!ADULTS ONLY! Tag Bonewell: House Dick!

horizon, and they were taking no chances of an early detection.

But would all the King's men be in time to save her? Or would she swallow so much salty rum cum, she'd sink rapidly to the bottom of Davey Jones' locker? Drowned in rum cum. Another lusty prick was now pressing against her lips, demanding entrance.

She opened her mouth as if to scream, as if to try to catch the attention of the King's ship, but decided the easier path would be safer, and more prudent. Thus, her open mouth let the big-headed intruder sail right in.

Besides, she rightfully reasoned, he's the last of the ship's rotten crew I have to degrade myself by using my mouth and drinking his foul-smelling rum cum. Now, she said to herself, if only I don't sink!

A while later, it was the real Showtime for the sweet ass, innocent schoolgirl. The make-it-or-break-it part.

Tracy stood up, her voluptuous breasts hardly showing through the starched white blouse Lucy had chosen for her. Helped in their flatness by a tight-fitting chest band. She stepped back from the group of naked men, distancing herself from them by a good half dozen or so feet.

Lifting her mini skirt, baring her naked pussy, she said, while waving the skirt's front girlishly back and forth, "I can't have sex with you grown men. I'm only fourteen years old, for Pete's sake." She turned to Burns. "Please, Mr. Burns, don't make me." She batted her eyelids at him. "I won't tell anyone. Just let me go home. OK?" She fell to her knees, her head hanging down, in total supplication. Now fully at the Captain's mercy.

Burns, still in the schoolgirl scenario, went to her and lifted her up by her armpits. "Listen, sweetheart, if you loved cocksucking so much, you'll absolutely love fucking. I guarantee it. Now, like a good little girl, get those clothes off and get on the bed. Or you'll get a good spanking." The men laughed and guffawed at that remark. Burns smiled at them. Play-acting and role-playing was quite a lot of fun.

Then Tracy shocked him. Using the back of her right hand, she smacked him, real hard, right in the solar plexus. Burns lost his breath for a moment, doubling over with sharp and sudden pain. She had sucker punched him.

She said, sounding as adamant as a stubborn child, "I told you, Mr. Burns, I'm only fourteen. If you guys want to have sex with me, you're gonna have to force me!" She then laughed heartily, and readied her hand for another good smack at him.

Burns jumped back, dodging a blow that never came. "Oh, I get it. You want a little rough shit. Ok, rough it is." He turned toward the men, "Hey, Harry, Dave, help me strip the bitch and throw her naked ass on the bed." Then to Tracy, he snarled, "We're all gonna fuck you silly, girl, whether you like it or not." What fun!

Harry and Dave, two big men, with Burns pitching in, soon had her naked from the waist down and lying on the mattress. For some strange reason, they left her white blouse on.

Harry held one of her arms over her head while Dave held the other. She tried a kick at one of them, but missed. She kicked again. And missed again. Then a wild kick landed on Burns' arm, causing him to yelp.

Burns, fed up with her idiotic schoolgirl shenanigans, reached for her and grabbed her firmly by the throat. He sneered at her, a look of total derangement showing on his face. His arm still hurt.

He growled at her, his spittle shooting out, "Stop fighting, you fucking cunt. Or else!" She stopped kicking, as if the 'or else' had convinced her of the futility of it all. And the King's ship had sailed away, leaving her to her plight.

"Are you gonna behave?" Burns asked, the statement tinged with menace. Tracy nodded, glaring at him. "And you're gonna fuck us all real good?" Again, she nodded, but the glare was now diminished, almost gone.

"Good girl! Release her arms guys. She'll behave herself from here on in. Won't you sweetheart?" He chucked her under the chin as she nodded once more. When her arms were freed, she reached for one of the men's pricks, found it and started jerking it off. The pirate men had won, or so it seemed to all the brigands in the room.

Each man took his turn fucking her. Sometimes, a second man was in her mouth. Sometimes, a man also in her ass. Sometimes, in all three of her holes at once. They came in her mouth. They came in her pussy. They came in her ass. Then they all fucked her a second time. And a third.

At one point, Tracy had shouted out, "She loves to fuck! She loves to suck!" The men thought she had gone nuts, but didn't care a fig.

Her schoolgirl act had them so worked up; some of them even wanted fourths. But Burns nixed the idea. Enough was enough. The girl looked ragged and bedraggled as it was. And time was running out. He had to meet someone in a short while for an important investment talk. In fact, to his dismay, there wasn't even enough time to play the piss mouth game.

Oh, well, he thought, next time . . .

* * * * * *

FRIDAY AFTERNOON found Burns at the desk in his den. He was balancing his checkbook. His account was now fatter by $800, thanks to Tracy, and the eight men. They had all thought she was well worth the hundred bucks a head. Geez, he thought, I can really clean up if I make her do it twice a week! Three . . . ? His mind daydreamed on it.

He punched the total button on his adding machine. Bingo! The account balanced. No errors. No problems. He looked at the clock. 3:15 p.m. He had forty-five minutes before an investment counselor, John Wyatt, was due. He had never met Wyatt, but the man had called him with a wonderful sounding investment scheme.

He stood up and went over to the wet bar. A nice Scotch and soda would be just great right about now. A celebratory drink of a sort.

The drink made, he took a sip. Too much Scotch, he thought, but fuck it, who cares?

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. The front door chimes. He looked at his watch. 3:20. Too early for Wyatt. Or was it? Never know with these money men. Time is money, and all that Wallstreet bullshit.

He went to the front door and opened it.

Ivan Shakely stood there. He introduced himself as Bob Baker, Mr. Wyatt's assistant. Mr. Wyatt, he told him, had been called away on some emergency business. "Sick friend, don'tcha know?" Burns invited him in.

As Shakely entered, and Burns was about to close the door, two men, very large men, appeared in the doorway and pushed their way in.

"Hey!" Burns yelped. "What the fuck do . . . "

Shakely said, "Easy, Mr. Burns," Burns turned toward him. "We're just here for a nice, friendly little chat, nothing more. Unless, that is, you'd like to see something more?" He had said it so matter-of-factly, so unmenacingly, that there was no mistaking the utter menace in it.

Burns got the message. "What do want, Mr. Baker?" He now doubted that Baker was the man's real name. Or had anything at all to do with investing.

"Why don't we all go into your cozy little den, and I'll tell you all about it. OK?" Before he could answer, Burns was grabbed under both arms and hustled toward his den. He was then pushed into the chair that faced the desk, the two large men standing on either side of him. Shakely sat in the chair behind the desk, as if it was his house the men were in, and Burns the guest.

Shakely said, "Now isn't this cozy?" Burns was silent. "I said, you slime ball motherfucker, isn't this cozy?" Before Burns could answer, the man on his left smacked him, open handedly, across the back of his head, rattling his teeth.

Burns found his voice. "Yes, it's cozy. Very cozy. Now, what the fuck do you guys want from me? I don't know any of you."

"True," Shakely said. "But you know a good friend of ours. Tracy . . . " He let it just hang there, giving Burns a chance to absorb it.

Shuddering, Burns said, "T-Tracy? What's she got to do with this?" He was starting to sense the drift of things. And it petrified him.

Shakely stood up. He reached into his overcoat and took out what looked like a black film cassette box. "I'll show you." He crossed the room to the VCR and put the tape into it. He hit Play. A few seconds later, the movie came on, in living color.

There they were, nine naked men, and one very scared looking schoolgirl. In her pigtails, white mini skirt, and crisp white blouse, and, with her smallish, flattened breasts, she looked younger than sixteen. And, she was clearly telling the men she was only fourteen, and didn't want to have sex with them.

The men didn't seem too impressed by these facts. They were determined to fuck her, and there was no two ways about it, fourteen or not. Burns heard himself say on the tape, loud and clear, "Hey, Harry, Dave, help me strip the bitch and throw her naked ass on the bed." Then he heard himself say, "We're all gonna fuck you silly, girl, whether you like it or not."

Burns knew immediately that the tape had been doctored. "You guys crazy? Tracy is eighteen! Which makes her legal in this state. She fucked us because she wanted to fuck us. No one forced her to do a thing." He looked defiantly at Shakely, but inside he felt queasy.

"Oh, really, Mr. Burns? And just who is gonna believe that nonsense? As far as anyone can tell, this tape looks to be four years old and, at the time, Tracy was just fourteen." Shakely grinned at him.

"Yeah," said Burns, "But even so, an expert could tell this tape was fake, and doctored over." He grinned back at Shakely, the queasiness still with him. He sensed his guest had a trick up his sleeve.

"Ha ha! You idiot! Do you think I'd use some moron to play with the tape? Using some film editing computer program? This, sonny boy, was put together by a friend of mine at the F.B.I., who knows how too fool even the experts, being as how he's one of them." Burns received another grin from Shakely. And Shakely had another trick up his sleeve.

"Oh, here it is!" He hit pause on the remote. "A piece of . . . ahem . . . evidence that will definitely establish Tracy's age." He pointed to the screen. There, as plain as day, was a calendar. On the wall, right above the bed of sexual action. The year, as clear and crisp as it could be, was the same year Tracy had turned fourteen.

Burns gasped, showing his first sign of weakness. "But, but, but . . . " He didn't even remember the calender being there. But it must have been.

"No buts about it, sonny boy. And, besides, even if that film doesn't cook your goose, this sure will." He handed Burns a sheet of paper. On it were the eight men's full names, their business and home addresses, and their business and home telephone numbers. And their wives names.

"Imagine what will happen when this film, with Tracy cropped out, naturally, gets in the hands of their wives, friends, and business associates in each of their little, tight-ass communities. Brrr! Ugly shit, eh?"

Burns knew he was beaten. "I assume, Baker, you want the films I have of Tracy. Right?"

Shakely nodded. "That, and all the money you made by using her. I figure you charged each guy three hundred bucks a pop . . . "

"A hundred!"

"As I said, Mr. Burns, three hundred bucks a pop, multiplied by, as far as Tracy told me, eleven men. Let's see, that comes to $3,300. Plus, as far as I'm concerned, I think she deserves a bonus, don't you? I thought so. So, let's make it an even five grand, shall we?" He smiled at Burns, and picked up the man's checkbook from the desk. "Make it out to cash, will ya?" He tossed the checkbook to Burns, who somehow managed to catch it.

Burns said, "Now, listen, I don't . . . "

"No! You listen, fuck face! I've been polite with you so far. But now you're pissing me off!" Shakely reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a .45, took careful aim, and blew the television picture tube to smithereens. The smell of spent cordite filled the air.

Shakely continued talking to Burns, but the chair Burns had been in was now empty. The man had taken cover on the floor in front of the desk. "Now, write the fucking check, get me all of the fucking tapes, and stop wasting any more of our fucking time. Got me? Or should I make it even clearer to you?"

Slowly, Burns stood up. He was visibly shaking, and looked as white as white can get.

Shakely, said, "And, you creep, if you get clever on me, and I don't get all the tapes you have on her, and one of them surfaces down the road . . . well, I'll just have to take stronger measures. Won't I now?"

With trembling hands, Burns wrote out the check, but he had to do it all over again as he had made the first one payable to Mr. Baker. He handed the final check to Shakely, and then walked on wobbly legs over to his wall safe. A few moments later, all the tapes were in Shakely's hands.

"That all of 'em?" Shakely snarled. Burns nodded meekly. "Good boy. And I don't have to tell you what will happen if you put a stop payment on the check, do I?" Burns shook his head from side to side. "Good boy!"

The two big men, who had not said even one word so far, both laughed. One said, with sheer menace in his voice, "How about I make him suck my dick, just to make sure he comprehends us?" He laughed.

The other said, "Yeah, and I could fuck him in the ass!" He also laughed.

"No, boys," Shakely said. "I think he got our message. We can save that treat for the future, just in case he needs another of our friendly little chats to inspire him." Shakely now laughed, the threat hanging in the air.

As the two big men filed out of the room, Shakely said, removing his tape from the VCR, "Why don't you be a nice guy, and call Tracy with the good news. I'm sure she'd appreciate it." Shakely pointed to the phone once, and then departed.

Burns, more scared than he had ever been in his life, picked up the phone and dialed. She answered immediately, as if she was just waiting for his call. Or expecting it.

"Tracy? This is, uh, Mr. Burns . . . "

* * * * * *

TAG was sitting in his hotel office/apartment suite listening to mood music, and trying to catch up on his e-Mail. He had shaved, showered, and dressed, and had fifteen minutes or so to fiddle with this crap before she arrived. He knew he was soon to see another of her transformations.

She had told him so, right after she had told Lucy, on the speakerphone that she was going to fuck him tonight. Whether he wanted to or not.

"Don't expect the pigtailed teenager, Tag." She had said. "Tonight, Mr. Bonewell, you're gonna fuck a grown woman!"

He had grinned, and said, "Lucy said she wanted to watch!"

"Lucy and I have agreed that she can watch next time, but tonight, Tag, I want to reward you all by myself. Can you handle that?" She giggled.

"I'll try." He still couldn't picture her as an adult woman, even though, and only out of necessity, he had to watch the suite 209 tape. And, again out of necessity, Shakely had watched it with him. There was no F.B.I. guy. He and Ivan had doctored the tape themselves, using a stupidly simple media editing program on Tag's computer.

"Damn," Shakely had said. "The face of a kid and the body of a woman. Just looking at her makes me feel like a pervert pedophile!" Tag knew exactly what he meant. He felt the same way.

Tag had just deleted a ton of mail when he heard his outer doorbell ring. Ziiing, ziiing. "Coming!" he yelled out.

He opened the door, and there was. In a slinky, form-hugging, silky, pale blue gown that displayed all her charms, from her voluptuous braless breasts to her stunning long, long legs. He was at a loss for words. She was sexy and beautiful beyond belief. He stood there, gawking at her.

"Hee hee," she said gleefully. "Pussy got your tongue?" He still looked stupid, and covered in dopey. "Well, Tag, if you don't come to life soon, your tongue's not gonna get any pussy! Hee hee."

He finally found his voice. "My God, Tracy, you're a goddess! Come in, you gorgeous creature, before I get arrested just for my thoughts." She entered, and he closed the door behind her.

Standing on one high-heeled foot, she did a pirouette, giving him a flash of a perfect ass as it whirled by his vision. "Well, Tag, am I all growed up? Tee hee."

He answered her by taking her into his arms and kissing her. Her lips, like the rest of her, were luscious and absolutely perfect. Soft, and sweet tasting. He felt himself falling into her, losing himself completely in the kiss. And her hot, moist tongue. A remnant of a song flashed through this mind: Kisses sweeter than wine.

Still kissing her, he ran a hand down her back and explored both of her ass cheeks, and the crack space between them. The silk made his fingers tingle.

Fuck, he thought, I've died and found heaven. He moved the ass grabbing hand around to one of her breasts. The left breast? The right? He hardly knew, and cared less. He heard her moan as he fondled a peek-a-boo nipple, making it stiffen up. His mind told him, I'm in love!

The exhaled breath from her nostrils hit his nostrils like the vapors of Venus. Christ, he thought, even her used breath is sweet! Slow down, he reminded himself, or you'll pop from just kissing her. He broke the kiss, his breathing off key. This situation calls for some sanity.

"Whew, woman!" he whispered hoarsely. "I need a drink!"

She giggled. "Me, too! I'll have a gin and tonic, if you're tending." He nodded, and went to the wet bar. He noticed his hands were shaking just getting two glasses from the shelf. Relax, dodo, he told himself. She's only a woman. You've seen women before. I have?

She said, "Burns called me. Told me, very nicely I thought, that he no longer required my, uh, services. And that I would never hear from him again. Wasn't that nice of him?" She laughed.

"Sure was. He's a regular peach, that guy." He handed her the drink, and said. "Cheers, honey, here's to the future, your future."

"I'll drink to that!" They each took a good hearty sip, on their way to some sanity.

"But, you know, Tag, I really did enjoy Burns, in the beginning. Yes, he blackmailed me, initially, into have sex with him, but I