Tiffany the Trophy Wife

I had endured a night of waking up every fifteen minutes in a panic. My dreams were reliving that spanking and getting my ass raped by a riding crop.

The floor was not the best place to sleep. I was half awake when I heard him start to get up.

He reached over and yanked me up by my hair into a standing position. I was trembling out of fear and not knowing what would happen. I stumbled in my heels; I didn't dare take them off.

"Take your bra off, and show me the tits I just married."

I quickly unfastened my bra; my firm tits sprang free, wobbling slightly on my petite frame. I didn't like the look on his face. He reached out, pinching my nipples until I cried out in pain. My nipples burning, I humiliated myself by begging.

"Please stop hurting me. I'll do anything you want."

He just smiled and pushed his hand on my belly.

"You must have to pee soon; I would be so annoyed if you had an accident."

I couldn't let him know how badly I had to go.

"Tell you what, Tiffany. You can use the bathroom."

I turned toward the bathroom.

"The only stipulation is that you crawl; you haven't earned the right to walk yet."

I didn't care; I was close to wetting myself. I dropped to my hands and knees, and with my tits swinging side to side, I made for the toilet.

He followed me closely, enjoying the sight of me crawling in stockings and heels.

I made it to the bathroom, crawling to the toilet. I pulled myself up and sat down.

He had opened the door and was staring at me. I didn't know if I could pee with someone looking at me.

He laughed.

"Shy bladder, Tiff? You better get used to it; as your Master, I can do whatever I want, so I'll give you two minutes to finish, or the next time you can use the bathroom will be noon."

I couldn't last that long. He stood before me, smiling.

"Spread your legs, Tiffany. I want to see."

I closed my eyes and concentrated. Finally, my body responded. It was a trickle initially, but it felt like a river flowing. He had moved closer, my face turning beet red. I was mortified.

I finished with my eyes still closed.

"You will learn. Now wipe yourself and crawl back to the bedroom."

I felt dirty and wanted to shower, but I was afraid to ask. He followed me across the room, pushing my ass with his foot every couple of steps, making me fall forward, landing on my boobs. He got back into bed. I got as comfortable as I could on the floor.

My ass was sore, and I needed to shower and clean clothes to wear.

After a while, he left the room and went outside to the balcony. I could hear him on the phone but couldn't understand what he said.

I took advantage and stretched my legs. I could feel the dried cum on my face and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I looked like a cheap whore. What had happened to that innocent face, now covered in dry cum with smeared makeup and red eyes from crying?

He returned and told me to get into the shower; we were having guests. I didn't question him and crawled into the bathroom as fast as possible.

I stayed in the shower washing the cum off of my face. I put my hair up in a French twist. I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the door. Roger wasn't on the bed. I called out to him, but there was no answer.

I opened my suitcase and picked out some frilly underwear: a beige half-cup bra, matching panties, a garter belt, and sheer coffee-colored stockings.

I wanted to please him, but I was scared of Roger.

I needed to please him, not out of love; I didn't want to be hurt anymore. I slipped into a white dress with a deep scoop neck, the hem reaching mid-thigh.

We were in a large suite with a king-size bed and an oversized sitting room overlooking Central Park.

It had been four hours since he had left. I had started drinking screwdrivers to calm my nerves. I sat in one of the plush chairs, mindful of how my dress rode up, showing my stocking tops. I was playing with my garter clasps, trying to determine their power over men.

I heard voices in the hallway and slipped my black heels back on.

The door opened, and Roger and an older man walked in, followed by the older man's son. The younger man walked around me, checking out my rear. They were looking at me like I was for sale; I didn't realize that was pretty close to the truth. Finally, the man behind me spoke.

"You've outdone yourself, Roger. This one is much prettier, and the body better. I can't wait to see those tits."

"Feel for yourself; she doesn't care, Bill. Give them a squeeze--the rougher, the better. She loves it."

He walked up to me like it was an accepted practice. And he squeezed both of my boobs. I flinched but didn't cry out.

"Beautiful and all-natural, no silicone in these beauties. You know Tiffany, your husband is a lousy poker player who hates losing money; maybe he would put these knockers in the pot."

They all had a good laugh and then settled down. I kept a fake smile, which made them think I was flattered.

They were introduced as Bill and his twenty-year-old son, also Bill, but they had no last names, which made me nervous.

I was embarrassed by how the low-cut neck showed the tops of my firm boobs. I made the mistake of tugging my hem down; the dress had a habit of creeping up. But as I leaned forward to pull my dress down, I put my tits on display. I quickly stood up, but they had gotten quite a boob show. Roger told me to get some drinks as they sat down. I headed to the kitchen; I was sure they were enjoying a look at my rear end. I put an extra wiggle on my walk; I didn't want to give him a reason to get mad.

After all, I was his wife. I foolishly thought he wouldn't let them touch me. I brought out a pitcher of Martinis, giving them another boob show as I bent over. Of course, there were only three chairs, so I stood at attention beside Roger. They were talking about sports.

Roger was droning on about some game when he absent-mindedly ran his hand over my butt,--letting it linger there, toying with one of my garter straps.

He pinched it through the thin material of my dress, pulling it out and letting it snap back. I involuntarily jumped a little, causing them to stop talking and look at me.

The older "Bill" grinned.

"What's the matter, Tiffany?"

Roger answered for me.

"Her garter belt is a little tight; I was helping her."

"Is that right? I didn't think girls wore them anymore. I don't believe you, Roger."

"Tiffany, show everybody your underwear."

I looked at him, hoping he would say just kidding. But the look on his face was severe.

"Get moving, young lady."

I stood in front of them and inched my dress up. The stockings were long, almost touching my butt cheeks. I was burning with embarrassment.

Roger sarcastically asked, "Do you need any help?"

I answered quickly. "No, I'm just nervous."

The younger "Bill" moved his chair so they were in a semicircle around me. My dress was almost at the top of my thighs, the first dark band of my stocking tops showing. I exposed both bands and silver garter clasps with a little tug of my dress. The bottom of my ass cheeks was showing.

"Turn around. I want to see your cunt."

My second day of marriage, and this is how my husband speaks to me in front of strangers.

I slowly turned; my nylon-covered mound was on display.

"Play with yourself; don't be shy."

My finger traced my slit, sending sparks to my needy pussy. It felt so good that I slipped my fingers under my panties. I couldn't help myself; I groaned; my knees went weak. The bastards clapped as I lowered myself to the floor. I found my clit, stroking it. I must have been quite a sight lying on the floor, my knees bent, forcing my legs apart. My stockings pulled tight, still in my heels. Moaning like a bitch in heat. While fucking myself with two fingers.

"You've got quite a whore for a wife, Roger. What else will she do?"

"Anything I want, watch this."

"Tiffany, crawl into the kitchen and get a cucumber for yourself."

I was burning with shame as I rolled over to get on all fours. I crawled across the floor to the small refrigerator. My tits swung side to side, my nylon panties stretched across my taut behind. I opened the door, and two cucumbers were on the top shelf. I picked the smaller of the two. It was about six inches long and covered with wart-like bumps.

From where he was sitting, Roger could see me,

"Put it in your mouth and crawl back in here."

I eased it in slowly, trying not to gag. To get a grip, I had to bite into it carefully; I hoped he didn't see me.

I dropped to my knees, and with my dress pulled up to my waist, I started crawling back into the living room. My tits were almost out of my bra. I was panting rapidly, with spit running out of my mouth. They just sat there, waiting for me to perform.

"Get on your knees and start sucking your friend."

Kneeling, I held the cucumber before my open mouth, stretching my lips around it; I carefully eased it past my lips, forming a line of spit. I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes, please don't make me do this.

He looked down at me with a cruel smile,

"Get moving. You've got two more holes to fill with your veggie friend."

I pushed it in further; I couldn't take it anymore and started gagging violently. They started laughing.

"She's not too good yet but will get plenty of practice soon enough. Now, Tiffany, put it in your snatch; you should be wet enough."

I saw no sense in ruining my dress with cum stains; I quickly pulled it off, leaving it on the floor. The bra did nothing to cover me. My tits bulged obscenely over the lacy cups. I lay on my back, my nylons shining in the afternoon sun, my legs parted; I blocked out their grinning faces above me.

I just wanted to cum. With the cucumber hovering above my pussy I guided it to my sensitive mound. My hand was shaking as I felt it probe my soft folds.

Slipping it in carefully, I couldn't stop groaning; I was hitting the perfect spot. My hips buckled, I tried to stop, but my sopping wet cunt urged me on.

Just as I was getting close, I felt some liquid dripping on my face and chest. Those bastards were jerking off on me!

My body tensed up, and I had a powerful orgasm. I acted scared, making them think I didn't want a cum bath when I loved it. I was in heaven; three guys were standing around me, their dicks out, jerking off on my face. And there was nothing I could do to stop them.

They looked down on me, laughing at my predicament. They finished patting Roger on his back.

Like most guys, Roger's friends headed for the door once they had shot their load.

"You've got a keeper, Roger. I want to fuck her, but I don't have the time now to fuck all her holes. I have to pick up my wife from church."

I Lie on my back, still shaking. I gently pulled the cucumber out of my pussy; it came out easily. I rolled to an upright position on my knees. After all I had done, the old bastard turned to me, saying.

"I'm going to bed; clean up, and I'll let you sleep on the bed tonight. I want you to clean up that cucumber using your mouth. Oh, and by the way, leave your panties and stockings on; when I wake up, I want to see your legs in nylons."

I nodded yes; what's the sense in getting him mad?

I finished my chores. As I was washing my face, I could hear him snoring away. Yeah, I'll get some sleep tonight; that's a laugh.

I walked out onto the balcony in my underwear, not caring if anyone could see me. I wondered if I had made a mistake. After a while, I walked back in. Thankfully, he had stopped snoring. I slid into the bed, careful not to wake him.

I slept until eight o'clock. I lay there, not wanting to wake him. I could feel one of my stockings had come loose, so I carefully reattached it. As I moved around, I brushed the back of his leg. It was ice cold.

"Roger, are you awake?"

I expected a smart response, but nothing. I touched his shoulder; he was unresponsive. I got up and walked around the bed. When I saw his face, I knew he was dead.

I made some coffee and sat down in the living room, where he made me humiliate myself last night in front of his friends. I took my time calling the police; I wasn't sure if I was supposed to call them or the front desk. There was no urgency; it's not like he would get any better. But I wasn't taking any chances.

I waited an hour before calling the front desk.

I'm sure it wasn't the first time some old geezer had croaked with a young woman in his room.

I threw on some sweats and thick socks, putting my hair in a ponytail. The manager was the first to arrive, consoling me. I had better look upset; I could always cry on command. Next, the police and the medics. All this fuss to confirm the fact that he was dead. I did call Roger's lawyer and told him I was too upset to call Junior. I was a little nervous. We had only been married less than a week. I think my time for getting fucked by a lawyer was approaching.

The next month was a blur. The funeral was quite an event; Junior, the accountant, and I made all the arrangements. The night of the viewing, I was a little nervous; a couple of shots calmed me down.

Most of the people didn't know me or wanted to. I put on the face of the grieving widow. I dressed in black. The form-fitting dress was well above my knees, displaying my perfect legs and firm young boobs. Black sheer stockings and killer heels completed my "Mourning clothes."

Three hours of getting hugged by men trying to mash my tits against their chest. Almost all the men told me to call them if I needed help. In comparison, all the women there gave me stoney glances.

Finally, Junior and I were headed back to the mansion. I didn't want to, but I had to make him think I wanted him. Sitting in the back of the limo in dead silence, I purposely hitched my dress, showing a little stocking top. I noticed him taking glances.

I broke down with fake tears. I thanked him for helping with everything and told him how impressed I was with him. He looked at me, smiling--it was the first time I had seen him smile. We hugged each other, and my dress wandered higher in the process. I stayed next to him, leaning against his arm. I had no attraction for him, but I didn't want him as an enemy, and when this much money is at stake, you can't be too careful. It was an hour's drive home. I asked him if he minded me staying next to him. I told him he made me feel safe. What a load of crap.

I laid my head on his chest, pretending to fall asleep.

After a few minutes, I faked soft snoring. He called my name, but I didn't move. I felt his arm move down my body, reaching the bottom of my dress.

He carefully pulled my dress higher, exposing my stocking tops and garter straps. His hand brushed my thigh near my soft mound, barely grazing it. I let out a soft moan and arched my back, moving my needy cunt to his hand. He froze, afraid to move. I sat up, exclaiming,

"What's going on here? Why is my dress pulled up?"

He started stammering,

"I'm sorry I must have fallen asleep; I didn't mean anything to happen."

I had him right where I wanted him; I sat up straight, only partially tugging my skirt back. Even as dark as it was, I could see him blushing furiously. The rest of the ride was uneventful; I sat back, smiling, thinking this would be easier than I had thought it would be. I had Junior right where I wanted him.

Roger's lawyer was Bill Jenkins, a man in his seventies. I had to go to his office to sign some papers. To say I was nervous was an understatement. I guess I had "Daddy issues," I always felt vulnerable around older men, wanting them to dominate and degrade me. An older, powerful man could get me wet by raising his voice.

When I first noticed that all his secretaries were twenty-something blonde bombshells, complete with short skirts and heels, I knew what he liked and how to get to him.

Sitting in the outer office, I arrived early for my meeting. While I was waiting, the door to another office opened, and a young secretary walked quickly across the room, heading for the ladies' room. Her hair was messed up, and her lips were red and puffy. And unless I was wrong, that white stuff by her ear was fresh cum. It looks like the head man got some mid-morning "Head."

Then, my lawyer came out of another office and smiled broadly,

"Good morning, you must be Tiffany. Come in, please."

I was glad I had worn a tight dress, black nylons, and a push-up bra. He took my arm and watched me stand up in my four-inch heels.

"You're a very attractive woman."

"Thank you," I said, blushing furiously. Just then, his secretary buzzed him, saying he had an important phone call. He snapped at her. "I'm not to be interrupted! Don't make me have to say it again."

He was so fucking powerful that I almost came.

He led me to a chair in front of his desk.

Calming down, he read me a lot of information I didn't understand, but I did notice he was looking up my dress. I shifted in my chair, making sure my stocking tops were exposed. Finally, he put the papers down and said,

"Things are pretty routine. Roger Junior and you must make some decisions, as Roger left everything to you two. I can't represent either of you, but I can make it easier for you without helping Junior. That will be our secret."

He made it clear that he could make things easier or more difficult. It was up to me what I did.

With that, he got up and locked his office door. I knew what was next. He came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and squeezed me gently.

"Mister Jenkins, what are you doing? This isn't right."

He didn't say anything as his hands slipped down to my chest. He cupped my tits rolling my nipples between his fingers. I played the part of a helpless female, lolling my head back and moaning. He looked down on me, smiling sardonically.

"You're one hot cunt; with that mouth on you, I bet you suck cock like a pro. So just relax. Why don't you get up and take that dress off? It would be a shame to get cum on it.

I could feel the dampness in my pussy. He was in complete control, and I was ready to do anything he wanted. I stood up, shaking with fear and anticipation. He stood back, watching me strip; I pulled my zipper down, my dress falling to the floor and leaving me in my panties, bra, and garter belt, tugging my barely-black nylons high on my legs.

He looked at me like I was livestock, and I guess I was.

"Now, come here and get on your knees."

"Please don't make me do this; just let me go."

He smiled an evil smile while starting to unbuckle his belt. The thought of that soft leather on my ass was like a drug; I needed it. I fell forward, pushing my panty-covered ass in the air, moaning,

"Why are you doing this? Please don't hurt me."

I could hear him pulling it off. The anticipation was mounting. I held my breath, knowing what was coming.

The first smack was quickly followed by a second and a third. I wiggled my ass. The slaps sounded like gunshots in that small office. The pain went straight to my dripping cunt. He teased me by laying his belt on my ass and lightly caressing my stinging butt.

Now get over here, or I'll beat you until you cannot sit down."

My boobs swayed as I crawled over to him, looking up with adoring eyes.

"Take my dick out and rub it all over your face."

I let out a soft moan and complied. His dick was dripping pre-cum. I was dying to suck it off and savor the taste. But I knew what he wanted; I smeared it all over my face, sucking as much as I could from his dick, then spitting the combination into my hand and rubbing it on my cheeks.

"Very good, Tiffany; now pull down your bra. I want to see you shake your tits."

I tugged at the straps of my bra, my firm tits fighting to get out of the lace cups; I shook my shoulders, feeling like a whore as my boobs jiggled up and down.