Anonymous - Spouse Swap

She wasn't faking it.

She really was turned on.

Gabe's hands continued to knead her breasts and bring her closer to the peak of passion, and a few minutes later they died the thousand deaths of delight as release opened its greedy jaws and swallowed them.

"Damn," Trish exclaimed as she felt Gabe's shrinking shaft slip out of her pussy-hole, "that was the best jump you've ever given me! And pop

… you must have popped a gallon!" She laughed, "Your jizm is still running out of my slit!"

The excitement that embraced her was contagious, for Gabe was too preoccupied with the pleasant task of sucking and gnawing on her breast tips to make any immediate response to the compliment she was giving him about his sexual stamina.

Later, finished with mouthing her nipples, he sat on the carpet of moss and watched Trish step into her panties and pat them into place over her marble hips. A strange smile haunted the corners of her mouth as he said tauntingly, "You'd better hump along and dress before I pick up that bag of goodies and start down the hill without you."

"No way is that going to happen," Trish snapped almost angrily as she hastily crammed her slightly sore breasts inside the half-bra and buttoned her shirt. "I'm going to stick to you like a funky Band-aid." She picked up her slacks and struggled into them, letting the silence ribbon on for a few seconds. She sat down to don her boots, then lurched erect. Her glance moved toward the bottle she had been sipping from; it had been knocked over during their sex session and was now empty. She grimaced and said, "Let's stop by the car on our way to the cabin. Some cold champagne will hit the spot while we count and divide the money."

Gabe grinned. "I'm with you, puss."

Yeah, Trish thought acidly as she watched him shoulder the bulky canvas sack and start down the face of the mountain, you're with me now, but you won't be after we reach the cabin and I grease the skids under your ass.

They arrived at the tiny sports car. Trish opened the trunk and removed an ice chest. A shiver of excitement rippled through her system as she fisted the handle and started walking toward the cabin. Inside the ice chest there were two bottles of champagne… and the.25 automatic she had menaced the passengers with during the skyjacking that night, seemingly a million years ago. The gun was for Gabe Penner. So were the bullets. A cold smile curved her lips. Maybe murder wasn't his bag, but for half a million dollars she was willing to make it hers. More than killing. After the way he had used her as a rug to wipe his feet on, doing him in would come under the head of pleasure.

Gabe cut into her thoughts. "Don't just stand there staring at the knotholes; open the damn door."

Trish led the way inside the cabin and deposited the ice chest on the wall bunk. Gabe carried the money bag across the room and plopped it on top of the rickety table. He wiped sweat from his face with a dirty handkerchief before he said, "How about a drink before we count the loot?"

Trish turned toward the ice chest, heart hammering, blood jumping. The excitement of what she was about to do created a stir of pleasure within her loins. The feeling was almost sexual. It was time to shuffle the deck and ask for a new deal. Kill. Then take the money and run… not walk… toward the nearest exit.

Hands quaked slightly as she cleared the wire handles and removed the Styrofoam lid from the ice chest. A brief heartbeat later her eyes widened, her heart constricted and a sudden weakness settled into her legs. The gun was missing from the chest.

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.