Merany sat back in the filthy alley, panting and covered in sweat and more than a little of the tattooed man (Bill, he corrected himself. Worth remembering his clientele by name, especially ones with what he has to offer...)'s fluids. He had changed further as he had sunk deeper and more gleefully into his back alley depravities with Bill, now sporting a wide pair of hips and a luscious ass that was hardly contained by a glossy PVC skirt. Merany's old self had nearly disappeared entirely now, and he (though that pronoun was a stretch, a few vestiges aside) had nearly forgotten it entirely as well. Why would he, when the here and now was so much fun?
After Bill and Merany's fun had grown a little too loud, it had attracted the attention of a few more men-- thankfully all friends of Bill's. Merany had done her best to see to them all-- he had just used her mouth, both soft, long nailed hands, and his newly plush rear to see to all four of their "needs" quite directly, but even he was tiring now, and the job was just too much for him to handle, as much as he hated to admit it. With a sly excuse and explanation to the boys he straightened up, slipping the pitiable mesh excuse of a shirt over his ample assets before retrieving his purse from where he had tossed it aside and pulling out his cell phone. Scrolling through a contact list (mostly of regulars), he quickly found the number he needed. A smile came to his painted lips as the phone rang, and before long it was answered.
"Hey, baby, it's me. Listen, I need some help..."
Back at the party, a very drunk Steve Farber furrowed his brow, confused. "Wha... what sort of help?" he asked the sultry voice on the other end of the line. Through the haze of alcohol, he could feel himself stirring. For someone who sounded like that, he could imagine 'help' might be very fun indeed.
