Spouse Swap

Chapter 4

Trish Asher was on her third gin-and-tonic when Manny Black arrived at the Atomic Club to pick up and deposit the previous night's take at the local bank. Her eyes picked him up in the back bar mirror as he threaded his way between the tables that were presently unoccupied, and remembrance of what Gabe Penner had told her about the honky-tonk impresario caused a smile to spread across her face. Manny looked more like a long distance truck driver than most of the highway jockeys she had ever known. He was as big as a full-grown gorilla and just as ugly, with a pushed-in face and cauliflower ear. He was bald except for a fringe of black hair that hugged his skull like an unfinished halo, and he walked as though his shoes were too tight. He-was an ex-pug turned businessman, and because of his nasty disposition, he also doubled in harness on busy nights as his own bouncer. He looked mean and he was mean. According to Gabe, Manny Black had such a mean reputation that even Bad Breath Anonymous wanted nothing to do with him.

"The word is that Manny Black is a tough man to toil for," Gabe had told her, "but you should be able to stand him for two or three weeks." "Two or three weeks?" she had asked. "Why so long?"

"Use your head, puss," Gabe had said almost angrily. "That chopper we saw out at Lonesome Valley this morning wasn't just passing through the neighborhood by accident. The heat's already on in this neck of the woods, making like a couple of treasure hunters too soon would only add to it." He paused to fill his lungs with stale air, shook his head. "Nope, we're going to cool it for at least two, but no more than three weeks. Meanwhile, get this job from Manny and then play your peeling game like a good little cunt; I'll let you know when to pounce on Bruce Cord."

Trish sighed and stopped thinking about Gabe Penner. She kept her eyes on the ugly giant who had paused for a few words with the table waitress she had talked with earlier, and who now was coming toward the bench she occupied at the bar, where she was sandwiched between a loudmouthed lush who was reliving his bravery during Korea, and a dumpy blonde who was crying in her Scarlett O'Hara and telling the bored-looking bartender what a dirty bastard her husband was for breaking up her affair with a lesbian. Trish closed her ears to the probably bogus hero and dyke-hooked pig and concentrated on the man mincing up behind her.

Manny Black took a hasty look at her haunches and licked his lips before he asked, "You want to see me about something, kid?"

Trish turned slowly on the stool and smiled at the big man. "I do. Gabe Penner mentioned that you're looking for a dancer to entertain the local yokels. I'm your girl."

Manny Black licked his chops and looked her over. Trish kept smiling. She knew what he was seeing: an eighteen-year-old package of lush curves, neatly wrapped in a button-front minidress as red as her shoulder-length hair. Manny stopped using his tongue on his lips and said, "There's more to the job I have open than dancing, kid. You also have to peel like a banana."

"I know."

"You ever do this kind of work before?" Trish nodded. "In New York. Do I get the job?"

He nodded toward a door marked PRIVATE. "My office. Let's go in there and discuss it."

Trish slid from her bar perch, thinking, Casting couch, her I come!

The door opened and snicked shut behind them.

"Automatic lock," Manny explained as he lowered his hunkers to the black leather couch that dominated one wall of his private cubicle. "It will keep us from being disturbed while I check your qualifications." He chuckled at his own feeble attempt at levity, then sobered abruptly and said, "All right, kid, do your stuff."

Trish didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She took a deep breath that shook her breasts, reached for the top button on her dress. She worked her way down the row of buttons. Slowly. Teasingly. Her eyes glued to his crotch. She was almost tempted to laugh in his ugly face when she saw his cock stretch, harden and threaten to break the zipper on his fly. She sneered inwardly. Some interview.

She knifed forward to open the dress all the way, then straightened and turned aside for a moment while she shrugged free of it. The dress dropped to form into a puddle around her black-booted ankles, and for a second the material reminded her of Hank Lockridge's blood. She grimaced and whirled to face the now sweating Manny Black. "Well?"

Manny's eyes dropped to her boots, then crawled upward. He paused to study the webbing of her flame colored bikini panties, licked his lips, asked, "You always wear red?"

"Not always. Why?"

"I hate red."

She shrugged and made her breasts bounce. "I'll wear black next time."

Manny's glance jumped to her sheathed tits. He smiled crookedly. "Maybe there won't be a next time, kid. You haven't got the job yet. Gabe

Penner tells me you're hot stuff on stage, only I don't take any man at his word. Let me see how you peel, so I can judge for myself."

"All the way?"

Manny smiled sourly. "You can leave the boots on. I wouldn't want you to feel naked."

Trish ignored the sarcasm in his voice, and her breasts bounced toward his glistening face, like two moons on a collision course, as she reached between her shoulder blades and unclasped her flaming half-bra. She held it in place, causing Manny to growl, "Show those tits, kid."

Trish exhaled loudly and released her grip on the half-bra. A second later her magnificent breasts tumbled into nakedness. Nipples hardened immediately as the air rushed against them, but the ice of disinterest continued to chill her loins as Manny licked his pink, plastic lips again and rasped, "Now the panties, kid."

She started to tell him to shove the job up his ass. Then she remembered Bruce Cord and changed her mind. Hands came alive. She hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband of her red panties and peeled them down past her hips, over her thighs. Her breasts swung tantalizingly as she bent over and removed her scanties all the way. She tossed them aside, came erect, and a bitter smile curved her lips as she locked glances with Manny Black and asked, "Satisfied?"

Manny made no attempt to conceal his erection as he stood up. He shook his head. "Not yet. Turn around and let me see your ass, kid."

Christ, Trish thought as she spun around on a boot heel and showed Manny Black her dimpled buttocks. Gabe told me that getting this prick to book me would be easy…

Manny cut into her acid thoughts. "I like your ass, kid. It's real pretty. But is it tight?"

Trish's guts knotted. What was this ugly bastard up to? She found out a moment later as Manny gripped her buttocks and proceeded to knead them. She stood frozen, until he attempted to shove a thick finger beyond her tense sphincter. Then, whirling to face him, she hissed, "Not a chance, chum; I'm not about to let you screw me in the ass."

Manny glared at her. "In that case, the interview is over." He nodded toward her scattered clothing. "Climb into your glad rags and hit the street, kid." He started to turn away.

"Listen, Mr. Black," Trish said, her voice bringing him back to her once more. She paused, watched him closely. "I don't mind playing house, but maybe we can do it some other way. I'm willing to fuck for the job I'm after. I'll even suck for it. How does that grab you?"

"Not very hard. I'm strictly a back-door man, and any girl who doesn't go that route with me looks elsewhere for employment, so make up your mind, kid… strap some ring on my dick or get the hell out of here." He lapsed into silence for a few seconds. When he spoke again, he sounded impatient. "Well, what's the answer, kid?"

Trish's eyes dropped to the prominent bulge in his crotch, then moved up to his ugly face. Her voice sagged with resignation. "You win, Mr.

Black. I need this job. My ass is yours."

"Now you're being smart," Manny said as he shrugged out of his coat, then unzipped his fly and hauled out nine inches of the fattest sausage Trish had ever seen. He nodded toward his cluttered desk. "I like to fuck assholes standing up, so latch on to the edge of the mahogany, huh?"

Trish hated him in silence as she moved to obey. She gripped the edge of the desk, then bent forward until her breasts touched wood. She held her breath and waited. Manny moved into position behind her. His hot hands scorched her hips. She flinched beneath his touch and said in a small voice, "Don't hurt me."

Manny's right hand left her hip, and a pulse beat later she felt the tip of his thick penis come into contact with her puckered anal ring. She held her breath, then belched it all out as he rammed his whang into her with one brutal thrust, all the way to its hilt. She gripped the desk until her knuckles turned white and shrilled, "You're hurting me, you're hurting me! Take it out! Oh, my God, you're killing me with that big cock of yours!"

Manny dug his fingernails into her twitching hips and snarled, "The pain will pass, doll; start fucking!"

Do as he asks, Trish told herself. If you don't… you won't get the job… and he'll end up fucking your ass for free!''

She clenched her teeth against the agony that flooded her entire system and started fucking.

"Now you're hitting on all cylinders," Manny panted as he sawed his enormous whang in and out of her back passage. "Keep it up, kid, and it won't be long before I break my string." And it wasn't.

A few seconds after she started bucking against the cock that was goring her anus, Manny moaned like a sick wind, shuddered and erupted…

"Ah," Trish hissed, "that burns!"

Manny kept his prod locked deep in her back hole until he finished squirting. Then he jerked his softening flesh free and laughed harshly. "Kid, that was the tightest hole I've crawled into with this meat of mine in quite a while."

Trish straightened and faced him with a frosty smile. "You didn't crawl; you jumped. Christ, it's a wonder I didn't blank out when you shoved it to me like that!"

"Good thing you didn't," Manny said as he grabbed a handful of facial tissues from the box on his desk and proceeded to clean his wilting whang. "It would have cost you the job you're after."

"It's mine?"

Manny grinned. "It's yours. You can start doing your thing tonight. It's only a weekend job. Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You'll do your show three times a night, and get twenty bucks for doing it."

"Each show?"

Manny shook his head. "For each night. I know it's not much but if you play to the drunks, you can earn extra by conning them into tossing money on the stage." He finished cleaning his prod, crammed it back inside his pants, zipped up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

Trish knew she was being dismissed. She was glad to go. She dressed hurriedly, and three minutes later she was straddling another stool at the bar. The bartender slid a gin-and-tonic in front of her, asked, "Did you get the job?"

"I did."

"In that case, the drink's on the house."

"Thanks."

The bartender smiled at her breasts and walked away to serve another customer. Trish started sipping the free gin-and-tonic. She was nearly to the bottom of the glass when Gabe Penner came in and sat down beside her. He sounded like the drink pusher's echo as he queried, "Did you get the job?"

Trish rubbed her still-aching ass and smiled bitterly. "I got more than that, lover. Why didn't you warn me that the pervert who owns this dive was a bit gear for the rear?"

Gabe bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You succeeded. So did Manny Black. That bastard took me like a fucking rabbit. Strictly wham, bam, thank you ma'am. No grease, no nothing. Christ!"

"Stop thinking about it, puss. You got the job; that's all that matters. But I knew you would. You're lucky that way."

Trish's face clouded as she thought back to last night. Hank Lockridge's death had screwed her plans for doing a quick fade from these stinking boondocks. Because of him, somewhere out in Lonesome Valley a dream was hanging by its thumbs. Yeah, her mind muttered, I'm lucky, all right. Real lucky. When I agreed to go the skyjack route, I was just an eighteen-year-old loser with nowhere to go but down. Now, thanks to stupid old Hank Lockridge, I'm still going in the same direction.

Trish stopped feeling sorry for herself. She nodded toward the window, asked, "What's shaking in the street?"

Gabe shook his head. "Nothing much. Mustang Airlines sent some heat here, but they aren't getting anywhere with the locals. They should be gone by nightfall."

Trish sighed. "I wish I could say the same for us."

Gabe's lips tightened at their corners. "So do I, puss, but that won't happen until we find the missing bread."

"I'm glad you brought up the money. Why don't we start looking for it tomorrow?"

Gabe's voice slashed at her. "No way, puss. We do this my way, dig?"

Her eyes bored into his. "By waiting two or three weeks?"

"Right on."

Trish smiled sourly. "I don't know if this aching ass of mine can stand it that long."

Gabe cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his. "Not even for half of five hundred thousand slices of bread?"

"You're a good doctor," Trish said, brightening immediately. Her eyes twinkled. "Know some- thing, chum? All of a sudden my fanny has stopped hurting."

Gabe threw back his head and laughed. He sobered abruptly. Then he stopped, cupping her chin, and said, "You'll make it, puss. Just keep thinking about the money, and you'll make it just fine."

She pursed her lips. "Speaking of making it, when do I meet this idiot I'm supposed to seduce?"

"Tonight. He keeps a ringside table reserved." Gabe pointed. "That one over there. I'll wait until you come on stage before I tap him for a job on his lousy ranch. That way you'll be sure he's the pigeon whose feathers you're suppose to pluck." He slid from the stool to his feet and added the warning, "Look him over, but don't touch until I give you the green light. Blow your chances with him and I'll break your pretty neck."

"I'll cool it."

"Good. One more bit of advice."

"Fire away."

Gabe watched as she crossed her legs, revealing a lush expanse of thigh. His voice softened. "There's a starving attorney named Felix Wellman in this town who sometimes tries his luck with the peelers who toil here. Treat him nice, but don't get reckless and drop your panties for the bastard, even if he offers you the hundred bucks he's usually willing to shell out for a strange piece of tail."

"That hundred bucks sounds good, lover. We could use it."

"Not from Wellman."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a friend of Bruce Cord."

"Gotcha." Trish frowned for a moment. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?"

"Yeah. An unemployed hunting guide named Joe Dooley. I'll point the prick out to you when he staggers in here tonight."

Trish nodded. "Anyone else?"

"Just me," Gabe replied as he dropped a hand to her nearest thigh and gave it a quick hug with his horny fingers. "Starting right now."

Trish smiled coldly as she watched Gabe walk out into the street and thought, Thank God for small favors.