The Supplication of the Male Pig

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Just for fun, David emails Grace Boddington’s office with instructions to have a nice round one million dollars wired to his personal checking account. He carefully types in the provided code, a cumbersome string of numbers and letters.

‘That should be enough to take care of the sundry items’ David thinks to himself... ‘for the ensuing week.’

He makes phone calls arranging for his trip. He emails instructions for more sums to be wired for various goods and services, typing in the code again and again. Then David leaves to take lunch at a nearby bistro where he dines even more lavishly than usual. Despite his new wealth, he remains exasperatingly light with the gratuity, David never demonstrating compassion for the likes of the bourgeoisie struggling to wait tables. Notwithstanding the paucity of goodwill, the waiters still dutifully perform, ignoring the chronic shortfall in remuneration and realizing that the ‘rich prick’, as he is referenced, will not hesitate to complain to the owner and insist on termination if there is either delay or mishap.

Not a day goes by during which David fails to increase the long list of persons wishing him ill will. He even smiles when the waiter’s eyebrows express unusual dismay in gathering the limited change left after paying the check. Since David does not expect to return, the gratuity is even smaller than previous penurious offerings. Had the waiter been female and sultry, perhaps responding to a licentious offer to exchange s*x for money, the tip may have been more substantial. But who cares to help a middle aged balding guy put three children through school?

Certainly not David Farnsworth Smythe.

Our smug billionaire returns to the capacious Canaan homestead. David logs into the internet to check his bank account.

Presto!.. a seven figure balance. Grace Boddington’s system works nicely. The firm of Grayson, Boddington, and Snipes can have the headaches of safekeeping the vast funds and maintaining the balance in treasury notes or invested in whatever. If not properly done, he will either sue or inform the legal ethics board. David intends to spend. The drudgery of acting as fiduciary is another’s burden.

An email is sent to Mrs. Mendez of Palma Realtors. With just a few keystrokes and a press of ‘enter’ a formal offer is made on Isla Dragonera. For a mere twenty two million dollars David Farnsworth Smythe will own his own island. Warm, scenic, secluded, he smiles inwardly in, imagining the unending debauchery to be initiated. He has calculated that even at the modest investment rate of two percent the pile of cash assembled from Uncle Whitmore’s estate, the breaking of various trusts and the dissolution of partnerships, all will provide an annual income of some eighty six million dollars. Grace Boddington never did hint at the potential stream of income from the assorted illiquid assets. So David will have a difficult time squandering everything... but he certainly intends to give the endeavor every effort. Twenty two million is about to be expended on a party house. That’s a start!

David packs lightly and loads the Lamborghini. Danbury Airport is an hour away. A chartered Gulfstream jet awaits as does a new life. David Farnsworth Smythe is longer impoverished... spending constrained by a niggardly one million dollars per year. He is free to squander. And in having a lifetime of training to be profligate, he will spend with zeal.

Meanwhile, Heather MacDougall, having returned to her Edinburgh apartment, assembles her notes, prints the digital photos, and marks each one with a reference to the floor plan of the monastery. She smiles in reviewing the snapshot of the oubliette. It is indeed deep and at one time obviously used as an inescapable dungeon. She calculates the opening in the floor to be a mere three feet by seven feet and notes that the rock walls were widened as the pit was dug deeper. The sides of the oubliette are not perpendicular to the floor. Thus the angles of each wall at the bottom, some fifteen feet below, were less than ninety degrees, sloping as such extended up toward the narrow opening at the top. This apparently served to greatly hinder the possibility of a prisoner shimmying up the sides to reach the top. In effect, the dark grotto of stone was carved in a shape similar to that of a bottle, with two iron plates serving as a defacto cork.

Heather’s watch suggests her meeting approaches and she is to first make an important stop. A local carpenter has been engaged to make a wooden frame. It must be sturdy enough to hold within its perimeter a two hundred pound male, even one who struggles, and it must fit into a three foot by seven foot opening. It is ready for inspection.

Later, at about the time that Heather strolls into an Edinburgh pub for her 8:00 p.m. rendezvous, a fully fueled Gulfstream departs Danbury, Connecticut for Gatwick. Its crew is comprised of a very experienced and discrete captain and co pilot and a very wanton stewardess. David joined the mile high club many years before, finding it the only way to fly, and, though the flight is scheduled for over five hours, he intends to spend most of it having his p***s sucked. The girl’s complete nakedness inspires the cockpit crew and during respites, she serves refreshments without a stitch. In David’s mind, the girl’s emolument will be well earned and is so much a better use of funds then leaving tips to be used by the proletariat for food and clothing.

Awaiting Heather at a quiet corner table is the team of women she has assembled. Hand picked, each is young, well educated, well trained in their respected discipline, not unpleasant to look at, and with a most common trait. All have a high disdain for the male gender. Heather has a file on each woman and in initial interviews satisfied herself that, though they’re able to function with males in social and business settings, each would otherwise prefer to apply a booted foot to the most sensitive anatomy of the overbearing s*x.

To Heather’s left sits Mylee. Some 26 year old, Mylee is from China. She trained as a medical technician, is well practiced in various forms of self defense, has basic weapons training in the Chinese army, is pretty with black hair and dark eyes. She is slim with nicely sized breasts and a well muscled posterior, which tends to attract the male admirer, an attribute that Heather requires. Engaging the service of Mylee took months.

To Mylee’s left and continuing around the table are Zuta, Macumba and Nimba. All of African descent, Heather was fortunate to locate the three as a team. The ages range from 26 to 30 and each girl endured the extensive training demanded by Colonel Muammar Khaddafy in joining the Libyan leader’s elite detachment of female body guards. Selected for their size, strength and beauty, Colonel Khaddafy insists that only the female gender guard his well being. After serving for five years and receiving regular commendations and promotions, each of the trio retired early, understanding that the topmost position, accompanying the leader, being constantly at his side, and currying favor with his libido, was not only unachievable from a numbers perspective, but if indeed attained rather unpalatable for their s****l appetites.

“Our target, ‘Bad Boy’, is arriving at Gatwick in the early hours. No need to surveil him. I have good information that he has chartered a yacht in Southampton. As predicted he’ll be sailing to Majorca. So, ladies, we’ll need to be leaving tomorrow. Our boat is ready and I earlier inspected the frame. Leaving from Edinburgh we’ll be about two days behind him. Knowing his habits, he won’t be rushing. I suspect his voyage will be more party than an endeavor to arrive at a particular destination at an appointed time.

“Bad Boy has hired some girls...”

Heather tosses that tidbit to whet the appetite of her assembled team. They all envision the Chauvinistic target ‘Bad Boy’, oozing money like the condensation of a cold glass on a hot muggy day, frolicking with gorgeous models of limited intelligence but unlimited ability to offer s****l favor. Eyebrows collectively knit in looks of determination. In surveying the reactions, Heather smiles inwardly knowing she has the right girls for the job. The thought of the male pig utilizing his vast wealth in such a manner is disgruntling.

“Now... let’s review the pics, diagrams and overall plan then go down the list of equipment one more time...”

There is little sleep for Heather’s team. Though the meeting concludes at midnight there is much work to be accomplished in gathering personal effects, checking and rechecking equipment, paying hotel bills, and reassembling before dawn at Leith, a small village near Edinburgh on the Firth of Forth. There a 60 foot cabin cruiser awaits. Nimba serves as captain. She has spent weeks training her cohorts on basic boat handling skills. As requested by the owner, the boat will be ferried to Corsica to avoid the colder weather of Scottish autumn. But first the vessel is needed for an important mission...

David is disappointed to awake from fellatio induced slumber to see his mile high concubine beginning to don garments. After many hours of deep-throating her, he spent deeply, cackling wickedly as the girl choked with the force of his long delayed ejaculation. He’d enjoy a little more, but there comes the whir of the landing gear and the discernible slowing of the Gulfstream as final landing approaches.

“Good girl,” David condescendingly offers, not recalling her name. He pats her head as she meekly stoops to obediently place shoes on his feet.

Though still randy and ready for another go, he is sanguine in knowing that by midday he will be yachting to the Mediterranean with two young beauties known for their ability to control the purse string muscle, and in so doing maximize the pleasure of the male organ.

“For you sweetheart,” the billionaire crudely offers, extending his hand with a roll of crisp hundred dollar bills. “You know where I like to put it...”

The fellatrix demurely smiles, lifts her skirt and parts her thighs. David deftly slides the roll into the pink folds of her unused love pouch and then crassly smacks her buttocks.