, of course, which shouldn’t take long.” Stella checked her watch.

“My god,” Dr. McAllister said. “You are amazing. He contacted his lawyer?”

“All signed, sealed and faxed!”

“Beautiful.”

“Yeah, but that’s not all of it. You want another quarter of a million? He’s made us an offer.”

“Another quarter million?” Dr. McAllister took a moment, then sat back. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is, he wants Stacy!”

Dr. McAllister let out the breath she had been holding and settled into her chair. “Well, we knew it would happen eventually. I’ve protected that little piece of tail for twelve years. But for that kinda money...”

“I get my commission,” Stella stated, flatly. “Off the top?”

“Of course. And Dr. Janson will probably kiss your ass.”

“I’ll stick with the money,” Stella smiled. “And retire.”

“Don’t start that again.”

“I’m done...”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am… I’ve been waiting for the big score and this is it, sweetie; this one puts me over the top. You know I have that beach cottage on Ambergis Cay in Belize, and my account at Barclay’s Bank. This time next week, I plan to be snuggling my toes into warm ocean sand and sipping a rum punch for breakfast. My money’s in the Cayman Islands, safe from the sticky fingers of the IRS, so what’s stopping me? And then there’s Lonnie: big, black and has a c**k that would give a mare pause. He looks after my place, takes me fishing in his skiff and warms me against the cool night breezes. And if I want, there is his brother, his father and his cousin. They all seem to share the family legacy.”

“But your husband?”

“Oh. And that reminds me. If he should call? I left no forwarding address.”

Dr. McAllister sighed. “I’m not worried. You’ll be back in six months. La-la land will eventually drive you nuts. I’ll hold your job for you. You’ll be back.”

Stella smiled. “Come visit sometime. I got a spare room... and a spare man.”

“What do I need with a man?” Dr. McAllister sneered playfully.

“You should try it sometime. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

“I have tried it. All I got was razor burn and a puddle of sticky goop between my legs.”

“No. I mean with a wonderful man. Not Janson, or worse, that limp-wristed, uncircumcised husband of yours.”

“How do you know my husband’s never been nipped?”

“How do you think? I f****d him.”

“You screwed my husband?”

“Well sure. At that exquisite Christmas party you gave at your house two years ago. Your tree was amazing. And the stuffed artichokes were divine. Which reminds me, hen, you never came across with the recipe you promised.”

“Now wait a minute. You’re telling me you came into my home, drank my liquor, ate my food, and f****d my husband?”

Stella chuckled. “But of course. In the downstairs bathroom. You weren’t helping the poor lad out, and besides, I wanted to know what you were getting. Which, as it turns out, isn’t much, sweetie.”

“You’re fuckin’ incredible...”

“Yes dear. I’m glad you noticed. And while you’re taking stock, check out the numbers in your bank account. That’s incredible!”

“And you’re going to give it all up to go lay on a beach in Belize?”

“Yes. And drink rum punch for breakfast.”

“You’ll get fat.”

“And old, and content. Lonnie will see to that.”

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

Stella sat a little straighter. “Never. Not in the true sense.”

“But you’ve helped out with Stacy.”

“C’mon. That was your party. I just came along for the ride. And besides, it was fun watching.”

“Ah. So there is some interest.”

Stella shifted uncomfortably. “She’s just a kid.”

“Pangs of motherhood?”

“Hardly. It was just fun to watch,” Stella repeated. “And she’s just too damned innocent for her own good.”

“So you like watching me humiliate her.”

“Something like that. I guess.”

“And if I did those same things to you?”

“I might fight back.”

“Might?”

Stella eyed Dr. McAllister carefully.

“I’m just asking...” Dr. McAllister said.

“Why would you care?”

“It’s just that you f****d my husband so why not go for broke?” Dr. McAllister leaned back, a languid smile on her lips. She started playing with the buttons on her blouse. “Might as well do the rest of the family. Right?”

“I’m glad you don’t have a dozen kids...”

“We have a setter.”

“Please... So you’re suggesting me and you?”

“Sure. Why not. Think of it as rounding out your education.”

“I hardly think your tongue can match a long thick penis.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Yes, but...”

“It doesn’t hurt, Stella. Honest.”

“But maybe I like it to hurt, a little.”

Dr. McAllister shrugged. “It can hurt, if that’s what you want.”

“So when is my epiphany supposed to happen?”

Dr. McAllister stood from behind the desk. “Why, I’m going to eat you right now, dear.”

“That should prove truly interesting.”

“But I need you to promising me something. If I can make you c*m, then you owe me. Big-time. I will want you to return the favor. You drop by the house tonight, about eight o’clock. And bring an overnight bag.”

“I sleep in the raw.”

“All the better. Travel light.”

“And your husband?”

“I’ll throw him out, unless you want to sleep with the both of us.”

“Stella stood up. “One thing at a time,” she said.

Dr. McAllister moved around the corner of her desk and took Stella by the arm. She propelled the big blonde toward the sofa. “Don’t blame me if you cancel your plane ticket to Belize.”