Trophy Wife Reboot Ch 03

I wanted nothing more in the world than to return to the confines of my dingy little cell and be alone with my self-disgust. Yet, here was Mr. Ambrose holding me back. I'd only talked to him privately once before, when I signed the agreement to come to the Reclamation Ranch as a condition of having a chance at salvaging my marriage. No, that wasn't true and I was struggling to tell the truth. I was only concerned with salvaging my lifestyle. Somehow, I viewed the two as being separate. He cautioned me about the things that were in store, yet persuasively assured me, I had almost no other choice.

I'd managed to pull on my panties and tee once more, and he directed me to sit on the floor, cross-legged in front of him. He rose above me in the chair, and his undisputable position of dominion was clear.

"You partner did well today. Despite her fears, she was willing to sacrifice herself for a person she hardly knows. Would you have been willing to do the same?"

I could have pretended to think about that moral dichotomy, but since I was on the road to truthfulness, "No, sir, the thought didn't even occur to me. I planned to hit her again until you found it acceptable."

"You'd have been willing to inflict pain of someone begging you to stop?"

"I made a choice of that or seeing her sent away, sir."

"What made you think that?"

"You said her punishment wasn't acceptable to you, sir."

He showed a near smile on his face. "I never said any of the punishments were acceptable or unacceptable. I only asked what you considered satisfactory and asked that you carefully contemplate your choices. Those choices were always yours to make, as are all your life choices."

Only then did it occurred to me. I'd set the tone for our punishments. I melded out at least a part of all of them. Could I have critically overdone our collective suffering? My mouth went dry, and I hated myself nearly as much as I hated that bastard sitting in the chair.

"May I leave now, Mr. Ambrose, sir, please, sir," I said only partially attempting to conceal my contempt.

"No, you have unfinished business. As your surrogate husband, I became excited watching the show you put on, and I'm in need of sexual relief. Despite your antagonism toward me and desire to leave this room, I want you to suck my cock."

My face turned red, and I fought to control my temper. I was near my brink. Oral sex with this old creep was the last thing on earth I wanted to be doing. Even so, I knew I couldn't refuse. I began to cry again.

"There, there, #5 tears are useless. Take my member into your mouth until I ejaculate and swallow every bit of it or leave the ranch. Those are your choices to make."

It took all I had to marshal my rage. "May I, sir, at least, ask what lesson I'm to learn from this?"

"Ah, so you now realize you are being retrained," he said and paused in silence for several seconds. "Yes, if you complete the blow job well enough, I'll instruct you."

I removed my tee, but kept my panties on. At least, I now knew that Mr. Ambrose wasn't gay, as I previously suspected. I rubbed my tits and could tell he was becoming more aroused.

After pulling down his pants, as I drew his cock into my mouth and proceeded to slide it in and out, using my tongue to massage it. My hands worked his balls. I found the entire act unpleasant, since I was revolted by the man. Yet, I continued with my task. I thought to myself; you are a twenty dollar whore now, your just doing what a whore does.

In due course, he shot his load into my mouth. It tasted tart, but I ingested all of as I'd been commanded.

"That wasn't that so bad. You enjoyed it didn't you?"

"Sir, do you want the answer a man would prefer to hear or the truth?"

"Of course, I want both."

"It was great. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, sir. The truth, it disgusted, but I did it anyway."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I had no other choice, sir."

"Again you've always had choices. You could leave and live out the consequence, but you decided to ingest my semen was the better option. The fact that you find it unpleasant is irrelevant. You had an obligation to your husband to satisfy his sexual needs, and chose not to do so. Now you live the consequence of that."

"So, my husband James wants me as his whore, sir?"

The Re-Trainer, for the first time I'd seen, laughed out loud and did so at length. When he stopped, he said, "#5, your husband, James is a very wealthy man, one of the richest in the country. He and those at his level see everyone as their whores. They love to surround themselves with whores. Politicians, lobbyists and radio personalities are among their favorites at the moment."

A bell sounded. 7 PM and time for me and the rest of the former trophy wives to go to work. Now we were trophy whores. Mr. Ambrose signaled me away with a wave of his hand. He began to walk out of the rear door. I started to leave through a different door when he stopped and said, "#5, think very carefully about what I've told you. You ready have many answers. Scratch below the surface and see what's there." With that, he left.

The trophy whores assembled in the Viewing Room, but there were only three of us present. #3 and #8 were missing. Moving close to me, #7 said harshly, "It your fault. You beat them so severely, they can't work tonight. We have to pick up their slack. That's an extra customer for each of us."

I tried to defend myself. "It's all a mind fuck, what they're doing to us. I didn't see that until now."

Standing to my right, #6 said, "We knew that from the first day, you dumb fucking skank. Fonda said that in front of all of us, before they tossed her out. Weren't you listening?"

"It's just that I didn't realize the level of it. I'm sorry, but we need to work together."

"We're not working with you, bitch. Stay the fuck away from us," said #7 in a hushed angry tone.

"And don't think they didn't see that you went unharmed, when you committed the same rules violation," said #6 with even more vitriol.

As we stood looking at one another in icy silence, eight Hispanic men walked into the room. They were not the same men as from the previous night. We were obligated to fuck two men a night. But, with two whores out of commission, we still had to service the same amount. Two of us would need to take on an extra customer.

I wanted to volunteer to be one of the extras, but since I couldn't speak Spanish, I had no means of communicating that. Instead, they made their own selections and most went for the available blondes. By the end of the process, two men stood beside me, while three selected the other two women. Both glared at me with utter contempt; a look I was used to from these kinds of women. We would often use that same look in social gatherings for an infinite number of personal slights.

In the stall, I removed my clothing and took my place on the mattress. Even knowing everything was a series of mind games didn't matter. My sprit was broken, like a wild horse at one of the other ranches we'd driven by on our way here. A man's cock entered my cunt and began his ride. I allowed my mind to go elsewhere.

I thought of my husband or perhaps ex-husband James. He was well over thirty years older, and we'd be introduced at a social gathering just after I'd turned nineteen. I easily caught his eye, since I was young and attractive, and willing to flirt with a wealthy married man. It wasn't that I was attracted to him physically, not that he was bad looking. James was actually ruggedly handsome, but years of overwork and multiple failed marriages had taken their toll. What attracted me, was his money and power, the two greatest aphrodisiacs known to women.

I knew I'd snared him when he called me late one night and begged to see me, "Lauren, I'm willing to dump Nina, if it's that important to you. I need to have you."

Nina seemed like a horrid old crone. I'd seen her at social functions. She was clearly over thirty and couldn't be bothered with James. She rarely bothered conversing with him and from what I'd told, they're relationship had grown cold and distant.

"Will the divorce take long?"

"Not long at all. We had a prenup agreement, so the division of property has already been arranged," he reassured me. "My corporate shareholders insisted I have one in place so company business can't be affected. I'm sure you understand how lawyers insist everything be carefully handled."

In less than three months, James was a free man, and I worked on planning our elaborate wedding. The worries I had of Nina becoming the vengeful ex-wife never materialized. She simply seemed to disappear from our social gatherings. Some said she went to live in Europe or in Florida. It didn't matter as long as she was out of our lives.

I remembered James talking about some of the congressmen and state governors, he was able "to work with to help continue his business growth." He had used the term whores for many of them, when I thought of it, but I'd always assumed that was merely a figure of speech. He claimed once that he'd told one U.S. Congressman that if he wanted to pull his cock out of his pants and have the man suck it; the lawmaker would get on his knees and take his load with a broad fake smile, because James had contributed so much to his career.

Back in reality, the Hispanic man fucking me grunted that he had finished with me and the other man looking over the wall at us, moved to take his place. I began my calculations while he pumped away at me. If I took on two men a day for the next four weeks, that would amount to more than fifty acts of prostitution. I did a rough calculation of my activities while married. This would be nearly the same as the number of times I'd had sex with James. I was being taught a lesson, and I wondered to what extent, I'd be forced to go.

I walked back to the Viewing Room. Smith was there along. "The other two cunts will be involved a bit longer. They'd prefer you didn't wait on them anyway. I want to talk to you, let's go to my room."

I followed her to another building and entered a comfortable room with a full-sized bed, a television and other things that went along with the modern world. Smith was a strong looking woman, with short blond hair in tight ringlets, usually tucked under a baseball type cap. She was well tanned and looked the part of a desert dweller. She wore shorts that exposed her powerful bronzed legs, desert boots and a sleeveless vest style shirt. She made me uncomfortable, the way she always seemed to be looking at me.

"Have a seat on the bed," she said just before slapping a twenty dollar bill onto a nightstand. "I always pick out a juicy little chick for my own pleasure each session. You're mine this time."

I started to argue that I'd already been through a lot today, but I didn't think she'd care. I decided on a different tactic. "What use would twenty in cash be here? It's not like there are any vending machines."

"Well, that's your price. I could hand you a red card. See where you'd go with that."

"No, I'll do whatever you want. I'm a whore. I know my place. I'd rather have twenty dollars' worth of information."

She considered the offer and said, "I don't see what good it will do you, but sure, why not."

She removed her shorts and underwear before laying on her back on the bed. "Get to work, whore."

I removed my shirt and panties. I'd never performed oral sex on another woman, and Smith wouldn't have been my choice if I were ever curious. Her pubic hair was darker than her sun-bleached hair, but also curly. She had a stronger fishy taste than I perceived coming from my own vagina, but I began to work her clitoris, and she immediately began to moan in pleasure. She started to run a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, you have a talent for pussy and baby; you're going to get a lot of practice in the next month."

Great, she's a talker. It's just the icing on the fucking cake.

"Mmm, mama likes. I picked you, cause I like that thick chestnut brown hair of yours and those dark-brown eyes. I hate those bleach blonde bimbos they mostly run through here. Nothing fake on you. It doesn't happen much from your kind."

I came up for a breather and asked, "You mean trophy wives?"

"Yeah, the usual worthless plastic boils on the ass of society. At least, you aren't plastic."

"Thanks," I said and went back to work in her snatch.

"Yeah. You got a nice set of legs, too. I like long, slender and tanned legs, like yours. I figured once you knew your place, you'd be a decent fuck."

I came up again and kissed her pubic mound and worked up to her belly. "You've seen a lot of us go through here?"

"Yeah, this has been going on for years. They pay off the local and state law outfits. To the outside world, we don't exist. I've seen hundreds of you snobbish princesses go through here."

I return to her clit and ran my tongue into her hole. She came and then forced my head deeply into her slit. I had trouble breathing but held out. After she finished up with her orgasm, her pulled me toward her face and said, "Give, mama, a little sugar," putting her lips to mine. I felt her tongue enter my mouth, and I touched it with mine.

We lay on the bed together, and I said, "OK, I've done my work for you. Can I get my twenty dollars' worth of straight answers?"

"Fire away."

"What happened to my husband's third wife, the one before me?"

Her eyes grew larger. "Figured it out, did ya? She came through here about seven years ago. Washed out after two weeks. Your old man's a real prick, shipped her off to a brothel in Pahrump. It's the husbands who decide were a discard goes. Some get to run free. A few manage to find some blue-collar guy to support them. Others wind up having no choice by to sell their ass, on the street or in a cathouse."

"He sent Nina to a brothel?"

"She doesn't have any other skills. It was the kindest thing to do."

"How does this place exist?"

"A lot of men pay lots of money for the authorities to say we don't exist. A lot of rejected wives come though. Most don't make it."

With that, I was informed my twenty dollars had been spent. I'd have plenty of other opportunities to earn more questions.

"Get your clothes on, and get back to your cell, you're going to have a tough day tomorrow." I thought to myself, how could it be worse than today? I was never so wrong.