Spouse Swap

Chapter 14

Trish whirled to discover Gabe watching her with cruel amusement. The same emotion coated his throat. He hawked it clear. "I took the damn gun out when I packed the chest in the trunk." He shook his head in simulated sadness. "Greed sometimes does strange things to pussycats. Especially when they've been abused and missed as many meals as you have." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "You really were going to kill me, weren't you?"

She regained her composure and treated him to a smile that didn't quite come off. "Why would I do something as dumb as that?" Gabe advanced toward her, his eyes suddenly filled with anger. "I can give you five hundred thousand reasons, puss. You're a grabber. You've always been one. I like hunger in a broad, but not when she tries to snatch the bread from my mouth. You made a mistake when you entertained that thought, babe. A bad mistake."

Trish took one look at the advancing Gabe and felt suddenly sick to her stomach. His face was a chalky mask, his eyes static with the inner vicious-ness that rode him, and instinct warned her that this time he was going to dump her… all the way.

She shook her head. It wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let it happen. She had risked too much to end up screwed.

Gabe saw the terror that gripped her and said harshly, "Relax, puss. I'm not going to measure you for a shroud. Murder isn't my bag, remember? All I'm going to do is make you hurt a little. But not just yet. It's going to be fun and games with us before that happens."

Trish's glance dropped to the crotch of his pants. He was hard and ready for action. The bastard. He intended to fuck her physically, then work her over and fuck her out of her share of the money.

The ultimate shaft job.

Unless…

Gabe's voice cut into her thoughts. "I hope you're as scared as you look, puss. I like scared meat. You are, aren't you?"

"W-what?"

"Ready to jump out of your panties."

Trish swallowed hard, nodded. His laughter mocked her. "That's good, puss. I want you to be terrified. It will keep you from doing something stupid that might make me fuck up that beautiful face of yours so that nobody will ever want to look at it again."

Trish took a deep breath that stirred her breasts, and said in a low whisper, "I won't do anything dumb, Gabe. No more fooling around. I'll be good. Just don't hurt me. Please?" She sounded like a frightened child. "I only brought that gun along for protection. I wasn't going to use it on you. Honest to God I wasn't!" He stopped laughing and frowned at her.

"Straight shit?"

Her lower lip trembled. "Straight shit."

Gabe watched her closely. "Prove it."

She stared at him stupidly. "Prove it? How?"

"You can start by showing me your bra."

Her skin crawled, her voice quavered. "My bra?"

Gabe started to lose his temper again. "Stop repeating everything I say like a fucking parrot and do as I ask, damn it. Unbutton that shirt and show me your bra. Now!"

Trish stepped back, and her eyes widened as fresh fear attacked her guts and turned them into a hard wad. She knew he was playing cat-and-mouse with her, that after she finished playing this silly game, he would in some way render her unconscious and haul ass with the whole bag of bread. Convince him? Not a chance. The best she could hope for was the opportunity to turn the tables on this sadistic prick.

"I'm not going to repeat myself again," Gabe said harshly. "Start peeling or start hurting."

Trish's tongue raced around her lips in a moistening gesture. She opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind. The time for talk was past. She had learned the futility of talking to people like Gabe a long time ago.

Suck him, she told herself. Make like a meek pussycat, throw him off guard, and then shaft him.

Sighing loudly, Trish's fingers wended their way like lazy worms toward the top button of her shirt.

"Better," Gabe said with a wicked smile. "Now you're being smart. Peeling beats hell out of getting dumped, doesn't it?"

Trish nodded and loosened the highest button on her shirt. Then the second. Her eyes dropped to watch her fingers. The third button. The fourth. The shirt gaped open, and the white nylon half-bra and upper hemispheres of her quaking breasts gleamed like shimmering marble in the sunlight that filtered in through the cabin's lone window.

Gabe smacked his lips and said, "No doubt about it, puss. You've got 'em. Tits that won't quit. Take off the shirt." He waited until she obeyed, then said, "Now shake them at me."

Trish made her breasts bounce.

"Again, puss."

She made her breasts bounce harder.

Watching him. Hating him. Fearing him. Wanting him dead. Waiting for the one unguarded moment to make him dead.

"One more time, puss."

Trish's breasts almost jumped free of the half-bra that held them captive as she shook them again.

Gabe chortled and rubbed sweating palms against the sides of his pants. Then he closed the narrow gap that lay between them and lifted his meat hooks to her breasts. Trish stood frozen. His fingers hooked into her bra. He tugged the scrap of cloth downward; straps broke and breasts quivered into nakedness, the same way as they had last night at the rest area when Gabe had worked her over. Trish looked down and watched her coral nipples come to full attention as the air kissed them. She shivered in the sunlight and waited for the inevitable. It didn't come. Not right away.

Gabe ripped the bra free of her body and stepped back. He parked his rump on the edge of the table and said, "Keep peeling, puss.

Trish was so amateur when it came to teasing. She knew all of the tricks that put a man's nerves on edge, that made him blind to everything except whatever part of her body she chose at the moment to call to his attention. With Gabe it would be much easier to distract, because the stupid bastard thought she was going to roll over and play dead while he hauled ass with the money.

No way, prick, Trish thought as she loosened the zipper on her tapered slacks. If anyone is going to haul ass with that bread, it's going to be me.

She unlocked the zipper on her slacks, and a wedge of her panties came into view. Gabe's tongue raced around his lips. Fresh beads of sweat stood out on his bulging brow. Keep tripping over that ugly cock of yours, Trish's mind begged as she knifed forward to follow the slacks down her ankles.

She didn't remove her boots this time. She yanked the slacks free and straightened, a faint smile lurking at the corners of her mouth as she removed her panties and made herself naked.

Gabe sucked wind as her pussy was exposed. He came away from the table. He took his cock out of his pants, shook it at her and rasped, "The mere sight of your cunt makes my dick want to drool all over the floor, only I'm not going to let that happen. Come here."

Trish did as she was told.

She wasn't about to argue with this crazy bastard.

Gabe lowered his tail into the deal chair and patted his knee. "Park it here, puss."

She sat down on his lap and felt the knob of his cock tap against the cheeks of her buttocks. Without having to be told, she reached back, grabbed his erection and stroked it a few times. Gabe wigged out, but in an unexpected way, for momentarily he dumped her to a sitting position on the floor and growled, "How come you aren't scared of me anymore, puss?"

Her lower lip trembled. "I-"

Gabe cut her short. "I think I know why. You're getting dumb ideas about greasing the skids under my ass again, aren't you?"

Her eyes grew large; her voice turned brittle. "No, Gabe, I wasn't. Honest to God I wasn't. I was only trying to convince you that I never did intend to cross you."

"Let's find out, puss," Gabe said as he sat down again and spread his legs. "Start convincing. Start by taking my cock in your mouth and sucking the juice out of it."

"Gabe-"

"No more chatter, puss. All of a sudden I've got a yen for a French massage, and I mean a good one. Do your thing; take my dick in your mouth and suck it!"

Trish's blood speeded up as the idea of taking Gabe's penis between her teeth and biting it occurred to her, but Gabe must have read her mind, for a moment later he said menacingly, "All I want you to do is smoke my cigar, not chew it. Bite too hard, and I'll wrap my hands around your throat and take you with me. Dig?" He head bobbed. "Y-yes."

"Good! And now that we've cleared the air, take my prick in your mouth and treat me to a good suck job."

A smile wobbled on her lips. "All right, lover, one tune on the old flute coming right up."

"Don't talk about it; do it." Trish came to her knees and crawled between his yawning legs. She took his cock in her hand and skinned him back. Her fingertip touched the tiny orifice on the underside of his knob and came away sticky. She almost smiled. It wouldn't take much to make him come… and blind him for the two or three seconds she would need to break it off in him.

"No handshake, puss," Gabe snarled. "Eat my cock, damn you. Eat the hell out of it."

Rave on, cat shit, she told herself. Rave on until I can cover you up.

Trish wrapped a finger around the base of his shaft and took his scrotum in her other hand. She bounced his balls in her palm for a moment. Then her lips parted as her head dropped to take his cockhead inside her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the saltiness of his semen, the rubbery sweetness of his flesh, for now that she was actually blowing him, she knew she would take him all the way to climax before she gambled on putting the screws to his ass.

"Lick me like a lollipop," Gabe croaked as he grabbed her by the ears and attempted to cram the entire length of his penis down her throat. "Do me up brown or I'll fuck you up right where you're kneeling."

Trish made a strangling sound, but she didn't stop blowing him. Her fingers tickled his nuggets, and her lips tightened over the slick shaft that glided between them, and the rough side of her tongue raked his flesh to drive him farther up the wall of passion.

Soon, she thought. Soon he'll be ready for plucking. "Blow, baby, blow."

Trish kept sucking his prick and toying with his nuts, giving him what he wanted. Speedily. Expertly. Until…

"Bingo!" Gabe groaned. "Ready or not, here I come!" And he did.

Trish's eyes grew large as he broke his string and gushed a hot load of jizm into her mouth, but she didn't stop sucking. She felt the pool of juice flood her mouth and splash against her tonsils, and the hot, milky liquid tasted delicious to her. She savored it for a long moment, then proceeded to swallow in great gulps until the last droplet found its way down her throat.

"Good girl!" Gabe said approvingly as he slowly backed his wilting cockshaft out from between her ripe red lips. "You might be a treacherous bitch, but you certainly know how to play a mean whistle."

"I hope I played it well enough to convince you that I wasn't out to pull a double-cross," Trish said as she wiped a droplet of cum from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him. "Did I?"

He reached out and pinched her on the cheek. "Bring one of those bottles over to the table and we'll discuss it, puss. I don't think I'll give you half of the money, but I might get weak enough to kick in with a thousand to keep you going until you find yourself a strip job, or another fish like Bruce Cord to keep you in champagne."

Trish sighed and scrambled to her feet. She crossed over to the ice chest and fisted a bottle of champagne. She carried it over to the table and placed it in front of Gabe. She watched him open the bottle and fill a paper cup. She licked her lips and said, "May I have one, too?"

"Sure. Park it."

She sat down across from him. Gabe poured her a full cup and slid it toward her. Trish sampled the drink. It warmed her, but it didn't ease the tension that crowded her body. Nothing would ease that. Nothing except the destruction of Gabe Penner.

They drank in silence, until Trish broke it by saying, "I could use a cigarette."

Gabe fished a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and tossed them on the table, along with a packet of book matches that advertised Stella Roller's Covered Wagon Bar Cafe. "Help yourself, puss."

Trish lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke deep down into her lungs before she asked, "Couldn't you see your way clear to give me more than a thousand, Gabe?"

"I might, if you come over here and let me suck your tits a little."

Transparent bastard, Trish thought as she stood up and circled the table. With Dooley locked in that damn root cellar and Bruce and the others in town for the day, you know there's no rush about cutting out, and so you 're going to go the whole route before you screw me. Well, I got news for you, prick; the only one who's going to end up screwed is you.

Ice filled her belly as Gabe drew her ass down to his lap. He grinned at her naked breasts, then lowered his face toward the twin hillocks of flesh. Trish waited until he took one of her jutting nipples between his lips. Then, slowly, she reached toward the bottle of champagne, gripped it by the neck and brought it crashing down against the back of his skull. Gabe grunted. Her tit slipped out of his mouth as he leaned to one side and toppled to the floor… and dragged her down with him.

Trish rolled away from Gabe. She jumped to her feet and made a mad scramble for her scattered clothing. She ignored the bra he had ripped from her body and shrugged into the shirt. She buttoned it over her breasts and climbed into her slacks. She shot a hasty glance toward the unconscious Gabe, saw the jagged neck of the broken bottle resting beside him, and hissed, "I ought to cut your goddamned throat for what you did to me today!"

Trish finished dressing and crossed over to the table. She picked up the sack of money without bothering to open it and hugged it to her breasts as though it were a child. She did a brief jig around the room. She was weightless and drunk with joy. Her heart pounded, blood warmed and tits trembled provocatively. She laughed. No more being a loser. No more sweating out three shows per night in cheap dives or taking cocks up her ass from the various Manny Blacks she had known during the adult part of the now nineteen years that were hers. No more off-the-rack dresses, and no more going to bed with an empty stomach. This was it. The end of the ride on the old merry-go-round. She had finally caught the brass ring, valued at half a million dollars.

Happiness faded for a moment as she glanced at Gabe Penner and saw him stir. She wished she could find the guts necessary to wipe his ass off the face of this earth, but she couldn't. Like Gabe, she suddenly discovered that she wasn't made to kill, not even when it concerned a prick who would probably spend the rest of his life searching for her.

She shrugged. Let the bastard hunt all he wanted; he sure as shit wouldn't find her strolling down Fifth Avenue with an ice cream cone in her hand. Not a chance. She knew right where to go to start living like a queen. A place where Gabe Penner would have to swim to reach her. Bermuda.

Joy returned. Impatience came with it. It was time to move on. Away from these stinking boondocks and the funky people who lived here. She laughed and sailed out the door, yelling like a nut as she raced toward the tiny sports car, "Look out, world! Here comes Trish Asher!"