Anonymous - Spouse Swap

"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."