Spouse Swap

Chapter 12

The raucous ringing of the bedside telephone awakened Trish. She stirred beneath the soft, pink blanket that covered her, then removed her arms and preened herself like a cat. Her brain remained fuzzy with sleep for a few seconds. Then she remembered Gabe telling her that the money bag was probably hung up in a tree, and sat up with a start, now fully awake.

The phone rang a second time; then the bed creaked as Bruce came up on his elbow and fisted it. He talked, listened, frowned at the instrument in his hands. He looked worried about something. Trish said, "What's wrong, Bruce?"

He silenced her with a glance. Her eyes never left his face. Worry faded; annoyance replaced it. He finished talking, returned the receiver to its cradle. Then he treated her to a tight smile and said, "That was Felix Wellman."

"Oh?"

"It's about a bank loan I've been trying to get. It's been approved, but I have to drive in to sign some papers."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I didn't want to go to Lone Pine today. I wanted to stay home and make mad love to you."

"Again? Damn, after last night, I didn't think you'd be. able to come up with a hard-on for at least a month."

"I've got one now."

"Bring it over and I'll see what I can do to soften it."

"Coax me."

Trish started to lose her temper, checked it. She reached across the bed and pulled him down beside her. Her mind raced wildly. There would be no silly games played. She would soften his dick as quickly as possible, then chase him out of the house. The sooner the better. She tightened her fingers around his swollen shaft and said, "Call it: a suck or a fuck?"

"Neither," Bruce said as he freed his cock from the prison of her warm hand and sat up beside her. "Not until I've had breakfast."

Her eyes grew large. "You're going to eat me first?"

"I am," Bruce said solemnly. "I'm going to eat your cunt."

Shadows of amusement glinted in her eyes. "That will be a switch. I'm usually the one who does the eating around here." She frowned at him. "Why this sudden yen to munch my cunt?"

"I feel like celebrating. With the bank kicking through with my loan, I'm in the mood for a bit of the exotic. Having the old palm greased with the oil of lucre always makes me feel reckless, so don't try to talk me out of it."

"I won't," Trish laughed. "I like having my pussy licked. Go ahead, do me."

"Spread your legs."

Trish did.

Bruce swapped ends and lowered his face to her copper-colored pubic mattress. She gasped as his lips found and tweaked her clitoral spire. She shivered, then moaned loudly as he moved his mouth away from her clit and attacked the lips of her moistening pussy with his tongue.

"Ah," she said, "that feels delicious!"

Without warning, Bruce backed his tongue out of her vagina and nuzzled his cheek against her vaginal fur. Trish patted him on the back of his head and whispered throatily, "You call that eating quim? You must be on a fucking diet."

Bruce lifted his cheek from her pubis and made a lewd smacking sound with his lips. He called her a bitch in heat, waited for her laugh, then dipped his head once more and went about the business of satisfying her. He knew how. A few more seconds and she would start tearing up the bedsheet.

He palmed her buttocks and planted a resounding kiss on her belly button. Then his tongue stiffed and gouged her in the same place. Her stomach muscles quivered, her hips twitched, and her vagina felt suddenly soppy. Her eyes glazed, and distance edged her voice as she begged him for more. "Take me all the way! Eat me off, eat me off!

He stopped gripping her buttocks. His lips and tongue left her navel and crawled through her pubic jungle, over her alabaster thighs, down to the soles of her tiny feet. He kissed her painted toes with exaggerated tenderness, then worked his way back to her melting quim.

"Damn you!" Trish shrilled, taking him by the ears. "Stop stalling and get with it!"

She wanted his tongue in her crevice, and she wanted it now, not later.

Bruce buried his face in her fur and trapped her clit between his lips once more. He gave it a violent suck, and a loud moan ripped past Trish's lips. His teeth nipped. She shuddered, clutched the back of his skull, panted, "Give me a ride on your tongue now!"

Bruce wasn't in the mood for being rushed. He continued to tease her hot, pink clit. He sucked and gnawed, and at this juncture Trish was ready to gooff her stick.

"Don't tease me anymore," she begged. "Ah, Bruce, I can't take much more of this! Soothe me, Bruce, soothe me! Give me a cum, Bruce! Give me a wild cum!"

Bruce released his grip on her clit and sought to give her relief from torment. He placed one hand

T on either side of her melting quim, spread the lips wide, then bolted his stiff tongue between them.

Trish moaned with pleasure and felt the insides of her twat contract, pulling at Bruce's tongue the way it pulled at his cock whenever he banged her.

Wild.

"Eat, Bruce, eat." Bruce ate. Loudly. Ravenously.

Trish's sweat-soaked thighs scissored wider as Bruce licked at the inner walls of her twat with his tongue. Her juices flowed, wetting her passage, filling her cunthole.

It was fantastic.

Climax threatened, and now she coiled her legs around his neck and panted, "I'm almost there, Bruce! Make me come, make me come!"

Bruce moaned against her vagina. His hot breath made her shiver. Her hips rocked harder, and just when she concluded she would go crazy if she had to suffer another second of torture, Bruce tucked his index finger up her asshole and tripped her trigger.

Trish yelped, "I'm blowing, I'm blowing!" And she did…

Later, much later, she came up on one elbow and smiled at Bruce. "Thanks for the buggy ride."

Bruce didn't seem to hear her. He was staring at the pussy he had just finished devouring, shaking his head back and forth.

Trish frowned. "What's with the puzzled look and the head-shaking bit?"

Bruce kept moving his head from side to side. "I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

Trish giggled. "You watch too much television." She sobered abruptly, remembering the money they stood a good chance of finding today, wanting him out of the way so she and Gabe could get with it. She grabbed his stiff cock and said, "You ate. Now it's my turn."

"No," Bruce said quietly. "I don't want you to suck me off this morning."

She wet her lips. "What do you want?"

"Ass," he said. "I want some of your ass."

She winced inwardly and started to turn him down. A moment later she reconsidered, shrugged. She would give him what he wanted. Anything to get him out of her hair. Hopefully, after today she would never have to do anything with him again.

"All right, lover, my ass is yours."

"That's my little wanton. Make like a pooch."

Her eyebrows lifted. She started to lose her temper again. Taking a cock up her ass while lying on her back was bad enough, but the way Bruce wanted to do it was something else. Posing on her hands and knees while a man corked her in the butt made her feel degraded. She wanted to tell him to take a flying fuck at a galloping goose, but she didn't. A sigh seeped past her slightly parted lips. She assumed the all-fours position in the middle of the bed and said, "Start reaming. Just don't hurt me." It was a silly thing to say. He had never hurt her before.

Bruce promised to be gentle and moved into position behind her. He took his time. He eased the knob forward, and she felt it stretch and pass beyond her anal circle. She dug her fingers into the rumpled bedsheet and said, "Easy does it."

Bruce worked his shaft in and out, in and out, until she was moist, then rammed his cock all the way home.

Trish grunted, then purred, "You're in. Now do your thing, cowboy; slap the pork to me. Do it. Fuck me!"

Bruce did. His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her buttocks. His mouth made contact with the back of her neck, tongue licking. Trish fisted more of the bedsheet beneath her and listened to the animalistic grunts and asthmatic wheezes that belched out of him as he continued to saw his cock in and out of her anal passage.

Soon, she told herself as she made her hips move faster. A few more strokes, and he'll blow his mind… and his nuts.

"Pop," she encouraged, aware that talking to him always helped to create a fast finish. "Make like a volcano and erupt inside my ass."

A moment later he did.

And then relaxed.

"Beautiful," Trish murmured as his softening sausage wormed its way clear of her anal passage. "Simply beautiful!"

"For me, yes, but how about yourself, little! wanton? Did you come?"

"Don't I always?" The lie rolled easily from her lips. "No matter how you take me, I always get my jollies."

Bruce slapped her playfully on the ass and laughed. "Well, you won't be getting any more from me today, hon. I've got to head for town. I don't want to be late for my appointment with the banker. I need that loan so I can keep you in champagne."

Trish turned her head away to conceal a smile, thinking, If Gabe and I luck out and find that bag of bread today, you can take that cheap champagne I've been guzzling and donate it to Stella Roller's Support-Your-Local-Whorehouse Fund, because I won't be around to drink it anymore. Not this pussycat. Just let me get my hands on that half-million bucks, put the screws to Gabe, and I'll be long gone, hayseed. A shiver ripped through her body. Bright lights, here comes Trish Asher!

"Speaking of champagne, you'd better bring another case back with you. I'm down to three bottles again."

"You drink too much."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I also fuck and suck too much, but I don't hear you complaining about that."

Bruce laughed and padded into the bathroom. Trish slipped out of bed and crossed over to the dresser. She used the end of a rat-tail comb to fish a dead mosquito out of the glass she had used two nights before and poured herself an early morning drink. She toasted her image in the mirror by saying, "Here's looking at you… heiress."

She turned away from the mirror and took the bottle with her. She sat on the edge of the bed and tripped while she sipped. Visions of diamonds, tailor-made dresses and rubbing elbows with the jet set danced through her head. With five hundred thousand dollars in her kick, she would become an instant somebody. No more peeling, no more hustling to make ends meet, no more picking shit with the chickens.

Trish's mental trip ended abruptly as Bruce emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, and announced, "I'm ready to take off. Would you care to come with me?"

Trish pursed her lips. "If I have a choice, I'd rather stay home and get stoned out of my gourd." She waited for him to coax her. He didn't. She stood up and walked across the room, breasts bouncing with every step. She kissed him on the lips and said, "Don't look so disappointed. You know how I feel about Lone Pine and all the rubes who live there. If you're hungry for company, why don't you take Elke with you? She hasn't been in town in nearly a week."

He thought it over. "You wouldn't mind."

"Why should I?"

Bruce watched her closely. "I might try to seduce her."

Trish reached down and flicked a finger against his flaccid cock. "Go ahead. Elke might wear you down, but she'll never wear you out."

Bruce laughed and walked out of the bedroom. Trish returned to her champagne and waited for him to depart. Time dragged. She was working toward the bottom of her third glass and flirting with impatience when she heard the Mazda's rotary engine come to life. She crossed over to the window and watched Bruce drive off down the lane. The rear window was too dusty for her to see inside the car, but she felt positive that Elke Lockridge was riding with him. She put the tips of her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

"Adios, cowboy," she whispered. "Don't think that knowing you hasn't been fun… because it hasn't."

She turned away from the window, breasts rising and falling, picked up her bottle of champagne and carried it into the kitchen. She found Gabe waiting for her. He looked up from the can of Lucky Lager he was sucking on and said, "Christ, don't you ever dress when you're in this house?"

Trish sat down across from him and made a sour face. "Who has time to slip into something when she's busy getting something slipped into her?"

"A farewell orgy?"

"I hope so." She poured herself another drink and glanced around the kitchen. She saw a pan of biscuits ready for the oven and frowned. "Where the hell is Mrs. Singing Rabbit?"

Gabe paused with the beer can near his mouth, "On her way to town with Bruce. She asked for the day off. A break for us."

"Elke?"

"She went with them. We've got the whole place to ourselves. What say you fix something to eat, and then we'll cut out for the valley."

Trish stood up. "Give me a few minutes to dress and I'll be right with you." She trotted out of the kitchen.

"Make it snappy," Gabe called after her. "We don't want that money to get sunburned."

Trish returned in a few minutes, dressed for a jaunt in the boondocks. She was wearing a mannish shirt and tapered slacks tucked into black walking boots, but she sure as shit didn't look sexless. The shirt hugged her curves and accentuated the ripeness of her breasts, almost to the point of being obscene, and the slacks fit over her hips and thighs and haunches like a second layer of skin. She reeked of sensuality, and Gabe again realized he was in the presence of what some liked to call one hell of a hunk of table meat.

Trish went about the chore of preparing breakfast. Gabe watched her slacks tighten across her shapely derriere as she bent forward to slip the pan of biscuits into the oven, and saw the outline of her panties through the material. His cock hardened as he stared at her dimpled buttocks, but a moment later he thought about the bag of goodies they might find today and his erection wilted.

Another ten minutes passed before Trish placed breakfast on the table and sat down to join him, then asked, "Where are we going to start looking first today, chum?"

"In that tree Hank crashed through on his way down," Gabe replied as he helped himself to some eggs and bacon. "I have a hunch the sack is there."

"Why don't we shake a leg and find out?"

Gabe grinned at her impatience. "Relax, puss. It's kept a little over two months; another hour or so won't hurt it. Let me finish my chow first."

"And Joe Dooley? Are we going to feed him?"

"No way. Let him go hungry."

Trish frowned. "Why? What's the point in making the guy starve? Just because he decked you?"

"Never mind why," Gabe growled. "Just stop worrying about the sorry bastard, will you?"

Trish shrugged and reached for her bottle of bubbly. "Whatever you say, lover. You're the boss."

Boss? she snickered inwardly. Yeah, a screwed one.