Chapter 2

Taggart Oliver Bonewell reported for his new job as house dick of the Wellington Hotel on a Monday, not only on time, but an hour early. He wasn't due to log in until 11:30 a.m. and it was now only 10:25.

As he stood in the hotel lobby, his immediate overall impression was one of old money with distinct overtones of new money. Rich folk live here, Tag thought, make no mistake. Ostentatious and gaudy rich folk, judging from all the fake gold trim and the fake marble this and marble that. Assuming it was all fake, that is. If not, fuck it then, it's worth a fortune.

As he strolled through the lobby, he had the impression that it was all put together by an insane interior designer, who not only knew the first Queen Elizabeth personally, he had amplified her idea of what the word ornate meant. Many gold cherubs, their little gold wings frozen in time, sat on white, or sometimes black, marble topped tables.

To Tag, the silly looking angels seemed to have no purpose other than to occupy space and to jar one's sensibilities. He had a burning desire to knock the head off of one particularly annoying looking little angelic bastard. The ugly thing stood on its black marble base on one foot, it's arms outstretched as if saying, "Fair catch! I got it! It's mine! " It had a shit-eating grin on its puss. As he passed by it, he whispered, "Next time, you widdle fucker! Say bye-bye to your widdle yellow head!" He smiled as he passed by it. He hoped it had heard the threat.

The lobby had all the usual city-within-a-city amenities that most hotels offer out of necessity. A florist. Hair salon. Gift shop. Tailor. You get the idea. Oh, and a bar and cafe called The Den.

Tag decided to check this place out a little more firsthand. As he headed toward the bar/cafe, Tag played a little mind game that he usually played. I will not, he thought, think of anything with the word Den in it. No Den of Iniquity. No Den of Thieves. Or Daniel in the lion's Den. Then he said aloud, in a melodic sing-song fashion, "Den, Den, Den, Den... Den." He was now Den free!

He entered and found himself in a place that had no idea that lights had been invented. The lighting was so low, he had to take a few minutes to allow his eyes to adjust. His first visual scene was of some old guy in a booth feeling up a young woman. His niece, mused Tag. Naughty, naughty, you old fuck. He made his way to the long bar and sat at the short end.

Where he was seated, at the short end, he had a perfect view of the odd couple. She now had a hand on his crotch and was moving it back and forth. Hmm, Tag thought, the idle rich sure know how to be idle.

With the idea of not overdoing it firmly planted in his mind, especially on his first day, he ordered a Scotch on the rocks, splash of soda, twist of lemon.

Tag had just taken a second sip when a woman, at least it appeared to be a woman in the low light, sat down beside him. She whispered, "I've been following you, Mr. Bonewell!" The way she had said it made the hair on his neck stand up. The voice was sexy, but it had an undercoating of being threatening, with a trace of menace in it. But Tag didn't feel too alarmed. Strange women had followed him many times before. Most didn't know his name, however.

He turned to face her. She looked harmless enough to him. Fortyish. Attractively packaged. Nice threads. A tight-fiting beige colored knit dress that displayed her shape beautifully. Nice titties, too, he noticed. A glance downward told him the legs weren't too shabby, either. But, he mused, it could be the lighting. He squinted at her and took another go around. Nope, it wasn't the lighting.

"You have?" he said. "Why would you want to tail little old me?" He was being playful. But if she reached into her purse, she'd bring her hand out missing an arm. Which would make rubbing her broken jaw awfully tough to do. Instead, however, she reached for his drink and took a big sip. He allowed her to keep the arm.

"Ugh!" she said. "Scotch! Almost as bad as Bourbon!" She licked her lips and smiled at him. "Tell me, Mr. Bonewell, where have all the nice Sherry and Brandy drinkers gone?" She giggled, a light giggle, and very feminine sounding. He took the hint, if it was a hint.

"How about I buy you a nice Sherry. Or, if you prefer, a nice Brandy. OK?" Might as well be nice. You never know. Might lead to getting lucky. It had before.

"That would be nice. Tell Paul", she aimed a thumb at the bartender, "to mix up Mrs. Merganthal's usual. He'll know what to do. Then we can get on a nice first name basis, if that's all right with you." It was. He felt nice all over.

He gave Paul the instructions and when her drink arrived, which looked like a plain old whiskey sour to him, he toasted to "New friendships." They clinked their glasses together.

She took a sip and said, "I'm Mrs. Merganthal, Mr. Bonewell, that's Mrs. and not that awful sounding Ms. How do you do?" She put out a hand. Tag shook it and said, "Fine, Mrs. Merganthal, and I'm please to meet you, too, but what happened to your first name idea? I kinda liked that one." He smiled at her and took a sip, peering at her over the glass. She smiled back at him.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. I have, you see, a wee bit of trouble with my short term memory these days, but that's a long, boring story. My real first name is Henrietta, but I hate that name so much that if you ever call me by it, I swear I shall cut both your nuts clean off." She smiled, baring her teeth. "Most folks just call me Mergie." Tag sensed there wasn't too many things old fashioned about Mergie. Cut both my nuts off, indeed!

"Mergie it will be then, Mergie. And be assured, I won't call you Hen... you know, that other name you hate like hell." He grabbed his crotch and shammed great pain. "For I've grown accustomed to the little fellas and I'd be real heart broken if we should ever part company." She laughed. "And you, Mergie, can call me Tag. Or Taggart. Or any other fucking thing you can dream up. I answer to them all. I'm shameless that way." He grinned at her. He'd purposely used the word fucking to test her reaction to it. There was none. Mergie took it in stride. My kind of gal, thought Tag. He saw potential.

Mergie took a sip and said, "Did you know, Tag, that there are nineteen places on a woman's body that can be easily aroused, even by the mere use of the word fuck?" Now she peeked at him over her glass as she took another small sip. She was grinning. He leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially:

"Really, Mergie. I didn't fucking know that." He liked the drift to this little chat. "I guess I stopped my fucking education soon after I fucking figured out where the fuck the fucking G Spot was and where it was fucking located on a fucking woman's body. Capish?" She laughed and almost spilled her drink.

"Damn you, Tag, you've lit up at least fifteen of the darling secret places all ready!" She might have been blushing, but it was still too dark for Tag to tell.

"Only fifteen? Let's go for the last four, shall we, Mergie, old gal? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He had put extra emphasis on each eff. He took a sip and looked straight into her eyes.

"Oooh. Nice, but I think two of them went astray. Do it again, will you?" Oh, yeah, he definitely liked where it was going.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! How's that?" He heard her let out a little moan. This conversation was beginning to really get to him. His crotch area told him that much. He and Mergie were fast becoming good friends. Very good friends. But anything further would have to wait for later, for she stood up, peeked at her watch, and said:

"Time's tight now, Tag. For both of us. You've got to go see our dear Mr. Smoot and I have a few errands to run. But I assure you, we'll get together later. I'm to be your personal hotel guide, Tag, as you'll soon hear from old Smootie." She polished off the dregs in her glass. "It's been real fun, Taggy, Darling, but I've gotta run." She gathered up her purse and made ready to leave. He reached out and placed his hand gently on her arm, lightly squeezing it.

"Same here, Mergie, real fun. And when we get together later, don't forget to bring your nineteen spark plugs. OK?" He was testing the future water.

"Bring 'em? Hell, Tag, treat me real nice and I'll show 'em to you! One by one and up close and personal like. That is, If you'd like a lesson that goes beyond the G Spot." Lesson? Hell, Tag just lived for lessons. Especially when the teach looked like Mergie.

She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips, leaving no doubt about the future water. It was a really quick kiss. Her tongue did a one-time dip into his mouth, pulled out, and went bye-bye along with its owner.

As Tag stood there watching her walk away in the dimly lit room, he felt his crotch signal that he had better get some proper perspective before his meeting with Mr. Smoot. How would it look, he thought, to be picked up on suspicion of stealing a salami from the hotel deli and hiding it in my trousers? Old Smootie might get a tad pissed.

But he knew he had just enough time to at least get a good gander at her backside as she stepped into the bright lighting of the lobby. He wasn't disappointed, either. Nice ass. Wide and firm looking. And it looked fantastic in the beige colored knit dress that did its best, but failed, to hide the well-rounded twin globes. If anything, it amplified the double beauties. Then, Mergie was gone. Tag paid Paul and went out into the lobby in search of Smoot's office.

A glance at his watch told him he still had twenty minutes before Smoot time. He decided to check out the florist shop. He sauntered in and saw a woman behind the counter. An attractive woman, who seemed about to say something. He beat her to the punch by saying, "Hi there, I'm Tag Bonewell, the new hotel house dick. I'm not buying, not yet, just acquainting myself with the lay of the land, so to speak. How are you?" She smiled at him and let him see her nice, even teeth. He also liked the looks of her nice, full lips.

"Oh, hello Mr. Bonewell. I heard you were coming. I'm Cheryl Wade. Most just call me Cherry. Welcome aboard the Wellington." She put out a hand. Cherry? Hmm, he thought, my first? He decided to throw out a little test in that direction. Just to see if she was a prude or a player. He shook her hand and held onto it...

"Thanks, Cherry. But please call me Tag. And I must say, you've got super hearing!" He waited, still holding her hand.

"I do, Tag? What told you that?" Here it comes.

"You said you heard I was cumming!" He had emphasized the cumming part. He looked at her, waiting. It was a stale old line, but still fun to spring now and then. True, it bordered on sexual harassment, but you only live once.

Cherry was quick-witted and no prude. She squeezed his hand and said, "Are you usually so noisy when you come? I know I am!" She had stressed the word come and squeezed his hand again. Tag like this so far.

"I can be downright cacophonous, Cherry. Perhaps we should compare decibel levels sometime. That could be fun, you think?" Now he squeezed her hand. She gave one more tiny reciprocal squeeze, extracted her hand and said, "Yes. We can call it our cumming out party!" She laughed. A girlish laugh. He liked her laugh. He'd love to hear it in bed sometime soon. He felt he would.

"Well, Cherry, I hate to leave, but I have a date with Mr. Smoot and I don't want to have to tell him I was late because I took the time to plan a cumming out party." He grinned at her. "He might want an invite." She laughed.

"Smootie? I don't think so, Tag, he doesn't like noise of any kind." Tag laughed. They said their goodbyes and Tag headed for his meeting with his new boss, the noise hating Mr. Smoot.

Less than ten minutes later, Tag was seated across the desk from Mr. Smoot. Or, as the nameplate on his black marble-topped desk announced in gold letters on a black marble background (surprise!) Mr. Raymond Q. Smoot, Executive Manager. Smoot was on the phone and was just winding down a conversation.

Q? mused Tag. Quigly? Quentin? Quiff? Quiff? That means pussy in some parts of the country. Smoot did fit that description a tad. He was a small guy and decidedly feminine in his mannerisms. He held the phone with his pinky sticking out into space. The way dainty rich ladies coddled a drink. Smoot ended his call.

Tag was told by Mr. Raymond (Quiff) Smoot, that he, Mr. Taggart O. Bonewell, could take the rest of the week to orient himself to the hotel. The dick he was replacing, Mr. Ivan Shakely, was finishing out the week.

"Call me Tag, Mr. Smoot." He liked things friendly and amiable.

"Fine then, Tag it is, and you can call me Mr. Smoot, Tag?" Shit, thought Tag, one of those! Well, fuck it! I've all ready sold my soul to the devil, so why not the rest of me? I want to be a team hooker, don't I?

"Fine then, Smoot it is." He had purposely left out the Mister, but had smiled warmly at the man. Smoot frowned and ran a hand through his hair. Tag noticed the man's entire head of hair had shifted slightly. Not a lot, but enough to tell Tag the man wore a toupee. A rug. But a damned good rug, thought Tag. He tickled himself with the musing of why wasn't it made out of faux gold? Or black marble?

"I'll make sure," Smoot said, "that old Ivan makes time to fill you in during the rest of the week on the small details you'll need to operate. You know, computer passwords, entry cards, the usual stuff. He'll also tell you how to have a firearm assigned to you. Any firearm of your choosing, Tag. You name it, we have it. Glock? Baretta?.38? But no need to choose now. Wait for Ivan. Now, so far, I haven't told you anything you can't handle, I assume."

"No problem, Mr. Smoot." The phone rang and as Smoot picked it up, Tag reflected. He had a personal penchant for the 9mm Glock. The Baretta lacked stopping power and the.38 had too few shots for his liking. But let's hope, he thought, I never have to use it.

In his six years on the police force he'd had to use it just once. Much to the chagrin of a now departed drug dealer. Why the fool couldn't see he was in a hopeless situation and should have simply surrendered, Tag could only guess at, but when the guy went for his gun, well, it was hasta la vista, baby time. Smoot was back.

"Now in the meantime, Tag, why don't you just absorb yourself in the hotel. See the sights, so to speak. I think you'll like your apartment suite, which is by the way, Suite 901, on the ninth floor. It has a breathtaking view of the city, the park and the lake." He handed Tag a room entry card with 901 in large block type printed on it. "Later, I'll also introduce you to Mrs. Henrietta Merganthal. She'll be, so to say, your guide to all of the hotel's little ins and outs." Smoot then put on a very serious look.

"Mrs. Merganthal is an attractive woman, Tag, very attractive, but don't get any funny ideas. She's not up for grabs, in case your mind thinks in that direction, which I hope it does not. Got that?" Tag smiled and nodded. Twice. Smoot went on.

"Good. But, to fill you in on her a tad more, she doesn't work for the hotel. She's a paying guest who resides here. Lives in one of the penthouse apartments up on the eleventh floor. Has more money than Croesus ever dreamed of, but don't get any funny ideas in that department, either. OK?" Tag nodded twice again. Shit, he thought, if I nod any more times, I'll feel like a fucking bobble-head doll!

Smoot continued. "She's also a personal friend, a very personal friend, of Mr. David Cunningham's, the owner, so tread lightly, young man. Cunningham took her under his wing, so to speak, after her poor husband, Cyrus, passed on. She volunteers her services around the hotel to, I assume, keep herself busy. And, because she's been here over twenty years now, even before the big renovation, no one knows more about what's what in this place than she does. I think you'll find her in invaluable ally. So, Tag, try to stay on her good side. OK?" The bobble-head doll did its nodding job once more. Smoot went on.

"Well, Tag, I believe I've covered most things. For now. You take the rest of the week and just enjoy yourself. If you have any questions, feel free to come to me or to Ivan. Welcome to the Wellington staff, Tag." He reached across the desk and offered a hand. Tag shook it and said, "Thank you, Mr. Smoot. I believe I'll like working here." He really believed he would.

Back in the lobby, he took out his cell phone and called Lucy. She answered on the first ring. Poor darling, he thought, pining away for me by the phone. "Hi, Luce, guess who the fuck this is?"

"Don't tell me! I know! It's Mr. Boneher-and-talk-dirty-on-the-phoner! Alias my boss. Alias my favorite house dick! How's the first day going, Taggy-poo?" He laughed. That Lucy! He could always count on her to brighten up his day.

"Terrific! Fantastic! What else can I say? It's been... "

"Uh oh, you've met a new cunt, haven't you, Taggy-poo-poo?"

"Damn, Lucy, you should be the detective, not me. You're good, girl! What gave it away? My not too frequent display of exuberance?" He laughed.

"The word fantastic, Taggynuts. You're the only man on the planet who spells it cee you en tee!" She laughed. "What's she like and when's our first m énage àtrois?" She made heavy breathing noises, sounding very much the pervert.

"Well, Luce, her name is Mergie and she may be twice your age, but she's still got it, if you get my drift. And... "

"Still got it? By your standards, Taggy, that means she has a pulse! Or have you gone necrophilous on me?" She giggled girlishly. She was having fun.

"Me? Fuck a corpse? Never again! Besides, she drinks whiskey sours. I'd like to see a dead body pull that little trick off. And she has this dainty way of sipping and farting at the same time. And you should see how nicely she makes funny noises with her armpits." Tag was on a roll now. Lucy was laughing and trying to listen at the same time. "Not to mention how delicately her pussy can pick up a quarter off the piano, even lying flat. The quarter, that is, not her pussy. Or the piano."

"Sounds like your kind of girl. Mine, too. Have you Tagged her yet?" He knew what she meant by the word Tagged. "Not yet, old gal, but it looks like it'll happen before the day's out."

"You're slowing down, Taggela, in your mid-life crisis. When do I get to meet her? Tomorrow? That is, if the poor thing can still walk!" She laughed.

"Not tomorrow, hon. Nor anytime during the whole week. Which is one of the reasons I called. I won't have my own office until next Monday. Old Ivan, whom I'm to replace, won't be cleared out until Friday. So, you have the rest of the week off, with pay. OK?"

"Sure, Tag. No prob. I have a ton of things I can do to keep me from going stir crazy. Like picking up a gang of winos and teaching them what a real woman can do with a crowd of wine-soaked perennials. They seem to like screwing a sober woman for a change. Kills the monotony drinking brings." She giggled.

"I never know when you're kidding, Lu. But then again, you do like red wine! It goes so well with fetid wino breath àla king."

"Listen, Tag. What about your suite? Can't I at least see that? It would keep a few winos off of me for a while."

"Good idea. Let me see how the afternoon goes and I'll call you. And Luce? I hate to say this, but could you dress, uh, well, a little bit more... uh... well... demurely? This place is run by a stiff-assed, anal retentive type guy and, well, you know. I don't... "

"Stop squirming, Taggy. I take no offense at your asshole manly insensitivity. I know I dress like a slut at times, well, most times, but I also have many very lady-like office duds. It'll be fun dressing up and surprising you. I guarantee, Tag, you sweet, perverted hypocrite, you won't recognize me."

"Luce, you know how it is. Play the game and all." He hoped she did.

"Taggy, Taggy, Taggy! Will you relax, for Christ's sake? It's no big deal, really. How do you think I dressed before I went to work at your dumpy little place? If you remember my resume, which you would if your eyes hadn't been glued to my boobies, I worked for a law firm. Talk about strait-laced! They had a pamphlet that outlined their dress code that had to be twenty pages long. And each salient point mentioned man-tailored suits. No skirts, mini or otherwise." She took a breath. "So, don't worry, fella, from here on out, I'm Ms. Lucy Fern, executive secretary to Mr. Boneher-with-a-dry-hump, the biggest dick in the hotel biz. OK?"

Tag laughed and said, "OK, Luce. Ha ha! I'll call you later." They said their goodbyes and hung up. He loved Lucy.

Tag went up to the front desk and asked for Mr. Ivan Shakely's suite number. Old Ivan also had a ninth floor office/apartment, suite 915. A quick elevator ride and Tag found himself in front of old Ivan's door. He knocked gently a few times and, out of instinct, tried the doorknob. To his surprise, it opened. Some security, he thought. Shakely must be the trusting type.

He went in and heard murmurings coming from an inner office room. His experience told him that someone was having sex. He tiptoed up to the open door and stole a peek in. Yep, sex it was, and that someone must be old Ivan, a man who looked well into his sixties.

Ivan was standing against a desk, his trousers and shorts down around his ankles, and his firm, 7'" large-headed pecker was being sucked off vigorously by a woman in a tight-fitting, beige colored knit dress. A very Mergie-like knit dress. What clinched the I.D. was her purse. Same one. No two ways about, old Mergie was doing old Ivan and, from what Tag could see, doing a fine job of it, too. What a hotel! What a job! What a life! He liked it all.

Tag started to back up, again in tippy-toe fashion, to keep the couple's privacy, but then had a better idea. Shock value! He walked, no, strode, right into Ivan's office and said, "Oops! Pardon me. I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me come in." Tag just stood there awaiting their reactions.

Ivan jumped like he'd been scalded and said, "Who the fuck... ?"

Mrs. Henrietta Merganthal simply stood up and said, "Oh, hi, Tag. We meet again!" She didn't even blush. Tag liked that fact. His kind of woman.

Tag said, "Listen you two, if I've come at a bad time... !" That Tag! A clown to the end.

Ivan, more composed now, pulled up his clothing and zipped himself up. He was blushing so much his face looked like a beet. He tried to say something, but only sputtered. Mergie took over.

"Ivan, get a grip, willya! So Tag caught us in an oral act. So what? This is your last week for Christ's sake!" She turned to Tag. "Tell him to lighten up, Tag. Tell him that if he does lighten up, I'll finish what I started and you're welcome to watch." Old Ivan's eyes were popped out. He was speechless. Floored by it all.

Tag said, "If I were you, Ivan, I'd listen to the lady. And if you're shy about me watching, just close your fucking eyes! OK?" He thought he handled that pretty tactfully. He felt proud of himself.

Ivan surprised him by saying, "What the fuck! First you surprise me, then Mergie does. I thought my frigging heart had stopped! But, hey, I ain't shy, Buddy. If you'd be so kind as to lock the outer door, you can watch to your heart's content." He all ready had his pants and shorts back down to the floor and was massaging his cock back into its unnaturally woody state.

Tag was back in less than a minute. He took a seat and moved it closer to where the action would take place. Nothing like front row seats. Tag was liking his new job more and more. Mergie knelt down before old Ivan. Old Ivan looked absolutely lecherous. So much so, his tongue was hanging out and he was breathing heavily.

"Now, Mergie, old gal," Ivan said. "Show this snotnose whippersnapper what you can do! Eh?" He took his rigid penis and placed the newly-gorged head onto her bottom lip. Whether Mergie was inspired by having an audience or not, Tag didn't know, but one thing was for sure. Mergie sucked cock like a pro. She swirled, twirled, and whirled her head. Her tongue flashed in and out, all along the shaft. She deep-throated old Ivan with the ease of one who has practiced a ton. Tag felt his boner talk to him.

In a giddy mood, Tag grinned and imagined his penis saying, "Let me out, you dumb fuck! I've been cooped up long enough. I've places to go, people to see. There are pussies, asses, and mouths to fill. Who's gonna do it, if not me?"

Then an idea hit Tag. "Hey, you two, would you mind if I had the fun of doing some cocksucking directing?" Ivan looked at him and said, "Why not? Knock youself out." Mergie, her mouth still around cock, merely said, "Hmm hmm!" Tag started to remove his pants and shorts.

"Now, Mergie, I want you to suck his balls, both of them, until their sopping wet. Use both your lips and tongue. OK?" She answered in the affirmative by placing her mouth on old Ivan's nutsack and slurping noisily away, taking each nut fully into her mouth. The sound she made had a profound effect on the two men.

Ivan moaned and said, "Fucking kid knows how to direct, Merg. That feels super, just fucking super. Ooooh, yes! That's great, woman."

"Now, Mergie," Tag said. "I want you to use the same wet tongue and lip action on his entire shaft. Get it sloppy, too. And don't hold or swallow your saliva. Just let it pour out. It's called, appropriately enough, a saliva suck." She complied, working up and down the shaft, her saliva bubbling out and dripping onto her chin and onto the rug. Old Ivan was in heaven.

"Now, Mergie dear," Tag said. "Let's suck on the head a few times and then deep-throat him. Again, letting your saliva flow freely." She followed the instructions carefully. Four up and downs on the swollen cockhead and then, swoosh, right down to his pubes. Tag said, "Keep doing that, Mergie. Work the head, then deep-throat. And don't forget to let your saliva flow."

As Mergie obeyed, her saliva was soon cascading down old Ivan's cock shaft and puddling up all around the base. The more she sucked, the more saliva popped out. It was river-like. It was some sight. And the sound of it would excite even a brass monkey.

Old Ivan just stood there, moaning and moaning, a glazed look on his face. Tag knew old Ivan was close to cumming. He was right. A minute or so later, Ivan yelled, unashamedly, "I'm going to cum, baby! Swallow me, baby! Now! Here I cum, baby. Oh, oh, oh. Ooooooooo fuck!" He unloaded both balls into Mergie's eager mouth. The two men heard her swallow audibly. Twice.

There was a silence for a moment and then Ivan broke it. "Shit, Tag, I haven't cum like that in years! Your being here and talking about it seemed to add a new dimension to it all. Damn, I liked that!" He licked his lips. Mergie was still on her knees as Ivan got dressed. "Thanks, Mergie!" Ivan said, looking down at her.

Mergie looked back up at Ivan and said, "Oh, you're welcome, Ivan, and you're right, you did cum more than your usual. Mmm mmm, delicious!"

Mergie, still kneeling, looked over at Tag. "You want to be next or do you only direct and not perform?" She giggled and ran her tongue seductively around her lips. Tag didn't have to be asked twice.

He rolled his tie and shirt up to nipple height and said, "How about removing your top, Mergie, I like to play with nipples while I'm being fellated." She hesitated. This small hesitation clue told Tag that the lady wore a girdle. She was trying to figure out how to get her top off, it being a one-piece knit suit and all, without revealing the fact. He gave her an assist.

"Here, let me help you, Mergie." He went behind her and undid the back buttons. He pulled the top down to her waste, unfastened her bra and removed it from her. He went back around to her front for a look-see. He liked what he saw.

Her breasts were not as firm as he imagined they once were, but they looked soft and very feminine. Each sported an oversized aerola and had cute, little pea-sized nipples that now stood out erectly. He reached for her and brought his face down to her left breast. He suckled its nipple a little, feeling the pea get even harder under his lips. He then kneaded both breasts, tweaking each pea into even greater hardness. Mergie moaned. She liked that. And it didn't take a Sherlock to figure that out, either.

Tag shot a glance at old Ivan. The guy was seated in a chair, the same chair Tag had used, and had his pants unzipped and his prick out. He was stroking it and had his tongue out, too. He looked depraved, but very happily depraved.

Tag sucked Mergie's nipples a bit longer, then stopped. He went to Ivan's desk and pushed things aside to make room for Mergie to lie down. He then told her to lie on her back on the desk with her head hanging over the edge. She complied without hesitation.

This position had the added effect of making each of Mergie's titties flatten out and point slightly to her sides. Tag positioned himself at her head, her mouth at the perfect height for his dick. He then pressed his 8" bloated hardon against her mouth. She immediately got the idea, opened her mouth and took him in. They both heard Ivan moan, but neither of them looked in his direction.