Anonymous: Spouse Swap

Dooley sank to his knees and worked his hands upward along the inner paths of her alabaster thighs. Her skin was warm and silky to the touch. He felt the sweat pop out on his brow as he moved the heel of his right hand against the dampening webbing of her bikini panties. He grinned and thought, This is one creamy pussycat I've teamed up with for the rest of my life.

He moved his hand away from her vagina. His fingers climbed higher. He crooked his fingers and hooked them into the elastic waistband of her panties and slowly began to lower them. He watched her pussy hair come into view, arid once again he experienced the urge to push his tongue beyond the dewy slit and lap her quim. He made her all the way naked. Then he leaned toward the pubic jungle and kissed her jutting clitoris.

"No," Elke panted as she pushed his face away from her box and dropped down beside him. "I don't want my kitty cleaned with your tongue. I want you to fuck me." She stretched out on her back and spread her legs. "Do it now, Joseph."

He took himself in hand and started to crawl between her yawning legs. A pulse beat later he stiffened like a bird-dog on point, cursed softly and said, "I should have known I'd never be able to finish this sex trip. I ought to have my head examined for even starting it."

Elke sat up, blinked. "What's wrong?"

"The clock just ran out on us," Dooley replied. He pointed. "Look for yourself."

Elke's eyes followed the path of his stiff finger. Three people-one woman and two men -appeared in the valley below, and now they were cautiously picking their way toward the cabin. Stella Roller. Felix Wellman. And Bruce Cord. Elke took a deep breath that rocked her naked breasts and hissed at them, "Party poopers!"

"The party hasn't even started, and already you're bitching about the guests," Dooley said as he tugged her to a standing position and gave her another resounding whack across the fanny. "Get dressed while I go below and act like a host. You know what has to be done."

Elke nodded and started scrambling into her clothing.

Dooley crammed his wilted cock back inside his pants, scratched his scrotum, and started down the face of the mountain.

"Well?" Stella Roller queried as Dooley entered the cabin, leaving the door open behind him. "What's the good word, bluebird?"

"Yeah," Felix Wellman piped up. "Lay it on us, Joe. We find one broken bottle on the floor, but no blood. What happened here?

"Nothing much," Dooley said. "We predicted the wrong ending is all. They didn't kill each other.

Trish beat Gabe to the draw and scrammed with the sack." He grinned at Bruce Cord. "In your car."

Bruce shrugged. "I never did like that lemon."

Dooley couldn't resist it. "The car or the girl?"

Bruce gave him the stiff finger. "Fuck you, old buddy. I know you and Elke thought I got hung up on Trish Asher, but you were both wrong. She wasn't a bad piece of meat, but I like mine a bit more tender." He paused for a moment. "Speaking of tender meat, where's Elke?"

Dooley glanced out the dusty window. He saw his Jeep bounce into view and grimaced. "Here comes Suicide Susie now. We'd better get down on our knees and pray that she doesn't hit this shack."

Elke skidded to a stop in front of the cabin and jumped to the ground, breasts dancing. She lifted a cardboard box from the rear of the Jeep and came inside. She dropped the carton on the rickety table, moved her arms to gather them closer and hawked, "Step right up, lady and gentlemen; it's payday in Lonesome Valley! Don't be bashful! Come hither and get your hundred thousand slices of bread!"

A vision of Trish Asher walked to the forward part of Bruce Cord's brain as he watched Elke Lockridge open the cardboard box and expose the money they had backed her father into extorting from Mustang Airlines. They meaning Stella Roller, Felix Wellman and himself. He wished he could be on hand to see the girl's reaction when she opened the bag she had run off with… and found no money in it. He almost felt sorry for her. Poor

Trish. Yeah, poor. Screwed. Shafted. Had. Taken by Bruce Cowboy and Company.

Stella Roller saw the smile on Bruce's face and asked, "What's so funny, doll?"

"Trish Asher."

"Oh?"

"I was just wondering what kind of story she'll try to strap on Gabe Penner when he catches up with her pretty but double-crossing ass."

"About what happened to the money?" Stella smiled sourly. "That's her problem. It's a damn good thing she didn't knock Joe all the way out with that bottle last night, or we'd be the ones holding an empty sack."

"You aren't kidding," Dooley cut in. "As it was, Elke and I barely had time to make the switch before they showed up. One minute earlier and there might have been some shooting." He shivered. "I wouldn't like to go through another nightmare like that again."

"You won't," Bruce promised. "One hundred thousand dollars each should hold all of us for the rest of our lives. I only wish Hank could be on hand to enjoy it with us." His face clouded for a moment, then brightened. "Well, Elke's getting her slice of his pie, so all's well that ends well." He slipped an arm around Stella Roller's shoulder, found her right breast and gave it a firm squeeze. "Know something? All of a sudden I'm in the mood for a celebration, gang. What say we hightail it over to my hacienda and toast our good fortune?"

"Why work up a sweat by going there?" Dooley said. "I just happen to have a case of cold stuff out in my Jeep."

Bruce asked suspiciously, "What kind of cold stuff?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Stella said as she leaned into the hand cupping her right breast. She wrinkled her nose. "I hope to hell it isn't champagne."

Dooley winked at Bruce. "You've got to be kidding, Stell. Who ever heard of a bunch of dumb locals drinking anything except beer?"

Stella smacked her lips. "Yeah, how about that?"

Dooley started toward the door. Bruce's voice checked him. "By the way, Joe. What did you put in that sack Trish Asher took with her?"

Dooley winked again. "Green stuff, old buddy. Trish's favorite color. Nature's best. Something for her to remember us country bumpkins by… or wipe her ass with. Nice… wet… green leaves."

Laughter shook the lone window in the cabin.