Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy (13 page)

Shirley had had her fun with Dr. Grenoway. Now it was time to move on to the next big thing.

The only question was, where would the next best thing come from? The pickings around town were pretty slim, after all. Dr. Grenoway was the only hot-to-trot young male surgical resident in the whole hospital. And now she’d already been there, done that. But there had to be at least a few attractive, eligible young men floating around the hospital. The only question was, where?

It was high time for her to start expanding her horizons beyond the operating room.

As she stood under the locker-room showerhead, scrubbing off the remnants of both a long day’s work in the OR and Dr. Grenoway’s sex juice, Shirley silently wondered to herself,
If I were a hot young single guy under the age of twenty-five with a hospital job and I weren’t a doctor, where would I work?

The answer came to her in a split second.

The Janitorial department
. That’s where the orderlies worked—young men, all of them. And pretty much all the orderlies were cute, fit, and under twenty-five. Hell, a few of them were under
twenty-one
—fresh meat right out of high school. Shirley knew that the bright young things who pushed gurneys and swept up vomit for eight bucks an hour would be easy pickings as far as sex was concerned. Some of them were probably virgins, too—looking for their first sexual experiences, preferably with a sophisticated older woman like herself. Shirley licked her lips at the thought of just how luscious those kinds of encounters could be. If things went her way, those trysts would make her wild evening with Jason The Drunken Fratboy look like child’s play.

And if Shirley’s escapades among the orderlies went well, she’d move right on up to the cafeteria, where she knew local college students worked part-time. And then maybe she could check out some X-ray technicians. There were a bunch of those over in Radiology, not a one of them over the age of thirty.

The possibilities for sex in this small community hospital alone were endless—if only one knew where to look.

Why didn’t she think of this before?

Maybe it was because she was a repressed, asexual, and stressed-out ball of nerves before. It was really amazing what a few good fucks could do for the psyche—Shirley was seeing opportunities right under her nose that she’d never known existed. And she had Dr. Harlan Wilkinson to thank for it. Unbeknownst to him, he’d inspired her to open up and explore her long-hidden sexual self, after all.

Shirley rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. As she wrapped a towel around herself, she knew what the final step in her newfound sexual adventures would be.

Once she’d had her way with the hot young boy-toys scattered around the hospital, she’d shift her attentions to conquering the man who’d inspired her sexual transformation in the first place. Sure, the man was obnoxious as hell—a cool and charismatic McDreamy he sure wasn’t—but he was still smoking-hot. And if the beautiful and sensual Joanna Watson could get into his pants (as Shirley now knew she had—the tender way she’d reacted to his palm-slicing made that pretty obvious), why couldn’t Shirley? She’d already managed to seduce a boy-toy almost half her age
and
a handsome,
engaged
doctor-in-training in less than two days’ time.

Shirley knew now that she obviously had what it took to be very, very fuckable. And that knowledge was powerful, indeed. Because now Shirley also knew that she had the power to take back what Joanna Watson had stolen from her.

And she would stop at nothing to make that happen.

As Joanna watched Harlan walk away from her and disappear into his cab, she felt sick to her stomach. He’d just rejected her—and in the worst way possible. Joanna had never taken rejection well—probably why she’d agreed to marry her loser ex-husband Bob in the first place—but this was different. Harlan Wilkinson had refused to look her in the eye and tell her the truth about something she had the feeling was very, very sinister indeed. And in doing so, Harlan had pretty much confirmed Bob’s accusations.

Just a few short moments ago Joanna had given Harlan a blowjob in public, her body so hot with sexual energy that she could barely contain herself in his presence. And now, she stood alone and cold in a parking lot. And all because her ex-husband had shown up out of the blue and pulled the proverbial rose-colored glasses right off her face.

Talk about a twist of fate.

Her heart sinking, Joanna skulked off to her condo. She broke down into sobs as soon as she crossed the threshold. And not just because she now felt dirty and cheap—but because now she knew there would probably never be a chance for her to win Harlan Wilkinson’s heart.

Humiliated, she holed herself up in her condo and didn’t eat, shower, or speak to anyone for three days.

****

Even if Joanna Watson was hiding from the world, the world didn’t stop turning just because she was holed up in her condo crying her eyes out, guzzling too much cheap vodka from her freezer, and generally feeling sorry for herself.

Her answering machine was loaded with phone messages, all of them unanswered. There were at least twelve angry and frantic ones from her ex-husband Bob, all of which Joanna deleted on the third day. Three or four more from Bob’s slimy attorney, who greeted her politely, then ordered her to call him back immediately—or else. Finally, there were at least half a dozen from Maryam Malone at Covington Community Hospital—each one sounding increasingly desperate and nervous.

By the time her vodka had run out on the afternoon of the third day, a half-drunk Joanna finally had the courage to call Maryam at the hospital.

"Surgery and Recovery, this is Maryam," the old nurse answered in her friendly, raspy voice.

"Maryam, it's Joanna."

"Joanna! Why the hell didn't you call me back sooner? I’ve been trying to reach you for three days.”

"Sorry, Maryam," she slurred, smelling the acrid alcohol on her own breath and wincing. "I've been—indisposed."

"Well, Joanna, I just called to tell you that Administration came back with the report on Dr. Wilkinson's surgery accident. It's exactly like you said. They're saying it's his own fault, and he's been placed on paid leave until further notice."

Joanna said nothing. It was just how she’d expected things would go, but the thought of Harlan being disciplined by the hospital administration hurt her terribly. How ironic it was that on the first day she'd known him, Harlan had threatened
her
with administrative discipline. It was an almost karmic coincidence, in fact—yet another painful reminder of the now-severed connection between them. Joanna blinked back tears.

"Joanna, are you all right?" Maryam asked.

"I'm fine, Maryam, really,” she lied. “Was there some other reason you were calling?"

"Yes, actually, there was." The older nurse sounded worried. "With Dr. Wilkinson on suspension, we're without an attending surgeon. We've only got senior surgery residents to work with, and they can't get us a temporary attending until at least late next week, maybe longer. So Joe Middleton himself has asked that
you
come back to work right away and help the residents out in the OR. They need someone with a lot of experience to guide them, and you're the closest thing we've got to an attending surgeon until the fill-in guy gets here. I'm afraid you'll have to go back to double and triple shifts for a while, starting today."

Joanna flopped down on her sofa. "But what about my two weeks' vacation? Am I
ever
going to get to take it?"

"I'm afraid not, hon. I'm sorry. I'll try to be as easy on you as I can—just please,
pretty
please, don't quit on me, okay? I'm already short on nurses as it is. And the ones I’ve still got are acting mighty strange. Like Shirley Daniels. I don’t know what’s gotten into that woman lately, but her mind’s on something other than her job, if you know what I mean."

I know exactly what you mean
, Joanna thought to herself. If Maryam only knew what was really going on in the elevators and parking garages of the hospital—the poor old woman would probably drop dead of a heart attack.

"I won't quit Maryam, don't worry," she said, but she knew it was a promise she might not be able to keep.

"When can you come in?" Maryam asked, obviously anxious. "There are two complicated procedures scheduled for this evening, and the residents are nervous about them."

Joanna glanced at her watch. Two o'clock. She'd need at least two hours for the effects of all the cheap booze to wear off, plus another thirty minutes to make herself presentable. "I'll be there at five," she replied.

"Good," Maryam said with a sigh of relief. "Oh, and Joanna, I should warn you. Darth Vader will be back for some of his things sometime this evening. So you might run into him around the department. Word around the hospital is he's very upset with you. Did you do something to piss him off?"

Joanna could think of at least twenty reasons why Harlan might be mad at her, but she wasn't about to discuss them with Maryam, world-class gossiper that she was. "I have no idea," she fibbed. "I'm sure he's just upset about getting placed on leave."

"You're probably right. See you at five. And Joanna, try to take a nap or something before you come in. You sound. . .tired."

Drunk is more like it
, Joanna thought. She hung up on Maryam without even saying goodbye.

Shirley had only been doing her latest push for all things hot and sexy for three days, but she was already more successful at it than she’d ever imagined.

She was relaxing in a hot bath at home, taking a brief respite from working and fucking before she had to be back at the hospital at five pm to assist on a couple of complicated surgeries. As she sank back into the piles of hot, gardenia-scented suds, her mind wandered back through all the luscious, sexy moments that she’d managed to snag over the past three days and nights. She felt her crotch get hot and sticky in the water as the memories flooded her mind and ravished her body.

Mentally revisiting all the naughty behavior she’d engaged in over the past seventy-two hours would be more stimulating than any sexual fantasy she could possibly concoct on her own. Her right hand strayed beneath the suds until it found the seam of her damp, soapy sex, which she began to pull apart at the folds, probe, and stroke as the images of her first in a series of hot, impromptu seductions came flooding back. . . .

****

She’d been wandering deep in the bowels of the decaying old hospital building Tuesday night when she found her next boy-toy to play with. Shirley had just finished showering upstairs, fresh from her wild standup tryst with Dr. Grenoway when she stumbled across the young man who would become her next fuckbuddy on her way to drop off an empty ether container.

Sometimes the best scenery is where you least expect it.

After browsing up and down the main corridor, Shirley spied several young men at work—one soldering an electrical panel, another spackling some crumbling plaster, yet another mopping a floor. They were all young and spry, but nothing to write home about. She continued on down the hall into the darker recesses where the toxic material containers were stored, and just when she was about to give up her search for the next big fuckable thing, she ran across a gem.

Shirley first saw the gorgeous young man tinkering with a rusty old vertical steam pipe out of the corner of her eye while she dragged the empty pressure-cylinder behind her on a metal dolly. She passed him and walked to the end of the long hallway, where she dropped off the empty ether container with the toothless old sanitary worker responsible for disposing of them properly. Her crotch already melting with anticipation, Shirley then hustled back down the long corridor and into the abandoned supply room where the beautiful young man was working, blowtorch in hand, safety goggles that did little to hide his deep-set brown eyes and stunning features protecting his face from the flying sparks. Shirley sauntered up to him, taking care to keep a safe distance.

“So, whatchya working on?” she asked, trying to sound casual, even a little masculine. “Doing some welding? That’s a very nice-looking blowtorch you’ve got there.” She’d read somewhere—
Cosmopolitan
, probably—that a sure-fire way to get into a man’s pants was to show an interest in tools and heavy machinery.

The young man didn’t acknowledge Shirley at first, instead continuing to concentrate on his welding work. He finished that, shut off his blowtorch and set it aside, then picked up a wrench and began adjusting pipe valves—loosening this one, tightening that one. Shirley watched, fascinated. There was a slow, sensual quality to his movements that she found absolutely irresistible. The man couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, but he moved with the grace and finesse of a much older, more sophisticated soul. “You’re pretty good with that wrench, too,” she said.

The gorgeous young welder finally finished his task and turned to face Shirley. He slowly lifted his safety goggles from his chiseled face, and his deep-set brown-black eyes shot her a look so hot it could melt steel. He stood up to his full height—six-foot-two if he was a day—and flashed her a smile. “Seems to me you’re a lady who appreciates a good set of tools,” he said.

You have no idea
, she thought to herself, feeling her entire lower half burst into flames.

“Can’t say as I’ve ever seen you round these parts,” the man said. Shirley detected a hint of a backwoods accent, and for some crazy reason it made her the pit of her stomach flip.

“I’m usually up in the OR,” she explained, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I’m a nurse-anesthetist. I wouldn’t have been down here at all except I had to bring down an empty ether tank. And we use ether so seldom these days that I’ve only had two empty canisters my whole career, including this one.”

“Well, I guess today is my lucky day then,” he said, grinning even wider. He extended his hand. “My name’s George. George Tucker. I’m just about finished up with my work for the day. You off work anytime soon?”

“I’m off now, as a matter of fact,” she replied saucily. “I was planning to head out to the parking garage as soon as I dropped off the ether can. But now—“

George cocked an eyebrow. “Let me guess,” he said. “Now you’ve got other plans?”

Shirley fluttered her eyelashes at him. If the look on his face meant what she thought it did, this seduction would be a very easy one. “You could say that,” she replied, giving him a slight sashay of the hips, hoping he’d catch her sensual unspoken message.

He did, in spades. “You know, there are an awful lot of cool places to hide down here,” he said. “Want me to show you one?”

Shirley nodded.

George packed up his tools into the leather holster belted around his waist and motioned for Shirley to follow him. “Don’t you have to punch out first?” she asked.

George shrugged. “Naw, I’m a hired contractor. I just send a hospital a bill for my time every month, then they cut me a check. Nice work if you can get it, I always say. What’s your name, miss?”

“Shirley. Shirley Daniels.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Shirley. I’ve always wanted to meet a Shirley. I had a huge crush on Shirley Temple when I was a kid. My grandmamma had all her movies on video.”

She found this hilarious. “Well, now you have. Just don’t expect me to break out in a rendition of
Good Ship Lollipop
anytime soon.” That got a hearty laugh out of George.

She followed him down a series of twisting, ever-narrower corridors until they ended up in a large, cavern-like room that was full of enormous, condensation-covered steel standpipes and clouds of steam. “This here’s the main boiler room,” George said. “This building’s kind of weird in that both the heating system and the air-conditioning system are both partially steam-powered. It’s something out of the 1920s and should have been replaced a million years ago, but what can I say?” He affectionately tapped a pipe. “It keeps me employed. Plus, I’ve found that this place in particular has a couple nice bonus features, if you catch my drift.”

Shirley caught George’s drift immediately. “I think we understand each other,” she said, dropping her voice a full octave into bedroom territory. “Where do you want to start?”

George cocked his head over towards the darkest corner of the room, where a small nook was carved out of the wall between two large standpipes. “How about over there?”

By way of answering, Shirley sauntered over to the larger of the two standpipes, leaned against it, and dropped her drawers. “Wanna play, George?” she cooed.

He was pressed up against her instantly. “You know it,” he said, grinding his crotch against her already bare mons. She could feel his cock was already rock-hard through the thick denim of his work pants. “You don’t waste any time, do you Shirley?”

She pressed back against him with her hips, then reached to unfasten his heavy tool belt. “Well, you know how it is. So many cocks, so little time. As they say.”

George helped her with the tool belt, then went to work getting his cock out of his pants. He pulled a condom out of his wallet and slipped it on. “So you’re a girl who gets around, then,” he said. “Some guys would have a problem with that, but I don’t. I personally think it’s pretty cool when a gal isn’t afraid to fuck whoever she wants, whenever she wants. Like right now.” With that, he opened the seam of her sex with one hand, began exploring all her nooks and crannies with the other. He found her clit and began to stroke it, up and down, around and around, then penetrated her with two fingers, then three, then
four.
Shirley felt herself being splayed wide open, her G-spot getting tickled in ways she never even thought possible. The sensations this man was evoking deep inside her body were positively otherworldly. She was wetter now than she’d ever been in her life. And just when she thought she couldn’t take any more of this strange new ecstasy, her whispered something in her ear that brought her out of her reverie.

“You ever been fisted, Shirley?”

Fisted?
She’d heard of it, sure. But she didn’t think anyone actually
did
it, outside of porno movies. Shoving a man’s entire fist up one’s cunt had always seemed not only very painful, but physically impossible. And yet, this very tall, strong man had almost his entire large, calloused workman’s hand up inside her already. The only parts missing were his thumb and the larger part of his palm and wrist. Could it be done?

There was only one way to find out.

Shirley squatted down a bit, keeping the bulk of her weight up against the standpipe. She concentrated on relaxing her muscles and loosening the walls of her cunt while she gave George a subtle nod as a signal it was okay to try fisting her all the way. He followed her lead, then slowly, gently eased his whole hand in up to his wrist.

Shirley came immediately, and with such force she thought her insides would explode.

George didn’t miss a beat. As soon as that first orgasm began to subside, he maneuvered his fingers around inside her until he was pressing and caressing her G-spot from within, creating an entirely new set of sensations. Shirley came four more times, one right after the other, to the point she thought her entire body would melt into a quivering pile of goo.

And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take any more, George pulled his hand out of her cunt, and in one swift motion flipped her over and took her from behind, pumping her hard and fast. She came one final, earth-shattering time.

Then she blacked out.

****

When Shirley finally came to, she found herself in an unfamiliar place. She was lying naked in a huge four-poster bed hung with a gauze canopy. The bed was covered in satin sheets and a silk coverlet that was like melted butter against her naked skin, and the room had the musky odor of sex.

How long had she been here? And what—if anything—had happened to her while she was asleep? She had no way of knowing.

Just when she began feeling frightened, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. It was George. “Did you sleep okay?” he asked, snuggling up beside her on the bed. When you blacked out back at the hospital I didn’t know what to do, so I brought you here to my house. You’ve been asleep about five hours. I’m glad you woke up, because if you didn’t wake up soon I would have had to call the life squad.”

Shirley sat up uneasily. “Did we—ahem—do anything while I was asleep?”

George patted her on the shoulder. “No, babe. I’m too much of a gentleman for that. Though you might wanna wash up a bit. I’ve never seen a lady get as wet as you did while we were going at it. You gushed a good gallon or two of pussy juice. And believe you me, I’ve never tasted anything so sweet in my life.”

Shirley blushed, suddenly shy. “Thank you,” she whispered.

George stood up and stretched. “The bathroom’s just through that door there. And once you’re freshened up, I was wondering if you might be interested in a little activity I’ve got planned for us.”

This perked her right up. “Such as?”

George smiled. “Seeing as you’re a liberated woman who likes a good fuck and all, I invited some friends of mine from work over to see if maybe you’d like to get it on with them, too. And me. All of us. Together. What do you think?”

Shirley giggled. “I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven,” she said.

She retired to George’s surprisingly luxurious marble bathroom for a shower and a soak in the Jacuzzi.
He must be making some pretty good bucks as a plumbing contractor
, she thought. She languished awhile in the steaming bubbles, her lower belly and crotch hot and buzzing in anticipation. Today was by far the most exciting day in her mostly uneventful sexual life. What had she done to become so fuckable so quickly? The answer was confidence.

And that confidence was about to serve her very well. She looked up and saw
three
naked young men standing over her—George of course, and two other young twentysomethings that she vaguely recognized as orderlies at the hospital. All three of these delicious boy-toys had well-developed biceps and washboard abs from all the physical labor they put in on the hospital floor.

And all three of them had freshly-condomed cocks that were hot, throbbing, and ready for action.

Those three cocks—and their owners—jumped into the Jacuzzi with Shirley. What happened next was mostly a blur, but by the end of it all, she’d been taken from the front, from behind, up the ass, and every other possible way a woman can fuck and be fucked. She frolicked in the water and the suds with three men almost fifteen years her junior, and she satisfied every single one of them. And they satisfied her, too.

Shirley was no longer the repressed, mousy, overworked nobody with no sex life. She was a sex goddess. She was Statesville’s fuck of the century. Now, there was no man she couldn’t conquer.