Anonymous: Spouse Swap

"That's right," Trish said, "one of them." She focused her attention on the chief pilot. "What's the good word, fly bird?"

The captain replied angrily, "I've contacted ground control. The word is to play ball with you bastards."

"Sounds good. What about the money we're demanding?"

The pilot's lips tightened at their corners. "Mustang Airlines is willing to pay the five hundred thousand dollars you and your friends are demanding, but they'll need a few hours to scrounge it up."

"Up their asses, handsome. Call back and tell your bosses they have one hour to come up with the loot, and not one second more." Trish fell silent while the pilot relayed her message to ground control, then asked, "Well?"

The captain nodded. "One hour it is."

Trish smiled wickedly. "Let me know when Mustang gets ready to dump like a slot machine. Meanwhile, keep circling." She wagged her gun at the pale-faced stewardess. "You, Sandra. Come with me."

The stewardess didn't argue…

The hour passed slowly, but it did pass. Gabe Penner went forward this time. He returned and announced that Mustang Airlines was ready to deliver the ransom money.

Hank Lockridge said, "Go back and tell the pilot to land."

"I already did, old man."

The Boeing landed smoothly. Trish saw a truck appear on the runway and said, "Here comes the goodies!"

The money. Five hundred thousand dollars in various denominations. A big bundle to jump with into the night. A big bundle, period.

Trish waited until Gabe Penner finished counting the money, then asked, "Well?"

Gabe bared his teeth in mirthless grin. "They kept their end of the deal. We'd better do the same. Kick the passengers loose." Trish nodded. "What about the air waitresses."

"Two can go with the passengers. Keep one as hostage. A broad on board will make the wheels we extorted this bread from think twice before they do something stupid." He nodded toward Sandra. "Keep the one who thinks her shit doesn't stink. I might have time to check her asshole to find out if she's right."

Another fifteen minutes passed before they were airborne again…

Hank Lockridge returned from forward and said, "I explained to the hotshot at the controls that nothing would happen to the cunt he flies with if he didn't get cute. He'll play along. He'll climb to ten thousand feet and cruise at an even two hundred miles an hour." He glanced at his wristwatch. "We've still got thirty minutes before we make our jump, but it wouldn't hurt to fit on our parachutes."

The chutes were sport types, and Trish fitted two of them to her body, one as a spare. Just in case. She worked swiftly, and so did Gabe Penner, but the slightly sadistic bastard was doing his work in a different way.

He gripped the stewardess by her shoulders and said, "When I first handed you my note, you thought I was trying to make a play for your ass. You looked as though you wanted to puke."

"Dummy up, bitch. I'm giving the orders now, and you'd better start listening real good. Dig?"

Sandra nodded, then stammered, "W-what do y-you want me t-to do?"

Hank Lockridge cut in. "Damn it, Gabe, let her be."

"Fuck you, old man."

Hank Lockridge shrugged.

Trish giggled and sat down to watch Gabe do his thing with the stewardess. She knew what was coming. Gabe was an expert when it came to humiliating someone. Especially a girl.

Gabe removed his hands from Sandra's shoulders and said, "Open the jacket and show me your tits, pretty bird."

The stewardess stiffened as though Gabe had shoved a broom handle up her ass, and gasped, "No!"

Gabe backhanded her across the left cheek, catching her before she fell. His voice flattened. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, bitch. Open the jacket."

Fear caused all defiance to drain out of Sandra. She stood monolithic for a pair of wild seconds. Then, almost in slow motion, she lifted a hand to her jacket and proceeded to open it. One button.

Two. Three. The jacket gaped to reveal a white blouse stuffed with breasts the size of prime Yakima Valley apples. Gabe smacked his lips, then said, "Take a deep breath, bitch."

Sandra inhaled, thus thrusting her breasts into greater prominence. Gabe reached out and fondled the left one, drawled, "Yours aren't the biggest pair of knockers I've grabbed, but they'll do. Take off the jacket."

Sandra blushed.

Hank Lockridge turned his back to the girl and crossed over to the intercom. He didn't like what was happening, but he knew Gabe Penner well enough to avoid a hassle with him. Hank shrugged. Let the girl do her own sweating, the way he was doing. He had worries enough without adding hers to his list. The biggest one would be coming up in a few minutes. A parachute jump into darkness.

Trish felt the heat returning to her own quim as she watched the stewardess remove her jacket and drop it on the nearest seat. The heat became more intense as she glanced at Gabe Penner's crotch. He had a fierce hard-on. She smacked her lips and wondered how he would soften it. Would the unpredictable bastard cram his cockshaft in the girl's vagina? Shove it up her rear? Or would he settle for a suck job? She shivered and waited for the answer.

Gabe stopped toying with Sandra's firm breasts and barked, "Shuck the blouse, bitch."

Sandra did as she was told. She wasn't about to argue with the man.

"And the skirt."

Trish nearly climaxed as Sandra loosened her skirt, then knifed forward to follow it down to her trim ankles, for as she did so, Gabe hauled out his huge erection and attempted to cram it in the girl's mouth. He almost made it. Almost, but not quite. Sandra turned her head as the tip of his cock touched her clenched lips, but all this did was prolong the inevitable.

Gabe fisted her shiny black hair and snarled, "I'm giving you a choice, bitch. Get down on your dimpled knees and start gnawing on my meat, or get your snooty ass kicked out of this seven-oh-seven, without a parachute. Chomp or jump; you've got ten seconds to make your choice."

The stewardess made her decision in less than ten seconds. Eyes filled with tears of mortification, face twisted into a grotesque mask of object terror, she melted to her knees and took Gabe Penner's petrified prick in her right hand. She stared at the veined organ, and the urge to vomit bubbled within her. Giving blowjobs was the one act she had never indulged in, but she would indulge in it now. She winced inwardly. Better to be a live cock-sucker than a dead heroine.

Gabe slipped his free hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. Menace edged his voice. "Damn you, bitch, start sucking!"

The air hostess skinned him back to expose his cockhead.

"Now, damn you!"

And now it was. Her mouth opened wide, sem-blant of a bird anxious to receive a meal of worms, and a clock tick later she took the knob and two or three inches of his dripping dong into her mouth. Lips tensed, she started sucking. Loudly. Clumsily.

"Damn it, Gabe," Trish said mockingly, "you must be off your stick or awful hard up to let an amateur nibble on that juicy fuck-muscle of yours. Look at her. Christ, the way she's going at it, you'd think the damn thing was a snake."

Sandra kept sucking. Noisily. Desperately.

"Hell," Trish said derisively, "at the speed she's going, you'll never get your rocks off, Gabe. Why don't you bring that big sausage over here and let me drain the marrow out of it? "

Gabe didn't hear her. Too preoccupied with blowing his nuts in Sandra's mouth, he was gripping the back of her head and snarling, "Gag and I'll break your neck, you snooty bitch."

Sandra didn't gag. Nor did she spit out the big load of semen he fired into her mouth. She swallowed and kept swallowing until his cock ran dry.

Gabe finished exploding and shoved Sandra away from his wilting whang. She landed in a sprawl, on her back. Gabe flared down at her and said bitingly, "I wish I had more time to spend on your uppity ass, and I do mean ass. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to ram this dick of mine up the old dirty road and make you beg for mercy." He snorted. "You'd do it, too. Beg, I mean. You're too goddamn weak in the guts to do anything else." He turned away from the quietly sobbing girl and asked Hank, "How soon do we bail out of this flying clink?"