Spouse Swap

Chapter 5

Bruce Cord finished his third drink and ordered a fourth as he sat at his ringside table at the Atomic Club and waited for Trish Asher to appear on stage and do her thing. Mere thought of the curvaceous stripper caused him to break into a sweat. There were girls and there were girls, but this exotic dancer and peeler was something else. His mind smacked its lips. Those overripe breasts that were completely without sag… that beautiful face framed by long, flame-colored hair… those fantastic legs and swinging hips… those crazy gyrations… especially those crazy gyrations! Damn, if he could get a date with this kitten and make her grind those hips like that when he filled her snatch with his cock.

He wondered fleetingly why she was playing hard to get, and he was still wondering when a mocking voice cut into his erotic reverie by saying, "You shouldn't let your mind wander like that, Bruce. It's too small to be out by itself." He looked up to find a statuesque honey-blonde smiling at him. He showed some teeth of his own to the owner of the Covered Wagon, who doubled in harness as madam of the county's most exclusive whorehouse, then drawled, "You here to catch the floor show, or have you gone back to hustling drunks again?"

Stella Roller laughed softly. "No to the first question and yes to the second, but only if the drunk is yourself."

"Sorry, I'm not available."

Stella Roller's blue eyes twinkled. She wet her lips. Her voice turned teasing. "You used to be, but that was before you developed a bad case of the hots for Manny Black's new bump-and-grind doll."

"Bite your tongue, you vicious broad."

"I'd rather bite your cock." She watched him closely. "Have you scored yet?"

"Nope. Not even a sniff. But I have a hunch that tonight's my night."

"Well, to quote my Chinese towel girl, 'rotsa ruck.'"

"Gracias. How about parking that sexy tail of yours and having a belt with me?" She shook her head. "Another time, my pussy-whipped friend. I only dropped in to see if Felix Wellman was here. Have you seen him this evening?"

"Nope." He squinted at her. "What the hell do you want with that ambulance chaser at this hour of the night?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'll give you one guess."

"Joe Dooley, right?"

Stella nodded. "Our mutual friend took advantage of his one phone call to buzz me from Timber City. Seems he got his ass busted for trying to wreck a saloon. I promised to send Whiplash over to bail him out of the bucket. Any idea as to where I might find the bastard?"

"Have you tried his office?"

"That was the first place I checked. He wasn't there."

Bruce frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "There's one other place you might try."

"Where?"

"The Lockridge house. If Felix knows that Dooley isn't in town, he's probably over there, doing his damndest to get into Elke's tight little pussy."

Stella Roller's smile mushroomed into musical laughter. "You're probably right, my big-peckered friend." She stopped laughing, and now a weary sigh disturbed her firm, large breasts. "Well, I'd better get on my pony and run old Whiplash down before Joe loses his cool and tries to wreck that damn clink he's in." She winked at him. "Good luck with the tassel tosser."

"Thanks. Sure you won't have that drink?"

"Some other time, doll." She patted him on the cheek and walked away.

Bruce went to work on his fourth drink. Erotic thoughts returned to haunt him. He couldn't stop them. He didn't bother to try. He pictured Trish Asher in a bedroom. His bedroom. Moments later his mind went berserk as he envisioned himself fucking the exotic doll. He smiled tightly. Hard to get or not, he had to have the perfumed pussycat. Seeing her on stage wasn't enough. Not anymore. He needed her sexually,, and he intended to get her. He still had the feeling that he would luck out tonight. He hoped so.

During these past three weekends that Trish Asher had been appearing at the Atomic Club, he had spent so much of his time trying to entice her into his bed that his cock was suffering from neglect. If he didn't score tonight, he would either have to play with his prick to ease the tension, or take it to Stella Roller. One way or the other he was going to get relief, before the ache in his balls drove him crazy.

He exhaled loudly and glanced at his watch. A smile crumpled his ruggedly handsome face. It was nearly time for Trish Asher to come on stage. He pictured her magnificent breasts and licked his lips. A hint of saliva formed in one corner of his expressive mouth; he tongued it away.

Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll see those big beauties jiggling before my eyes again!

Soon came a moment later. Down in the orchestra pit, the haunting roll of drums served as the beginning of Trish's introduction. Then the curtains parted on the postage stamp-sized stage, and the emcee minced out of the wings to tell a few dirty jokes. He stepped forward, mike in hand, and the curtains closed behind him. Two bad gags later Bruce leaned toward the bombing fairy and heckled, "Why don't you put an egg in your show and beat it?"

The pansy took his advice. He waved toward the closed curtains behind him and shouted excitedly, "And now, presenting that passionate plaything you've all been waiting for… the sexciting and deliciously delectable darling from desireville… Trish Asher!"

Bruce Cord held his breath as the curtains proceeded to yawn. A baby spot picked a pale-blue hole in the center of the darkened stage and caught Trish Asher as she floated into it, attired in something that swirled about her body like sequined cobwebs. She stood poised like a ballerina for a few seconds. Then her arms lifted toward the ceiling like a pair of lazy cobras coming out of a snake charmer's basket as she started her routine.

The imitation diamond on Trish's pouting navel winked coyly as she rotated her shapely hips, and through the misty veils that covered the goodies Bruce could see the outline of the pasties that covered the dancing peaks of her breasts, along with the hint of a triangular shadow below her glittering belly button.

Bruce felt his cock stretch and harden against his thigh. He groaned inwardly. His libido was ready to climb the nearest wall. He gulped and broke out in a fresh sweat. His big hands itched to get under those sequined veils, and he envisioned himself removing the pasties from Trish Asher's quivering breasts with his teeth.

He shook the erotic thought from his mind and smiled without humor. Christ, if looking at the fabulous redhead tore him up this badly, how would he react when he got near enough to whiff the perfume between her bouncing boobs, to touch them with his lips and feel the heat of her naked body against his? He knew the answer: he would go completely crazy, and probably blow his nuts before the tip of his cock reached the dewy lips of her tight little pussy.

Trish kept working, teasing. Her hands moved lazily. Her fingers twitched and unfastened the first sequined veil. Fingers held, then dropped. The glittering veil trailed to the floor like a suicidal butterfly.

A dirty old man at the next table lifted his goblet of expensive champagne and yelled, "Take it off, kid! Take it off!"

Manny Black suddenly appeared from nowhere and whispered harshly, "Cool it, you down-yonder bastard. This is a respectable joint. If you want to get your jollies by yelling, go down the street to Stella Roller's Covered Wagon and howl at her girls. Keep quiet at my place."

The dirty old man lapsed into silence.

Bruce shifted his attention back to Trish Asher. Her hands kept moving. Slowly. Sensuously. Veil after veil trailed to the floor like abandoned wisps of smoke, and momentarily she was down to her bra and G-string.

Bra? Bruce stared at the fantastic redhead's bosom. Her bra was pink and blended with the color of her flesh, twin hammocks whose cups were tipped with the dark stars he had earlier mistaken for pasties. He mixed his laughter with the loud applause Trish was receiving as she stepped out of the baby spot, and thought, A bra with pasties on it? This sweet-assed doll doesn't miss a trick!

Bruce waited for Trish to finish taking her bows. Then he downed his drink and went over to the bar. He caught the bartender's attention, slipped him a ten-dollar bill and said, "Try her again, pal. Maybe I'll luck out this time."

The bartender pocketed his tip and scooted toward the dressing room. Bruce returned to his ringside table. He worked his way through two cigarettes before the bartender reappeared at his side and announced, "Trish will join you as soon as she changes into her street clothes, Mr. Cord."

"Good deal!"

The drink pusher smiled crookedly. "Might not be as good a deal as you think, Mr. Cord."

Bruce became annoyed at the innuendo in that man's voice. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

The bartender licked his lips. "Well, it's really none of my business, but I think you're getting in over your head with this bird. She's strictly a champagne drinker.''

Bruce shrugged. "Let me worry about the tab, pal. Just bring the champagne."

The bartender nodded and turned away. "Whatever you say, Mister Cord."

Another fifteen minutes passed before Trish Asher emerged from her dressing room, wearing a skirt and sweater and carrying a light evening wrap over her left arm. The evening wrap clashed with the rest of her ensemble, but Bruce was too preoccupied with staring at her breasts to notice anything else.

He stood up to hold the chair while she sat down, slid it under her shapely derriere and said, "I hope you like champagne, Miss Asher."

She laughed musically. "I'll force myself to like it, but only if you drop the Asher bit and call me by my first name."

He reclaimed his own chair, nodded solemnly. "Trish it is." He filled two stemmed glasses with the bubbly he normally considered lower than chilled horse urine, and placed one in her dainty hand. Then he fisted his own, clinked it against hers with practiced awkwardness and said, "Bottoms up."

She cocked a delicate eyebrow at him. "Whose bottom? Yours or mine?"

Bruce threw back his head and laughed.

Trish winced inwardly and thought, Christ, this clodhopper cracks up at everything. He'd probably piss his pants if I told him a real knee-slapper. Like, 'Think the rain will hurt the rhubarbs?' And answer my own question by saying, 'Not if they're in cans.'

Bruce sobered abruptly as Manny Black made another sudden appearance, this time at his table. The man who enjoyed getting his kicks by screwing his female hired help in their back holes focused his attention on Trish and growled, "You know the house rule, kid… no mingling with the customers."

Trish smiled acidly. "Turn that house rule into a suppository and shove it up your ass, Manny. It doesn't apply to me anymore. I quit this dump right after you opened that big mouth of yours."

Manny paled, then clenched a fist and started to hang one on Trish's jaw. His knuckles never reached their intended target. Bruce came to his feet and drawled, "Wouldn't do that if I were you, old buddy. The lady's with me."

"Lady?" Manny snorted derisively. "You're talking with your prick, Bruce. This is no lady… she's a pig."

Bruce exploded suddenly. He buried a handful of knuckles in Manny's stomach, then followed through with another to the big ape's jaw. Manny dropped like a sack of shit and landed on his big ass, hard. Bruce towered over him and snarled, "Get up, you glass-jawed bastard."

Glass jaw? Trish smiled wickedly. No damn wonder Bruce had been able to drop him so easily.

"Get up," Bruce repeated.

Manny shook his head. "I've had enough of you for one night, amigo. Do me a favor. Take the pig and haul ass before I forget we're friends and get my bartender to mop the floor with you."

"He'll pay hell doing it," Bruce said flatly. "Get him and I'll prove it to you."

"Stop flexing your muscles, Bruce," Trish said, taking him by the arm. "I've caused you enough trouble for one night. Come on, let's shake this dive."

They did.

Once outside, Trish rubbed a breast against his arm and purred, "It's all over, tiger. Simmer down."

Bruce exhaled loudly. "I'm all right now. I don't stay pissed off very long."

"The way you toss punches, you don't have to stay mad very long. I never saw anyone come unglued so fast."

"The bastard asked for it."

"And got it." A slow smile spread across her face. "Considering that it was me he originally intended to clobber, I guess I owe you for saving my neck, tiger."

Bruce managed a thin smile. "It was the least I could do after causing you to lose your job."

"Don't sweat it. I was going to quit anyhow."

"Oh?"

Her voice tightened. "I hate working for a prick who thinks twenty bucks a night entitles him to a crack at my asshole after every performance." She watched his mouth yawn in shock, and a moment later her voice loosened. "Ah, well, to hell with Manny Black and hooray for us." She rubbed her breast over his arm again. "How about a drink?"

So Manny fucked this doll in her rear,- eh? Bruce thought, and aloud he said, "I could use a drink. How about going to the Covered Wagon?"

"I've had enough of crowds for tonight. My place is at the hotel. What say we go there and celebrate my unemployment, tiger?"

Bruce decided to go for broke. "A small hotel room isn't my idea of a nice place to unwind. Wouldn't you rather sip cold champagne in front of a warm fireplace?"

"At your ranch?"

"Where else?"

She smiled impudently. "I thought you'd never ask. Where's your car?"

"In back of the Atomic."

The tip of Trish's left breast grazed Bruce's arms as she moved past him to lead the way. This unexpected contact, combined with the knowledge that a lay was in the offing, gave him an almost instant erection. Agony followed a few seconds later. His balls started aching, and his big hands itched to fondle those dancing breasts that were making him suffer the agony of a thousand hells. He shook his head. Damn, he had been turned on before, many times, but never like this.

Aware of his eyes on her backside, Trish gave him an over-the-shoulder smile as she moved across the loose gravel and asked, "Enjoying the view, chum?"

Bruce kept his eyes glued to her pretty buttocks and said, "An Idaho sky is always worth watching."

"You're out to lunch, did you know that?"

Bruce's hungry eyes kept devouring Trish. His cock throbbed. Orgasm threatened. Impatience gnawed at him. It would take forever to reach his ranch.

Trish said, "Here we are."

He blinked in surprise. Six cars dotted the parking area, and yet this sexy bird had picked the right one. He grinned. "You must have done some checking on me, angel."

Her head bobbed. "I did. I wanted to make sure you weren't doing the husband bit before I got involved with that obviously overactive libido of yours."

Bruce laughed and eased in behind the wheel of his Mazda. Trish treated him to a generous glimpse of her smooth thighs as she slid in beside him. Her hip burned into his and caused beads of sweat to pop out on his brow. He croaked, "Keep rubbing me with that hip of yours, and we might not reach the ranch until morning."

"We'll get there tonight," Trish said as she flipped the ignition and brought the rotary engine to life. "Drive."

Bruce slipped an arm around Trish as he gunned the car toward the distant Bitter Roots. She made no move to slide away from him. He smiled and dropped his hand to her breasts. Trish sighed loudly the instant his fingers touched and kneaded her right breast. She edged closer, shivered. He felt the nipple come alive and nuzzle against his palm; it was as stiff as his prick.

"Ah," Trish whispered huskily, "your hand feels nice."

"I'll bet yours would, too."

A bewildered look came over her face. "On my own boob?"

His head rocked from side to side. "On my cock."

She studied him intently for a few seconds. A suggestion of mockery lifted one corner of her mouth. "Blunt bastard aren't you?"

He made a sour face. "No, just horny."

"So I feel," Trish said as she suddenly dropped her hand to his crotch and throttled his pulsating penis. Eyebrows knitted. She looked at him in amazement, lips pursed. Then a slow smile spread across her face, while awe remained in her voice. "Man, you're hung like a prize bull!"

"Does its size scare you?"

"Shit," she snorted derisively. "The cock hasn't been made that I can't handle. Neither has the man." She tightened her fingers over his shaft and gave it three fast strokes. "Speaking of handling, how do you like what I just did for starters?"

Bruce shuddered and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He licked at the sweat on his upper lips, rasped, "I don't like it. I hate hand jobs."

Her voice turned teasing. "Too many lonely nights behind you, huh?"

"Something like that."

"Living out in those fucking boondocks the way you do, it figures. Want me to take this big muscle I'm holding out of your pants and kiss it a little?"

"Why bother to ask? Do it."

Trish laughed and unzipped his fly. She reached inside and found his massive organ. A pulse beat later she turned away from him, her face twisted in revulsion. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick. Then the feeling passed into oblivion, and she went after his petrified prod. She exposed it to view, and her eyes grew large. She whistled appreciatively, then said, "Now I understand why the man who volunteered a character reference said you were nothing but a big prick. He was right."

He grimaced. "That sounds like one of Joe Dooley's remarks."

"It was. He a friend of yours?"

"Not anymore," Bruce replied as he took a sharp curve and made the tires squeal. Another bend lurked in the night ahead. This was the isolation he had been searching for. He slowed the car to a crawl, then eased off onto the dirt shoulder and came to a complete stop. He hit the parking gear and left the motor running. Then he shifted toward the girl who was dazzling him with her eagerness to go the way of a wanton, and grinned at her. "To hell with Joe Dooley. I'm more interested in that offer you made to kiss me a little… on the dong."

She glanced out into the night, then back to him again. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"It's safe. Just stop stalling and start sucking."

She made a clucking sound. "Shucks and gee whiz, we really are hot to trot, aren't we?"

He chuckled. "Damn your pretty hide. Stop teasing and start sucking."

I'll start sucking, Trish thought as she drew his erection toward her mouth and planted a butterfly kiss on the tip of it. I'll even lick your stupid ass with my tongue if you ask me to. Anything to get and keep me on that funky ranch of yours… until Gabe and I find that sack of goodies Hank Lockridge stashed a way on us.

She was yawning to take his cock inside her mouth when a pair of headlights popped around the bend and bounced toward them. Bruce cursed as he helped Trish to a sitting position, crammed his dick back inside his pants and locked the zipper.

"Wouldn't you know it?" Bruce groused as he felt his penis start to wilt inside his pants. "The minute I get set to pitch some hay, along comes some sadist to break the handle on my fork."

"Relax, chum," Trish said on the heel of a loud giggle. "As soon as that Detroit abortion goes by, I'll finish what I started."

"I don't think you will," Bruce replied as he recognized the pickup that skidded to a stop beside his car. He climbed out and frowned at Gabe Penner. "Looking for me?"

Gabe nodded as he stepped out of the pickup and joined him on the shoulder. "I was on my way to town to find you, boss."

Bruce lifted one eyebrow. "Why? Is something wrong at the ranch?"

Gabe shook his head again. "Not at the ranch. Timber City. Felix Wellman phoned from there a while ago." A sudden grin split his face. "Seems he managed to bail that Dooley character out of the bucket, then made the mistake of joining him in a celebration drink at another unfriendly bar. Now they're both cooling their heels in a cage."

"I'm not surprised," Bruce said when he stopped laughing. "Joe Dooley and God have one thing in common… with either, all things are possible. As for Felix Wellman, you'd think he'd have sense enough to stay out of trouble." He brayed another laugh. "I ought to let those two bastards stay under the key overnight."

"What two bastards?" Trish asked as she climbed out of the car and walked up to them, breasts dancing. "Hello, Gabe."

Trish's greeting distracted Bruce. He frowned at them. "You two know each other?"

"We do," Trish said lightly. "Gabe and I are friends. We became tight when he dropped by my dressing room last week and called your heat to my attention."

Bruce blinked at Gabe. "You did that for me? Why?"

Gabe chuckled. "To protect myself. Horny as you've been lately, I was afraid you might try to rape me."

"Or Mrs. Singing Rabbit, eh?"

Gabe grimaced. "Nobody should ever get that hard up for a piece of bird."

"You did."

Gabe smiled sheepishly. "Once, and that once was enough. Talk about loose! Man, making it with that Indian broad was like trying to get my jollies by poking the old prod down a manhole."

"So much for Mrs. Singing Rabbit's cavernous defect," Trish cut in. "Now tell me about your two bastards."

"Some friends of mine got their tails locked up in the Timber City clink," Bruce explained. "Joe

Dooley and Felix Wellman. I'll have to hump it across the mountain and bail them out."

Breath hissed out of Trish. "Let's go."

Bruce shook his head. "I don't think it would be a good idea to take you along, little lady. Joe Dooley isn't very good company when he's smashed." His eyes caressed her. "Would you mind making yourself at home in my house until I return?"

Trish eyed him speculatively. "I wouldn't mind making myself at home longer than that, Bruce."

Bruce snapped at the juicy carrot she was dangling before him. His glance dropped to her breasts, and his voice turned husky with emotion. "I can pick up your luggage at the hotel on my way back."

"I'd like that."

"Consider it done." He shifted his attention back to Gabe. "Make this little doll comfortable, and take good care of her until I come home, will you?"

"I'll do that, boss," Gabe promised. He waited for Bruce to turn his back to them. Then he ran his hand under the back of Trish's skirt, hugged her ass with his fingers and added, "I sure as hell will take good care of her."