Spouse Swap

Chapter 1

"I love it, I love it!" Trish whispered to herself. "It's just like getting balled by a terrific stud!" She felt the muscles of her stomach clench and unclench, just as they always did a moment before orgasm.

Excitement embraced Trish like an oversexed lover on the verge of climax as she watched her partner slip a folded note to the airline stewardess who had introduced herself to the passengers as Sandra. Heat jumped into the eighteen-year-old redhead's loins, bringing instant moisture to her vagina. Green eyes turned somnambulistic and a blush crawled across her beautiful face to tint her cheeks. Breasts quaked with her suddenly ragged breathing, and nipples hardened behind the half-bra that held them captive, their imprints showing through her boyish white blouse. Heart hammered; blood bubbled along her veins like red lava looking for a way out. She licked her ripe red lips, pressed her creamy thighs together. Her mind raced, keeping miles ahead of the Boeing 707 that was cruising through the night at top speed. This was it. The first step of a job that had been six months in the planning. One that would either go down in the book as a monument to calculated insanity… or as the most successful and profitable skyjacking in history.

We'd better be successful, Trish thought vehemently. I'm tired of being a loser. I'm tired of eating beans and drinking water while others feast on steaks and wash them down with champagne.

The tension-induced flames continued to blaze behind the webbing of Trish Asher's panties as she watched the uniformed girl accept Gabe Penner's note, but the flames turned into ashes a moment later as she saw Sandra's hand carry the still-folded scrap of paper toward her shoulder bag. Trish stiffened in her seat. Instant shock mirrored in her beautiful face, and a groan seeped past her ripe red lips. Something was going wrong, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what that something was. The stupid stewardess thought that Gabe was trying to hustle her for a date at flight's end. An icy smile told Gabe that she wasn't interested. The same frigid smile added the postscript that she wasn't even going to read the note.

Sickness filled and proceeded to slosh around inside Trish's stomach. The color drained from her face, and her mouth dropped open. A dream was on the verge of dropping dead at her feet. She shook her head. No, it wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let it happen.

Goddamn it, Gabe! Trish's mind shrieked as she watched Sandra open her purse and drop the note into it. Don't just sit there like a lump of shit! Do something!

Gabe Penner did. His face contorted in anger as he leaned toward the girl and snarled, loud enough for Trish to overhear, "That hunk of paper I just gave you isn't an invitation to a shack-up, pretty bird, but it could turn out to be one for a lot of funerals if you don't read the damn thing."

The stewardess thought that Gabe was kidding. She made a sour face. Then she laughed and started to turn away. Trish came alive with motion. She leaned out into the aisle, slapped the air hostess on the fanny to get her attention, then hissed. "Do as he asks, damn you!"

The stewardess whirled toward Trish and opened her mouth, probably to give some smart-ass retort. A moment later she remembered her training and calmed down. Then she dipped her hand into the shoulder bag, delivered her anything-to-humor-a-pair-of-nuts sigh and read the note. The moment hung suspended, tense and marked NOW OR NEVER, becoming NOW as the finger of truth goosed the girl and made her come to attention. Her eyes widened, and horror traced its pattern across her face. Her heart pounded, breasts heaving wildly. The note made a slight rustling sound in her quaking hand. Alarm scurried through her brain like a furry beast with sharp claws! My God, we're being skyjacked!

Trish watched the girl wilt and almost laughed in her face. The air bird looked as though she were on the verge of peeing in her funky panties.

She might make it yet, Trish thought. When Gabe hits her with the rest of our plan… she'll probably crap all over herself. A cold smile tugged at her lips. Do your thing, Gabe. Lay it on her.

Gabe did.

"You know what to do," Trish heard Gabe growl, "but before you have second thoughts and ask the pilot to do something stupid, feast your eyes on this." He shifted the attach case on his lap, opened it and flipped up a secret compartment that had escaped the attention of both the airport inspectors and the metal detector. "That's a bomb you're looking at, pussycat. The note you're holding explains why we brought it aboard. That's right, we. There are three of us. Now, we're not interested in blowing this plane and everyone on it out of the wild blue yonder, but if our demands aren't met, we'll sure as hell do it. Dig?"

"Y-yes."

"Beautiful! And now that we understand each other, go up front and do your thing."

Trish slipped out of her seat as the stewardess moved forward to inform the pilot that they had the beginning of a nightmare on their hands. A man seated behind her stood up, also. She smiled at him. His name was Hank Lockridge. At forty, he was the senior member of their group… and the mastermind behind the fantastic caper in progress.

"Now?" Trish asked quietly.

Hank Lockridge nodded.

Gabe joined them in the aisle. Carry-on bags were opened, and momentarily all three of them started to undress, but it was Trish who attracted the most attention from the suddenly wide-eyed passengers as she unbuttoned her boyishly cut blouse and brought her bra-covered breasts trembling into view.

"Eat your stinking hearts out," Trish told the gasping women, and to the gawking men: "Have a hot, wild cum on me, you hungry-eyed bastards."

"Cut the shit," Hank Lockridge growled as he removed a pair of insulated arctic coveralls from his carry-on bag and proceeded to struggle into them. "Save that strip act you were doing when I found you for another time. Just change your clothes and forget about the goddamn audience. They aren't going to clap their hands to feed your hammy ego."

Trish laughed and shrugged out of her blouse. She shook her big breasts at the bug-eyed passengers, simply to spite Hank Lockridge. Then she unlocked the zipper on her skirt and followed it down to her ankles. She toed it aside, straightened, and sensuously caressed the crotch of her bikini panties for a few seconds before she glared at Hank and said scathingly, "Keep your big nose out of my ass, old man. I know what I'm supposed to do, and when the time comes, I'll do it. Mean- while, do your growling at someone else, or I'll wish a Roman candle on your carcass when you bail out into the night."

Hank let his breath out slowly. "Get fucked."

"I intend to, old thing," Trish retorted. "Right after we land on the ground again." Her voice licked at him. "Talk sweet and I might even let you do the fucking."

Gabe Penner cut into their exchange of words by saying, "Looks as though the fly jockey is going to play ball with us. We're starting to circle."

Hank grunted. "One of us better check to make sure."

Gabe jerked a thumb in Trish's direction. "That's her job, old man." Trish said, "He's right, Hank."

"Then do it."

"All right if I make myself decent first?"

Gabe smiled mirthlessly. "It will take more than clothes to do that."

She gave him a stiff finger. "Up your ass, prick."

Gabe lost his temper and started to slug her. Hank Lockridge stepped between them and said tightly, "Cool it, Gabe."

Gabe did. Reluctantly.

Trish climbed into her U.S. Air Force surplus coveralls. Then she encased her feet in a pair of lace jump boots, removed a.25 automatic from her bag and made her way toward the pilot cabin. The stewardess paled as Trish entered, and rasped, "Here's one of them, Jock."

"That's right," Trish said, "one of them." She focused her attention on the chief pilot. "What's the good word, fly bird?"

The captain replied angrily, "I've contacted ground control. The word is to play ball with you bastards."

"Sounds good. What about the money we're demanding?"

The pilot's lips tightened at their corners. "Mustang Airlines is willing to pay the five hundred thousand dollars you and your friends are demanding, but they'll need a few hours to scrounge it up."

"Up their asses, handsome. Call back and tell your bosses they have one hour to come up with the loot, and not one second more." Trish fell silent while the pilot relayed her message to ground control, then asked, "Well?"

The captain nodded. "One hour it is."

Trish smiled wickedly. "Let me know when Mustang gets ready to dump like a slot machine. Meanwhile, keep circling." She wagged her gun at the pale-faced stewardess. "You, Sandra. Come with me."

The stewardess didn't argue…

The hour passed slowly, but it did pass. Gabe Penner went forward this time. He returned and announced that Mustang Airlines was ready to deliver the ransom money.

Hank Lockridge said, "Go back and tell the pilot to land."

"I already did, old man."

The Boeing landed smoothly. Trish saw a truck appear on the runway and said, "Here comes the goodies!"

The money. Five hundred thousand dollars in various denominations. A big bundle to jump with into the night. A big bundle, period.

Trish waited until Gabe Penner finished counting the money, then asked, "Well?"

Gabe bared his teeth in mirthless grin. "They kept their end of the deal. We'd better do the same. Kick the passengers loose." Trish nodded. "What about the air waitresses."

"Two can go with the passengers. Keep one as hostage. A broad on board will make the wheels we extorted this bread from think twice before they do something stupid." He nodded toward Sandra. "Keep the one who thinks her shit doesn't stink. I might have time to check her asshole to find out if she's right."

Another fifteen minutes passed before they were airborne again…

Hank Lockridge returned from forward and said, "I explained to the hotshot at the controls that nothing would happen to the cunt he flies with if he didn't get cute. He'll play along. He'll climb to ten thousand feet and cruise at an even two hundred miles an hour." He glanced at his wristwatch. "We've still got thirty minutes before we make our jump, but it wouldn't hurt to fit on our parachutes."

The chutes were sport types, and Trish fitted two of them to her body, one as a spare. Just in case. She worked swiftly, and so did Gabe Penner, but the slightly sadistic bastard was doing his work in a different way.

He gripped the stewardess by her shoulders and said, "When I first handed you my note, you thought I was trying to make a play for your ass. You looked as though you wanted to puke."

"Dummy up, bitch. I'm giving the orders now, and you'd better start listening real good. Dig?"

Sandra nodded, then stammered, "W-what do y-you want me t-to do?"

Hank Lockridge cut in. "Damn it, Gabe, let her be."

"Fuck you, old man."

Hank Lockridge shrugged.

Trish giggled and sat down to watch Gabe do his thing with the stewardess. She knew what was coming. Gabe was an expert when it came to humiliating someone. Especially a girl.

Gabe removed his hands from Sandra's shoulders and said, "Open the jacket and show me your tits, pretty bird."

The stewardess stiffened as though Gabe had shoved a broom handle up her ass, and gasped, "No!"

Gabe backhanded her across the left cheek, catching her before she fell. His voice flattened. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, bitch. Open the jacket."

Fear caused all defiance to drain out of Sandra. She stood monolithic for a pair of wild seconds. Then, almost in slow motion, she lifted a hand to her jacket and proceeded to open it. One button.

Two. Three. The jacket gaped to reveal a white blouse stuffed with breasts the size of prime Yakima Valley apples. Gabe smacked his lips, then said, "Take a deep breath, bitch."

Sandra inhaled, thus thrusting her breasts into greater prominence. Gabe reached out and fondled the left one, drawled, "Yours aren't the biggest pair of knockers I've grabbed, but they'll do. Take off the jacket."

Sandra blushed.

Hank Lockridge turned his back to the girl and crossed over to the intercom. He didn't like what was happening, but he knew Gabe Penner well enough to avoid a hassle with him. Hank shrugged. Let the girl do her own sweating, the way he was doing. He had worries enough without adding hers to his list. The biggest one would be coming up in a few minutes. A parachute jump into darkness.

Trish felt the heat returning to her own quim as she watched the stewardess remove her jacket and drop it on the nearest seat. The heat became more intense as she glanced at Gabe Penner's crotch. He had a fierce hard-on. She smacked her lips and wondered how he would soften it. Would the unpredictable bastard cram his cockshaft in the girl's vagina? Shove it up her rear? Or would he settle for a suck job? She shivered and waited for the answer.

Gabe stopped toying with Sandra's firm breasts and barked, "Shuck the blouse, bitch."

Sandra did as she was told. She wasn't about to argue with the man.

"And the skirt."

Trish nearly climaxed as Sandra loosened her skirt, then knifed forward to follow it down to her trim ankles, for as she did so, Gabe hauled out his huge erection and attempted to cram it in the girl's mouth. He almost made it. Almost, but not quite. Sandra turned her head as the tip of his cock touched her clenched lips, but all this did was prolong the inevitable.

Gabe fisted her shiny black hair and snarled, "I'm giving you a choice, bitch. Get down on your dimpled knees and start gnawing on my meat, or get your snooty ass kicked out of this seven-oh-seven, without a parachute. Chomp or jump; you've got ten seconds to make your choice."

The stewardess made her decision in less than ten seconds. Eyes filled with tears of mortification, face twisted into a grotesque mask of object terror, she melted to her knees and took Gabe Penner's petrified prick in her right hand. She stared at the veined organ, and the urge to vomit bubbled within her. Giving blowjobs was the one act she had never indulged in, but she would indulge in it now. She winced inwardly. Better to be a live cock-sucker than a dead heroine.

Gabe slipped his free hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. Menace edged his voice. "Damn you, bitch, start sucking!"

The air hostess skinned him back to expose his cockhead.

"Now, damn you!"

And now it was. Her mouth opened wide, sem-blant of a bird anxious to receive a meal of worms, and a clock tick later she took the knob and two or three inches of his dripping dong into her mouth. Lips tensed, she started sucking. Loudly. Clumsily.

"Damn it, Gabe," Trish said mockingly, "you must be off your stick or awful hard up to let an amateur nibble on that juicy fuck-muscle of yours. Look at her. Christ, the way she's going at it, you'd think the damn thing was a snake."

Sandra kept sucking. Noisily. Desperately.

"Hell," Trish said derisively, "at the speed she's going, you'll never get your rocks off, Gabe. Why don't you bring that big sausage over here and let me drain the marrow out of it? "

Gabe didn't hear her. Too preoccupied with blowing his nuts in Sandra's mouth, he was gripping the back of her head and snarling, "Gag and I'll break your neck, you snooty bitch."

Sandra didn't gag. Nor did she spit out the big load of semen he fired into her mouth. She swallowed and kept swallowing until his cock ran dry.

Gabe finished exploding and shoved Sandra away from his wilting whang. She landed in a sprawl, on her back. Gabe flared down at her and said bitingly, "I wish I had more time to spend on your uppity ass, and I do mean ass. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to ram this dick of mine up the old dirty road and make you beg for mercy." He snorted. "You'd do it, too. Beg, I mean. You're too goddamn weak in the guts to do anything else." He turned away from the quietly sobbing girl and asked Hank, "How soon do we bail out of this flying clink?"

Hank Lockridge scowled at his wristwatch. "We'll be there in six minutes."

Gabe struggled into his backpack chutes and asked, "Think we'll get a clear shot at our jump target, Hank?"

Trish spoke up, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Stop bleeding at the pores, Gabe. It doesn't become you."

He glared at her. "Kiss my ass."

She gave him a twisted smile. "I wouldn't know where to start. You're all ass."

"Cut the shit," Hank Lockridge grumbled as he picked up the bag of money and prepared to move toward the rear exit that would be their point of departure from the Boeing. "If you want to play the dirty dozen with each other, do it on the way down. "Let's hit it."

The seminude stewardess still lay on the deck. Hank filed past her. Gabe next. Trish brought up the rear. She paused for a moment, smiled at the girl and said wickedly, "A word of advice, pussycat. Before you run forward to cry on the captain's shoulder, scrounge a tissue from somewhere and wipe Gabe's cockjuice from your chin."

Sandra's body jerked as though she had just received a vicious slap across the face. Shame flooded her system for a moment. Then came anger. She locked glances with Trish and hissed, "Drop dead!"

Trish laughed. "I'm going to drop, pussycat, but not dead. All I'm going to do is drop into obscurity… with one third of five hundred thousand pesos to keep me happy for the rest of my life. How does that grab you, cocksucker?"

Sandra lapsed into silence.

Trish laughed harshly and stepped toward the rear. Hank Lockridge and Gabe Penner were ready to make like big-assed birds. She donned her motorcycle crash helmet, thinking, In these outfits, all of us look like freaky spacemen.

Hank opened the rear exit door, and now Trish lost interest in everything except getting out and down as cabin pressure and temperature readings dropped faster than a desperate whore's panties. Silence and warmth vanished. Cold air roared into the cabin with bated teeth and started biting her. Trish cursed and muttered, "Let's get the hell out of here before I freeze my pussy!"

Hank Lockridge was the first one to vanish, along with the bag of money. Then Gabe Penner. Now it was Trish's turn. She slid down the flight steps on her ass, gripping the railings with both glove-covered hands, her heart pounding heavily. She reached the bottom, hesitated.

Do your thing! her mind shrilled. Keep the lights of Lone Pine to your right and hit the nylon! Now!

A heartbeat later she stopped gripping the railings and tumbled from the bottom step.