enovel Spouse Swap Unknown [Future Story Codes]

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Spouse Swap ....(84k)    by Unknown

CHAPTER ONE

"I love it, I love it!" Trish whispered to herself. "It's just like getting balled by a terrific stud!" She felt the muscles of her stomach clench and unclench, just as they always did a moment before orgasm.

Excitement embraced Trish like an oversexed lover on the verge of climax as she watched her partner slip a folded note to the airline stewardess who had introduced herself to the passengers as Sandra. Heat jumped into the eighteen-year-old redhead's loins, bringing instant moisture to her vagina. Green eyes turned somnambulistic and a blush crawled across her beautiful face to tint her cheeks. Breasts quaked with her suddenly ragged breathing, and nipples hardened behind the half-bra that held them captive, their imprints showing through her boyish white blouse. Heart hammered; blood bubbled along her veins like red lava looking for a way out. She licked her ripe red lips, pressed her creamy thighs together. Her mind raced, keeping miles ahead of the Boeing 707 that was cruising through the night at top speed.

This was it. The first step of a job that had been six months in the planning. One that would either go down in the book as a monument to calculated insanity ... or as the most successful and profitable skyjacking in history.

We'd better be successful, Trish thought vehemently. I'm tired of being a loser. I'm tired of eating beans and drinking water while others feast on steaks and wash them down with champagne.

The tension-induced flames continued to blaze behind the webbing of Trish Asher's panties as she watched the uniformed girl accept Gabe Penner's note, but the flames turned into ashes a moment later as she saw Sandra's hand carry the still-folded scrap of paper toward her shoulder bag. Trish stiffened in her seat. Instant shock mirrored in her beautiful face, and a groan seeped past her ripe red lips. Something was going wrong, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what that something was. The stupid stewardess thought that Gabe was trying to hustle her for a date at flight's end. An icy smile told Gabe that she wasn't interested. The same frigid smile added the postscript that she wasn't even going to read the note.

Sickness filled and proceeded to slosh around inside Trish's stomach. The color drained from her face, and her mouth dropped open. A dream was on the verge of dropping dead at her feet. She shook her head. No, it wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let it happen.

Goddamn it, Gabe! Trish's mind shrieked as she watched Sandra open her purse and drop the note into it. Don't just sit there like a lump of shit! Do something!

Gabe Penner did. His face contorted in anger as he leaned toward the girl and snarled, loud enough for Trish to overhear, "That hunk of paper I just gave you isn't an invitation to a shack-up, pretty bird, but it could turn out to be one for a lot of funerals if you don't read the damn thing."

The stewardess thought that Gabe was kidding. She made a sour face. Then she laughed and started to turn away. Trish came alive with motion. She leaned out into the aisle, slapped the air hostess on the fanny to get her attention, then hissed. "Do as he asks, damn you!"

The stewardess whirled toward Trish and opened her mouth, probably to give some smart-ass retort. A moment later she remembered her training and calmed down. Then she dipped her hand into the shoulder bag, delivered her anything-to-humor-a-pair-of-nuts sigh and read the note. The moment hung suspended, tense and marked NOW OR NEVER, becoming NOW as the finger of truth goosed the girl and made her come to attention. Her eyes widened, and horror traced its pattern across her face. Her heart pounded, breasts heaving wildly. The note made a slight rustling sound in her quaking hand. Alarm scurried through her brain like a furry beast with sharp claws! My God, we're being skyjacked!

Trish watched the girl wilt and almost laughed in her face. The air bird looked as though she were on the verge of peeing in her funky panties.

She might make it yet, Trish thought. When Gabe hits her with the rest of our plan . . . she'll probably crap all over herself. A cold smile tugged at her lips. Do your thing, Gabe. Lay it on her.

Gabe did.

"You know what to do," Trish heard Gabe growl, "but before you have second thoughts and ask the pilot to do something stupid, feast your eyes on this." He shifted the attach� case on his lap, opened it and flipped up a secret compartment that had escaped the attention of both the airport inspectors and the metal detector. "That's a bomb you're looking at, pussycat. The note you're holding explains why we brought it aboard. That's right, we. There are three of us. Now, we're not interested in blowing this plane and everyone on it out of the wild blue yonder, but if our demands aren't met, we'll sure as hell do it. Dig?"

"Y-yes."

"Beautiful! And now that we understand each other, go up front and do your thing."

Trish slipped out of her seat as the stewardess moved forward to inform the pilot that they had the beginning of a nightmare on their hands. A man seated behind her stood up, also. She smiled at him. His name was Hank Lockridge. At forty, he was the senior member of their group. . . and the mastermind behind the fantastic caper in progress.

"Now?" Trish asked quietly.

Hank Lockridge nodded.

Gabe joined them in the aisle. Carry-on bags were opened, and momentarily all three of them started to undress, but it was Trish who attracted the most attention from the suddenly wide-eyed passengers as she unbuttoned her boyishly cut blouse and brought her bra-covered breasts trembling into view.

"Eat your stinking hearts out," Trish told the gasping women, and to the gawking men: "Have a hot, wild cum on me, you hungry-eyed bastards."

"Cut the shit," Hank Lockridge growled as he removed a pair of insulated arctic coveralls from his carry-on bag and proceeded to struggle into them. "Save that strip act you were doing when I found you for another time. Just change your clothes and forget about the goddamn audience. They aren't going to clap their hands to feed your hammy ego."

Trish laughed and shrugged out of her blouse. She shook her big breasts at the bug-eyed passengers, simply to spite Hank Lockridge. Then she unlocked the zipper on her skirt and followed it down to her ankles. She toed it aside, straightened, and sensuously caressed the crotch of her bikini panties for a few seconds before she glared at Hank and said scathingly, "Keep your big nose out of my ass, old man. I know what I'm supposed to do, and when the time comes, I'll do it. Mean- while, do your growling at someone else, or I'll wish a Roman candle on your carcass when you bail out into the night."

Hank let his breath out slowly. "Get fucked."

"I intend to, old thing," Trish retorted. "Right after we land on the ground again." Her voice licked at him. "Talk sweet and I might even let you do the fucking."

Gabe Penner cut into their exchange of words by saying, "Looks as though the fly jockey is going to play ball with us. We're starting to circle."

Hank grunted. "One of us better check to make sure."

Gabe jerked a thumb in Trish's direction. "That's her job, old man." Trish said, "He's right, Hank."

"Then do it."

"All right if I make myself decent first?"

Gabe smiled mirthlessly. "It will take more than clothes to do that."

She gave him a stiff finger. "Up your ass, prick."

Gabe lost his temper and started to slug her. Hank Lockridge stepped between them and said tightly, "Cool it, Gabe."

Gabe did. Reluctantly.

Trish climbed into her U.S. Air Force surplus coveralls. Then she encased her feet in a pair of lace jump boots, removed a .25 automatic from her bag and made her way toward the pilot cabin. The stewardess paled as Trish entered, and rasped, "Here's one of them, Jock."

"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?"

Hank Lockridge scowled at his wristwatch. "We'll be there in six minutes."

Gabe struggled into his backpack chutes and asked, "Think we'll get a clear shot at our jump target, Hank?"

Trish spoke up, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Stop bleeding at the pores, Gabe. It doesn't become you."

He glared at her. "Kiss my ass."

She gave him a twisted smile. "I wouldn't know where to start. You're all ass."

"Cut the shit," Hank Lockridge grumbled as he picked up the bag of money and prepared to move toward the rear exit that would be their point of departure from the Boeing. "If you want to play the dirty dozen with each other, do it on the way down. "Let's hit it."

The seminude stewardess still lay on the deck. Hank filed past her. Gabe next. Trish brought up the rear. She paused for a moment, smiled at the girl and said wickedly, "A word of advice, pussycat. Before you run forward to cry on the captain's shoulder, scrounge a tissue from somewhere and wipe Gabe's cockjuice from your chin."

Sandra's body jerked as though she had just received a vicious slap across the face. Shame flooded her system for a moment. Then came anger. She locked glances with Trish and hissed, "Drop dead!"

Trish laughed. "I'm going to drop, pussycat, but not dead. All I'm going to do is drop into obscurity . . . with one third of five hundred thousand pesos to keep me happy for the rest of my life. How does that grab you, cocksucker?"

Sandra lapsed into silence.

Trish laughed harshly and stepped toward the rear. Hank Lockridge and Gabe Penner were ready to make like big-assed birds. She donned her motorcycle crash helmet, thinking, In these outfits, all of us look like freaky spacemen.

Hank opened the rear exit door, and now Trish lost interest in everything except getting out and down as cabin pressure and temperature readings dropped faster than a desperate whore's panties. Silence and warmth vanished. Cold air roared into the cabin with bated teeth and started biting her. Trish cursed and muttered, "Let's get the hell out of here before I freeze my pussy!"

Hank Lockridge was the first one to vanish, along with the bag of money. Then Gabe Penner. Now it was Trish's turn. She slid down the flight steps on her ass, gripping the railings with both glove-covered hands, her heart pounding heavily. She reached the bottom, hesitated.

Do your thing! her mind shrilled. Keep the lights of Lone Pine to your right and hit the nylon! Now!

A heartbeat later she stopped gripping the railings and tumbled from the bottom step.

CHAPTER TWO

Instant terror shocked Trish's system as the turbulence around the steps snatched and started to suck her upward. For a hairy second she expected to be splattered against the tail, but the maddening moment passed, and she exhaled in relief and she felt herself dropping downward.

Doing a free-fall at night didn't bug her, but freezing her ass off while dropping at the approximate speed of two hundred miles an hour was something else. The chill factor was a bitch. She felt numb all over. Blackness threatened. She shook her head and muttered. "Easy does it, Trish baby. Don't blank out now. You won't have to put up with this stinking cold very much longer. This jump for the money is almost over."

She stopped talking to herself and pulled the D-ring. The chute opened beautifully, and a relaxed laugh ripped past her lips as she watched the earth come rushing up to meet her.

She landed a few yards off target and missed getting her body smashed against a giant boulder by inches. She struggled free of the chute, stared at the king-sized boulder and thought, Damn! A few more inches, and my partners wouldn't have found enough of me to fill a flea's vagina.

A sudden frown wrinkled her brow. Hank and Gabe. Where the hell were they? Her eyes started prowling among the trees and shadows that. I crowded this isolated valley Hank had chosen as their landing target. She looked, listened. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled at the moonless night, while off to her immediate left she could hear Axehandle Creek slapping at the rocks in its bed, but, outside of this, there was nothing to see or hear.

She started calling. "Hank? Gabe?" Nobody answered.

She took a deep breath that shook her breasts and called again, louder this time. Her voice echoed off into the darkness. A few seconds passed, then the silence erupted; bushes rattled at her back, and she whirled to find Gabe Penner lumbering toward her, his arms loaded with spent parachute. She heaved a sigh of relief and said, "Man, am I ever glad to see that ugly face of I yours! Where's Hank?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. The last time I saw him he was fighting a losing battle to stay on target. I think the weight of the money sack had a lot to do with pushing him off course."

"How far off?"

Gabe shrugged. "Hard to tell."

Concern mirrored on her face. "I hope he landed in one piece."

Gabe grinned. "Stop worrying, puss. Hank is an ex-paratrooper who knows every trick in the book when it comes to avoiding getting hurt. Hell, he's probably on his way, or already at the cabin by now."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"From here? About ten minutes."

Trish gathered up her parachute. "Let's roll."

They waded across the icy creek and moved side by side across the valley. A sickle moon slid out from behind a cloud when they reached a stand of cedars, and Trish saw the ancient log cabin many seconds before Gabe pointed and said, "There it is, puss."

"Yeah," Trish said pointedly, "all nice and dark."

"Relax, puss," Gabe grumbled as he led the way inside the musty building, dropped his bundle and collapsed parachute on the floor, and scratched a kitchen match into flame. "Hank won't get lost with our money."

Trish stood quietly in the doorway until Gabe lit the kerosene lamp they had packed in, along with other supplies. Then she slipped out of her spare chute pack, and a wry smiled curved her lips as she said, "I'm still too damned cold from the free-fall to sweat anything, including Hank Lockridge."

Gabe blew out the match and grinned lewdly. "Climb out of those overalls, and I'll see what I can do to warm you up."

Trish closed the narrow gap that lay between them. She reached for his crotch and found him soft. Amusement glinted in her green eyes. "What are you going to use for a heater . . . your tongue?"

Gabe bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "Get rid of that monkey suit and I'll show you."

"How about a drink first?"

"Screw the drink," Gabe said roughly, his slightly sadistic nature coming to the fore. "I want a piece of your pussy, and I want it now. Skin down, babe."

Trish knew better than to turn him down. Gabe was an unpredictable bastard. One minute he would be gentle, and the next he would blow his cool and go the dump route with the girl on hand. Trish wasn't in the mood for a dumping. Not tonight. No, better to get fucked than to get hurt.

Trish stepped back and lowered her shapely haunches into a chair that had seen better days. She unlaced and removed her jump boots. Then she stood up and did the same thing to her insulated coveralls while Gabe watched her in silence. A minute later she stood facing him, clad only in her bra and panties. She studied the sometimes cruel man and suddenly found herself wishing for an interruption in the form of Hank Lockridge's arrival, but it didn't happen.

The silence lingered on as Gabe did a fast strip of his own. Trish watched him knife forward to get rid of his coveralls. When he straightened, her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his huge erection.

"Damn," she said with a forced laugh, "it certainly doesn't take you very long to come up with a hard-on, does it?"

Gabe reached for her. "You know me, puss . . . half alley cat and all satyr."

Trish walked into his open arms. Relief flooded her system. Gabe was gentle again. Hot to trot, but gentle. There would be no dumping tonight. His turgid cock slipped between her thighs as she insinuated the length of her body against his. She shivered, then stepped back and said breathlessly, "If we're going to fuck, I'd better lower my panties so you can get at my pussy."

"Do it."

Trish obeyed. Her fingers crooked and hooked into the elastic waistband of her bikini panties. She became motionless for a moment. Then, slowly, she folded forward like a closing knife and followed the panties down to where she could step out of them. She toed the wispy scrap of material aside and straightened. Both hands moved to the bra snaps between her shoulder blades, and this movement thrust her full and pointed breasts into greater prominence. Gabe stared, reached and saved her the effort of unclasping the half-bra; he hooked his fingers into the front of the cloth hammocks and gave a fierce yank that brought her breasts trembling into nakedness.

Cool air rushed against her slumbering nipples and awakened them. Trish shivered again, then came alive as the beginning of passion stirred her loins. She reached down and gripped his hard prick with both hands, whispering harshly, "Do your thing, Gabe. Hit the deck and feed a batch of cream to my hungry kitty."

They melted to the floor in unison. Trish rolled over on her back and smiled at Gabe over the trembling peaks of her breasts, then purred, "Ready?"

"Yeah. Spread those sexy legs of yours so I can show you how ready I am."

Trish's legs parted to expose the pouting lips of her pussy. She was beginning to feel wet and warm with passion. Cock. She wanted his cock. And how she wanted it.

Gabe licked at the sweat that beaded his upper lip and crawled between her scissored legs. He took himself in hand and nuzzled the tip of his throbbing tool against her pubic mattress. A moan ripped past Trish's slightly parted lips as his cock-head struck her jutting clitoral spire and sent a shock tremor of delight coursing through her entire nervous system.

"Ah," she sighed, "rock my boat like that one more time and I'll come all over the floor."

Gabe chuckled and shifted his penis to the entrance of her cavern. The knob parted her pussy-lips and brought a mild grunt out of her. He looked down into her eyes and asked, "Am I hurting you?" His voice told her that he didn't really give a damn.

Trish rolled her head from side to side. "Stop talking and start fucking, you donkey-dicked bastard; this goddamn floor is colder than that stewardess you muscled into sucking you off."

Gabe snorted. Then he gripped her unmoving hips and hunched all the way home. Trish gritted her teeth against the sudden pain that always came when this cruel bastard rammed the meat to her vagina with one brutal thrust, but a heartbeat later the agony faded, and her teeth unclenched as the balm of pleasure began to soothe her dripping cunt hole. She jerked her hips at the cock that filled her copper-colored snatch and rasped, "Stop soaking this big prod of yours in my well and start massaging my tush, lover. Make it act like a worm. Fuck me, fuck me!"

'Gabe shifted his hands and palmed her buttocks. He went to work. His cock sawed in and out, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Trish met him thrust for thrust, moving her hips in the same grinding manner she had used on stage while earning her bread and beans as a nightclub stripper.

"That's the ticket," Gabe croaked. "Fuck like the mink you really are. Go, puss go!"

Trish went. Her arms coiled around his neck, her legs circled his writhing buttocks, and they were entwined like a pair of wrestlers in a death struggle. Her open mouth searched for his, found it. His tongue darted inside; she started sucking on it. Her mouth worked in rhythm to her rotating hips for an eternity of seconds. Then she twisted her head to one side and panted, "I'm almost ready to cream, lover. A few more lunges with that lovely dong of yours should do the trick! Take me all the way! Yes, yes, like that! Ah, sweet mother of all whores, the walls of my pussy are on fire! Cool me, Gabe, cool me! Buck me into a cum!"

Gabe bucked.

Violently.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Trish tightened her legs around his haunches and shrilled, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

"You aren't by yourself," Gabe muttered as he buried his whang deep into her vagina and held it there. "Soami!"

They climaxed together.

Noisily.

Until they shuddered to a standstill.

Trish's arms and legs relaxed, dropped to the floor. Her eyes stopped floating in their sockets, but distance continued to edge her voice as she said, "Thanks, stud, I needed that."

Gabe crawled out from between her legs and stood up. He palmed the sweat from his face and grinned at her. "Anytime, puss."

"How about right now?"

He shook his head. "I'm good, but not that good. I could use a bit of rest after that wild ride. I could also use a drink, so how about getting off your duff and fixing us one?"

Trish scrambled to her feet. She felt his semen running out of her pussy and laughed. She genuflected to pick up her wadded panties and wiped between her legs. Then she glided over to the boxes stacked in a corner of the room and rummaged through them. She located a bottle of premixed vodka and orange, carried it over to the plank table.

Gabe patted her on the ass and said, "We'll need glasses, babe."

She flicked a slender finger against his drooping dong and walked back to the cardboard boxes. She bent over and started rummaging again, and she was still rummaging when Gabe came up behind her with a fresh erection, grabbed her hips and said, "Hang tough while I shove this dick of mine up your ass, puss."

Trish paled, straightened, whirled and said angrily, "Not a chance, stud. I took you there once, and I've regretted it ever since. Christ, I ached for over a week. Up the ass? You, my sadistic friend, can go straight to hell."

Gabe laughed suddenly, "Pull in your claws, puss. I was only joking about the ream job." He took the carton of paper cups from her slightly trembling hands. "I'll settle for a suck job later. Right now I need a drink."

Trish's anger subsided. A smile wobbled on her lips. "You aren't by your lonesome, chum. Between your threat to shove that big dick of yours up my back hole and Hank being overdue, I've developed a sudden case of jangled nerves."

Gabe opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat as a weird sound pierced the silence that crouched outside. They exchanged puzzled glances.

CHAPTER THREE

"Could be a bobcat," Gabe ventured.

"Bobcat, my pussy," Trish said as the shrill sound took form as it came again and became a cry for help, "that's Hank!"

Gabe bolted toward the door, with Trish hot on his heels. They skidded to a stop outside and waited for Hank Lockridge to call again. He did. Weakly.

Gabe cursed. "Where the hell is he?" Trish pointed. "Over there, I think. Near the outhouse."

"Get a flashlight."

Trish sped back to the cabin and returned to find

Gabe down on his knees beside a battered, bleeding and unmoving Hank Lockridge. She dropped to her own knees and said, "Hank?"

Gabe looked up at her, his eyes wide, his face chalky and pinched. He smiled sourly. "Save your breath, puss; he went down the drain."

Her lower lip trembled. "Dead?"

"Like all over."

She swallowed hard. "Did he talk?"

Gabe exhaled wearily. "Not to me. Maybe told Saint Pete or the Devil, depends on which route he took, but not to me."

Trish cursed, then prowled the immediate a real with her flashlight. A sickening feeling ate at her guts as she failed to find the money bag.

"Save your batteries," Gabe told her as he lurched erect. "Hank wasn't in any shape to drag that sack of bread with him. Judging by the shape he's in, he was lucky to get here at all."

Trish nodded. "I wonder what happened to the money?"

Gabe shrugged. "Who knows? Let's hope he only dropped it. If it's stashed somewhere, we're fucked."

"Like hell we are!" Trish exploded angrily. "I didn't come to this wild place to get shafted by a dead man. No way in hell is this kid going to let half of five hundred grand slip through her fingers!"

"I'm with you, but not tonight. We'll have to wait until morning before we can backtrack Hank."

A look of horror traced its pattern across her face. "What happens if we come up empty?"

"We play it smart by clearing out before the owner of this valley or someone else comes along and catches us." , .

"For good?"

"You know better than that, puss."

Trish frowned at him. "Sounds as though you have a plan."

Gabe managed a strained smile. "You might not go for it, but I have one."

"Lay it on me."

Gabe shook his head. "Not here. Let's go inside and talk about it."

"All right." She bobbled her head toward the dead man. "What about our boy?"

"Getting rid of him, is that what you mean? No problem. There's a boarded-up well behind the cabin. Hank won't mind if I drop his ass in there."

"I suppose not. Need a hand?"

"No. I can handle it. Why don't you go inside? There's no use in both of us freezing our naked asses."

Trish returned to the cabin and poured herself a generous slug of orange juice and vodka. It didn't help. Anger remained at Hank Lockridge for fucking up the detail by dying. She wondered what he had done with the sack of extortion money, and she was still wondering when Gabe entered the room and said, "Pour me one, too, and then we'll talk."

She reached for a paper cup and started pouring. "About what happens if we don't find the package in the morning?"

"That's right."

She handed him his drink, pursed her lips. "You think we won't find it, don't you?"

He downed the cup of vodka in a pair of loud gulps and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm damned near sure of it, puss."

A bewildered look came over her face. "I don't follow."

Gabe held out his paper cup for a refill. "Well, look at it from Hank's end of this mess. He piled f up and got hurt, but he probably didn't figure on dying."

She filled his cup. "So?"

Gabe plucked a cigarette from the pack that lay on the plank table and flamed it to life with another kitchen match before he answered. "So Hank made like a packrat with the bread to keep if from being found before he started crawling toward us for help. In his place, I'd have done the same thing. Wouldn't you?"

Trish thought it over, nodded. "Assuming that you're right, and I think you are, suppose we don't find the money tomorrow? When, then, chum?"

"Like I said before, we clear out."

"That's the part I don't dig, Gabe. Why do we have to bug off from here?"

"Because it's the cool thing to do." He treated her to a shit-eating grin. "Use your head for something besides an adding machine, puss; we can't afford to bring heat to this valley ... or to ourselves."

Trish's breasts quaked as she exhaled loudly.

"How the hell can we prospect without doing either?"

The shitty smile remained on his lips. "By doing illegally."

Her face contorted in anger. "Make sense, damn it."

"That's what I'm trying to do, puss. The town of Lone Pine is ten miles east of here. It's the sort of clodhopper's paradise you hate with a purple passion, which is why I told Hank to keep you away from it when he brought you out to show you this valley, but that's where you're going to start the ball rolling if we don't come up with the loot tomorrow morning."

"And just how am I going to do that?"

Gabe took a deep drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke at her naked breasts. "By taking a job at a joint called the Atomic Club, as a stripper. I know the owner, so getting you booked will be easy. How long you stay there will depend on you ... and Bruce Cord."

Trish blinked. "Who the hell is Bruce Cord?"

"The hayseed who owns this valley and the ranch at the other end of it. He's a regular at the Atomic on weekends."

"Keep talking."

Gabe smiled mirthlessly. "I did some checking on the Cord character after Hank picked this section of nowhere as our landing target. The shit-kicker is single and has a hang-up for whatever peeler happens to be doing her thing at Manny Black's place. With your youth, looks and curves, it shouldn't be too hard for you to end up with an invitation to share a bed at that barnyard swinger's ranch."

Trish locked glances with Gabe for a moment. Then she laughed suddenly. "You cold-hearted bastard. You'd put your own mother on the line to keep from losing a buck, wouldn't you?"

"You'd better believe it."

Trish stopped laughing. She did believe. Gabe was the type who would sell his own mother. Hell, maybe he already had. He sure as crap hadn't hesitated to peddle her back in New York. Gabe. Always using her. Sticking to her like a leech. Living off her body, blood ... her very soul. How long now? Two years? No, closer to three. That long? Damn.

"All right," Trish said. "If we come up empty in the morning, I'll shoot my sexiest lick to make this Cord yahoo trip over his own cock." She paused, frowned. "But what about yourself, chum? I mean, surely you don't expect me to make like a whore and prospect at the same time, do you?"

Gabe shook his head. "I happen to know that Cord is looking for hired help. I'll take a job with him. All you'll have to do is keep the bastard distracted, and leave the prospecting to me."

"Can do." She glanced toward the cabin's only window. Faint traces of false dawn were beginning to show in the sky. Another sigh disturbed her bare breasts. "I hope it doesn't have to happen, but can do."

Gabe's eyes trailed hers to the dusty window. He was silent for a long moment. Then he downed his second drink and said, "We'd better get dressed and start cleaning out this dump. I'd hate like hell for someone to trot in here when we cut out and find our skydiving gear."

Trish nodded. "I'm with you. Where did you park your wheels?"

"Across the creek, but we aren't taking the gear with us."

"Why not? That stuff costs money."

"Sure, and if we hit a roadblock on the way to Lone Pine, it will cost us our asses. Nope, we get rid of it."

"Down the well?"

"Where else?"

Trish shrugged and crossed over to the wall bunk. A zipper bag rested on it. She unzipped the dark-blue bag that bore the legend, MUSTANG AIRLINES, on the side of it and removed a change of clothing. Scoop-neck sweater. Skirt. A black net half-bra with matching bikini panties, and knee-length boots with three-inch French heels. A smile curved her lips as she shook the panties out of their tiny wad and started covering herself.

Gabe watched her step into and tease the translucent black scanties over her pussy and commented. "The way you dress and undress, it's no damn wonder you never had trouble hustling a trick or finding work as a stripper. I'm starting to feel sorry for Bruce Cord already. The poor, loutish bastard doesn't stand a chance with you."

Trish strapped her bra into place and filled the half-cups with her full, pointed breasts before she nodded at his hardening cock and said, "Neither do you, chum, so you might as well let that damn stalk wilt." She saw his face tighten in the beginning of anger and added hastily, "However, if you want to risk fucking away five hundred thousand slices of bread, it won't take very long for me to drop my panties...."

Gabe glared at her for a moment. Then his face crumpled in a grin. He shook his head. "Keep them on, puss. No cunt is worth that much money. Not even yours."

They dressed hurriedly. Then they carried their skydiving equipment out back and dumped it in the well. By the time they finished this chore, it was full daylight.

Trish frowned at Gabe and said, "I hope you're good at making like a bloodhound, chum."

Gabe grunted and walked over to the slightly tilted outhouse where they had found Hank Lockridge. Bloodstains and a path of trampled bunch grass led them through a strand of cottonwoods, up to the face of a mountain. They followed a narrow deer trail that stuck to the crags like a misplaced eyebrow. It was Indian file now, with Trish bringing up the rear. Another ten minutes passed in silence before Gabe stopped suddenly, said, "Here's where he landed." He pointed toward a nearby fallen tree. "And there's what did him in."

Trish had to fight like hell to keep from puking as she sagged against Gabe and viewed the bits of flesh and blood clinging to the thick trunk of the long-ago, lightning-toppled tree.

Gabe distracted her by pointing skyward. "He must have plowed his way through the branches of this big ponderosa before he hit his head and got his ass busted into graveyard food."

Trish's stomach settled down as she looked up, then permitted her eyes to prowl the rock- and tree-studded terrain for a few moments before she said, "Let's start searching."

"Right."

Trish started hunting among the giant boulders. She found nothing. Gabe crawled into a mahogany thicket and appeared with Hank Lockridge's spent and unused parachutes. He shook his head at her. "The loot isn't here. Let's check those bushes over there."

They came up empty.

Trish cursed bitterly. "Maybe the stupid jerk lost the bag before he crashed."

Gabe shook his head. "I don't think so. He had the damn thing lashed to his belt."

"Then where the hell is it?"

Gabe shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Fuck guessing. Let's keep looking."

Gabe gathered up the chutes and led the way back down the trail. They moved slowly, checking both sides of the deer slot. Half an hour later found them standing in front of the slightly tilted outhouse once more . . . without the sack of extortion money.

Fucked, Trish thought acidly. Hank Lockridge fucked us.

She sucked angrily on a cigarette while Gabe took the parachutes around back and dumped them in the well with Hank's corpse. When he returned, she dropped the butt and ground it into the hard earth with the heel of her boot, then said impatiently, "Let's go over the route again, Gabe. That goddamned bread has to be somewhere in this stinking area." Gabe shook his head. "No more hunting today, puss."

Her eyes grew large. "Why not?"

"There isn't time." He smiled grimly and pointed across the valley. "Look skyward. See the pretty helicopter? Guess what they're searching for."

"You made your point," Trish said angrily. "Let's do it your way and get the hell out of here."

CHAPTER FOUR

Trish Asher was on her third gin-and-tonic when Manny Black arrived at the Atomic Club to pick up and deposit the previous night's take at the local bank. Her eyes picked him up in the back bar mirror as he threaded his way between the tables that were presently unoccupied, and remembrance of what Gabe Penner had told her about the honky-tonk impresario caused a smile to spread across her face. Manny looked more like a long distance truck driver than most of the highway jockeys she had ever known. He was as big as a full-grown gorilla and just as ugly, with a pushed-in face and cauliflower ear. He was bald except for a fringe of black hair that hugged his skull like an unfinished halo, and he walked as though his shoes were too tight. He-was an ex-pug turned businessman, and because of his nasty disposition, he also doubled in harness on busy nights as his own bouncer. He looked mean and he was mean. According to Gabe, Manny Black had such a mean reputation that even Bad Breath Anonymous wanted nothing to do with him.

"The word is that Manny Black is a tough man to toil for," Gabe had told her, "but you should be able to stand him for two or three weeks."

"Two or three weeks?" she had asked. "Why so long?"

"Use your head, puss," Gabe had said almost angrily. "That chopper we saw out at Lonesome Valley this morning wasn't just passing through the neighborhood by accident. The heat's already on in this neck of the woods, making like a couple of treasure hunters too soon would only add to it." He paused to fill his lungs with stale air, shook his head. "Nope, we're going to cool it for at least two, but no more than three weeks. Meanwhile, get this job from Manny and then play your peeling game like a good little cunt; I'll let you know when to pounce on Bruce Cord."

Trish sighed and stopped thinking about Gabe Penner. She kept her eyes on the ugly giant who had paused for a few words with the table waitress she had talked with earlier, and who now was coming toward the bench she occupied at the bar, where she was sandwiched between a loudmouthed lush who was reliving his bravery during Korea, and a dumpy blonde who was crying in her Scarlett O'Hara and telling the bored-looking bartender what a dirty bastard her husband was for breaking up her affair with a lesbian. Trish closed her ears to the probably bogus hero and dyke-hooked pig and concentrated on the man mincing up behind her.

Manny Black took a hasty look at her haunches and licked his lips before he asked, "You want to see me about something, kid?"

Trish turned slowly on the stool and smiled at the big man. "I do. Gabe Penner mentioned that you're looking for a dancer to entertain the local yokels. I'm your girl."

Manny Black licked his chops and looked her over. Trish kept smiling. She knew what he was seeing: an eighteen-year-old package of lush curves, neatly wrapped in a button-front minidress as red as her shoulder-length hair. Manny stopped using his tongue on his lips and said, "There's more to the job I have open than dancing, kid. You also have to peel like a banana."

"I know."

"You ever do this kind of work before?" Trish nodded. "In New York. Do I get the job?"

He nodded toward a door marked PRIVATE. "My office. Let's go in there and discuss it."

Trish slid from her bar perch, thinking, Casting couch, her I come!

The door opened and snicked shut behind them.

"Automatic lock," Manny explained as he lowered his hunkers to the black leather couch that dominated one wall of his private cubicle. "It will keep us from being disturbed while I check your qualifications." He chuckled at his own feeble attempt at levity, then sobered abruptly and said, "All right, kid, do your stuff."

Trish didn't pretend to misunderstand him. She took a deep breath that shook her breasts, reached for the top button on her dress. She worked her way down the row of buttons. Slowly. Teasingly. Her eyes glued to his crotch. She was almost tempted to laugh in his ugly face when she saw his cock stretch, harden and threaten to break the zipper on his fly. She sneered inwardly. Some interview.

She knifed forward to open the dress all the way, then straightened and turned aside for a moment while she shrugged free of it. The dress dropped to form into a puddle around her black-booted ankles, and for a second the material reminded her of Hank Lockridge's blood. She grimaced and whirled to face the now sweating Manny Black. "Well?"

Manny's eyes dropped to her boots, then crawled upward. He paused to study the webbing of her flame colored bikini panties, licked his lips, asked, "You always wear red?"

"Not always. Why?"

"I hate red."

She shrugged and made her breasts bounce. "I'll wear black next time."

Manny's glance jumped to her sheathed tits. He smiled crookedly. "Maybe there won't be a next time, kid. You haven't got the job yet. Gabe

Penner tells me you're hot stuff on stage, only I don't take any man at his word. Let me see how you peel, so I can judge for myself."

"All the way?"

Manny smiled sourly. "You can leave the boots on. I wouldn't want you to feel naked."

Trish ignored the sarcasm in his voice, and her breasts bounced toward his glistening face, like two moons on a collision course, as she reached between her shoulder blades and unclasped her flaming half-bra. She held it in place, causing Manny to growl, "Show those tits, kid."

Trish exhaled loudly and released her grip on the half-bra. A second later her magnificent breasts tumbled into nakedness. Nipples hardened immediately as the air rushed against them, but the ice of disinterest continued to chill her loins as Manny licked his pink, plastic lips again and rasped, "Now the panties, kid."

She started to tell him to shove the job up his ass. Then she remembered Bruce Cord and changed her mind. Hands came alive. She hooked her fingers into the elastic waistband of her red panties and peeled them down past her hips, over her thighs. Her breasts swung tantalizingly as she bent over and removed her scanties all the way. She tossed them aside, came erect, and a bitter smile curved her lips as she locked glances with Manny Black and asked, "Satisfied?"

Manny made no attempt to conceal his erection as he stood up. He shook his head. "Not yet. Turn around and let me see your ass, kid."

Christ, Trish thought as she spun around on a boot heel and showed Manny Black her dimpled buttocks. Gabe told me that getting this prick to book me would be easy. . . .

Manny cut into her acid thoughts. "I like your ass, kid. It's real pretty. But is it tight?"

Trish's guts knotted. What was this ugly bastard up to? She found out a moment later as Manny gripped her buttocks and proceeded to knead them. She stood frozen, until he attempted to shove a thick finger beyond her tense sphincter. Then, whirling to face him, she hissed, "Not a chance, chum; I'm not about to let you screw me in the ass."

Manny glared at her. "In that case, the interview is over." He nodded toward her scattered clothing. "Climb into your glad rags and hit the street, kid." He started to turn away.

"Listen, Mr. Black," Trish said, her voice bringing him back to her once more. She paused, watched him closely. "I don't mind playing house, but maybe we can do it some other way. I'm willing to fuck for the job I'm after. I'll even suck for it. How does that grab you?"

"Not very hard. I'm strictly a back-door man, and any girl who doesn't go that route with me looks elsewhere for employment, so make up your mind, kid . .. strap some ring on my dick or get the hell out of here." He lapsed into silence for a few seconds. When he spoke again, he sounded impatient. "Well, what's the answer, kid?"

Trish's eyes dropped to the prominent bulge in his crotch, then moved up to his ugly face. Her voice sagged with resignation. "You win, Mr.

Black. I need this job. My ass is yours."

"Now you're being smart," Manny said as he shrugged out of his coat, then unzipped his fly and hauled out nine inches of the fattest sausage Trish had ever seen. He nodded toward his cluttered desk. "I like to fuck assholes standing up, so latch on to the edge of the mahogany, huh?"

Trish hated him in silence as she moved to obey. She gripped the edge of the desk, then bent forward until her breasts touched wood. She held her breath and waited. Manny moved into position behind her. His hot hands scorched her hips. She flinched beneath his touch and said in a small voice, "Don't hurt me."

Manny's right hand left her hip, and a pulse beat later she felt the tip of his thick penis come into contact with her puckered anal ring. She held her breath, then belched it all out as he rammed his whang into her with one brutal thrust, all the way to its hilt. She gripped the desk until her knuckles turned white and shrilled, "You're hurting me, you're hurting me! Take it out! Oh, my God, you're killing me with that big cock of yours!"

Manny dug his fingernails into her twitching hips and snarled, "The pain will pass, doll; start fucking!"

Do as he asks, Trish told herself. If you don't . . . you won't get the job . . . and he'll end up fucking your ass for free!''

She clenched her teeth against the agony that flooded her entire system and started fucking.

"Now you're hitting on all cylinders," Manny panted as he sawed his enormous whang in and out of her back passage. "Keep it up, kid, and it won't be long before I break my string." And it wasn't.

A few seconds after she started bucking against the cock that was goring her anus, Manny moaned like a sick wind, shuddered and erupted....

"Ah," Trish hissed, "that burns!"

Manny kept his prod locked deep in her back hole until he finished squirting. Then he jerked his softening flesh free and laughed harshly. "Kid, that was the tightest hole I've crawled into with this meat of mine in quite a while."

Trish straightened and faced him with a frosty smile. "You didn't crawl; you jumped. Christ, it's a wonder I didn't blank out when you shoved it to me like that!"

"Good thing you didn't," Manny said as he grabbed a handful of facial tissues from the box on his desk and proceeded to clean his wilting whang. "It would have cost you the job you're after."

"It's mine?"

Manny grinned. "It's yours. You can start doing your thing tonight. It's only a weekend job. Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You'll do your show three times a night, and get twenty bucks for doing it."

"Each show?"

Manny shook his head. "For each night. I know it's not much but if you play to the drunks, you can earn extra by conning them into tossing money on the stage." He finished cleaning his prod, crammed it back inside his pants, zipped up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

Trish knew she was being dismissed. She was glad to go. She dressed hurriedly, and three minutes later she was straddling another stool at the bar. The bartender slid a gin-and-tonic in front of her, asked, "Did you get the job?"

"I did."

"In that case, the drink's on the house."

"Thanks."

The bartender smiled at her breasts and walked away to serve another customer. Trish started sipping the free gin-and-tonic. She was nearly to the bottom of the glass when Gabe Penner came in and sat down beside her. He sounded like the drink pusher's echo as he queried, "Did you get the job?"

Trish rubbed her still-aching ass and smiled bitterly. "I got more than that, lover. Why didn't you warn me that the pervert who owns this dive was a bit gear for the rear?"

Gabe bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You succeeded. So did Manny Black. That bastard took me like a fucking rabbit. Strictly wham, bam, thank you ma'am. No grease, no nothing. Christ!"

"Stop thinking about it, puss. You got the job; that's all that matters. But I knew you would. You're lucky that way."

Trish's face clouded as she thought back to last night. Hank Lockridge's death had screwed her plans for doing a quick fade from these stinking boondocks. Because of him, somewhere out in Lonesome Valley a dream was hanging by its thumbs. Yeah, her mind muttered, I'm lucky, all right. Real lucky. When I agreed to go the skyjack route, I was just an eighteen-year-old loser with nowhere to go but down. Now, thanks to stupid old Hank Lockridge, I'm still going in the same direction.

Trish stopped feeling sorry for herself. She nodded toward the window, asked, "What's shaking in the street?"

Gabe shook his head. "Nothing much. Mustang Airlines sent some heat here, but they aren't getting anywhere with the locals. They should be gone by nightfall."

Trish sighed. "I wish I could say the same for us."

Gabe's lips tightened at their corners. "So do I, puss, but that won't happen until we find the missing bread."

"I'm glad you brought up the money. Why don't we start looking for it tomorrow?"

Gabe's voice slashed at her. "No way, puss. We do this my way, dig?"

Her eyes bored into his. "By waiting two or three weeks?"

"Right on."

Trish smiled sourly. "I don't know if this aching ass of mine can stand it that long."

Gabe cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his. "Not even for half of five hundred thousand slices of bread?"

"You're a good doctor," Trish said, brightening immediately. Her eyes twinkled. "Know some- thing, chum? All of a sudden my fanny has stopped hurting."

Gabe threw back his head and laughed. He sobered abruptly. Then he stopped, cupping her chin, and said, "You'll make it, puss. Just keep thinking about the money, and you'll make it just fine."

She pursed her lips. "Speaking of making it, when do I meet this idiot I'm supposed to seduce?"

"Tonight. He keeps a ringside table reserved." Gabe pointed. "That one over there. I'll wait until you come on stage before I tap him for a job on his lousy ranch. That way you'll be sure he's the pigeon whose feathers you're suppose to pluck." He slid from the stool to his feet and added the warning, "Look him over, but don't touch until I give you the green light. Blow your chances with him and I'll break your pretty neck."

"I'll cool it."

"Good. One more bit of advice."

"Fire away."

Gabe watched as she crossed her legs, revealing a lush expanse of thigh. His voice softened. "There's a starving attorney named Felix Wellman in this town who sometimes tries his luck with the peelers who toil here. Treat him nice, but don't get reckless and drop your panties for the bastard, even if he offers you the hundred bucks he's usually willing to shell out for a strange piece of tail."

"That hundred bucks sounds good, lover. We could use it."

"Not from Wellman."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a friend of Bruce Cord."

"Gotcha." Trish frowned for a moment. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?"

"Yeah. An unemployed hunting guide named Joe Dooley. I'll point the prick out to you when he staggers in here tonight."

Trish nodded. "Anyone else?"

"Just me," Gabe replied as he dropped a hand to her nearest thigh and gave it a quick hug with his horny fingers. "Starting right now."

Trish smiled coldly as she watched Gabe walk out into the street and thought, Thank God for small favors.

CHAPTER FIVE

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."

CHAPTER SIX

Bruce Cord's face crumpled in a pleased smile as he watched Trish emerge from the bathroom clad only in spikes, nylons and a black garter belt that contrasted sharply but enticingly with her flawless white skin. He shook his head in a gesture of awe and remarked, "Nearly two months of fucking it up with you, and I still can't seem to get enough of your hot little body. A minx, that's what you are." He paused to feast his hungry eyes on her lush curves, then growled, "Come here."

Trish stopped in the middle of the elaborate bedroom. She stood with her shapely legs slightly scissored and treated him to a generous glimpse of her copper-colored cunt mound. She dug her hands into the flesh of her slender hips and moistened her ripe red lips with the tip of her tongue. Amusement danced in her eyes as she shook her magnificent breasts at him and said, "Why should I come to you? It would be a wasted walk, and you know it. You talk a good game, but that's about all. Look at what happened last night." She made a derisive sound. "Some cowboy! One ride and you hung up your saddle."

"One ride was enough," Bruce said on the heel of a healthy chuckle. "I fucked you for over twenty minutes. Every time I'd get ready to shoot my load, you'd stop wriggling that pretty tail of yours to keep me from doing my thing."

"You lie like a rug, clodhopper," Trish retorted as her glance dropped to the prominent bulge in the crotch of Bruce's sand-colored pants. "What happened was your own damn fault." A sharp intake of breath rocked her breasts. "Do you know why it took you so long to get your jollies?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me. Go ahead; let it all hang out."

"You asked for it," Trish purred, her eyes never leaving his cloth-covered erection. "I'm telling it like it is. It's a case of your eyes being bigger than your libido. In short, I think you're over the hill."

Bruce reacted instantly to her teasing aspersion against his virility.

"Over the hill am I?" he growled as he sprang forward and trapped her in his arms. "Let me bury this stiff bone of mine in that tight little twat of yours, and then tell me I'm over the hill, you sexy little bitch. Only try to do it with a straight face huh?"

Trish felt his stiff cockshaft make contact with her exposed quim, and an unexpected shiver of excitement charged through her system. Laughter rippled past her slightly parted lips as he scooped her up in his powerful arms and started toward the king-sized bed, but a moment later she sobered and hissed, "No, you maniac. Not now. There isn't time for a long-winded game of hide the baloney."

Bruce lowered her writhing flesh to the huge bed and reached for his belt buckle, then said with mock truculence, "I don't want to hear it, lady. Mrs. Singing Rabbit won't be back from visiting her sister on the reservation until some time this evening. As for that pussy-whipped joker I hired so I could spend more time with you, Gabe will probably try to dick every damn one of Stella Roller's house girls before he decides to come back to this ranch and make like a foreman." He grinned lewdly, smacked his lips. "So save your breath for panting, Trish. There's time. When it comes to going the passion route with you, there's always time."

That's what you think, Trish told herself as she watched Bruce's pants drop down around his ankles, and his impressive cock sprang into view. There's time, all right, but not much of it left for you. One break, and you'll be going to Stella Roller's for your pussy. Any day now Gabe will find that bag of money Hank Lockridge salted away, and when it happens, you can lick the egg from your face while we cut out for the bright lights.

"Lecherous beast," Trish shrilled, getting back to her game of pretend as Bruce finished undressing and stretched out beside her. "I knew you'd end up doing this to me."

"Correction," Bruce retorted as he raked the heel of his right hand over her jutting pink clit and made her shudder. "When you walked out of the bathroom half-undressed, you were hoping I'd end up seducing your pretty ass."

Hoping had nothing to do with it, you dumb hayseed, Trish's mind retorted. I knew what I was doing. When it comes to keeping your ass out of the fields, especially the section you call Lonesome Valley, I always know what I'm doing. With you, that's easy; you're so goddamned predictable it makes me want to puke.

And aloud she said, "You're pretty smart for a country boy." She coiled her warm arms around Bruce's neck and drew his passion-flushed face down to her naked, heaving breasts. "I guess that's why I love you so madly."

Bruce licked her coral-pink nipples into full blossom, then raised his head and smirked at her. "I know you admire my brain power, but why else do you love me?"

My aching ass, Trish thought with an inward groan. Here we go again! Every damn time we fuck this damn idiot makes like a bad echo of himself with that why-else-do-you-love-me routine of his. Ah, well, I won't have to listen to or put up with his shit very much longer. Gabe will find that bag of money any day now, and then it will be- Bruce cut into her thoughts by asking again, "Why else do you love me, wanton? "He sounded like a little boy in need of a titty to suck on. Trish stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll never tell."

Bruce smiled wickedly. "No? We'll see about that, little bitch. You've got five seconds to change your mind and talk."

She moistened her lips. "What happens if I let the clock run out?"

"I'll take this cock of mine to Stella Roller's house of ill repute for softening, that's what will happen." His glance moved to the dresser clock, then back to her. "Your time's almost up. Why else do you love me?"

Shadows of secret amusement danced in Trish's eyes as she dropped one arm from around Bruce's neck and groped for his turgid organ. She knew how to play this silly game of his; she was the one who had taught it to him. She gripped his rock-hard prick at its base and murmured, "Here's the biggest reason of them all, lover, and I do mean big. So fucking much hard and delicious sausage. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yep."

She tightened her grip on his pulsing cock. "All right, you heard it. Now maybe you'll stop acting like a bashful kid on the verge of losing his cherry long enough to scratch the itch you put in my tush with this juicy muscle I'm holding in my hot little hand."

Trish wanted to put an end to the silly game.

Bruce wasn't ready to end it. He cocked an amused eyebrow at her. "Thought you said there wasn't time for hanky-panky.''

"Stop teasing me, damn you!" Trish hissed. "I've got the heat, and it's up to you to cool me off!" She spread her legs and tugged on his drooling dong until he climbed between them. She expertly guided its velvety knob to the dampening lips of her pussy and whispered harshly. "Do your thing, cowboy. Climb into the saddle and ride me. Now, now!"

Bruce continued to play the teasing game by hesitating and drawling, "I can't, I'm over the hill, remember?"

Trish cupped his perspiring scrotum in her right hand and applied pressure. She forced a calmness she did not feel into her voice as she said with quiet menace, "One more stall and I'll turn you into a gelding."

"You wouldn't dare!"

She smiled malevolently. "Don't tempt me, you horny bastard. I've wondered many a time during these past few weeks we've been shacking up together how you'd sound as a soprano."

Bruce brayed a laugh. Then he came to a kneeling position between Trish's yawning legs and palmed her now twitching hips. Breath hissed out of his throat as he prepared to insert his whang into her cunthole, but a moment later he sucked air back as a car horn shattered the morning silence and echoed through the nine rooms that made up the headquarters of his Walking C Ranch.

Mild annoyance traced its pattern across Bruce's face as he looked down at Trish and asked, "Were you expecting company this morning?"

Trish released the grip she had on his shaft and moved her head against the pillow. A derisive smile curved her lips. "I'm not that friendly with the natives in this neck of the woods. Exchanging recipes isn't my bag."

Bruce's cock remained hard as he climbed out of bed and crossed over to the window that overlooked the ranch yard. He took his look and spoke without turning, "I'll be go to hell. It's Felix Wellman!"

Trish's full-blown breasts trembled as she bounced out of the rumpled bed and reached for a white terrycloth robe hanging from the open closet door. A frown wrinkled her brow as she wondered what had brought the normally trip-lazy attorney all the way out from Lone Pines so early in the day.

Bruce was wondering the same thing as he located his pants and stepped into them, for momentarily he grumbled, "Sit tight and stay hot; I'll see what the ambulance chaser wants."

Trish laughed suddenly and pointed a slender, red-tipped finger at his erection. "You can't go out like that, lover. Why don't you run some cold water over that big cock of yours and soften it while I admit our unwelcome caller?"

Bruce grimaced. "Water won't help. I'm so hard it will take a meat mallet to make me limp."

"Want me to fetch you one from the kitchen?"

"You're a cruel bitch!"

Cruel? Trish thought as she belted the robe into place and sailed out of the bedroom. You'll never know how right you are!

Knuckles rattled the front door as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she called out irritably, "Don't break the damned thing down. I'm coming!"

Felix Wellman was getting ready to use his knuckles for the second time when Trish unlocked and opened the door. Irritation mounted at the sight of him. The big, balding attorney whose face resembled an amateur sculptor's first failure with silly putty was sweating like a butcher on a busy day, but it didn't keep him from attempting to devour her breasts with his hungry eyes before he complained, "A man could collapse from this damned heat before a door gets answered around here."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch."

Felix continued grousing as though she hadn't spoken. "Why in hell don't you talk Bruce into hiring a live-in maid?"

Trish's voice frosted as she stepped aside to let Felix enter. "Who can afford extra help? Christ, by the time he pays your legal fees out of that dole he gets from Uncle Sam for doing the soil bank thing, it's a scuffle for him to keep me in champagne and other goodies."

A cold smile tugged at his lips. "Maybe you should switch to beer."

Her voice tightened. "And maybe you should drop dead."

"Ouch!"

Trish laughed harshly and turned away. She felt Felix Wellman's hot eyes on her lazily swinging derriere as she led the way into the bar-sized living room. Aware of the attention he was paying her rippling haunches, she silently concluded that the lecherous attorney, who had recently attempted to seduce her during one of those outdoor bashes the locals called a barbecue, wasn't getting all the gash he wanted from his cow-faced wife. Or, for that matter, from the late Hank Lockridge's jailbait daughter. For a wild moment she was tempted to drive his libido farther up the wall by grinding her hips a bit faster, but she didn't. Fuck turning him on. Instead she motioned him toward the sofa and queried, "Can I fix you something cold to drink?"

Felix sat down, shook his head. He stopped staring at her robe-covered breasts and became all business. "I didn't drive all the way out here just to get a free can of beer, Trish."

She studied him intently. Ice returned to her voice. "Why the hell did you come?"

"To see Bruce. Would you mind calling him?"

Before Trish could reply, Bruce made his presence known by saying, "Save your breath, hon. I'm here. What's the problem, Felix? Joe Dooley in jail again?"

Felix managed a thin smile. "Don't drop dead from shock, but our boy is keeping his nose clean these days. Actually, I'm here about someone else. Elke Lockridge. With her old man gone for nearly two months now and creditors starting to bug her, the kid is ready to climb a wall. Only first she has to find a wall. She got evicted from hers two days ago. I put her up at the hotel, but that's no place for the girl. Taking her into my house is out. You know Alma and that damn jealous streak of hers." He paused, then continued. "Elke needs a place to stretch out, and that's why I'm here. Think you can put her up in one of your extra rooms until Hank gets back?"

Trish felt a knot start forming in the pit of her stomach. The last thing she wanted or needed was an unwelcome guest on the premises, especially the late Hank Lockridge's daughter, but before she could get her tongue in gear, Bruce said, "No problem, Felix. Elke can move in and stay as long as she wants."

"It will only be until Hank gets back." That won't be until the day after forever, Trish thought, simultaneously damning Bruce for rolling out the welcome mat while aloud she said with forced cordiality, "We'll do our best to make her feel like one of the family."

"I'm sure of that," Felix said, his eyes again glued to the nearly exposed breasts that quivered behind Trish's yawning robe. "In fact, I'm counting on it. And now, I have one more favor to ask."

Bruce nodded. "Ask away."

Felix continued to ogle Trish's almost naked breasts, but his words were directed at Bruce. "Elke knows I came here to bum a room for her. She told me that if you went for the deal, she would like to move in tonight. There's only one hitch when it comes to getting her here. I'm leaving for Boise this afternoon."

Trish spoke up. "Why don't you ask Joe Dooley to bring her?"

Felix shook his head. "Joe's jeep is laid up for repairs. Worse, by tonight he'll probably be in no condition to walk, let alone drive." He locked glances Bruce. "Think you could pick her up?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

It may be your pleasure, Trish seethed inwardly, but it sure as shit isn't mine. Why couldn't Elke have waited until Gabe found the bag of bread her old man squirreled away before he dropped dead? Damn! As if we don't have troubles enough with that Dooley bastard prowling the hills to bug our asses!

Felix Wellman lurched to his feet with a labored sigh. "I'd better be getting back to town. Thanks again, Bruce."

"What are friends for? I'll show you to the door."

"Don't bother; I know the way out." Felix took a final look at Trish's exquisite breasts, licked his lips, then turned and wheezed his way outside.

Break a leg, you goddamn sheep fucker, Trish's mind shrilled after Felix Wellman. Better still, miss one of those hairpin curves on the way back to town and break your fucking neck!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Trish waited until she heard Felix drive off down the lane before she whirled to face Bruce, claws bared for battle. She started to read him off for inviting Elke Lockridge to the ranch, changed her mind. Her brain clicked with computerized precision as truth struck. This was not the time for her to get teed off over something already done. To do so would be stupid. Pissing him off might result in her own eviction. This she didn't want. Not yet. She shook her head. No, better to play it cool. She had this guy wrapped around her finger, and until she and Gabe found the missing loot, she wanted to keep the prick there. Anger sagged. A happy man was not a threat to her or Gabe, and with this in mind she forced a semblance of that enigmatic thing called joy into her voice and said, "It will be nice to have someone around I can make girl-talk with again, lover."

"You mean it?"

She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Have I ever lied to you."

"No."

"Well, I won't start now. I mean it. Thank you for making me happy."

Bruce grinned boyishly. "That's precisely what I was attempting to do before Felix arrived . . . make you happy."

"You were trying to make me, period," Trish said as she wrapped her arms around Bruce's neck and insinuated the length of her curvaceous body against his. "So pick up where we left off and add ten more inches to my happiness."

Bruce felt his cockshaft hardening as he smiled into her eyes and said almost angrily, "We've been playing it straight with each other ever since I brought you here from the Atomic Club, so don't start catering to me out of gratitude now. Understand?"

"All right, I won't." Trish reached down between them and found his lengthening prick. She traced its pattern along the inside of his left thigh until her fingers touched the egg-sized knob. A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. "Down with gratitude. Let's do our thing for the same reason we've been doing it these past few weeks ... because we love each other."

Bruce was all for it. His big hands quaked slightly as he unknotted Trish's belt and opened the terrycloth robe. Breath belched out of his throat as her naked breasts and copper-colored pubic mattress came into view; then he croaked, "Damn, you look so delicious in those spikes, nylons and garter belt, I don't know where to start grabbing first."

Trish licked her ripe red lips in a moistening gesture. "Want me to take the initiative?"

"Right on."

Trish took a step to the rear and shrugged all the way out of her robe. She toed it aside and shivered as the cool air rushed against her hot, pink nipples and stiffened them. She waited until the delightful tremor passed, then went to work on disrobing Bruce. She unbuttoned and removed his shirt with maddening slowness, causing him to croak warningly, "Better hurry before I lose control and cream in my jeans, wanton."

"That I'd like to see."

The corners of his mouth pulled down. "You just might. The way my balls are aching, I'm damn near desperate enough to do anything to get relief, so do your stuff before I make good my threat."

I wish to hell you would pop in your pants, Trish's inner voice needled. After the way you fucked up by inviting Felix's current shack-job out here, I wouldn 't give a damn if you shit yourself.

Trish laughed softly and reached for his belt buckle. She loosened it, unzipped his fly and followed his pants down to his ankles. Bruce lifted one foot, then the other, and he was standing naked before her, his cock jutting like a sore thumb in a room filled with sadists. Trish's face was alive with a mixture of passion and contempt as she trapped his veined organ in both hands and dipped her head to plant a gentle kiss on the velvety tip of it.

"Ah," Bruce said, nothing more.

Trish palmed his overheated scrotum and kissed the head of his cock again. A faint trace of perverted amusement spread across her slightly flushed face as she looked up at him and said, "Want me to stay down here?"

He chucked her under the chin. "Do whatever turns you on, little rabbit."

"Don't worry about me, lover. I can get my kicks just from staring at a man's dong."

"Stare away."

"I'd rather do something else."

"Like what?"

"Like gobble you up."

Amusement edged his voice. "Gobble? How about translating that into plain English."

"All right, I will. I'm saying that I wouldn't mind sucking the cream out of this big cock of yours ... if that's your pleasure. Is it?"

Bruce made no answer.

Trish winced inwardly. This idiot wants to play games again. Christ, he was worse than a little kid when it came to toying with her emotions.

"Well?" she asked with forced calmness. "Do you want me to suck you off, or don't you?"

"That's what I want, but not while I'm standing up." Bruce removed his hard-on from her warm hand and crossed over to the sofa. He sat down and stretched his long legs out before him, then parted them. "Do me here."

Trish needed no second invitation. She wanted to soften his cock and get it over with. She scooted into position between his scissored legs and grasped his rigid rod once more. She unsheathed his cockhead, smacked her lips and murmured, "If anyone interrupts us before I drain your tank this time, I'll kill them."

"And I'll help." He reached out and placed a gentle finger on her lips. "Meanwhile, do your thing, hon; suck and gnaw me into a wild cum."

Trish answered him with motion. Her crimson lips stretched and formed an O, her head dipped and the awesome knob of his oozing organ vanished inside her mouth.

"Ah," Bruce sighed, "these suck jobs before breakfast are what I call living."

You might call this living, but I sure as hell don't, Trish thought as she tightened her lips over his throbbing cock stalk, then relaxed them. Her mood remained acid. Wilting on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, or trying to let my hair down in a whistle stop where the sidewalks get rolled up for the night when the sun goes down, isn't my idea of living. Your ranch, your town; take them, shove them. Give this kid the bright lights of Fun City anytime. Living? Bruce, my man, you wouldn't recognize living if it jumped up and bit you on the ass.

"Get with it, bitch," Bruce rasped as he pressed against the back of her head and forced two or three inches of his shaft inside her mouth. "Show a little enthusiasm and start sucking. Do it. Eat me fast, eat me good."

Trish sensed the urgency that rode him and responded. She hooked a slender finger around the base of his cock and went to work. She milked his whang with her lips, raked it with her teeth, licked with her tongue, and in a few seconds Bruce was puffing and twisting his buttocks all Over the sofa.

A cum.

Soon he would reward her with a hot, juicy, wild cum.

She kept sucking.

Turning him on.

Trying for a complete wipe-out.

"That's the ticket," Bruce croaked as he gripped her shell-like ears and attempted to cram the entire length of his dick down her throat. "Keep working. Yes, Yes, like that! Beautiful! It won't be long now. A few more drags and nips on the old cock should do the trick. Ah, this is what I call really living! So nice. So damn, damn nice! Don't stop! Take me like you mean it! Go, baby go!"

Baby went.

Speedily.

Eagerly.

Hating him while simultaneously enjoying every drop of jizm that dripped from the tip of his cock-shaft.

Nectar, Trish told herself as her head glided back and forth over the slobbering sausage that filled her mouth. Cock juice ... is truly the nectar of the gods.

"One more time should do it," Bruce panted as he dug his fingernails into her ears and thrust more of his meat inside her mouth. "The tingling in my nuts tell me I'm almost there! No, I am there! Ah, I'm coming, I'm coming!"

And he did.

Abundantly.

Copiously.

Hot cream spattered against the back of Trish's throat as he erupted, and for the next few moments she was preoccupied with the hot unpleasant task of swallowing . . . and thinking, Maybe I won't miss you very much when I cut out, but I'm sure as shit going to miss these meals of cum you've been feeding me these past few weeks. And how I'm going to miss them!

Climax completed, Bruce relaxed against the sofa cushions with a longwinded sigh, then drawled, "I hate to sound like a bad echo by repeating myself, but I still insist nobody can hold the proverbial candle to you when it comes to swinging on a limb."

Trish made a slight gurgling sound as she permitted his withering whang to slither out of her mouth, and a sly quality edged her voice as she looked up at him and asked, "Does the nobody include the play-for-play girls at Stella Roller's whorehouse in Lone Pine?"

Bruce helped Trish to a standing position and treated her to a playful slap. "Tricky little piece of baggage this morning, aren't we?" His voice turned gruff. "You know damn well that making it with wind-up dolls is Gabe Penner's bag, not mine. You also know damn well that I've never had strength enough left to go to Stella Roller's after you finished using your cunt, mouth and asshole on this poor prick of mine."

"Ha!" Trish snorted, her eyes probing the depths of his as she continued to give him the needle. "You'd fuck a rock pile if you thought there was a snake under it." She gave him a twisted smile, held up her hand for silence. "Don't bother to deny it. And don't bother to deny that you've been seen entering and leaving Stella Roller's cat-house on more than one occasion since I moved in with you, either."

There were times when Bruce didn't understand Trish. His expression told her that this was one of those times.

He said defensively, "I went there on business." A cruel smile split her lips. "Sure, monkey business, I bet."

Bruce flushed, shook his head. "Making it with a bunch of mechanical moneymakers isn't my idea of a good time, little wanton."

She eyed him speculatively. "Then why do you keep going there?"

"To see Stella. She's an old friend of mine, remember?" He chuckled suddenly. "Hell, there's no need for you to be jealous of her; you're the only bedroom beauty in this man's life."

Trish lost interest in jabbing Bruce with her tongue and shifted the subject. "Speaking of bedrooms, I'd better roust Mrs. Singing Rabbit's fat ass out of her sister's place and get her back here to help me make one ready for Elke Lockridge."

Bruce placed a hand on her right breast and gave it a gentle pat. "You do that, hot stuff. You'll find Jenny Lone Arrow's number in the phone book." He glanced at the ceramic, guitar-shaped wall clock, then gave her jutting nipple a firm tweak between thumb and forefinger and stood up. A labored sigh hissed out of his throat. "As for yours truly, I'd better get my own rear in gear and head for Lone Pine."

Trish took a look of her own at the cheap wall timepiece she considered a carnival giveaway, then frowned at the clown who owned it. "What's with the early trip to town, lover? Is something important shaking there that I know nothing about?"

Bruce shook his head and proceeded to gather his scattered clothing. "You know better than that, sweet lips. Nothing important ever happens in Lone Pine. In Boise, Twin Falls, Pocatello, maybe even Weiser, but never in Lone Pine. Hell, I wouldn't be going in at all if I hadn't made a half-assed date to have lunch with someone today."

She watched him closely. "Stella Roller?"

He grinned. "Yep."

She wrinkled her nose. "I thought so."

"Jealous?"

"A whole heap," she lied.

He slipped his hand under her chin and turned her face up to his. His voice licked at her. "Don't be. Stella I like; you I love."

Love? Christ!

"You're sweet." A faint trace of disgust crawled over her face. She was suddenly impatient for him to hit the road, but she took the time to ask, "Will you be making a day of it?"

He thought it over. "Might as well. There's no sense in coming home, then driving back to pick up Elke."

"That's true," Trish agreed solemnly. Then her voice turned teasing as she added maliciously, "It's going to be a long day for you, but I'm sure Stella Roller will shoot her best lick to keep you from dying of boredom."

Bruce stared at her, a puzzled expression in his eyes. "You've got a dirty mind, wanton. All I'm going to do is have lunch with her."

"Ha! Knowing you for the sixty-niner you really are, you'll probably force that blonde bitch to eat your cock while you gobble her snatch."

He leered at her. "What makes you think I'll have to use force on Stella?"

She grimaced. "Ouch!"

Bruce chuckled like a partially clogged drain and left the room. Ten minutes later he reappeared fully dressed, freshly shaven and smelling like a successful Broadway pimp she had once toiled for. She steered him toward the front door and said, "I'm almost out of booze, lover. Pick up a case of my favorite champagne at the Atomic will you?"

Bruce nodded. "Anything else I can do for you while I'm in town?"

"There is." She patted his crotch. "Try to keep this juicy cock of yours out of strange holes until you come back to me, huh?"

"I've got a better idea," Bruce said as "he made a sudden grab for her heaving breasts. "Why don't I forget about having lunch with Stella and stay here to do my thing with your hole?"

Trish forced a laugh and brushed his hands aside. "Not now. Much as I'd enjoy having my pussy massaged, there isn't time. I've got a million things to do before our guest arrives tonight." She opened the door. "Go!"

Bruce went. Reluctantly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Trish slammed the door and leaned against it for a few seconds, breasts rising and falling in rhythm to the anger that rode her. Anger at herself. Touching Bruce's prick had been a mistake. A near-disaster. He had damned near changed his mind about going into town, and she had damned near lost those valuable hours his absences always gave her to do some treasure hunting in Lonesome Valley.

She crossed over to the window and watched Bruce take off down the lane in his dust-covered Mazda. Then she started to go upstairs to get dressed. She never made it. She was near the landing when she glanced toward the window and saw Gabe Penner's battered pickup appear in the lane.

She slipped into her robe and met him at the door with ah icy smile. "About goddamn time you decided to get your ass back to this stinking ranch." She studied him intently. "Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to check in last night."

Gabe heeled the door shut behind him and attempted to take her in his arms. Trish backed away. He stopped smiling and scowled at her. He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was husky with anger. "I must be in the wrong pad. The pussy who usually greets me at the door does it with her lips, not her claws." His eyes probed. "What's bugging your pretty ass, puss? My being a few hours overdue? Couldn't be helped. Something came up."

Her lips curved in a smirk. "The only thing that comes up for you is that mule-dick of yours."

Gabe shook his head and gave a short, bitter laugh. "Not this time, babe."

"Then why so late getting back."

His voice sagged. "I was busy."

She snorted. "Doing what? Fucking every girl at Stella Roller's cathouse?"

A faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "If you must know, I was playing bird-dog."

A bewildered look came over her face. "Bird-dog?"

"Yeah, puss, bird-dog. There was an FBI man in town, asking a lot of questions about the Mustang Airlines job." He saw her pale, and now mockery edged his voice. "Don't pop an ovary, partner. He was just working his way down a list of towns where they think the skyjackers might be holed up."

"How come it took him so long to get here? Christ, it's been almost two months since we pulled that caper."

"You know them-or you should. They take their time with rough cases."

"But they always come up with the right answers."

Gabe smiled mirthlessly. "Not this time, puss. The prick I followed all over Lone Pine drew a blank. How could he do otherwise? Hell, the only person who could finger us for the job is at the bottom of that stinking well in Lonesome Valley. Like I said before, don't worry."

"Take your suggestion and shove it up your ass," Trish said angrily. "Tell me more."

"What's to tell? The prick asked his questions, received no answers and that's it. He was getting ready to leave for Timber City when I finally gave up on the bastard."

"He left Lone Pine?"

"By now he did."

Trish smiled acidly. "So much for the good news. Now for the bad. Old Bruce rolled out the welcome mat for a stranger while you were gone."

Gabe nodded. "I know. Elke Lockridge. She mentioned the possibility of coming out here when I bumped into her at the drugstore this morning.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Her coming here to live doesn't bother you?"

"Not a bit. And it shouldn't bother you either. So a wild bird is flying in to roost with us, so what? I checked the tight-assed bitch out long ago. She doesn't know anything about the job we pulled with her old man."

Trish's voice slashed at him. "Maybe not, but suppose the overly friendly cunt becomes a nuisance and keeps us from searching for the missing money?"

"Don't sweat it," Gabe said as he slipped an arm around Trish" s waspish waist and steered her toward the sofa. "Just keep hanging on to Bruce's dick the way you've been doing, and leave Elke Lockridge to me." He grinned at her. "If you gotta bleed, do it over Joe Dooley. I've seen him prowling the foothills of Lonesome Valley too often during these past few weeks."

Her face contorted in anger. "You and me both, chum."

"Never mind, puss. I'll take care of Dooley's ass if he becomes too much of a problem. Same with Elke Lockridge. Let me worry about them."

Her voice sagged with resignation. "All right, Gabe, they're all yours."

Suddenly slyness edged Gabe's voice as he lifted a hand to her breasts and asked, "And you, babe? Are you mine, too?"

"Oh, For Christ's sake," Trish hissed, momentarily forgetting Gabe's explosive temper, "don't you start going the baby-talk route with me! I get enough of that shit from that fucking rancher I have to entertain." She pushed his hand away from her breasts. "And stop feeling my tits! If you want to grab something, try wrapping those horny hands of yours around a shovel handle. Christ, those stinking prairie dogs have been digging more holes than you in Lonesome Valley. Why the hell don't you go out there and help them?"

Gabe suddenly exploded. His open hand cracked against her cheek and brought instant tears of pain to her eyes. The same slap knocked her to the floor. She landed on her back and lay there, eyes bright with fear, breasts heaving wildly from the same emotion. She tried to speak, failed. She tried again. Her lips worked soundlessly for a few seconds before she managed to blurt, "I'm sorry, Gabe. I didn't mean to sound so bitchy. I guess I forgot-"

His hand shot down and pulled her head back up by the hair. Then he tugged and jerked her to a standing position. Anger masked his face and tinged his voice as he ripped open her robe and said, "I'm going to make sure you don't come down with amnesia again, puss." He whirled her around and peeled the robe from her body. He laughed wildly. "A good fuck in the ass might make you think twice before you try running a ring through my nose again."

Trish tried to twist free of his grip on her hips and shrilled, "Gabe, no! Fuck me in the cunt, make me suck you off, but please don't stick it up my ass!"

"Get smart!" Gabe growled as he bent her over the arm of the sofa and rubbed his suddenly naked cock against her buttocks. "I'm tired of listening to you wise off at me, so shut the hell up, pig!"

Trish didn't. She tensed as the egg-sized tip of Gabe's massive organ made contact with her puckered sphincter, then she yelped, "No, Gabe, no!"

One hand left her squirming hip. This same hand lifted, dropped. Crack! She whimpered as a sharp, stinging pain sliced into her dimpled buttocks. A pulse beat later his cockhead tried to stretch and pass beyond her anal circle.

"Not there, Gabe! Oh, my God, not there!"

"Shut up, pig!"

"Oh, please don't.. ."

The rest of her words died an abrupt death as Gabe growled like an angry dog and shoved his prick up her asshole with one savage thrust.

Trish whimpered.

Gabe laughed and rammed his cock deeper, all the way to his balls.

Trish screamed as his prick impaled her, its swollen knob boring between and beyond the tan circle that represented her anal entrance to find and hit the back of her tormented passage. A grunt belched out of her. Horror mingled with agony washed into her face. Daggers of pain sliced at her nerve tips. Blackness, truculent and determined, threatened, then passed into nothingness. Pain remained-vicious, torrid, almost unbearable. Trish clenched her teeth to keep from screaming again as his cock kept boring. A series of violent spasms rocked her body ... then she relaxed.

From a seemingly great distant she heard Gabe bark, "Don't roll over and play dead with me, puss; necrophilia isn't my bag. Come alive. Start grinding that sweet ass of yours. Now, not later! Fuck, bitch, fuck!" Trish hesitated.

Gabe dug his fingernails into her hips and snarled, "Fuck, you slimy whore, fuck!"

The cobwebs of pain lifted from Trish's brain. Now she could think again. Terror drained out of her. Hatred came, and as she shifted her hips into gear to grind the semen from Gabe Penner's cock, she told herself, I'll grind you into a wild cum, you sadistic bastard. I'll fuck you now . . . and when we find that bag Hank stashed away I'll also fuck you out of your share of the money!

"Faster, you goddamned slut!" Gabe commanded harshly. "Do it! Fuck faster!"

Trish responded. She even pretended to like what he was doing to her. She started meeting him thrust for thrust, then chanted with mock passion, "Oooh, this big cock of yours is starting to get to me, lover! So very, very good! It's beginning to melt my pussy! Don't slow down! Pump it to me, you donkey-dicked bastard! Harder, harder! Make me cream, make me cream!"

Gabe tried. He stopped clutching her squirming hips and palmed her bouncing breasts. Then he dropped his head and gnawed on the back of her neck as he continued to worm his prick in and out of her ass.

Trish kept chanting: "Man, talk about a wild jump! This big whang of yours is really out of sight! It's driving me right up the wall! Higher, higher! Ah, sweet mother, I feel as though I'm going to come any second now!"

"Pop away, puss!" Gabe croaked. "Pop me while you're at it! Do your own thing. Drain the milk out of my cock and make me come with you! Hit it, puss, hit it!"

"Right on!"

"Faster!"

Trish's movements became more frenzied. She wanted his dick out of her ass as soon as possible. A few bucks later she was rewarded for her efforts as Gabe moaned, buried his bone deep in her back passage and blew his nuts in angry spurts.

"So hot," Trish murmured. "Your cock juice feels like liquid fire...." Her voice trailed off.

Gabe finished his climax and backed his already softening penis out of her anal passage. Trish made a sour face as she felt his semen ooze out of her. She felt sick inside. And tense. She remained draped over the arm of the sofa, afraid to move, until she heard him say, "For whatever it's worth, puss, I'm sorry I blew my cool with you."

Trish straightened slowly, painfully. She turned to look at Gabe. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and bleary, but the cruel anger that had driven his prod up her back hole no longer rode him. Breath hissed out of her in relief. Now he was normal again, and it would be up to her to keep him that way.

"Stop staring at me like that," Gabe growled. "I said I was sorry."

You certainly are, she thought. You're one of the sorriest sons of bitches I've ever met!

She ignored the sperm that continued to stain her inner thighs as she plucked a cigarette from a box on the coffee table and tucked it between her lips. She talked around it. "My fault, lover. I made you come unglued."

His lips twisted in a humorless smile as he snatched up a table lighter and touched the flame to the tip of her cigarette. "Sometimes it doesn't take much to make me come unhinged, puss. Never could stand bossy broads. Don't do it again, huh?"

"I won't."

"Promise?"

She nodded. Anything to keep this bastard happy. Anything to keep him from dumping her again. Until...

Gabe grinned at her. "Did I hurt you very much?" His tone told her that he really didn't give a damn.

Trish bristled inwardly. Not as much as I'm going to hurt you after we find that bag of money, you sadistic prick . . . by swinging with the whole bundle!

And aloud she said, "What's a little pain among friends?"

Gabe laughed and stung her left hip with a slap. "Now you sound like the girl I always want to smother with tenderness, puss. A real champagne lady." He paused to smack his lips. "Speaking of the bubbly, how about breaking out a jug of it so we can both unwind?"

She took a deep drag on her cigarette and sent a pale scarf of smoke toward the high ceiling. Glances locked. She managed a thin smile. "I have a better idea, Gabe. Call it a suggestion. Mrs.

Singing Rabbit is gone, and Bruce won't be back until late tonight, so why don't we pack some booze out to the cabin in Lonesome Valley and drink while we do some prospecting?"

He thought it over, nodded. "Sounds like a winner. I'll get the champagne."

She ditched her cigarette. "And I'll get dressed."

"You'd better," Gabe said as he crossed over to the liquor cabinet. "Going out there dressed in nothing except a garter belt and spikes could result in your getting raped by an oversexed bear."

A dark look crawled across her face. Her eyes frosted. Her voice tightened. "Or by Joe Dooley."

Gabe shook his head and smiled malevolently. "You can forget about that prick with ears roaming the hills and making us nervous, at least for a week or so."

"Oh?"

"I took his wheels out from under him."

Trish looked at him in amazement. "You did?"

"Damn right! The way he babied and fretted over that stinking Jeep of his, you didn't really expect it to break down by itself, did you?"

Trish threw back her head and laughed.

CHAPTER NINE

Elke Lockridge felt her own vagina turn wet as she lay in the smothering darkness and listened to the sounds of lust coming from an adjoining room. She took a deep breath that shook her breasts and asked the ceiling, "How many more times do you think Bruce will be able to take Trish before he collapses from exhaustion?"

The ceiling made no answer.

She envisioned Bruce panting his way toward a coronary and grinned. Talk about a vagina hound. Earlier she had listened to Trish lick and slurp him into a moaning orgasm, but now they were bucking and fucking . . . again. Shivers shot through her system. She clenched her thighs together and silently wished she could do some heel-clicking of her own . . . with Joe Dooley.

Only Joe Dooley wasn't here. The lanky man who had beat Felix Wellman to her cherry by one night and the man in the next room by even less than that, wasn't due to meet her at the cabin in Lonesome Valley until . . . when? She glanced at the travel clock on her dresser, grimaced. It would be another two hours before he showed. Could she stand the agony in her vagina that long? She doubted it. Listening to Trish and Bruce going at it in the next room, she would probably lose control and end up taking a ride on her finger. She giggled and kept listening. "I'm almost there!" Elke heard Trish shrill passionately above the protesting bed springs. "Close. So damn close! Take me all the way to the top! Ram that big dong of yours deep in my pussy and make me cream all over it! A cum! Give me a wild cum! One more stab should do the job! Ah, no, it didn't! Try again. Batter me! Yes, yes, like that! Ah, I'm bombing, I'm bombing!"

Trish's voice died, the bed springs stopped creaking like rusted hinges on the front door of a haunted house and a few seconds later there was nothing but the silence for Elke's ears to feed on.

Peace. But not for long. There was an almost instant renewal of activity; then she. heard Bruce croak, "You made it; I didn't. Don't leave me dangling, little wanton. Shift those hips and that pretty ass of yours into overdrive so I can get my rocks off. Fuck, baby, fuck!"

"Like this."

"Faster!"

Trish responded. . . .

Damn! Elke thought as she slipped a hand under the blushing-pink nightie she was wearing and touched her tingling tush. I knew I'd end up doing this to myself! She shuddered. Then she removed the hand from her wet snatch and slipped out of the warm bed. No, by God, I won't play stink finger with myself! I can hold out until I see Joe. I know I can. Then she heard Trish and Bruce come to life again, and added, But it won't be easy.

"Enough," Elke heard Bruce rasp. "I've had it."

"I know. I even remember when you took penicillin to cure it."

Bruce laughed. "I ought to pluck every hair out of your pussy for saying a cruel thing like that to me."

"Why don't you screw me instead?"

"Not interested."

"You will be. I know how to turn you on again. A bit of conversation always does the trick. It's doing it now. Take a good look at yourself. See? You're getting another hard-on. A few more spicy words, a few more strokes with my hand, and you'll be ready to go again."

"What's with the hand bit?" Elke heard Bruce ask as she crossed over to the window and stared out at the moon-bathed night. "Hand is singular, and far from being correct in this particular instance, because you've got both hands on my whang."

"Stop complaining."

"Who's complaining? I'm enjoying the way you're jerking my pud. Hell, little wanton, I could even cream from the tension in your fingers."

"Maybe you could, but you won't. That cock juice of yours is too good to waste on the ceiling. I want it any way I can get it. In the mouth, in the cunt, even up the ass."

Surprise edged Bruce's voice, and Elke could almost see his eyes bulging in their sockets as she heard him say, "You'd let me poke you in your asshole?"

"Why not? You've poked me there before."

"Yeah, but only once, and then you bitched about the pain while I worked to get my gun off."

"You shouldn't have shoved it in all at once, you bastard. Damn, even drunk I thought I was being attacked by Manny Black that night."

Bruce chuckled like a prairie dog, then said, "So much for ancient history. Now stop chattering like one of Felix Wellman's bribed witnesses and keep stroking my prick. I'm starting to lose my erection."

"Lying bastard. You're harder than a pimp's heart, and you know it. A few more pumps and the juice will start flowing from the nozzle of your hose. Mmmmm, I can't wait to get at it."

"Be my guest."

"Pass me a napkin. I loathe sloppy eaters."

Another shiver rippled through Elke as she envisioned Trish's yawning mouth dropping to devour Bruce's massive organ, and a moment later she muttered, "I wish I had Joe here so I could do the same to his."

Wish in one hand. . . .

She turned away from the window and crossed over to the rumpled bed. Breasts heaved, nipples tingled, and her pussy ached for the sweetness of release from torment. She glanced at the travel clock again and sighed. Between eavesdropping and watching those damn hands crawl around the face of the clock, she was getting wound up tighter than a cheap pocket watch.

Her brow creased in a frown. Maybe a drink would calm her down a little. She nodded. Yes, a drink would help. So would a move to another part of this big house.

Elke slipped out of her sheer pink nightie and tossed it on the bed. She turned toward the dresser, opened the top drawer and selected a white half-bra and matching bikini panties from her multicolored assortment of unmentionables. She dropped the half-bra on the dresser top and shook the skimpy briefs out of their fold. She knifed forward to step into them. She lifted one leg, then the other, and momentarily the elastic waistband was tugged into place around her hips and beneath her pouting navel. She patted her crotch, smiled, reached for the bra. She reversed the half-cups so that she looked as though she had breasts on her back, locked the snaps, then twisted the hammocks around and under her full, cherry-tipped tits. Bra in place, she told her mirror image, "Joe will go off his stick when he sees my titties in this rig."

Sparks of smug satisfaction glinted in Elke's dark eyes as she whirled away from the dresser mirror and crossed over to the spacious walk-in closet. She removed a pair of sand-colored Levis from a white plastic hanger and stepped into them. The pants hugged her hips, thighs and buttocks as though they had been sprayed into place, and she knew without checking that the rim line of her panties was being outlined through them. A smile curved her lips. The too-tight jeans were being worn for Joe Dooley's benefit, for occasionally he enjoyed spanking her without wanting to disrobe her. If the mood hit him tonight, she wanted to be ready ... for anything.

"The way I feel right now," Elke murmured as she donned a sweater and gave her pointed breasts an affectionate pat, "it wouldn't take more than two or three whacks across the fanny to make me cream my kitty."

She laughed as she sat down on the edge of the bed to cover her dainty feet with white socks and black Justin walking boots, and she was still laughing when she heard Bruce roar, "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

You're coming, Elke thought as she slipped out of the bedroom, and I'm going.

She picked up a bottle of vodka on her way through the living room and carried it into the barn-sized kitchen. She mixed herself one of Bruce's favorite drinks at the kitchen sink, then carried it over to the table and sat down with a weary sigh. She was getting ready to light a cigarette when she heard the clearing of a throat, and turned to find Trish Asher standing in the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes.

Elke forced a smile to her lips and asked, "Where's Bruce?"

"In bed," Trish answered as she crossed over to the cabinet above the sink and plucked a glass from the middle shelf. "That last suck job did him in; he was too weak to scratch a match to light my cigarette by the time I drained his tank."

Elke laughed. "I'm not surprised. I didn't expect him to last as long as he did."

Trish went on as though Elke hadn't spoken. "An hour from now he'll probably be pawing the floor again. But for the time being he's had it." She kept chattering while she opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of champagne. "I'm sorry if we kept you awake, hon."

Elke glared at the naked redhead's beautiful backside and thought, I doubt that, you dirty bitch. I don't think you've ever been sorry for anything or anyone in your entire life.. You've never had the time. You've always been too busy reaching for the old brass ring. Well, I've got news for you, doll. You missed catching it the night Daddy died and got his ass dumped in that well in Lonesome Valley, and when you and that prick partner of yours find the money . . . you're going to miss it again. Sorry? Don't try to con me, you greedy bitch!

And aloud she said, "That's all right. Maybe Gabe Penner will tranquilize me when he gets back from town."

Trish joined her at the table. She frowned as she glanced at the wall clock. "Damn, it's nearly midnight. Gabe should have been back by now."

Worry clouded her face. "I'd better make a few calls to see if he's all right." The telephone rang before she finished speaking, and without thinking she added, "That's gotta be him."

It was.

"Trish?"

"Yeah, Gabe, it's Trish. What's up?"

"My dander, mostly. I had to call a tow truck for my pickup. Someone sabotaged it."

Trish's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Care to take a wild guess as to who did the job?"

Gabe sucked wind, then said menacingly, "If you're looking for another dumping, that's a good way to get it, puss."

"Sorry."

"Fuck the sorry bit. Just get your ass over here to pick me up, okay?"

"Sure, Gabe. Where will I find you."

"At the bus depot."

"I'll be there in an hour."

"Make it sooner than that."

"I'll try."

"Don't try, do it."

Elke saw the anger that masked Trish's face and asked, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Trish snapped as she walked out of the kitchen.

Nothing? Elke's lips curved in a sneer. Who does the bitch think she's fooling?

Elke waited until Trish took off for town in that knocked-up roller skate Bruce had bought three summers back from a local lemon peddler who called it a sports car. Then she finished her drink and slipped out her rendezvous with Joe Valley. the back door to keep Dooley at Lonesome

CHAPTER TEN

The night moved around Elke as she picked her way along the narrow path used by steers to reach Axehandle Creek whenever they became thirsty. She had no trouble seeing. The sky overhead was laced with stars and a lopsided, nearly full moon rode low above the treetops. A gentle breeze stirred a nearby stand of cottonwoods, making them whisper like a whore desperate for rent money and causing Elke to smirk at the sound and say aloud, "If everything goes according to plan, Trish Asher will be whispering like those cottonwoods . . . and for the same reason."

"I always knew you were a goofy broad," Joe

Dooley said as he stepped from the shadows of a lone pine and startled her. "How long have you had this habit of talking to yourself?"

"You bastard," Elke hissed on the heel of a nervous laugh. "Did you have to pop out of the shadows and scare me like that?" She made a face. "Jesus, I almost jumped out of my panties!"

The lanky, homely-faced hunting guide who enjoyed rather than suffered from chronic unemployment, trapped her in the circle of his arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Sorry about that, little monkey. I thought you saw me coming."

Elke's heart stopped hammering. She mashed her breasts against his lower chest and said, "Your apology is accepted." She looked up at him and frowned. "But I still don't understand what you're doing here. You were supposed to meet me at the cabin."

Dooley grinned boyishly. "So I came to meet you halfway. Blame it on loneliness."

Her hand dropped to find his tool, and soft laughter bubbled out of her throat. "Loneliness, my fanny. Heat drove you out of that hot cabin. Cripes, you're as bad as Bruce and Wellman when it comes to doing the orgy bit." She waited for his laugh. It didn't come. She looked up at him again. "Your cock is ready for action, but you aren't. Why?"

He chucked her under the chin. "You know I don't like doing my stuff on the ground. Come on, let's head for the cabin."

Elke slipped free of his embrace and fell into step beside him. Silence walked with them for a few seconds, then Dooley chased it away by saying, "I saw headlights of a car cut out toward town a few minutes ago. Trish."

"Yes."

"Bruce go with her?"

Elke shook her head. "He was in no condition to go anywhere by the time Gabe Penner phoned for help."

"Drunk?"

"More like a fuck-out funk. Trish screwed and sucked him to sleep." She became serious. "Frankly, I'm worried about Bruce."

"Oh?"

"I think he's hung up on Trish."

Dooley shrugged. "That's his problem."

She took a deep breath that disturbed her breasts and let it out slowly. There was a note of deep concern in her voice as she said quietly, "It could turn out to be ours, Joe."

"You worry too much," Dooley growled as they reached Axehandle Creek. He scooped her into his arms and carried her across the icy, noisy creek. He deposited her on the opposite bank and gave her a resounding whack across the buttocks. "That cat he's playing house with might scratch him a little, but she won't claw his heart out. She couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Bruce hasn't got a heart."

Elke threw back her head and laughed. "You prick. I might have known you'd say something like that to get me out of my funk."

"It worked, didn't it."

"Get fucked."

"I intend to. As soon as we reach the cabin." Elke slipped an arm through his. "I'm with you."

They reached the log cabin and went inside. A shiver rippled through Elke as she waited for Dooley to find and light the fat candle he kept concealed during the day. Her mind was on the nearby outhouse. Her father had died in front of it. Dooley had watched him die from his place of concealment in the shadows of this lousy cabin, and later he had watched Gabe Penner dispose of the body by dropping it down the well.

"Stop thinking about it," Dooley said, cutting into her thoughts. He scratched a match against wood and lit the candle. His voice licked at her. "Your father hated wakes."

Elke smiled sadly. "I know. It isn't his death that bugs me. It's his being in that damn well."

Dooley carried the candle over to the rickety table and jammed it in the neck of an empty liquor bottle before he said, "He isn't in there anymore, cupcake. I took him out last night. He's sleeping nice and dry at the other end of this valley."

Elke brightened immediately. "That makes me feel better."

"Good. Now how about making me feel the same?"

Elke took a deep breath that stirred her breasts. Her voice turned teasing. "Maybe we shouldn't, Joe. It's getting late. Suppose Trish and Gabe reach the ranch before I do and find my bed empty?"

"Fuck those two," Dooley growled as he reached for her. "Come here."

Elke backed away, shook her head. "I'm not coming near that stiff dick of yours until I get undressed."

"Do your thing, cupcake. Start by skinning out of those tight jeans, or I'll-"

"Spank my ass?" she finished for him. "I wish you would. I haven't had my panties dusted in ages."

"You'll get your wish ... as soon as you shuck those damn jeans. Do it."

Elke felt her vagina growing wet with lust as she responded to his command. She loosened the hip zipper on her sand-colored jeans and watched Dooley's homely face as she forced them down over her slender hips and exposed her white bikini panties. A pleased smile curved her lips. Her boy was beginning to break out in a sweat.

Hot.

Joe Dooley was hot.

Elke paused with the jeans down around her knees and lowered her shapely haunches into the antiquated deal chair. She pulled off her walking boots, her socks, then stood up again and knifed forward. She dropped her jeans all the way and tugged them free of her naked feet, then straightened once more to show him the webbing of her panties.

She asked throatily, "Ready to spank me, lover?"

Dooley licked his lips, shook his head. "Not yet. Show me your bra first."

Elke removed her sweater. Seconds later she stood before him in the flickering candlelight, clad only in bra, panties and the silver wagon wheel earrings Dooley had given her as last year's Christmas present. She tossed the sweater aside and waited for him to make his move.

He opened his arms and said, "Come here, cupcake."

She obeyed.

Dooley's cock was exposed, and as Elke insinuated the length of her body against his, she felt the throbbing of it against the crotch of her panties. She shivered with anticipation. Her eyes were closed, her ripe red lips slightly parted to aid the raggedness of her breathing and to receive his tongue inside her mouth. Dooley's tongue was akin to a prick, and with his cock pressing against the melting lips of her covered pussy, it was the same as being worked over at both ends by two different men.

Elke jerked her mouth away from his and said breathlessly, "I'm ready, lover boy; do your stuff!"

Dooley wasn't ready. His big hands kneaded her breasts through the half-bra, and Elke felt her sleeping nipples awaken and punch against the scrap of cloth that held them captive. She shuddered and hissed, "Damn you, Joseph, fuck me before I blow my mind!"

She wanted him.

Any way she could get him.

Pussy. Asshole. Suck job. A spanking.

Dooley pressed his mouth to hers again. His tongue darted between her teeth, and the tip of it tickled her tonsils. Night sounds drifted in through the open door of the cabin, but neither heard them. Their kiss was long and deep. Dooley was the first to break away. He stepped back and stared at Elke's lush and vibrant curves. His eyes devoured her for an eternity of heartbeats; then he said raspingly, "Turn your back to me, Elke."

Elke laughed and turned her back to him. She thought he was going to spank her. He wasn't. He stared at her buttocks and felt like a Greek on vacation. Elke had a shapely bottom, the shapeliest he had ever seen. He licked his lips at the thought of seeing her pretty ass naked, her sphincter winking at him like a one-eyed whore who was willing to take his personal check for a trick. Mere sight of her panty-clad biscuits was enough to drive him off his stick. No doubt about it, Elke was one hell of a lot of girl.

"Don't just stand there drooling like a fucking idiot," Elke said almost angrily. "Do something. Do anything!"

Dooley didn't need a second invitation. He trapped her in his arms and found her mouth with his again. His tongue slipped between her moist red lips. Elke pressed the length of her body hard against his and felt his prick pulsating against her vagina. His big hands dropped to the dimpled cheeks of her covered haunches, and he strained her closer. Her hard breasts turned pneumatic against his chest, making him sweat more profusely, and Elke thought, Not spanking tonight. My boy is too worked up to waste his time dusting my panties. He needs a hole to work on, but which one? A mental shrug. Who cares? As long as he wants me in some way. He was hot.

She wanted him hotter and she knew how to do it.

"Wow!" Elke exclaimed as Dooley removed his tongue from inside her mouth. "I felt that French kiss all the way down to my toenails!"

Dooley rubbed his penis harder against her cunt-mound. "Is that all you felt, cupcake?"

Elke's hand dropped between them and touched his cockshaft. She squeezed his turgid flesh and said, "You mean this long and plump rascal I'm holding in my hand? I feel it, Joseph. I'd like to feel it even more. I'd like to feel this beautiful muscle of yours all the way inside of me. I love it, you know that. And the nut at the other end of it ... I love him, too. You're a lot of man, darling. My man. You always were, you always will be."

Dooley fondled her breasts, and grinned. "You're just saying that because it's true."

Elke laughed and tightened her fingers around his cock. His flesh felt alive to her touch. She placed a finger on the underside of his knob and found him moist. She pursed her lips and said, "Your whang is crying, Joseph. Better hurry and turn me on before the lonely rascal cries his eye out all over the damn floor." She nodded toward the wall bunk. "There?"

"No. On the floor. There's more room."

"All right, Joseph. Peel me."

Dooley went to work. Elke held his throbbing prick while he unfastened her half-bra with slightly quaking fingers and tumbled her breasts into nakedness. Air rushed against her jutting nipples and made her shudder with delight. Dooley caught one of them between his lips and sucked on it while he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of her panties and pushed them down past her already grinding hips. A clock tick later her nipple slipped from between his lips as he followed the panties down to her trim ankles. She lifted one foot, then the other, and momentarily she was naked.

"Now," Elke panted through slightly parted lips. "Ram that wonderful cock of yours deep in my cunt and fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

They sank to the floor as one body.

Dooley asked, "Wouldn't you rather get fucked in the ass?"

"No. Fuck me in my cunt first. Cool my pussy with your jizm and then you can take your second hard-on and jam it up my rear."

Without another word, Elke clutched his enormous root and touched it against the wet lips of her pussy. Sweat trickled down into Dooley's eyes as he eased his cock into her vagina, all the way up to the balls, until their bellies met and kissed. Elke moaned with delight, and her hips began a slow grind that nearly drove Dooley out of his mind. She pushed her naked breasts against his chest and coiled her legs around his buttocks. She knew how to put a whore to shame. She wriggled her hips and matched him thrust for thrust, taking the length of his shaft deep within her with all the expertise of a hundred-dollar hooker. His stomach muscles quivered. Breath jumped out of his throat in ragged blasts as her body lifted him to strange new heights, until the pain in his balls turned into the spurting pleasure of a delicious orgasm that filled her quivering vagina to the point of overflowing.

Dooley finished popping and collapsed on top of her.

Elke smiled dreamily and said, "Your juice is running out of me, Joseph. It feels like hot cream."

Dooley's softening flesh backed out of her soggy snatch and dragged on the floor. He made it to his knees, still between Elke's legs, and she reached out and trapped him in her right hand. Her fingers massaged his withering flesh into firmness again. Then she purred, "Straddle me, Joseph. Sit down on my tittie and fuck me in the mouth."

Dooley stared at her. They had indulged in oralism before, but this made the first time Elke had asked him to screw her in the mouth from this position, while she remained on her back to receive his gift of flesh. The suggestion fascinated him, and he moved to obey. He straddled her and lowered his hunkers to her hot breasts. Her nipples stabbed the cheeks of his ass and caused him to shiver with delight. A moment later Elke's mouth yawned to receive his prick.

"Eat away, cupcake," Dooley encouraged. "Suck and gnaw the hell out of my root."

Elke didn't move. She permitted him to do all the work. The only sound she made was when

Dooley overextended himself, but once he discovered how much of his sausage she wanted, the rest was easy. He worked. In and out, in and out, his body thrilling to the pressure of her lips. Her breasts scorched his buttocks, and he shifted position and felt one of her nipples jab against his sphincter. The nipple produced a strange reaction, for a few seconds later he exploded in a second orgasm.

"Damn you," Elke said with a laugh as he withdrew his penis from between her tense lips, "you almost strangled me with that big load of jizm you just splashed inside my mouth!"

Dooley chuckled and stood up. He walked over to the table and poured himself a drink. Elke sat up on the floor and asked, "Are you through with me for the night?"

Dooley cocked an amused eyebrow at her. "Don't rush me, little cupcake. This polecat needs a rest. I'm not anxious to get my name in the obituary column."

Elke laughed and started to say something, but a whisper later the words died unborn as alarm strangled her into silence., Dooley heard it, too. He tensed, then turned toward his windbreaker hanging from a wood wall peg and plucked a .38 Smith and Wesson from one of the pockets.

Elke said, "What?"

Dooley moved toward the door. "I'd better find out. Stay put."

"Like hell I will," Elke whispered as she followed him out into the moonlight.

Dooley stopped and moved his head in a keening gesture. There was a silence. A deep silence. Then the sound came again. Dooley whirled toward the rustling noise coming from the underbrush to their immediate left, and froze. So did Elke. They stood like statues, waiting for whatever was moving through the underbrush to make an appearance. A few more tense seconds passed. Then a beautiful doe eased into view and pranced toward the edge of Axehandle Creek for a drink of water.

Dooley exhaled loudly and growled, "If we weren't so close, to the ranch, I'd shoot that damn deer for scaring the shit out of us."

Elke laughed nervously. "It might have been Gabe Penner."

"I know," Dooley said as he led the way back inside the cabin and started dressing. "I got a bit careless. It won't happen again. Get into your duds, and I'll walk you home."

Elke talked while she located her panties and stepped into them. "Aren't we going to do a bit of hunting for the money tonight?"

"I don't think we'd better." He glanced at his watch. "Gabe sometimes shows to do some prowling of his own by moonlight, especially when he's pissed off about something. Maybe he'll calm down by tomorrow, and then we'll give it a whirl."

Elke snapped her bra into place and loaded the half-cups with her breasts. She looked at him and managed a thin smile. Her voice sagged. "How many times have we been over this area, Joseph?"

"The next time will mark the beginning of our fourth," He picked up her sweater and tossed it at her. He smiled sourly. "Your father must have buried that fucking money a mile deep before he died, and then covered it up like a cat does its shit so we couldn't find it."

Elke pulled the sweater over her head and started struggling into her snug jeans. She said thoughtfully, "The damn thing shouldn't be this hard to dig up, Joseph."

Dooley shrugged. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place for it. Your father could have lost it on the way down. Tomorrow night we'll start working our way up the face of Burro Mountain."

"Whatever you think best, Joseph."

He nodded. "We'll give it a try. Meanwhile, let's get your pretty tail back to the ranch."

Elke waited until he blew out the candle and plunged the cabin into darkness. Then she led the way out into the moonlight. She paused for a moment to look up toward the snow-capped peak of Burro Mountain. Then she locked glances with Dooley and asked, "Do you think we'll ever find it, Joseph?"

"The missing money?" He grinned at her. "With Trish Asher and Gabe Penner helping us, how can we miss?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gabe Penner was chomping at the bit in front of the Lone Pine bus depot when Trish Asher drove up. He slid into the bucket seat beside her and growled, "It took you long enough to get here. What the hell did you do, come in by way of Timber City?"

"No," Trish snapped as she squealed rubber getting away from the station and turned Main Street into a drag strip. "I came by way of Lonesome Valley." Anger brought cramps to her belly. "You fucked up with the Lockridge girl, lover. You also underestimated Joe Dooley. They both know about Hank and the missing money."

Gabe's eyes bulged in their sockets. "Are you sure?"

Trish took the traffic light on red before she answered. "I made sure. Something about that Lockridge cunt never did grab me just right. She was in the kitchen when you phoned for a lift tonight, dressed for a trip. I wanted to know where she was going, so I pretended to cut out for town, then doubled back on foot and followed her. She met Dooley on the cow path, and then they went to the cabin. If a deer hadn't showed up after I rattled some bushes and damn near twisted an ankle, those two bastards might have caught me putting the ear to their conversation. Like I said, you fucked up with both of them."

"Maybe so," Gabe admitted reluctantly, "but the fuck-up can be corrected."

A chill rode up her spine. "How? By killing them?"

Gabe shook his head. "Murder isn't my bag, puss. Putting someone in the hospital is something else. I'm talking about that Dooley bastard. He's long overdue for having me pound some sand up his ass."

Mockery edged her voice. "If you're smart, you'll keep those meat hooks of yours in your pockets. At least until the money turns up. After that, I won't give a damn what you do to Dooley, or he to you."

Gabe glared at her, his face chalky and pinched. "You think he'll clean my clock, don't you?"

She kept her eyes glued to the road ahead. She gave a short, bitter laugh. "It could happen. I don't like any of these locals, but I have learned something about them during these past few weeks . . . they like to drink, fuck and fight, and they're exceptionally good at doing all three."

Gabe made a derisive sound. "I'm no slouch myself in the knuckle department, puss; I've done some battling in the ring, remember?"

"So did Manny Black," Trish said angrily, "but it didn't keep that bastard I'm shacking up with from knocking him on his ass. I say back off, Gabe. It's better to be pissed off than pissed on."

Gabe laughed suddenly and surprised Trish by saying, "Know something, puss? You're right. About everything."

Her stomach started to relax. Gabe was starting to calm down, but she had to be sure. "Then you'll leave Dooley alone? "

Gabe exhaled loudly. "It won't be easy, but I'll keep the old hands in my pockets until we find the money. You say Elke and Dooley have been hunting for it at night?"

Trish nodded, "Which means that you'll have to give up some sleep so you can tail them. I can't do the job. After dark is when Bruce does his best to put bedsores on my back."

"No problem. I'm slowly getting used to going without sleep, but not without sex."

Trish ignored his hint at sex and took the right road at Truck Stop Junction. She was tired of making like a community whore for everybody who came up with a stiff prick.

Gabe cut into her thoughts. "When you reach the rest area, pull into it."

Trish sighed, asking foolishly, "Why?"

Gabe started to lose his cool again. "Never mind why. Just do it."

I'd better do as he says, she told herself. The strain is beginning to show on him. It wouldn't take much to put him over the edge and get my ass dumped.

"All right, Gabe," she said placatingly. "All right."

They arrived at the tourist's pull off a few minutes later. Trish checked the wild impulse to drive past, skidded into it and killed the engine. A moment later tension gripped her. It had something to do with Gabe's sullen silence. In fact, it had everything to do with Gabe's sullen silence. Fear clawed at her guts. She tried to quell her nervousness by looking around. Her eyes prowled, her heart hammered, her nose wrinkled. Some rest area. One overflowing litter barrel that smelled as though something had climbed inside and died; a plank table cluttered with dirty paper plates, empty beer cans and pine cones; one abandoned Canada Dry bottle, and one used sanitary napkin. It was enough to gag a maggot.

She turned her attention back to the still-silent Gabe and said peevishly, "Let's go somewhere else."

Gabe baring his teeth in a mirthless smile, shook his head. "I like it here. Get out."

All color drained from her face, and her mouth dropped open. She had made an error in judgment by concluding that Gabe had taken her harsh words concerning Elke Lockridge and Joe Dooley the way she had intended them to be taken-as sound advice. He was hating her for being right, and in his own sadistic way he was going to do something to let her know it.

"Don't worry," he said, sensing the fear that gripped her. "Nothing's going to happen. I only want to talk. Get out."

Trish sat frozen. A feeling of total inadequacy flooded her system, and it became increasingly difficult to speak. She made an effort to gather her courage, to put the sudden anger she felt into verbal form, to fight him with open defiance. She finally managed to find her voice, and now the words dropped from her lips like hard pebbles trying to defy gravity. "Gabe, I've got something to say. I want you to stop using me for a punching bag every time something goes wrong. I didn't sabotage your stinking pickup, so why take it out on me?"

Impatience edged his voice. "I don't intend to take anything out on you, but if you keep bugging me, I might. Get out."

Trish surrendered to the inevitable and climbed out of the car. She stood still. She really felt like running. She sucked air into her lungs and waited, breasts dancing in rhythm to the same fear that was making her flesh crawl.

Gabe stopped before her. His eyes bored into hers. He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was husky with anger. "You're a slow learner, aren't you?"

She blinked. "I don't follow."

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, you follow, all right. I'm talking about the bad habit you have of trying to run a ring through my nose."

"All I said was that making waves before we got the money would be stupid."

"And you were right," Gabe conceded, "only you should have told it to me in a nicer way. I don't like chicks who try to cram things down my throat."

Trish groaned inwardly and looked off into the night. A weakness settled into her knees. She knew what was coming-another dumping. She tried to head it off at the pass. She licked her lips in a moistening gesture and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, Gabe."

He smiled coldly. "Sorry won't get it, puss. What you need is another lesson in how not to act so goddamn bossy. The one I gave you the other night didn't work. This one might. Drop your laundry."

Trish stood frozen.

Gabe laughed as though he were gargling with mouthwash and took a step forward. Fingers tightened over her shoulders. He drew her to his body. His mouth mashed down on hers, lips hard and tongue working to reach the inside of her mouth, wrapping around her tongue.

Trish felt his stiff cock jab against her stomach and felt suddenly nauseated. She didn't want to play. She twisted away, panted, "Gabe, don't!"

He snarled like a wild animal and reached for her heaving breasts. She slapped his hand away with no particular force. A mistake. Hers. Gabe's hand chopped down and caught her across the breasts, bringing instant pain. She screamed and staggered back, clutching herself.

"Damn you," she hissed. "You hurt me!"

Gabe laughed and unholstered his cock. "Bossy bitches were born to be hurt. My mother found that out the night I dumped her overbearing ass and ran away from home. Yeah, she sure did find out."

His words jarred. Trish's eyes bugged, and she looked at Gabe as though seeing him for the first time. A sinking sensation filled the pit of her stomach. The truth was there for the reading. Gabe was insane, not playing with a full deck. Strange she hadn't noticed it before....

Gabe closed the narrow space that lay between them. He lifted his hands to the twin mounds behind her blouse and croaked, "Give me your tits, bitch."

Her arm lifted, dropped. Her long fingernails clawed a bloody trail down the left side of his face. She shrilled, "Leave me be, you crazy bastard!"

Gabe didn't seem to hear her. He was oblivious to everything except the desire to hurt and humiliate her. He trapped her in his powerful arms and jammed his mouth against hers until her teeth began to hurt. His arms tightened, pulling her toward his exposed prick. Their lower bodies collided, and Trish felt his erection gouge and threaten to punch a hole in her skirt. She sagged against him for a few seconds. Then she uncoiled like a broken spring and struggled desperately to escape the tongue Gabe was trying to cram into her mouth.

"Stop fighting me, puss," Gabe snarled as he lifted the hemline of her short skirt with his hard-on and rammed the tip of it against the webbing of her bikini panties. "You aren't going to win anyhow. This juicy cunt of yours is mine. All mine."

She writhed and felt his cock move to her thigh. It was cold and slimy. Like a snake. She kept twisting her body and snapped, "Turn me loose, you crazy son of a bitch!"

Gabe dropped his hands to her haunches and rubbed his tool over her thigh. "Sure, puss. I'll turn you loose. Right after you drain the cum from my whang. Now stop acting like a goddamn virgin and strap some pussy on me!"

Trish wanted nothing to do with his cock. She attempted to knee him in the groin, missed. Gabe cursed and removed one hand from her haunches. He slapped her face, hard, then reached for her left breast. He cupped, squeezed, hurt, and Trish felt her nipple harden against his palm. She flinched. Then she raised her knee for the second time, right on target.

Gabe grunted, paled, then said through pain-clenched teeth, "You just earned yourself a sore butt for doing that, puss. I only intended to screw your snatch, but now I'm going to make a detour and fuck you in the ass."

Terror twisted her features, making them momentarily grotesque, and her voice sounded as though a pair of visible hands gripped her by the throat as she croaked, "No, Gabe, not there! Oh, my God, not there! I'll be good, I promise! I won't try to boss you any more! I'll do anything you say, only please don't fuck my ass! Don't, lover, don't!"

Gabe laughed and applied more pressure to the breast he gripped. Trish moaned and fought to break away from him. It was a waste of time and effort. He was too strong for her. And too determined. He backed her haunches against the picnic table, and now both hands came into play. Aspirin-sized buttons popped free of her blouse and flew in all directions, and he hooked a fat finger into the V of her half-bra, gave it a downward tug and tumbled her breasts into nakedness. Sickness threatened to erupt in her stomach as he caught her tumid nipples between thumbs and forefingers and squeezed them as though they were grapes he wished to reduce to a pulp. Agony ripped through her body, reached her brain. Senses reeled, darkness threatened to devour her; she hadn't felt like this since the night she had bailed out into the freezing cold from that damn Boeing.

"Enough," she said weakly. "Don't hurt me any more. I've had enough."

Gabe shoved one hand against her mouth, attacked her skirt with the other. The zipper broke, the skirt fell down around her ankles. Another tug and the panties were shredded from her body, and now, except for her shoes and the broken-strapped half-bra that rode on her ribcage like a misplaced sash, she was naked and vulnerable.

Gabe rubbed the knob of his drooling dong against her pouting navel and said, "Turn around, puss."

"Gabe, no!" A waste of breath.

Gabe yanked her rump away from the picnic table and whirled her around. Empty beer cans and other litter clattered to the dirt as he draped her face down over the rough planking. He palmed and stroked her hips, pried her legs apart with his right knee, and a second later the tip of his cock gouged into the cleft between her pale buttocks. She tried to escape, and she was still trying when he locked an arm around her slender waist and said, "Game time, puss!"

Trish almost cried out as the huge tip of his slimy organ made contact with her tense anal circle, but bit her lower lip in time to smother it. A moment later she did scream as Gabe vented his sadistic spleen by ramming the entire length of his sausage into her with one brutal thrust.

"Take it out!" Trish whimpered as daggers of agony sliced at her nerve tips. "In the name of mercy, take your big prick out of my ass before you kill me! It hurts! Take it out, take it out!"

"Not a chance," Gabe croaked as he proceeded to snake his whang in and out of her asshole, hurting her with every inward thrust. "You must be punished for trying to boss me around. I don't like bossy people. I don't like bossy women. I don't like you. Do you hear me, Mother, I don't like you!"

Mother? Trish momentarily forgot her pain. Christ, a shrink would have a field day with this creep who's got his dick shoved up my ass!

Gabe cut into her thoughts. "Stop acting like a corpse and start fucking, or I'll break your pretty neck."

Do as he asks, she told herself. Tranquilize the bastard with your asshole before he goes so far out into space you 'll never be able to bring him back. Dingy or not, you still need him to help find the money. Give him what he wants. It's only an assh ole. Wha t's it worth ?

Trish ignored the agony in her rectum and decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. She brought her hips to life and said with forced passion, "Here we go, lover! One trip coming up! Do your thing and turn me on, too. The pain's gone, and now I want your dick!"

Lies.

All lies.

Gabe laughed and rammed his prod all the way up her burning tail, then rasped, "How about my balls? Do you want them, too?"

"Yes, yes!" Trish panted. "Give me everything you've got! Play with my tits, stick your finger in my pussy; do anything. Just don't stop fucking my ass. Not now! Now when I'm so close to creaming! Oooh, I feel as though I'm going to blow my mind!"

"Blow away, puss," Gabe grunted. "Blow my mind, too. Draw the cum out of this bone of mine and make me cream with you! Grind, puss, grind!"

Trish responded. In more ways than one. The pain was gone, and now Gabe's sawing sausage was getting good to her. No more agony and no more faking it.

She started fucking desperately.

Earnestly.

Passionately.

Sensing the approach of climax. Racing to meet it. Wanting orgasm. Needing it.

"Fuck me, Gabe, fuck me."

"I am, I will. Wriggle, puss, wriggle."

"How does this grab you."

"Faster! Rock faster!"

Trish increased the speed of her grinding hips, and a few seconds later she was rewarded for her efforts as Gabe rammed himself home for a final time, buried his cockshaft deep into her and gushed a hot and spastic load of semen into her. The fluid tripped her own trigger, and now they moaned and shuddered their way through a simultaneous climax that left them both breathless.

"Damn," Gabe said as he withdrew his withering whang from her back hole and proceeded to clean it with a handkerchief, "that was one good fuck!"

Trish straightened, turned, smiled at him and thought, Not as good as the quick fuck I'm going to throw into you after we find the money.

"For me, too, Gabe. I came like crazy." Her voice licked at him. She wanted him all the way calm. "I wouldn't mind another cum. Would you like to fuck my fanny again?"

Gabe finished cleaning his cock and crammed it back inside his pants before he answered. "I've had it for tonight." He lifted a hand to his scratched cheek and smiled sourly. Then, as he always did after his anger dissolved, he said contritely. "Sorry I had to get rough with you, puss, but sometimes you do forget which side your bread is buttered on."

What's the difference? Trish thought acidly. eat both sides anyhow.

"It won't happen again," she said quietly. "I'm cured. I don't mind playing games with you, but not when you're teed off at me."

"I - " Gabe stopped talking as headlights appeared suddenly on the highway and bore down on them.

Trish saw them at the same time. She stiffened, blanched. She told herself that maybe the vehicle would shoot by. It didn't. The car slowed, came into the rest area, skidded to a stop. No, not a car. A Jeep. Joe Dooley.

She shot a hasty glance at Gabe and said, "Play it cool, lover." Secretly she wanted him to tangle with Dooley. "Think about the money."

Gabe ignored her and stepped out in front of the Jeep's headlights. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he growled, "I'm glad it's only you and not the county cops, Dooley. Now I won't have to hunt for your ass. I've got a bone to pick with you."

A slow smile spread across Dooley's thin, homely face. "Figured you might, Gabe. What's your problem?"

Trish sagged against the picnic table and thought, Gabe doesn't know it, but he's about to get the shit stomped out of him. Well, let it happen. I can always pick up the pieces later.

"You know my problem," Gabe said flatly. "I don't like wise guys who screw up my pickup."

Dooley was amused. "That makes us even. I don't like people who disable my Jeep."

Gabe stopped in the middle of the ragged circle of light, and now slyness edged his voice as he locked glances with the unemployed hunting guide and asked, "What else don't you like, hillbilly?"

Dooley exhaled loudly. "To grind an old saw, if the shoe fits, stick it up your ass."

Trish winced. This was it. The shit was about to hit the funky old fan.

Gabe exploded suddenly, but Dooley was ready for him. He brushed the punch aside and pistoned one of his own to the sadist's jaw. Gabe dropped to his knees like a religious fanatic anxious to face Mecca. Dooley didn't give him the opportunity to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He fisted Gabe's hair, jerked him erect and belted him across the chops with the back of his hand. He backhanded Gabe four times in rapid succession. Then he shoved him away and kneed him in the groin, the same way Trish had done earlier. Gabe sagged to the dirt and lay there, doubled up like a fetus, holding his injured balls.

There, you bastard, Trish thought smugly as she grabbed the empty Canada Dry bottle from the picnic table and waited for the chance to cop a sneak on Joe Dooley. Now you know how it feels to be on the hurting end for a change.

Dooley waited until Gabe stopped grinding his molars before he kicked him in the rump and said, "Some bone-picker you turned out to be! You might be good when it comes to muscling women and cripples, but you aren't worth a fiddler's fuck when you come up against someone who fights back." He grabbed Gabe by the back collar of his jacket, tugged him erect, pushed him away. "Hit the road, prick. I'm sick of looking at you."

Gabe continued to hold his aching balls as he snarled, "This isn't the end of it, Dooley. We'll tangle assholes again."

"For your sake, I hope not. The next time I might go for broke and hang up your fucking saddle for good. Consider yourself lucky and shove off." He shook his head as Gabe turned toward the little car. "On foot. And not toward Cord's ranch. You're through working for him. There's a hotshot freight going east in another four hours; be under it. Go back to New York and try your luck at hustling drinks."

Gabe stopped clutching his balls and snarled, "Fuck you and the dog you rode in on, Dooley. I'm not about to let you or anyone else run my ass off until that money's found and I get my share of it."

"You can't stop me from running you."

"No," Trish said as she crept up behind Dooley and broke the empty Canada Dry bottle over the back of his skull, "but I can."

Dooley crumpled to the ground without a sound, stretched his length and lay still. Gabe stepped forward and drew back a foot to kick Dooley in the ribs. A pulse beat later he changed his mind and snorted, "Fuck it. I'll wait for the prick to come around. I want him to make noises when I put the boots to him."

Trish's breasts rocked with the excitement that had her nerves walking a tightrope. She asked breathlessly, "What are we going to do with this clod?"

"Put him on ice, what else."

"Where?"

"Not down the tubes, if that's what you're thinking. There's an old root cellar on the ranch that hasn't been used in years. We'll lock him in there."

"Until when?"

Gabe thought it over, "Until we find the treasure."

"What about Elke Lockridge?"

Gabe shrugged. "If she shows up at Lonesome Valley tomorrow night, I'll put the arm on her and toss her in the cellar with this creep."

Trish laughed. Then she rubbed her hands together and said, "With Dooley not around to bug us, we should be able to cover more ground than we've been doing. Christ, every time I looked up, there he was, like a sagebrush voyeur." She stopped rubbing her hands and smirked. "Well, thanks to you and one bottle over the back of his head, we can stop looking up to see if he's there."

Gabe stared at her. "What did you just say?"

She loooked and sounded bewildered. "About what?"

Gabe snapped his fingers in a gesture of impatience. "That part about not having to look up to see if Dooley was there."

"You got it right."

Gabe barked a laugh. "I got more than that, puss." He slapped his forehead. "Talk about two people being stupid! No goddamn wonder we haven't been able to find that bag of bread. We were looking for it in the wrong place."

Trish blinked. "Come again?"

Gabe licked his lips. "The magic word is up, puss. We were looking down for the money when we should have been looking up."

Trish shook her head. "I still don't understand, Gabe."

"The trees, puss. That goddamn sack of money has to be hung up in one of those stinking trees!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

The raucous ringing of the bedside telephone awakened Trish. She stirred beneath the soft, pink blanket that covered her, then removed her arms and preened herself like a cat. Her brain remained fuzzy with sleep for a few seconds. Then she remembered Gabe telling her that the money bag was probably hung up in a tree, and sat up with a start, now fully awake.

The phone rang a second time; then the bed creaked as Bruce came up on his elbow and fisted it. He talked, listened, frowned at the instrument in his hands. He looked worried about something.

Trish said, "What's wrong, Bruce?"

He silenced her with a glance. Her eyes never left his face. Worry faded; annoyance replaced it. He finished talking, returned the receiver to its cradle. Then he treated her to a tight smile and said, "That was Felix Wellman."

"Oh?"

"It's about a bank loan I've been trying to get. It's been approved, but I have to drive in to sign some papers."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I didn't want to go to Lone Pine today. I wanted to stay home and make mad love to you."

"Again? Damn, after last night, I didn't think you'd be. able to come up with a hard-on for at least a month."

"I've got one now."

"Bring it over and I'll see what I can do to soften it."

"Coax me."

Trish started to lose her temper, checked it. She reached across the bed and pulled him down beside her. Her mind raced wildly. There would be no silly games played. She would soften his dick as quickly as possible, then chase him out of the house. The sooner the better. She tightened her fingers around his swollen shaft and said, "Call it: a suck or a fuck?"

"Neither," Bruce said as he freed his cock from the prison of her warm hand and sat up beside her. "Not until I've had breakfast."

Her eyes grew large. "You're going to eat me first?"

"I am," Bruce said solemnly. "I'm going to eat your cunt."

Shadows of amusement glinted in her eyes. "That will be a switch. I'm usually the one who does the eating around here." She frowned at him. "Why this sudden yen to munch my cunt?"

"I feel like celebrating. With the bank kicking through with my loan, I'm in the mood for a bit of the exotic. Having the old palm greased with the oil of lucre always makes me feel reckless, so don't try to talk me out of it."

"I won't," Trish laughed. "I like having my pussy licked. Go ahead, do me."

"Spread your legs."

Trish did.

Bruce swapped ends and lowered his face to her copper-colored pubic mattress. She gasped as his lips found and tweaked her clitoral spire. She shivered, then moaned loudly as he moved his mouth away from her clit and attacked the lips of her moistening pussy with his tongue.

"Ah," she said, "that feels delicious!"

Without warning, Bruce backed his tongue out of her vagina and nuzzled his cheek against her vaginal fur. Trish patted him on the back of his head and whispered throatily, "You call that eating quim? You must be on a fucking diet."

Bruce lifted his cheek from her pubis and made a lewd smacking sound with his lips. He called her a bitch in heat, waited for her laugh, then dipped his head once more and went about the business of satisfying her. He knew how. A few more seconds and she would start tearing up the bedsheet.

He palmed her buttocks and planted a resounding kiss on her belly button. Then his tongue stiffed and gouged her in the same place. Her stomach muscles quivered, her hips twitched, and her vagina felt suddenly soppy. Her eyes glazed, and distance edged her voice as she begged him for more. "Take me all the way! Eat me off, eat me off!

He stopped gripping her buttocks. His lips and tongue left her navel and crawled through her pubic jungle, over her alabaster thighs, down to the soles of her tiny feet. He kissed her painted toes with exaggerated tenderness, then worked his way back to her melting quim.

"Damn you!" Trish shrilled, taking him by the ears. "Stop stalling and get with it!"

She wanted his tongue in her crevice, and she wanted it now, not later.

Bruce buried his face in her fur and trapped her clit between his lips once more. He gave it a violent suck, and a loud moan ripped past Trish's lips. His teeth nipped. She shuddered, clutched the back of his skull, panted, "Give me a ride on your tongue now!"

Bruce wasn't in the mood for being rushed. He continued to tease her hot, pink clit. He sucked and gnawed, and at this juncture Trish was ready to gooff her stick.

"Don't tease me anymore," she begged. "Ah, Bruce, I can't take much more of this! Soothe me, Bruce, soothe me! Give me a cum, Bruce! Give me a wild cum!"

Bruce released his grip on her clit and sought to give her relief from torment. He placed one hand

T on either side of her melting quim, spread the lips wide, then bolted his stiff tongue between them.

Trish moaned with pleasure and felt the insides of her twat contract, pulling at Bruce's tongue the way it pulled at his cock whenever he banged her.

Wild.

"Eat, Bruce, eat." Bruce ate. Loudly. Ravenously.

Trish's sweat-soaked thighs scissored wider as Bruce licked at the inner walls of her twat with his tongue. Her juices flowed, wetting her passage, filling her cunthole.

It was fantastic.

Climax threatened, and now she coiled her legs around his neck and panted, "I'm almost there, Bruce! Make me come, make me come!"

Bruce moaned against her vagina. His hot breath made her shiver. Her hips rocked harder, and just when she concluded she would go crazy if she had to suffer another second of torture, Bruce tucked his index finger up her asshole and tripped her trigger.

Trish yelped, "I'm blowing, I'm blowing!" And she did....

Later, much later, she came up on one elbow and smiled at Bruce. "Thanks for the buggy ride."

Bruce didn't seem to hear her. He was staring at the pussy he had just finished devouring, shaking his head back and forth.

Trish frowned. "What's with the puzzled look and the head-shaking bit?"

Bruce kept moving his head from side to side. "I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

Trish giggled. "You watch too much television." She sobered abruptly, remembering the money they stood a good chance of finding today, wanting him out of the way so she and Gabe could get with it. She grabbed his stiff cock and said, "You ate. Now it's my turn."

"No," Bruce said quietly. "I don't want you to suck me off this morning."

She wet her lips. "What do you want?"

"Ass," he said. "I want some of your ass."

She winced inwardly and started to turn him down. A moment later she reconsidered, shrugged. She would give him what he wanted. Anything to get him out of her hair. Hopefully, after today she would never have to do anything with him again.

"All right, lover, my ass is yours."

"That's my little wanton. Make like a pooch."

Her eyebrows lifted. She started to lose her temper again. Taking a cock up her ass while lying on her back was bad enough, but the way Bruce wanted to do it was something else. Posing on her hands and knees while a man corked her in the butt made her feel degraded. She wanted to tell him to take a flying fuck at a galloping goose, but she didn't. A sigh seeped past her slightly parted lips. She assumed the all-fours position in the middle of the bed and said, "Start reaming. Just don't hurt me." It was a silly thing to say. He had never hurt her before.

Bruce promised to be gentle and moved into position behind her. He took his time. He eased the knob forward, and she felt it stretch and pass beyond her anal circle. She dug her fingers into the rumpled bedsheet and said, "Easy does it."

Bruce worked his shaft in and out, in and out, until she was moist, then rammed his cock all the way home.

Trish grunted, then purred, "You're in. Now do your thing, cowboy; slap the pork to me. Do it. Fuck me!"

Bruce did. His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her buttocks. His mouth made contact with the back of her neck, tongue licking. Trish fisted more of the bedsheet beneath her and listened to the animalistic grunts and asthmatic wheezes that belched out of him as he continued to saw his cock in and out of her anal passage.

Soon, she told herself as she made her hips move faster. A few more strokes, and he'll blow his mind ... and his nuts.

"Pop," she encouraged, aware that talking to him always helped to create a fast finish. "Make like a volcano and erupt inside my ass."

A moment later he did.

And then relaxed.

"Beautiful," Trish murmured as his softening sausage wormed its way clear of her anal passage. "Simply beautiful!"

"For me, yes, but how about yourself, little ! wanton? Did you come?"

"Don't I always?" The lie rolled easily from her lips. "No matter how you take me, I always get my jollies."

Bruce slapped her playfully on the ass and laughed. "Well, you won't be getting any more from me today, hon. I've got to head for town. I don't want to be late for my appointment with the banker. I need that loan so I can keep you in champagne."

Trish turned her head away to conceal a smile, thinking, If Gabe and I luck out and find that bag of bread today, you can take that cheap champagne I've been guzzling and donate it to Stella Roller's Support-Your-Local-Whorehouse Fund, because I won't be around to drink it anymore. Not this pussycat. Just let me get my hands on that half-million bucks, put the screws to Gabe, and I'll be long gone, hayseed. A shiver ripped through her body. Bright lights, here comes Trish Asher!

"Speaking of champagne, you'd better bring another case back with you. I'm down to three bottles again."

"You drink too much."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I also fuck and suck too much, but I don't hear you complaining about that."

Bruce laughed and padded into the bathroom. Trish slipped out of bed and crossed over to the dresser. She used the end of a rat-tail comb to fish a dead mosquito out of the glass she had used two nights before and poured herself an early morning drink. She toasted her image in the mirror by saying, "Here's looking at you ... heiress."

She turned away from the mirror and took the bottle with her. She sat on the edge of the bed and tripped while she sipped. Visions of diamonds, tailor-made dresses and rubbing elbows with the jet set danced through her head. With five hundred thousand dollars in her kick, she would become an instant somebody. No more peeling, no more hustling to make ends meet, no more picking shit with the chickens.

Trish's mental trip ended abruptly as Bruce emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, and announced, "I'm ready to take off. Would you care to come with me?"

Trish pursed her lips. "If I have a choice, I'd rather stay home and get stoned out of my gourd." She waited for him to coax her. He didn't. She stood up and walked across the room, breasts bouncing with every step. She kissed him on the lips and said, "Don't look so disappointed. You know how I feel about Lone Pine and all the rubes who live there. If you're hungry for company, why don't you take Elke with you? She hasn't been in town in nearly a week."

He thought it over. "You wouldn't mind."

"Why should I?"

Bruce watched her closely. "I might try to seduce her."

Trish reached down and flicked a finger against his flaccid cock. "Go ahead. Elke might wear you down, but she'll never wear you out."

Bruce laughed and walked out of the bedroom. Trish returned to her champagne and waited for him to depart. Time dragged. She was working toward the bottom of her third glass and flirting with impatience when she heard the Mazda's rotary engine come to life. She crossed over to the window and watched Bruce drive off down the lane. The rear window was too dusty for her to see inside the car, but she felt positive that Elke Lockridge was riding with him. She put the tips of her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

"Adios, cowboy," she whispered. "Don't think that knowing you hasn't been fun . . . because it hasn't."

She turned away from the window, breasts rising and falling, picked up her bottle of champagne and carried it into the kitchen. She found Gabe waiting for her. He looked up from the can of Lucky Lager he was sucking on and said, "Christ, don't you ever dress when you're in this house?"

Trish sat down across from him and made a sour face. "Who has time to slip into something when she's busy getting something slipped into her?"

"A farewell orgy?"

"I hope so." She poured herself another drink and glanced around the kitchen. She saw a pan of biscuits ready for the oven and frowned. "Where the hell is Mrs. Singing Rabbit?"

Gabe paused with the beer can near his mouth, "On her way to town with Bruce. She asked for the day off. A break for us."

"Elke?"

"She went with them. We've got the whole place to ourselves. What say you fix something to eat, and then we'll cut out for the valley."

Trish stood up. "Give me a few minutes to dress and I'll be right with you." She trotted out of the kitchen.

"Make it snappy," Gabe called after her. "We don't want that money to get sunburned."

Trish returned in a few minutes, dressed for a jaunt in the boondocks. She was wearing a mannish shirt and tapered slacks tucked into black walking boots, but she sure as shit didn't look sexless. The shirt hugged her curves and accentuated the ripeness of her breasts, almost to the point of being obscene, and the slacks fit over her hips and thighs and haunches like a second layer of skin. She reeked of sensuality, and Gabe again realized he was in the presence of what some liked to call one hell of a hunk of table meat.

Trish went about the chore of preparing breakfast. Gabe watched her slacks tighten across her shapely derriere as she bent forward to slip the pan of biscuits into the oven, and saw the outline of her panties through the material. His cock hardened as he stared at her dimpled buttocks, but a moment later he thought about the bag of goodies they might find today and his erection wilted.

Another ten minutes passed before Trish placed breakfast on the table and sat down to join him, then asked, "Where are we going to start looking first today, chum?"

"In that tree Hank crashed through on his way down," Gabe replied as he helped himself to some eggs and bacon. "I have a hunch the sack is there."

"Why don't we shake a leg and find out?"

Gabe grinned at her impatience. "Relax, puss. It's kept a little over two months; another hour or so won't hurt it. Let me finish my chow first."

"And Joe Dooley? Are we going to feed him?"

"No way. Let him go hungry."

Trish frowned. "Why? What's the point in making the guy starve? Just because he decked you?"

"Never mind why," Gabe growled. "Just stop worrying about the sorry bastard, will you?"

Trish shrugged and reached for her bottle of bubbly. "Whatever you say, lover. You're the boss."

Boss? she snickered inwardly. Yeah, a screwed one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Half an hour later found Trish and Gabe in Lonesome Valley, picking their way along the narrow deer trail in silence. Gabe was bringing up the rear. Once Trish stopped, and when he came up against her, she reached back and gave his limp cock a quick squeeze, then said, "If we hit the jackpot today, I'm going to use that canvas sack for a pillow while you throw a wild fuck into me. Are you with me?"

"All the way, puss. Just keep your hand off my dong so it doesn't turn into a premature orgy. Move it."

Trish laughed and stepped out again. They reached the ponderosa tree a few minutes later. She looked up. The branches were lush, causing her to comment, "I can't see a damn thing."

"You aren't by your lonesome. I'll have to climb up for a look."

Trish lit a cigarette as she watched Gabe go up the tree trunk, then vanish into the branches. He was out of sight, but not out of mind. Neither was the money.

Breasts trembled in tune to her ragged breathing as her mind begged, Be there!

She hunkered down on the deadfall that no longer bore traces of Hank's flesh and blood, broke the seal on the bottle of cheap champagne she had brought along, waited. It seemed as though forever passed twice before she heard Gabe yell, "It's here! We're rich, we're rich!"

"Correction," Trish murmured, "I'm rich. You gave me one dumping too many, and now I'm going to make you pay through the nose for doing same. No half a loaf of bread for this kid. I want the whole thing. And I know how to get it. I'll fuck you out of your share."

Gabe dropped to the ground with the bag of loot. He laughed at the greed glittering in her eyes and said, "Here's your pillow, puss. Want me to open it up and show you the stuffing?"

"Later," Trish purred as she walked up to him. "I'd cream in my jeans if I saw that beautiful money. Let's have a little fun first, and then we'll trip to the cabin and make with the split."

Gabe's cock proceeded to stretch and harden behind his pants. "I'm with you, puss. I've never banged a chick whose head rested on a pillow made of money. It should be one fucking we'll both remember for the rest of our lives."

You will, Trish thought malevolently. You sure as hell will.

Gabe dropped the money bag to the ground and held out his arms. "Come here, puss. I've got something for you."

Trish glanced at the bulge in his crotch and licked her lips. "So I notice. Big bastard, isn't it?"

"You said a mouthful."

Trish laughed and slipped her arms around his neck. She insinuated the length of her sensuous body against his to let him know the firm pressure of her breasts, the contour of her cunt mound. Thinking about the royal shafting she would give this sadistic bastard a bit later created a strange heat in her loins, causing her to rub her pussy against his tumid flesh and pant, "Turn me on all the way, lover. Give me some tongue."

Gabe covered her mouth with his own. Her eyes closed, her lips parted. She felt something slipping away from her as his tongue darted between her teeth and explored the secret sweetness of her mouth, but for the moment she didn't care. She moaned and strained her body harder against him, and his own hands dropped to grip her haunches, as if by this gesture he could suck her all the way inside himself.

Trish massaged his cock through the pants that covered it.

Gabe continued to French her until the torment in her loins became unbearable.

"The moss," she murmured throatily against his lips. "Let's stretch out on the moss over by that tree and do our thing, lover."

"I'm with you."

"Now!"

Gabe's hands found and massaged her breasts in a kneading manner. Sweat popped out on his brow and ran down into his eyes, despite the early morning chill that filled the air. A few seconds later he stopped toying with her tits, picked up the canvas sack and said, "Here's your pillow, puss."

They took the few necessary steps and sank to the sun-bleached patch of moss as one body. Trish stretched out on her back, tucked the bulky sack behind her head. Gabe knelt beside her, his hands busy as they fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, the snaps of her bra, the zipper of her tapered slacks. Boots went. Then the shacks and panties. Now she was naked. He unzipped himself and exposed his enormous erection. Trish grinned and trapped his cock in her warm hand. Gabe sucked wind, then lowered his lips and kissed the peaks of her dancing breasts. Her nipples were stiff with desire. He kissed one, then the other, and momentarily Trish's legs drifted apart and she pulled him between them. His lips continued to excite her nipples, while her eyes slitted and her hips began to grind with passion.

"Stop drooling over me and do your thing," she hissed. "I can't take much more of your teasing. My cunt is hotter than a volcano on the verge of eruption."

"You aren't the only one in agony. My balls ache worse now than when Dooley put his knee to them."

"Then take me . . . now!"

"Aim me."

Trish nuzzled the moist knob of his cock against her dewy cuntlips and whispered harshly, "Slap it to me, Gabe. Jam that big dick of yours in my snatch and make my asshole jealous. Fuck me, lover. Feed me this juicy whang of yours and make my eyeballs pop ... all the way out of their sockets."

"Now?"

"Now."

Gabe lunged. Their bodies became fused in an embrace of lust. His hands found and kneaded her heaving tits again as their bodies locked and rocked in a violent fucking rhythm. His cockshaft slammed furiously into her drooling snatch as she moaned out her passion.

"Fuck me, Gabe! That's it, feed me that wonderful prick of yours! Ah, sweet mother of all whores, I feel as though I have the biggest cock in the world inside my pussy! Ooooo!"

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.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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.

Gabe smacked his lips and said, "No doubt about it, puss. You've got 'em. Tits that won't quit. Take off the shirt." He waited until she obeyed, then said, "Now shake them at me."

Trish made her breasts bounce.

"Again, puss."

She made her breasts bounce harder.

Watching him. Hating him. Fearing him. Wanting him dead. Waiting for the one unguarded moment to make him dead.

"One more time, puss."

Trish's breasts almost jumped free of the half-bra that held them captive as she shook them again.

Gabe chortled and rubbed sweating palms against the sides of his pants. Then he closed the narrow gap that lay between them and lifted his meat hooks to her breasts. Trish stood frozen. His fingers hooked into her bra. He tugged the scrap of cloth downward; straps broke and breasts quivered into nakedness, the same way as they had last night at the rest area when Gabe had worked her over. Trish looked down and watched her coral nipples come to full attention as the air kissed them. She shivered in the sunlight and waited for the inevitable. It didn't come. Not right away.

Gabe ripped the bra free of her body and stepped back. He parked his rump on the edge of the table and said, "Keep peeling, puss.

Trish was so amateur when it came to teasing. She knew all of the tricks that put a man's nerves on edge, that made him blind to everything except whatever part of her body she chose at the moment to call to his attention. With Gabe it would be much easier to distract, because the stupid bastard thought she was going to roll over and play dead while he hauled ass with the money.

No way, prick, Trish thought as she loosened the zipper on her tapered slacks. If anyone is going to haul ass with that bread, it's going to be me.

She unlocked the zipper on her slacks, and a wedge of her panties came into view. Gabe's tongue raced around his lips. Fresh beads of sweat stood out on his bulging brow. Keep tripping over that ugly cock of yours, Trish's mind begged as she knifed forward to follow the slacks down her ankles.

She didn't remove her boots this time. She yanked the slacks free and straightened, a faint smile lurking at the corners of her mouth as she removed her panties and made herself naked.

Gabe sucked wind as her pussy was exposed. He came away from the table. He took his cock out of his pants, shook it at her and rasped, "The mere sight of your cunt makes my dick want to drool all over the floor, only I'm not going to let that happen. Come here."

Trish did as she was told.

She wasn't about to argue with this crazy bastard.

Gabe lowered his tail into the deal chair and patted his knee. "Park it here, puss."

She sat down on his lap and felt the knob of his cock tap against the cheeks of her buttocks. Without having to be told, she reached back, grabbed his erection and stroked it a few times. Gabe wigged out, but in an unexpected way, for momentarily he dumped her to a sitting position on the floor and growled, "How come you aren't scared of me anymore, puss?"

Her lower lip trembled. "I-"

Gabe cut her short. "I think I know why. You're getting dumb ideas about greasing the skids under my ass again, aren't you?"

Her eyes grew large; her voice turned brittle. "No, Gabe, I wasn't. Honest to God I wasn't. I was only trying to convince you that I never did intend to cross you."

"Let's find out, puss," Gabe said as he sat down again and spread his legs. "Start convincing. Start by taking my cock in your mouth and sucking the juice out of it."

"Gabe-"

"No more chatter, puss. All of a sudden I've got a yen for a French massage, and I mean a good one. Do your thing; take my dick in your mouth and suck it!"

Trish's blood speeded up as the idea of taking Gabe's penis between her teeth and biting it occurred to her, but Gabe must have read her mind, for a moment later he said menacingly, "All I want you to do is smoke my cigar, not chew it. Bite too hard, and I'll wrap my hands around your throat and take you with me. Dig?" He head bobbed. "Y-yes."

"Good! And now that we've cleared the air, take my prick in your mouth and treat me to a good suck job."

A smile wobbled on her lips. "All right, lover, one tune on the old flute coming right up."

"Don't talk about it; do it." Trish came to her knees and crawled between his yawning legs. She took his cock in her hand and skinned him back. Her fingertip touched the tiny orifice on the underside of his knob and came away sticky. She almost smiled. It wouldn't take much to make him come . . . and blind him for the two or three seconds she would need to break it off in him.

"No handshake, puss," Gabe snarled. "Eat my cock, damn you. Eat the hell out of it."

Rave on, cat shit, she told herself. Rave on until I can cover you up.

Trish wrapped a finger around the base of his shaft and took his scrotum in her other hand. She bounced his balls in her palm for a moment. Then her lips parted as her head dropped to take his cockhead inside her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored the saltiness of his semen, the rubbery sweetness of his flesh, for now that she was actually blowing him, she knew she would take him all the way to climax before she gambled on putting the screws to his ass.

"Lick me like a lollipop," Gabe croaked as he grabbed her by the ears and attempted to cram the entire length of his penis down her throat. "Do me up brown or I'll fuck you up right where you're kneeling."

Trish made a strangling sound, but she didn't stop blowing him. Her fingers tickled his nuggets, and her lips tightened over the slick shaft that glided between them, and the rough side of her tongue raked his flesh to drive him farther up the wall of passion.

Soon, she thought. Soon he'll be ready for plucking. "Blow, baby, blow."

Trish kept sucking his prick and toying with his nuts, giving him what he wanted. Speedily. Expertly. Until...

"Bingo!" Gabe groaned. "Ready or not, here I come!" And he did.

Trish's eyes grew large as he broke his string and gushed a hot load of jizm into her mouth, but she didn't stop sucking. She felt the pool of juice flood her mouth and splash against her tonsils, and the hot, milky liquid tasted delicious to her. She savored it for a long moment, then proceeded to swallow in great gulps until the last droplet found its way down her throat.

"Good girl!" Gabe said approvingly as he slowly backed his wilting cockshaft out from between her ripe red lips. "You might be a treacherous bitch, but you certainly know how to play a mean whistle."

"I hope I played it well enough to convince you that I wasn't out to pull a double-cross," Trish said as she wiped a droplet of cum from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him. "Did I?"

He reached out and pinched her on the cheek. "Bring one of those bottles over to the table and we'll discuss it, puss. I don't think I'll give you half of the money, but I might get weak enough to kick in with a thousand to keep you going until you find yourself a strip job, or another fish like Bruce Cord to keep you in champagne."

Trish sighed and scrambled to her feet. She crossed over to the ice chest and fisted a bottle of champagne. She carried it over to the table and placed it in front of Gabe. She watched him open the bottle and fill a paper cup. She licked her lips and said, "May I have one, too?"

"Sure. Park it."

She sat down across from him. Gabe poured her a full cup and slid it toward her. Trish sampled the drink. It warmed her, but it didn't ease the tension that crowded her body. Nothing would ease that. Nothing except the destruction of Gabe Penner.

They drank in silence, until Trish broke it by saying, "I could use a cigarette."

Gabe fished a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and tossed them on the table, along with a packet of book matches that advertised Stella Roller's Covered Wagon Bar & Cafe. "Help yourself, puss."

Trish lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke deep down into her lungs before she asked, "Couldn't you see your way clear to give me more than a thousand, Gabe?"

"I might, if you come over here and let me suck your tits a little."

Transparent bastard, Trish thought as she stood up and circled the table. With Dooley locked in that damn root cellar and Bruce and the others in town for the day, you know there's no rush about cutting out, and so you 're going to go the whole route before you screw me. Well, I got news for you, prick; the only one who's going to end up screwed is you.

Ice filled her belly as Gabe drew her ass down to his lap. He grinned at her naked breasts, then lowered his face toward the twin hillocks of flesh. Trish waited until he took one of her jutting nipples between his lips. Then, slowly, she reached toward the bottle of champagne, gripped it by the neck and brought it crashing down against the back of his skull. Gabe grunted. Her tit slipped out of his mouth as he leaned to one side and toppled to the floor . . . and dragged her down with him.

Trish rolled away from Gabe. She jumped to her feet and made a mad scramble for her scattered clothing. She ignored the bra he had ripped from her body and shrugged into the shirt. She buttoned it over her breasts and climbed into her slacks. She shot a hasty glance toward the unconscious Gabe, saw the jagged neck of the broken bottle resting beside him, and hissed, "I ought to cut your goddamned throat for what you did to me today!"

Trish finished dressing and crossed over to the table. She picked up the sack of money without bothering to open it and hugged it to her breasts as though it were a child. She did a brief jig around the room. She was weightless and drunk with joy. Her heart pounded, blood warmed and tits trembled provocatively. She laughed. No more being a loser. No more sweating out three shows per night in cheap dives or taking cocks up her ass from the various Manny Blacks she had known during the adult part of the now nineteen years that were hers. No more off-the-rack dresses, and no more going to bed with an empty stomach. This was it. The end of the ride on the old merry-go-round. She had finally caught the brass ring, valued at half a million dollars.

Happiness faded for a moment as she glanced at Gabe Penner and saw him stir. She wished she could find the guts necessary to wipe his ass off the face of this earth, but she couldn't. Like Gabe, she suddenly discovered that she wasn't made to kill, not even when it concerned a prick who would probably spend the rest of his life searching for her.

She shrugged. Let the bastard hunt all he wanted; he sure as shit wouldn't find her strolling down Fifth Avenue with an ice cream cone in her hand. Not a chance. She knew right where to go to start living like a queen. A place where Gabe Penner would have to swim to reach her. Bermuda.

Joy returned. Impatience came with it. It was time to move on. Away from these stinking boondocks and the funky people who lived here. She laughed and sailed out the door, yelling like a nut as she raced toward the tiny sports car, "Look out, world! Here comes Trish Asher!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Eighteen minutes to the second after Trish Asher cut out for parts unknown in Bruce Cord's sports car, Gabe Penner staggered out of the cabin and took off in hot pursuit of her. Elke Lockridge followed him to the county highway through her binoculars. She watched and waited until he managed to thumb a ride toward Lone Pine before she stopped looking and said, "The chase is on, Joseph."

Dooley lowered his own binoculars and grinned. "We must be living right, cupcake. I thought sure Trish and Gabe would end up killing each other."

"So did I."

Breath hissed out of Dooley in a long sigh. "Maybe it's better this way. Now they can tangle assholes in some strange city or town, and nobody will ever know why." He gave her a playful slap across the buttocks. "Let's get the hell out of here."

The slap excited Elke. She shook her head at him and said, "I'm not budging until you thank me for rescuing your ass from that root cellar, Joseph." She dropped her binoculars to the ground and twitched her hips at him. "I hate ungrateful men."

"Later, you masochist," Dooley laughed as he gave her another whack across the derriere. "You know I don't like to make it with you on the ground. Let me find a comfortable chair to sit in first, and then I'll show you enough gratitude to make this pretty rump of yours sting for a week."

Elke shook her head. "I'm not after a spanking, Joseph. I want you to screw me."

Dooley started to tell her that there wasn't time. Then he saw her agitated state and changed his mind. His eyes caressed her. His girl was in heat, probably from the scene that had just unfolded before them. She looked hot.. ..and beautiful.

He reached out and tweaked the tip of her nearest breast. "All right, cupcake, you win."

"I usually do," Elke said as she proceeded to disrobe. "I suppose it has something to do with the way I'm built."

Dooley made no answer. He was too busy watching her. Elke was wearing a button-down-the-front dress this morning. The dress was the bright color of a canary flying in the sunlight. She reached up to her breasts and found the first button. He felt his cock start to harden as he watched her fingers crawl over the buttons like lazy worms, then said, "Stop trying to imitate Trish Asher, cupcake; it makes you look cheap."

"How's this, Joseph?"

"Better."

The dress gaped, and Elke pushed it down over her hips, all the way to the ground. She caught the material with the tip of her right shoe and kicked it away from her feet. She wasn't wearing a slip; just a half-bra and panties, and she looked so delicious that for a wild moment Dooley felt like dropping to his knees and putting his tongue to her twinkie, but he didn't.

Elke caressed the shimmering black bra that held her breasts captive, and he watched her nipples harden and stab at the cloth hammocks that covered them. He smacked his lips and said, "Those boobs of yours seem to get bigger every day, cupcake."

"The way you keep playing with them, it's a wonder they aren't down to my knees." She sighed. "Come here and give me a hand with my bra and panties, Joseph."

"Sure thing."

He walked up to her. He lifted his hands to the front of her crowded bra. Hot and silky and exciting. He started fondling her boobs.

Elke shivered beneath his touch and asked teasingly, "Are you just going to stand there and feel my titties through the cloth, or are you going to bare them and give yourself a- real thrill, Joseph? They're all yours."

He reached between her shoulder blades and found the snaps of her bra. He leaned toward her and banged his stiff cock against the crotch of her black nylon panties.

"My goodness," Elke purred as she dropped her hand between them and gave his sheathed penis a not too gentle hug with her fingers, "you are ready, aren't you?"

Shock thrills of delight shot through Dooley's groin and made him shiver in the sunlight. He smiled wickedly. "I'm ready, but only because you excited me."

Tenderness traced its pattern across Elke's face, but her voice remained teasing. "You mean my titties excite you, don't you?"

Dooley smacked his lips. "That's right, those big tits of yours turn me on. They're turning me on now. So much so that right now I'm tempted to slip my cock between them and splash a hot load of cum all over your nipples.''

Elke's eyes twinkled as she unsheathed his cock and said, "You wouldn't be getting a cherry. Go ahead and diddle my tits."

He shook his head. "I'd rather massage your pussy."

"I wish you'd do something."

Dooley grinned as he unhooked her bra and watched her big breasts dance into nakedness. He lifted his hands to those lovely twin mounds again. Elke permitted him to play with her dairies for a couple of minutes. Then she stopped hugging his cock with her hand and stepped back. Her breasts heaved, and a dreamy smile touched the corners of her sensuous mouth. Dooley could almost feel the heat coming from the crotch of her tight, black panties. His grin widened as she shook her slender hips at him and said, "Skin me down, Joseph. Take off my panties and then massage my pussy with that nice dong of yours."

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.

THE END
Spouse Swap ....(84k)    by Unknown




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