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Trophy Wife Reboot Ch. 01

By: Krystal0690



The minibus pitched back and forth along the dusty road. The chains around my arms and ankles clanked annoyingly. I looked across at one of the other women on a bench seat across from me; she looked carsick and was pulling against her shackles. "We're almost there," the driver said.

The bus stopped in front of several grimy shithole buildings, and the door opened. The air smelled of manure and dust. Six women shuffled outside into the blast of dry desert heat. "Holy fuck, it's hot," exclaimed a woman with red hair.

The man in a cowboy hat and mirrored glasses said, "Shut the fuck up, you ain't here for no resort. Those days are done for you bitches."

All of us in the manacles wore nothing but a pair of white cotton panties and a pair of cheap flip flops. The sand started burning my feet the through flimsy rubber soles. I prayed we'll be hustled inside quickly.

It sounds as if we're going to prison, but we aren't convicts being sent to a harsh penitentiary. We aren't criminals. We've all begged to be here. In a way, this may be worse than prison. All of us were at one time, not that long ago, what is termed "Trophy Wives" of very wealthy men; those one percent-ers you read about, but have no idea how they really live. All of us are their failed and nearly discarded trophy wives. This isn't so much a form of punishment, as it is a last recourse for all of us.

We stood in the merciless Nevada sun, and I could feel my shoulders begin to burn. A harsh looking woman in a military-style vest read the rules to us--we could be unlocked from our chains anytime and were free to leave. Anyone? Just raise a hand. No one does. None of us would dare at that point.

I didn't know how the other women wound up here, but I imagined we all had similar stories. I married an older man for the money and power I coveted, and he married me because I was young, attractive and could impress his social peers with my looks. I loved to spend money, but had no idea how to make it. I've never held an actual job. There were other transgressions, but the worst was withholding sex. In truth, being fucked was the primary job for all of us now here, and I'd decided it was too much effort. 

Foolishly, I'd signed a prenub agreement that would leave me with nothing in the event of divorce. The One Percent always have the best lawyers and lobbyists. Now the six of us were here to be reworded in a last-ditch hope our husbands would take us back.

As the sweltering heat began to drain the life from me, the man in the white Stetson addressed us. "Listen up, you worthless cunts, you are now the property of the Reclamation Ranch. I am the Ranch Manager. You are to address me at all times as Ranch Manager or sir."

I looked down the row of manacled women. All of us were under thirty and if in make-up and nicely dressed would be considered gorgeous; most likely, a few of us were former beauty and homecoming queens. Without the hair products, designer clothes and other enhancements, we were once used to, we all now looked ordinary. I noticed that three of the women had exquisitely enhanced breasts. A catty habit I'd picked up in my years of social climbing was the ability to discern who had the fake tits. 

"Those of you that violate any of our rules will be issued a colored card. A yellow is a warning, a blue is a minor violation, and a red is the most severe. All offenses require punishment. We will not punish you. You are to determine the appropriate punishment for yourself and direct your own punishment." 

An older man with a stern face and gray hair came out the nearest building and stood next to the Ranch Manager. He was introduced as "Charles Ambrose, wife Re-Trainer." The Ranch Manager cleared his throat and said, "You can think of him as your new surrogate husband for the next month. His demands are to be followed to the letter. You will call him, Mr. Ambrose or sir."

We were herded into the building and Smith, the woman in the vest, unlocked our shackles and dropped a zip locked plastic bag at each of our feet. I rubbed my wrists, chafed from wearing the shackles for two full days. I looked down at the baggie, inside are a few basic toiletries, a clean pair of underwear and tee-shirt. I was on the verge of tears seeing such luxuries, feeling as if I'd been rescued from a desert island. "Don't pick up your bags just yet, bitches," she shouted in military tone. "You will be assigned a number. That is your only designation here, not your old name. That is also your cell number."

She ordered us to remove our panties and stand naked, except for our flip-flops. I looked down at my feet and observed my chipping red toenail polish. Smith walked down the line, scrutinizing each of us carefully. "I've seen better holes in donuts," she yelled. "Bend down and point your asses up."

She moved down the line with a permanent marker pen and wrote a number on the right ass cheeks of the women after they'd stated their first name:

Dawn – #3

Fonda - #4

Angela - #6

Shannon - #7

Alyssa - #8

I announced my name, "Lauren," and Smith used the marker to print the number 5 on my ass. 

"This will wash off in a few weeks, but in the meantime, you rocket scientists can learn each other number real easy. You will only address each other by your numbers."

Smith allowed us to shower, dress and brush our hair. Then we were all fingerprinted and photographed. When someone asked why, the answer from Smith was, "You'll need to be registered to be legal." No one seemed to know what that meant.

Afterward, we were given a meal of a stale tasting sandwich, which was the same thing we had on the bus ride that lasted two days, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We squatted on a bare wood floor eating the meal that was also served with water.

"At least we're all losing weight," said #6, as she left a quarter of it uneaten. This was the first time any of us had been allowed to communicate. I smiled back, but swallowed every crumb of mine.

To the right of me, #4 said, "They're trying to break us down, psychologically. It's a mind-control technique. Humiliation and physical hardship." She was the red-haired woman, who'd been the first to be chewed out.

"It's working on me," I said, feeling exhausted. "I'm scared to death. This place is horrible, but what else is there?" 

"Fuck them, I can take a few weeks of these assholes torturing me," said #4, "You should see what my mother is like."

The Ranch Manager, walked into to room and all of us went silent. "Alright, you've finished your meal. It's time to pay for that and your other supplies. You earn you keep here. No more free rides."

Before we enter the room, Smith announced, "All of you have been tested for sexually transmitted diseases, including AIDS. All men you are to encounter in the coming weeks will also be tested. Condoms will be unnecessary." I looked at #6, the woman next to me in line, and asked rhetorically "What the hell is this?"

We moved in another room and were told to remove only our panties. We faced a wall and stood there as a dozen Latino men entered. Most were short and tanned dark. Half walked past us and examined our near naked bodies. Each called out one of our numbers in Spanish, "Quatro, Tres, Cinco, Sieta, Coatro, Ocho", then stood beside one of us.

The Ranch Manager called out, "Since none of you have any other skills than your ability to fuck, this is how you are going to pay for your meals and supplies. All you think your pussies are valuable, but they aren't worth as much as you think. These men work in a factory and have agreed to spend a few hours' worth of pay for your services. You will each service at least two of them this afternoon. You were told in advance, sexual intercourse would be a requirement of your retraining. Does anyone object?"

"No, I'm not doing that," shouted #4.

Smith handed her a yellow card, but #4 allowed it to drop to the floor. A blue card came next then a red also hit the floor.

The Ranch Manager said to two large men standing in the hall, "Please escort Fonda from the premises."

They grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the room.

"Fonda will be given a fifty dollar bus ticket, once she is driven to the local station in a few hours. She can go wherever that takes her. She has failed the program," announced the Ranch Manager.

"A couple of you whores will need to service three men," announced Smith.

Each of us looked at the others in our group, wondering if anyone else would revolt. No one said anything in further protest. 

The man who selected me, grabbed my hand and led me to an open stall with a mattress on the floor. "Quite su camisa, por favor," he said. I couldn't speak Spanish, but I understood what he wanted from the gestures. I pulled my tee-shirt that had "Reclamation Ranch" printed in block lettering inscribed on the front over my head. His hands worked their way over my breasts then rubbed at my vagina; I felt like crying. He spat on his hand and rubbed it between the lips of my labia. 

You don't have to do this; I thought. In the back of my mind, I knew I had no other choice. I was placed onto my back on the mattress and parted my legs. Soon his erection was inside me. I thought of other things and looked away as he rocked on top of me, not caring how I felt.

I heard sobbing coming from other stalls, but was determined not to allow myself to give into that embarrassment. I noticed two other men looking over the low wall, watching me being fucked. I realized I'd be one of the unlucky ones to have to pick up the slack of Fonda's former customers.

He didn't last long, ten minutes. He dressed, and another man entered my stall. He said, "Mi nombre es Aturo" and smiled at me. Again, I spread my legs and allowed him entry. He sucked on my nipples and ran his hand across my ass.

He pumped away at me for fifteen minutes and shouted with joy indicating his orgasm. I made myself mentally ready for the third screwing of the day. The man was taller than the rest and seemed to have some authority over the others. From the words he said, I guessed he might have been a foreman. He lasted the shortest time, likely from the excitement of watching the other two humping me.

I pulled on my tee and walked back to the meeting room. Four other women waited as I entered the room. Two were crying profusely and I noticed tears coming from my own eyes, but wiped them away. I pulled on my panties just as the fourth woman, #8, re-entered the room. She looked more shaken than I was.

It was #7 who pointed our attention to the window. Fonda stood in a plain blue tee-shirt and a pair of short the same color. She attempted to shade herself from the blistering heat of the midday sun. She'd been there for over an hour, while the rest of us fornicated. I thought to myself, burn in hell you fucking bitch. I hated her for making me suffer for her egotism. 

The Ranch Manager called us to assemble and said, "Never mind her. Her divorce is now final, as it will be for any of you that fail the program. She'll most likely wind up working in a brothel a county or two over. That's where most of our washouts find work."

He looked at the rest of us and said, "You are no longer worthless bitches. You've made a step up in life from your previous insignificant existence. You are now twenty dollar whores. That may sound bad compared to your previous station in life, but those men worked hard for that money and thought you were worth that much."

With that we were allowed to go to our cells. Mine was a narrow six by ten-foot plain dry walled box with a single slit window that looked out toward the vast desert. There was a door, and I was free to travel down the hall to a toilet and sink. I filled a paper cup from the faucet and quenched my thirst. I fell asleep for an hour from exhaustion and shame, still in some form of denial of my sudden change of circumstance.

Thankful that the building contained at least a rudimentary form of air conditioning, I looked out the window and there on the ground sat Fonda, still attempting to escape the rays of the sun. She was red and burned. I began to pity her, instead of hate.

I watched her sit for another half-hour and finally, a bus pulled up and Fonda departed the Ranch. I would never see her again, but later heard rumors later that she never left the state of Nevada.

The Ranch Manager knocked on my door and entered without my inviting him in. I stood up, in compliance with the rules. "Yes, sir."

"You need to always inquire how you can assist me. As you originally choose, you're existence depends on how you please males in this world." He handed me a yellow card.

"How can I assist you, sir?" My yellow card was taken back.

"You and #8 did well today. You took on extra work and didn't complain. You get an extra privilege." I was handed an extra pair of clean panties and a small tube of tooth paste. "Be sure to lock these up, whores can get jealous and steal things."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can do?"

Tell me about your sexual history, before you met your husband. How many men did you have intercourse with before you married?"

My first thought was to lie. I wondered if he already knew the answer. Chances were, if my husband wanted to know, he could have found out. He'd made his fortune in finding hidden information for use by the government.

I thought back. I'd never counted before, but could remember the names of each. "Seven. No, there were eight." I'd married at 19. It didn't seem like a lot at the time, but I guess it could have been.

He looked at a notepad and asked, "And how many after you married. Your husband and the three men this afternoon don't count, obviously."

My face flushed. I didn't want to answer. I was ashamed. I remained silent.

He handed me a yellow card again. I stared at it. Instead, I asked, "Is this why I'm here? Because I was unfaithful. Does James know?"

He handed be a blue card. "What your husband knows doesn't matter here. Your honesty is all that counts."

"Two, there were two. One two year into my marriage. It lasted a week. Another two years later. It went on for a month."

"See, that wasn't so bad, now was it? Still, you'll have to be punished for the blue card."

Trophy Wife Reboot Ch. 02



Three of us sat in the Adjust Room at 9 PM waiting for Mr. Ambrose, holding out our cards. Blue cards were held by #8 and me, while #3 held a red. 

The room was like nothing I'd ever seen. Dimly lit and in the center stood a set of stockades, which consisted of two steel plates that had three holes, in which a person's head and both arms could be securely locked into place in a standing position. The height was adjustable.

On one wall, there was an X-frame cross eight feet tall with rings from which manacles dangled, constructed of black painted wood with padding at the intersection of the main members. Next to the cross, resting against the wall were several wooden bars about two feet long, with restraints at each end. An assortment of whips and other flogging instruments of varying sizes hung on the wall, along with what looked like a collection of electric cattle prods.

The three us sat in the room for nearly an hour and couldn't help but look at the instruments. We knew it was likely we would be subjected to the torments of these implements, but struggled to understand how. "They said, they wouldn't punish us," said #3. She had the most to fear, with her red card.

"They said we have to determine our own appropriate punishments," I reminded her. The waiting was the worst; my imagination was starting to torture me. 

Mr. Ambrose entered the room and held three leather collars, each with a ring in the front. Two had yellow bands in the center and were given to #8 and me. #3 received a red banded collar.

We remained standing and as directed, removed our tees and panties, fastened the collars around our necks and then click the locks closed, while Mr. Ambrose sat in the only chair in the room. 

"Do you know why all of you are here?" asked Mr. Ambrose.

I answered first. "Because I was unfaithful to my husband." The others nodded in agreement.

"No, that is wrong. It is because two of you refused to tell the truth immediately. The other received a red card, because she lied."

We looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry," said #3.

"You may be ashamed of past behavior. All the women here were unfaithful to the men who provided their clothing, shelter, food and a lifestyle few people in the world can begin to imagine. That's up to you to atone for. The choice is yours."

The woman in the red banded collar began to sob quietly.

Mr. Ambrose continued. "It's what you do here that matters, as far as your current offenses."

He looked at the instruments housed in this room. "You shall determine how to appropriately punish yourselves. Too little will result in an upgrade of your levels of admonishment. You yellows may administer your own punishments. Red will have to request your aid for hers."

He went on to explain how various implements worked, but provided no information on what was appropriate. When asked, he replied, "As in life, it is up to you to determine that."

On the wall, I found a small handheld Taser among the larger electric shock sticks. The size of a cell phone, it had two prongs on the top. I pressed the button on the side and a flash of lightening jumped between the electrodes making a crackling sound. Trembling, I held the posts near my hand. With my eyes mostly closed, I pushed the button and felt the pulse hit me. It stung, and I felt a burning sensation. Yet as I looked at my hand, there weren't any marks. Mr. Ambrose had explained that holding the Taser gun to my flesh for a half second would cause pain and muscle spasms, but a longer period would result in loss of muscle control and disorientation.

As the others looked on, I confessed that I'd attempted to withhold information about my infidelity, and I held the stun gun up to my center of right breast. I applied the power, and the electric bolt danced across my nipple. I screamed in pain and fright. It felt like an angry wasp had just stung my sensitive areola. I stumbled, but righted myself. The other two women watched in horror, but there was no damage and the burning sensation faded quickly. 

Mr. Ambrose said nothing, but instead scribbled onto his notepad. I moved to my other breast and positioned the electrode near my other nipple before applying the same shock. It hurt; it hurt so fucking bad. I stood and held the Taser to my side. "One for each of the men I cheated with."

"Do you feel this is adequate?" ask Mr. Ambrose.

"It really hurt. More than I thought I could take."

"What is important is, are you satisfied with the level of pain you're endured against the rules you broke? If you are content, then fine."

I looked at his face. It told me nothing. I glanced at the others; they looked terrified. They knew they'd have to endure at least as much. "No. I deserve more."

I moved the Taser toward my vagina and spread my legs apart. I moved the gun a few centimeters from my clitoris and squatted to brace myself from the coming jolt. I drew in a deep breath and touched the button. The crackle sounded like an explosion. The shock struck my genitalia in a blinding wave of pain. I recovered enough to press the switch once more and felt another wasp sting on the most sensitive part of my body. Tears began to roll down my face and a few dripped onto the wooden floor. I gave myself one more blast and dropped the Taser to the floor as my knees began to buckle.

"Please, no more, she's had enough" #8 wailed as tears ran down her cheeks.

"That is up to #5 to determine. Are you satisfied?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Ambrose. I've paid for my transgression."

"Very, well, #5"

I was allowed to recover on the floor.

"#8, you are next. Please select an appropriate sanction."

She continued crying and shaking. I began to worry that she was taking too long and would have to suffer additional punishment.

"Could...could I have #5 apply my punishment. I'm too afraid to do it myself. I'm sorry. I'm scared," she said, sounding like a little girl.

"Are you willing to involve yourself, #5?"

I stood with still wobbly knees, "Yes, sir; I can help her."

"Very good, please proceed."

I held her briefly and whispered to her, "Be brave; it will hurt, but it won't cause injury." That was as much truthful comfort as I could offer.

She stood erect and announced her infractions, "I carried on an affair with a maintenance man for a year. I was lonely..."

"Your reasons are irrelevant. It's only your violation of the rules matter here," Mr. Ambrose said in deadpan tone.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't tell you that I'd been fucking behind my husband's back."

I had her bend over on the floor with her knees pulled toward her chest. I worried more that she would pass out as a result of my administration of her coming torment. When the electrodes nearly touched her ass, I pressed the switch. It sent an arc of electricity between the posts that found their way to her flesh. She yelped and quivered. I applied a second jolt. I moved the device to her other cheek and gave to two quick sharp thunderbolts.

She shook and cried quietly. I moved her down onto her back, and applied two additional stings to each breast. Her eyes spoke her terror, but also expressed a sign of gratitude. "I couldn't do this myself," she mouthed through the sobs.

"Is this adequate #5?"

I was surprised he was asking me. I guessed that since I was applying the punishment, I had to be the one to decide how much she'd need to suffer. This was worse than doing it to myself. I hated to continue to impose more torment, but if what I had selected was inadequate, she'd have to suffer even more.

"No, sir, Mr. Ambrose. She needs more. Her exclusions were worse than mine."

I moved the Taser between her legs. Her eyes looked at me in horror, but knew what was required. "Close your eyes. I'll have to give you four shocks. You'll get through this."

Her hips arched with each snap of current and she screamed out her pain, just as I had done. I held her as the Taser lay between her legs. Sweat was pouring from her forehead, and she breathed deeply as she fought to regain her senses.

"Was this adequate #5?"

"Yes, sir. She got everything she deserved."

"Very, good. Now, please help her recover. You'll also need to choose the punishment for #3."

"Can she tell us her transgression first, Mr. Ambrose," I asked, turning my attention toward at the now cowering #3.

"If you would #3?"

She moved to the center of the floor. Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for escape. A breakout would be unnecessary; any of us was free to walk out the door. No one would stop us; that was always clear. But, she would be forced to leave the Double R compound, like Fonda, her chances of returning to her old life gone forever and a bleak unknown future awaiting her.

She began to say something, but it was inaudible.

"Speak up. We must proceed. Louder."

"I lied, I fucking lied. I had one affair, and I said I'd never cheated on my husband," she yelled. "I denied it even after you told the man's name."

"A lie is a very serious offense here, #3. One of the worst violations of the rules. It is up to #5 and #8 to determine your restitution."

I looked at #8. She was still trembling from my torments. I wanted to ask if the Taser would be enough, but knew I'd only be asked if I thought it was adequate. I guessed it wouldn't be. I looked at the other shock sticks hanging on the wall. They were larger, and I assumed would cause more pain. I didn't think they would do enough punishment either.

My stomach began to churn when I looked over the collection of whips and floggers. BDSM was a subject I knew nothing about. I'd always thought it was mostly made up, but surrounding us was an enormous variety of apparatuses for such a practice. I immediately rejected the whips, they looked like they'd cause damage and lasting scars. The floggers and paddles looked less vicious. I had a choice of a basic one with one or two-foot leather lashes. I wondered if they'd be impressive enough. 

There were other lashes made of animal hair. I thought that by themselves, they won't be too painful, but dipped in water could wreak severe injury.

My hand trembled when I took a knotted flogger from its hook. Its two-foot long lashes were tied in tiny loops at the end of each leather strand. I hoped it would be enough without disfiguring #3 for the rest of her life.

I handed #8 a wide leather paddle, and she reluctantly took it from my hand. We placed our arms around #3 and led her to the crux, fastening her arms and legs with the attached manacles. The ring in the front of her collar was hooked to a chain that dangled from the ceiling. "It's going to be OK, we won't do anything more than we have to. Just be brave," I said, attempting to calm her nerves. 

She said nothing, and her face seemed vacant and distant. "Think of other places," #3 advised. We were so unqualified to give this poor woman advice.

With her eyes closed #8 threw the first blow with a leather strap across the cheeks of #3's buttocks. It made a clap sound and left a slight red mark. She continued to strike, but it was obvious the blows weren't causing enough pain. 

We were surprised when #3 said in a low voice, "Please, you have to hit me harder. I can't be thrown out of here. Hit me, you two bitches."

Again #8 slapped the paddle on our victim's posterior. This time the clap was more pronounced. The marks were a brighter shade of red and #3 winced. I flung the lash across her back. It left a series of stripes across her back and small red rings indicating where the knots had landed against her flesh. She screamed and began to weep.

Another paddle blow hit her, this time with a pronounced slap and she screamed again.

I tried to temper my assault with the flogger, but it was difficult for me to gauge the coming sting of the lashes. We continued our assault for three more hits. Her entire backside was now inflamed, and welt marks began to rise. 

We stopped, as #3 emitted a pitiful gurgling sound. "I can't take anything more. Please stop."

Both #8 and I turned to looking at Mr. Ambrose.

"Sir, that's enough."

"Are you satisfied?"

I began to answer, but Mr. Ambrose held up a hand and said, "Consider your answer very carefully #5."

Shit. We'd have to give her more, and I could tell she was done. It was that or see her sitting in the sun for hours waiting to go to nowhere. I tightened my grip on the lash and began to prepare myself mentally for what was to come.

"No. No, sir, Mr. Ambrose," said #8. "She's beaten. I'll...I'll take her place. Please, sir, I can't do this to her anymore."

The room went silent for over a minute, as if time was standing still.

"Very well. Bend down to receive two strikes of the flogger across your buttocks and that will be satisfactory."

She crouched down and the floor and readied herself for the impact. I applied the flogger twice and left a series of narrow welts against her heart-shaped ass. She cried out both times as her teeth bit into her lower lip, but withstood the obvious pain.

We unhitched #3 from the cross and were about to help her back to her cell, when Mr. Ambrose said, "Please stay behind #5, I wish to speak with you."



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.



Trophy Wife Reboot Ch. 04



Even though I was exhausted, I slept little that night. It the meal room, #6 handed out the plastic wrapped dried-up breakfast sandwiches. As I waited to receive mine, #3 and #8 walked into the room together, but avoided looking toward me. When it was time for #6 to hand me my sandwich, she hurled it into the corner of the room. "Oops, I must have dropped it. Why don't eat it over there?"

I squatted alone in the room, as the rest of the women glared scorn at me. I wondered how I'd manage four weeks of this. 

An hour later, we were allowed outside, before the full heat of the day started to scorch the earth. The sand still felt warm from the previous day. Most of us milled about, while a couple of us rinsed of their meager clothes in a basin by the side of the building. I found #8, soaking and scrubbing her tee-shirt and panties, as she stood naked in the morning breeze.

Even though it was forbidden, I used her name to have more intimacy, "Alyssa, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you didn't need to suffer as much as you did."

"Get away from me, you sick psyco bitch," she hissed without looking up.

I approached anyway. "I didn't realize they were mind fucking us. I was trying to help."

She held up the tee and said, "You see the blood marks on this. That came from you. Because you mercilessly flailed me. I'm still in pain. Yet, you barely stung yourself, with that tiny Taser."

"No, the Taser hurt, but I didn't know how to use the lash."

She dropped her tee onto the sand and rushed toward me. Her fist cracked across my jaw, and I tumbled to the ground. She was on top of me immediately and ripped the front of my shirt opened. I felt another hard open-palmed slap strike me across the side of my face.

The rest of our group gathered and began to cheer her on. I heard some yell, "Kick her stupid ass."

I was too shocked to try to fight back. I pulled my hands over my face, but felt a fist strike my ribcage.

"Stop that, you fucking whores. No fighting," cried Smith as, she and the Ranch Manager sprinted toward us.

The other women were dispersed and #8, and I were pulled apart. Smith glanced me over and determined there were no serious injuries, while that the Ranch Manager worked to calm down #8.

The Ranch Manager then escorted both of us to Mr. Ambrose's office. We stood silent while the incident was detailed. #8 was still naked with her hands behind her back. I was in the same pose, but with the front of my tee torn open and my tits showing. 

The determination was made of the responsible parties; it was #8 that instigated the assault, but I was the one that approached her after she told me to back off. I was handed a red card. 

"We cannot have this kind of behavior, #8. You have to leave. You'll be issued fresh clothing, but your husband left instructions that if you failed here, you were to be dropped off in front to the nearest brothel."

"You mean I have to become a prostitute?" she said in a rage mostly directed toward me.

"No, of course not. You don't have to enter the building or apply for work. You always have choices. It is just that you'll be in a desolate town with no money or friends. If you are resourceful enough, you may be able to find other means of support."

Two guards grabbed Alyssa by the shoulders and escorted her toward the start her descent into the abyss. I wondered if I should join her or offer to take her place. I was already unwittingly responsible for Nina being set to a cathouse. Perhaps, I deserved the same fate. I wished I'd been braver.

"You are to wait in your cell, #5. The other women will determine your punishment."

I sat alone for hours. I looked out the window several times, to see Alyssa in a pair of faded blue shorts, sandals and button-down shirt, broiling in the unforgiving sun. At that point, I was the worst form of human life imaginable - a total coward.

Eventually, my door opened and Smith walked in order to get me. "Time to face judgment. The others got yellow cards and have administered their own punishments. Still, nothing like what you dished out." She gave me a twisted smile, "You aren't going to win any popularity contests."

Three other women remained in the Adjustment Room. They were angry. All showed red whip marks across their bare asses and still wore their yellow-banded collars. One with a red band was securely locked around my neck. The front ring was attached to a chain anchored to the floor.

Without being asked I gave my confession, "I was wrong to try to force my apology onto #8. I misunderstood the pain, I unnecessary inflicted on her, and I deserve to be the one outside. I was too gutless to say that, but I want to take her place."

"You are too late for that. Alyssa is now on her way to the next phase of her life. You can't help her nor could you have. If you wish to leave you can say so at any time," came the dispassionate announcement from Mr. Ambrose.

"Yeah, you should leave," #3 said she pointed her index finger toward me. "You don't belong here."

"That is not for you to decide, #3."

"No, sir, I'm sorry." I could see the scorn in her eyes. They blamed me for all of their current misery.

"So what atonement shall #5 be issued? That is the choice for the rest of you."

I was unhooked from the floor and manacled to the Crux, the same device I'd beaten #8 on the day before. The women went to the wall containing the electric prods and returned with the largest ones available. I mentally prepared myself for the intense pain I was about to endure and weighted to choices still left before me.

"Wait, I have a better idea," said #6. "It will benefit us and make #5 suffer."

She turned to address Mr. Ambrose. "Sir, how many customers are going to be here tonight?"

"It's too late to change the invite list, so there will be ten this evening."

"We want to have #5 handle all of our customers for the next week," she said.

He contemplated her suggestion and said, "Just tonight. The work is for your retraining"

"Sir, we'd like you to consider two days."

"Are you all satisfied with that?"

They all voiced their agreement. "And do you concur #5?"

"Yes, sir, all clients." Anything was better than the electric shocks these women might enact upon me.

I was released from the cross, but not before #6, using one of the permanent markers she'd found in the room, wrote the words "Dumb Skank" across my chest. I was returned to my cell to spend the rest of the day contemplating my coming fate.

Hours later, I stood alone in the Viewing Room against the selection wall, the only available commodity as ten Hispanic men entered and began asking the guards what was going on. The guard spoke with them in Spanish as they looked at me with dissatisfaction. My own interpretation was that it was bad enough have to spend their money on one woman they had to share with one of two others. Now all ten on one? What the fuck?

Still, none backed out of the deal. They drew lots to determine their place. The winner, grabbed my hand to lead me to a stall. I dutifully removed my clothing and following the man's gestures, put his erection into my mouth. I worked it up and down, until he pulled out and pushed me over. I parted my legs and he entered me while nine more watched, cheering him on. He didn't ride for long, but shouted, "Buena chica." At least, I understood the meaning of that.

Another man entered my stall, while the first dressed. I saw #6 milling among the men. She apparently spoke Spanish and said, "No estoy disponible esta noche."

Next she asked the group, "¿Te gustaría coger el scank en el culo?"

Several replied "Si," and laughed with a roar.

Scornfully smiling at me, #6 showed me her middle finger as she mouthed "Fuck you, cunt," just as the second man of the night entered my pussy.

He worked me for 20 minutes, and I was already feeling exhausted. He insisted on grabbing my tits and squeezing the nipples. More than once I pulled his hands off my breasts as the other men hooted. A chant emanated from the group, "Skank estúpido," another retribution instigated by #6.

The man fucking me exclaimed, "Todo ello, Skank estúpido." I could feel his eruption as his warm jizim shot inside me.

A third man entered my stall and the chanting grew in intensity. I began to spread my legs, but he grinned and motioned me to roll over. I didn't understand, but he grabbed me and forced me into a kneeling position, pulling my hips up and my ass out. He held a jar of thick petroleum jelly and began to smear it over my ass crack. Only then did I realize the meaning Angela's words. Some men had been invited to fuck me in the ass.

I'd never tried anal sex. I never wanted to try it. At that moment, I began to shout, "No, I quit. I want out. I'll leave the ranch!"

It did me no good. The chanting had grown so boisterous; none of the staff could hear me. They were busy trying to control the increasing unruly crowd. My legs we pulled apart while another man entered the stall, and I sensed a penis was slowly guided into my rectum as the same time as another cock was shoved into my mouth.

The intrusion in my anus was uncomfortable at first, but at least wasn't painful. It was more of a humiliation that I was now feeling. I could see the three other remaining trophy whores pointing toward me and laughing.

I felt the man come in my mouth, and I allowed it to fall out onto the mattress. He withdrew, but that cock was quickly replaced by another. I lost track of the amount of time that had transpired and the actions that had taken place. By my best estimated, I received three cocks in my ass, two in my mouth and the rest in my cunt.

As I passed by #3, her facial expression twisted into a harsh scowl, she screeched, "If it didn't mean another yellow card, I'd love nothing better than to spit in your face right now."

I stumbled back to my cell and lay on my cot, exhausted and disgraced. I laid in silence for an hour, before I heard a tap on my door. It was Smith.

"Guess you had a rough night."

I wasn't able to speak. I simple nodded my head. I needed someone to comfort me. Anyone would do. I'd never felt so completely alone in my life.

"I'm afraid you're not finished until you complete all your work. We can do it here or in my room. Your choice."

In a near trance state, I made my way to Smith's room. I saw money dropped onto the nightstand and saw myself as I used my tongue to bring her to climax, but I felt as if I was standing outside of my own body, just watching my actions. I kissed her and was allowed a few precious moments of human contact when she held me.

"You've got another twenty dollars' worth of questions coming to you."

I stared at her at first unable to process the information. At last, I determined what I wanted that night. "Please, if you have any bit of humanity, I'll pay you the money, if you'll just continue to hold me."

There were no words between us, but I felt her draw me closer. It could have been anyone, but it was what I needed to survive the night.

It could have been an hour later or perhaps four, but I felt Smith nudge me. "You'll have to get back to your cell, or they'll card you again.

I sat up and my head felt clearer once again. I found my tee and panties on the floor and slipped them back on.

"You've still got your questions. The comfort was my treat. Don't get used to it."

My mind was blank. What more could I ask that would be of any use? Why not ask exactly that? "What questions should I ask?"

Smith grinned at me, as if to say; I was finally getting somewhere. "That one will cost $10. OK, first question: Is there a way out of here other than finishing the program?"

She looked me in the eyes and make the word sound very deliberate. "No, all the bases are covered. The men who own this place, control more than you can imagine. A tiny number of people in this county control most of the government and the parts they don't control are too tied up to notice anything like this."

I tried to process the information. In a weird way, in made sense for some of the things I heard James say about the power he held over politicians.

Smith continued to ask and answer her own questions. "Next question - how can you finish this out? Answer: Be the worst you can be. The purpose this program to pit you bitches against each other. The rest have formed a block against you. They'll be on each other, once you go down. Don't go down, divide them instead."

Smith pulled me closer and said softly into my ear, "Final question. How can you prevail? Stop being the prey. Start being the predator."



Trophy Wife Reboot Ch. 05



I woke late covered in sweat. The sun already began to broil the desert floor. My stomach rumbled from hunger, but I'd missed the morning meal and the chance of the bitches saving my meager meal was zero. I'd have to hold out until noon. I looked in the mirror. One week in and I'd lost weight. Some wives handed out copious amounts of their husband's money for diets that produced this kind of results. Just get on these cunt's bad side, and you can lose all the fat you want; I thought.

I stood under the shower. The water was already warm from the ambient heat on the water tanks outside. By noon, the water could be scalding. I stood naked under the stream of water, relaxing my aching muscles, when Smith entered the room.

"Big night ahead for you again. You'll only have to fuck eight dudes this time."

"Thanks, I wanted to start thinking about that."

"Well, sugar, I'm giving you twenty dollars' worth of information in advance. You aren't going to be working the usual crowd. They'd planned it as a 'special treat', but they're bringing the front line of a state college football team. All very big and black. Prepare yourself for that." 

"Shit. I'm beat up enough."

"One thing in your favor, they all speak English. Use that to your advantage. You're the predator. Make the other whores your prey."

I continued to stand under the water, and was no longer bothered by the way Smith looked me over like a piece of meat. "Better yet, make the other whores the player's prey," I said. She nodded and chuckled as she left the room. 

I spent the rest of the day mentally preparing myself for what was to come that night.

At 6:45 that night, the minibus arrived, and I watched eight very large men disembark. They were in their early twenties and appeared slightly drunk and rowdy, as they ran around the yard, high fiving and yelling. I heard one shout, "We're at the whorehouse, baby, yeah."

I let the other trophy whores go to the Viewing Room first and overheard #6 tell them, "Sorry, guys, we're all on the rag tonight. You'll have to share just one of us, but she's the biggest whore in the place."

I took a deep breath and walked into the room. "Hey, guys, I'm Lauren. I'll be your main course tonight," I said in a sweet come-hither voice.

I licked my lips as I looked them over, and they leered back at me. "Oh, are there only eight cocks for me tonight? I'll have to make do with that." I took the hand of the largest man and pulled him toward the stall. He said his name was Trevor.

"I'll need a backdoor man, too. Who loves anal?"

Three of them rushed to get the first crack at my ass-crack, and they playfully shoved each other until a victor had triumphed. I pulled the clothes off both men and tossed mine in the corner. I planted a kiss on Trevor and ran my tongue into his mouth. His cock was already dripping with precum and I bent down to lick it off. At my direction, he remained standing and without visible effort picked me up and lowered me onto his nine-inch shaft. I yelled, "Oh, fuck yeah, at last, a decent-sized weapon in my holster."

I looked over my shoulder at the other man, whose cock was a mere eight and half inches. "Are you going to shove that fucker up my a-hole, or not?"

I'd already pre-lubricated, and he slipped easily into my asshole. The two began rocking back and forth, and I felt the two gigantic rods pounding inside my loins, as if they were banging against each other. I kissed Trevor and allowed myself to enjoy the sensation of being completely taken.

To the side, the players yelled and chanted my written description, "Go, Stupid Skank. Go." 

Then something happened that I hadn't expected. I began to climax for the first time since I'd been here. Hell, the first in a long time. Not the most powerful one I'd ever had (that honor will always go to Tony, the guy that deflowered me for my eighteenth birthday), but I was coming. I made the most of it. I scream obesities at the top of my lungs and worked my hips between the two men as well as I could. Both came shortly thereafter, then dropped me to the mattress.

Three other guys rushed in and I took two in my mouth simultaneously. I barely manage to fit them in, but ran the dual cocks as far down my sluttish gullet as possible. I felt another cock rammed into my dripping pussy. The two in my mouth exploded and I drank every drop of the translucent white syrup. 

Another two men took the stall and this time one worked his way into my ass, while I bounced up and down on the pole filling my cunt. I dramatically called out another organism I was legitimately having, only amplifying the celebration. I felt the cock in my VJ quiver as it ejected more semen into me.

I was raised toward the ceiling, while the cock in my ass stayed put. I spread my legs to show the crowd cum dripping from my vagina and heard more cheers. A new player was placed into position beneath me and I was lowered onto his hard cock. I shrieked with fabricated delight as my snatch engulfed its entirety.

Each man eventually came. I'd taken on the entire team and won. I was picked up and carried naked on their shoulders back to the Viewing Room.

I looked around and was happy to see that the first string of men had already begun to recover with the advantage of youthful stamina, excitement and enough time. I walked in front of them and announced, "All right guys. The main course was great, but everyone needs dessert and this cathouse serves the best pussy in the state. I've completed my obligations, but for a mere twenty dollars, you have three other three fine-assed ladies for a long and as many times as you can handle."

The other trophy whores looked stunned and terrified. Wallets can out and money fell to the floor. From the wads of cash being laid down, I figured my second stringers could be playing in overtime for the rest of the night.

I watched as they were carried back to the stalls to be scrimmaged by the now frenzied players. "Remembered, these whores love being ass fucked even more than I do," I called out.

Mr. Ambrose can into the room, and I heard him ask the Ranch Manger, "What the fuck is going on here, Max?"

"The team you invited is going into the second half, and it looks like #5 has finished with her punishment. The rest of the whores will have to go as long as these guys have the money."

Ambrose looked upset, "Isn't there anything you and Smith can do to control this situation?"

"Maybe in a couple of hours these guys will calm down, by at the moment, not on your fucking life are we getting between horny footballers and these whores."

Ambrose looked at me. "Did you have something to do with this riot?"

"No, sir. I just fucked them and told them what they wanted to hear, just like I've been taught. And now I'm going back into the game to pick up some extra spending money."

With that I entered the stalls, was laid on my back and entered by Trevor again. "I was hoping I'd get to fuck you again. For a Stupid Skank, you're the best fuck I've ever had." We kissed as he hammered away on my sperm drench cunt.

The fucking frenzy lasted well past midnight. I lost count of the number of times I'd been fucked. I estimated that the other three trophy whores would have done all at least all eight themselves in one form or another. We were too exhausted to go back to your cells and instead attempted to sleep on cum stained mattresses in the stalls.

I managed to rise first and kicked at the other trophy whores until they opened their eyes. "All right, fellow skanks, I told these guys to send as many of their friends back here as possible. Looks like we're going to be fucking our asses off for the next few weeks. Last night was just a preseason game."

"You're fucking bluffing," said #6, as she rubbed her raw pussy lips.

"Maybe and maybe not. Just realize that if you bitches want to continue to take me on; I'm going to a fight back. I may lose, but I'm going to inflict as much pain as possible. I swear to fuck, you'll think my flailing your stuck-up asses was a day at the spa."

They looked at each other. All were bruised and sore. "All right, what do you want?" ask #6.

We sat naked in one of the stalls, with sex fluids still leaking for our various orifices. I could tell two of them had never experienced an ass fucking, from the way they gingerly sat on the edge of the mattress.

"First off, I'm the head cunt of the group. You do what I say." I'd always been the one other trophy wives hated back in that other world. We tend to eat our own, and I was the young minnow to the other piranhas or some such fish metaphor. Now I was on top and calling the shots.

"We work as a group and keep the sniping and our natural back biting to a minimum. We've all made mistakes. That doesn't get held against us anymore. If punishment needs to be melded out, I'll be the one to do it and will go as easy as I can get away with."

They looked at each other and appeared ready to debate their options. "You don't get a choice on this one. I lead or we all go to hell."

We spent the rest of the day cleaning our self's up and massaging sore spots. By the evening, we managed to quickly dispatch the standard customers and were in bed by 9 PM. We'd do the bare minimum, work together and have each other's backs. It didn't come naturally to a group like us, but for the next four days, we worked as a team. If Ambrose wanted to break our spirit farther, he'd need to devise something else.

Thursday morning and we sat in the meal room munching down the sustenance rations, when the Ranch Manager came into the room and announced, "We're going on a field trip today." He handed out a simple sun dress, a pair of flat leather sandals and a real tube of lipstick to each of us. 

"Where are we going, sir?" I inquired.

"To see an industrial laundry plant." He turned and walked out of the room. 

The destination didn't matter. We began to act as if we were getting ready to attend a Grand Gala where dozens of celebrities would be in attendance. The dresses were even different colors and designs. I held mine up against me. I was having a chick orgasm, not a sexual orgasm; a chick orgasm is different and far more powerful. I knew it was another mind game, but it felt so good to know I'd soon be wearing a little stretch knee-high tank top in green and black with abstract butterflies on it.

An hour later we were loaded into the minibus and headed down a dusty road going south. Unlike the last time, we rode on this vehicle, we weren't chained and the four of us trophy whores, giddily chatted and joked, although the Ranch Manager, Smith, our driver, and Mr. Ambrose seemed dour. It made the drive all that much more enjoyable.

Our trip lasted a couple of hours, including a stop at a greasy spoon restaurant off the highway, where we ate real food. Sure, three weeks ago, none of us would have touched that slop, but now it seemed like gourmet cuisine. 

Near dusk, we reached the laundry plant. Large trucks were going in and out of the building, emblazoned with the well-known names of various hotel casinos from the Vegas strip. As we disembarked, we could see the lights from the strip in the distance. "Oh, the wild times I had there," said #7. The rest of us nodded our own remembrances, as we gazed longingly at the bright lights. 

The Ranch Manager informed us, "We're just outside Clark County. You ladies aren't welcomed there."

We were conducted into the main building through a side door. An immediate blast of moist air greeted us. It smelled of mildew and detergent. The hum of large machines, processing sheets and towels muffled our voices. Every few seconds, the sharp sound of metal hitting metal resonated. Everyone was profusely perspiring when we reached our destination.

We looked at a dozen or so Hispanic women loading sheets into industrial washers. The Ranch Manager gathered the trophy whores into one spot. "So why have we gone to all this trouble to bring you here?"

None of us had an answer. Where they going to put us to work here?

"I'd like you to take a long hard look at the women around you." They took no notice of us as they rushed carts of dirty sheets into one machine as others unloaded wet laundry from others.

He continued, "They are people you've never noticed. They work as your maids, gardeners, food harvesters and in election years serve as talking points for manipulative politicians. You only see what they do for you."

In truth, none us understood where he was going with this.

"They perform tasks that have real value to society. These women provide the labor that allows you to sleep on freshly cleaned and ironed sheets when you stayed at those luxury hotels you used to enjoy."

He looked directly at #6. "I'm sure you weren't aware, but your husband's corporation owns this facility, although he may not specifically know either."

She looked at him blankly. He continued, "The diamond necklace you used to wear to your fancy dress parties, cost more than twice what one of these women earns in a year."

He scanned our blank faces. "Could any of you work here for a week? These women earn minimum wage, which in Nevada is $8.25 for an hour's labor. You've earned about $40 an hour in the last two weeks by spreading your legs. In your married lives, considerably more for the same thing."

We'd traveled a long way just to be insulted, and our faces showed it. He continued, "Who's more useful to this world? Think about it on the way back and maybe some of you will understand the displaced value we place on labor in this world."

"What are we supposed to do?" asked #3. I could tell she was visibly upset.

"All of you are intelligent enough. You could have been nurses, sale clerks, teachers, engineers or anything that would have required effort. You chose whatever was the easiest and even that was too much effort."

With that, #3 began to run toward the door. None of our custodians made any effort to stop her. For all the things she'd be through, Dawn had reached her breaking point. She was gone. 

"She's made her choice," pronounced Mr. Ambrose, as we were loaded back onto the minibus.

I thought about what we'd seen earlier on the silent ride back. My own wild nights in Las Vegas seemed as vivid as if it happed the day before, as I stared of the window toward the city lights.

"You know the Hotel Brasília poolside is entirely topless, you'll need something other than just your regular bikini bottoms without the top," Pamela told me with a giggle that day. We were in the hotel mall, and I held up a metallic gold bottom only. It was tiny in the front, but designed to highlight the ass.

Two years ago, Pamela was my best friend. We'd flown into Vegas for a girl's week and had completely done the place so far. We'd already spent a few nights at one of the top hotels on the strip, but now it was time to get raunchy. We checked into the Brasília, one of the exclusive adult establishments that had become the latest of popular decadent hotspots for the elites that could afford it. 

"It's a thousand dollars," I said as I held up the bikini and thought how sexy I'd look laying bare breasted in an exclusive poolside setting.

"Get the silver one too," she said with a smile as she sipped from a flute of Champagne. 

I handed the two items to the salesgirl assigned to assist us. "I like this place. We need to come every year," I said while looking over the handsome men passing the shop window. 

"More like every three months. Damn, those guys are hot. I can't wait to have a few offering to oil me up."

We were booked at that hotel for five days. It offered all night dancing and day spas for our recovery. Everything was the best there, and we took in all of it. The best wine, the best food, the best drugs and of course the best young dudes.

There I met Lyle, the robust scion of a nouveau riche venture capitalist family. He would seduce me that week, or I would seduce him; I was never sure which. No matter, he'd wind up fucking the hell of me for a month.



Trophy Wife Reboot Ch. 06



Pamela and I wore large floppy hats, strappy sandals and the skintight bikini bottoms we'd purchased that morning, as we placed ourselves on display by the poolside, working our way to golden-brown skin tones. The Mojitos kept coming as we surveyed the crowd, from our cabana hut.

"Look at the girl over there, she's completely nude," I said, pointing to a young woman about to dive into the water. "Would you do that?"

"Only if I were going into the water. I think my suit would start to rust, otherwise," Pamela joked. "On the upside, look at those two men getting naked, too." She pointed toward them, as they were about to enter the water. "Which one do you want?"

"Neither. They look like they're nineteen. I like men a bit older. Not as old as James, but at least intellectually developed."

"They're as developed as I need. More for me. See, ya, babe." She removed her hat and unzipped the back of the sandals. Before I knew it, her bottom rested on the chaise lounge beside mine, and she began to frolic in the water with her two youthful targets.

Pamela was thirty five, with exquisitely colored blond hair that reached half-way down her back and a rack that purportedly set her husband back fifty thousand dollars, but the workmanship was a thing to behold. The only thing that could give them away as fakes, were their enormous size. I could see she was already starting her flirtations. I doubted I'd see her until the next morning.

With the rest of the afternoon and evening on my own, I eyed the area for interesting playmates. It didn't take long, before one found me.

He seated himself on the chase and tossed the bikini onto the table. He looked at me with an unabashed confidence and said, "I've been waiting for your companion to leave me an opening to meet you. I'm Lyle."

He was in tight Speedo trunks that could have told me if he was circumcised. His chiseled ABS and sculpted face coupled with his hazel eyes, and curly brown hair made me think he might be a male model or actor. "I'm Lauren. I'm not sure when my friend will be back."

"From the looks of the way she's hitting on those dudes in the pool, I'd say sometime next week." He went on about himself with ease I hadn't seen in a man his age. He was only twenty four, but ran a major part of his father's investment business. Lyle was two years younger than me, but had the self-assurance of someone twice his age.

I noticed the other topless bimbos strolling by as we chatted for hours, trying to attract his attention. I decided I'd withhold him for myself. He'd already figured out I was married, but I'd turned that little negative in my favor. "I'm actually quite shy. I'm afraid I'm a bit of an innocent," I said as I gave him a nice view of my bare breasts.

"I can see that you must be."

"I was actually a virgin bride, and my husband is so old and busy running all those companies of his, let's just say, I have very low mileage." At that moment, I knew he was circumcised. 

"This is my main office," he said, pointing out toward the pool compound. "I conduct most of my meetings on the phone. Why suffer in cubical-land, when the scenery is so great here?" He was eyeing me, and I was seriously debating whether to continue to tease or to please.

We made plans to hit the nightclub at the top of the hotel, and I headed back to my room to get ready. My mind was on him as I entered the hallway toward the elevator, when a uniformed hotel assistant stood in my way and said, "I'm sorry, Miss. You'll have to cover up before entering the main hotel."

Distracted by my forthcoming decision concerning Lyle, I'd forgotten to wear a robe. Rather than return to the poolside concierge, I simply flashed my room card and its color code took care of that slight annoyance. I strode into the elevator still topless, while a few men looked on.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, please enjoy your stay." 

By 9 PM, I was nearly ready. I'd purchased a shimmering one piece sequenced dress in bright green. I'd stand out on the floor in that, even in a ballroom filled with showboating bitches.

I dialed Pamela once more and this time she picked up. Her first words, "Are you going to fuck him? I saw him down there nibbling on you."

"I haven't decided yet."

"It's not as if he'd be your first." 

She knew all about my brief fling a couple of years before. That was different; a revenge fuck. James had been all over me about my credit usage. And taking on a workman, seemed an appropriate retaliation. I never told James, of course, but just knowing he was no longer an exclusive user of my wares seemed especially delicious at that point in time. 

"I'll have to see for things go."

"Well, if you decide against it, send him my way, I'm already wearing these two studs out."

Lyle and I hit the dance floor by 11 and the night went into overdrive. By the time the effects of the Ecstasy wore down, we'd been dancing for hours. His hands were all over me, and I'd mapped every muscular bulge on his body by then.

We sat at a private table and enjoying a few bottles of whatever was the best the SkyView Lounge had to offer. The view of the strip was overwhelming from the panoramic window that presented a 270 degree view, and the rising sun was beginning to fill the room with its rays. And then Ashley Meyers showed up.

"Lyle, is that you?" she beamed. I hated the little twat. Her father owned half of downtown Charlestown, the good half, and with her Southern accent, silky blond hair and sluttish sense of style, Lyle could easily be lost to me. 

"Are you here with your mother?" She looked directly at me. She was nineteen, single and a complete tramp. She laughed with self-delight, and her eyes twinkled. "JK, Lauren. I'm glad to see you've been keeping Lyle company. I hope you've had a nice time." She grabbed his hand to pull him toward her.

"We're still busy, Ashley." I informed her.

"I think Lyle's all danced out. He might like some more interesting activates." Lyle, being the male bastard that most of them are, sat back and enjoyed our little catfight.

"I was planning on fucking him. How about you? Perhaps, a Bible reading?"

No, that little fucktard wasn't about to have him. I was going into full on "please him" mode. I called our waiter over and asked if a private drinking lounge was available. A few hundred dollars and we had an exclusive getaway.

"I'm going to fuck him there. Care to watch?" 

I expected her to scurry off with her sleazy little tail tucked between her tartish legs, but she replied in a mocking tone, "I can't think of anything I'd like better."

Before I knew it the three of us were seated in a closed-off area, as the music reverberated outside. I pulled Lyle's pants down and saw he hadn't bothered with underwear. He was hard and big. I reached under my short dress and removed my panties. "Don't you have a prom to attend of something? The adults are busy here." 

"No, you old bitch, I want to see how far you'll go."

With that, I straddled Lyle and felt his prick enter me. I yelled, "Fuck yeah. Get that thing going." The music may not have been loud enough to cover up my shrieks, but it wasn't as if this kind of action hadn't been going on all night.

I moved my ass up and down, riding his pole. His eyes were closed as he enjoyed me doing all the work. My eyes were wide open, staring at Ashley as I humped the young stud below me. He came quickly, and I shouted out my pleasure. More importantly, I'd won. Ashly said something about finding better things to do and left.

I called, "Do drop by again, Honeychild," in a mocking Sothern accent just before the door closed.

I did Lyle for the rest of the week. The sex was great. He wasn't so much. His world consisted of one big endless party, and his initial bravado faded into a self-centered bore. The affair of clandestine flights lasted a month, three weeks longer than it should have, but it was all for show from the start.

As I readied to head home, loading things into my suitcase, I decided the bikini bottoms wouldn't fit inside. In truth, they wouldn't fit my life back home. I tossed them into the trash can on the way out of my suite.

As I looked out of the window on the minibus on the ride back to the Reclamation Ranch, it occurred to me that the women working at the laundry plant would have needed to work six weeks to earn what I'd dropped into the garbage that day without a thought.

Those women, sweating away as they cleaned the very sheets I'd slept in two years before, were worth more than me. They served a purpose and worked under harsh conditions to do it. Even a brothel prostitute was more valuable to society. I'd spent the last nine years serving no one by myself.

That was not the intended lesson of the Ranch. Their focus was to break my will and transform me into a dutiful little slut, intent on pleasing my whore loving husband. I needed to do something more with my life.

I'd call Pamela before I was sent to the Double R. She was sympathetic to my plight, but like the rest of my former closest friends, valued status over loyalty. Again, I needed to do something more with my life.

For the rest of the week, I played their games. I broke a few rules here and there and was whipped for my transgressions, but like the fading number on my ass and moniker across my chest, it was all for show, too.

On the night before we were to finish, I brought Smith to climax and cuddled in her arms. "You still have questions?"

"More than I've earned tonight. What happen to Dawn, did she get away?"

"She managed to hitch her way to Vegas from the laundry. The Clark Country Sheriffs picked her up once her hit town. They had her in the database." 

"What database?"

"She and the rest of you are registered prostitutes in this state. You aren't allowed in Clark and Washoe Counties. She got sentenced to thirty days in county jail and they'll send her to a legal brothel when she gets out."

"They found her that quickly?"

"They're good at maintaining order. You might want to steer clear of Vegas and Reno for a few years, if you don't want to do a month in the slam, too." She laughed at the thought.

"Any other questions, sweetie?"

"Just one. Was the purpose of your being tender with me to get me dependent on your emotional support?"

"So, you figure that out, too. Yeah, each of us that work at the ranch pick out a pet whore. It's called transference. If you bond with me, you can be bonded to your husband."

"How?"

"Are you a lesbian or even bisexual?"

"No. Honestly, I have no physical attraction to you. Sorry, I didn't mean that as a slight."

"None taken. But, you slept with me and came to me for support. With a bit of effort, you can do the same thing with your husband. It's all conditioning."

I kissed her as passionately as I could manage, "Thanks to be honest. You could have lied."

She winked at me and said, "It wouldn't have been as much fun."

The next day, I waited in a small room, my palms sweating and butterflies in my stomach. James was about to arrive and make the final determination as to whether I'd be taken back. I felt like a puppy in the window of a bizarre pet shop. Shannon, the former #7, had already been picked up this morning and wept with joy that she'd weathered the storm and would receive some semblance of her former life back.

"Good-bye, you fucking bitches. Never seeing you again, will be far too soon," were her departing words. She meant it in the best possible way. We would all miss each other, and it was still our way of denying the emotional bonds we'd formed.

Smith stopped by the room and said, "Your husband will be here in fifteen minutes." She started to leave, but hesitated. "You should know; Angela's husband had second thoughts and he isn't coming for her. She's outside, waiting for the bus to take her to Pahrump."

I dashed to look out the window. Angela, the woman who had given me the most grief, sat crying in the dirt, unaware that an indifferent sun was already beating down upon her. I turned away, there wasn't anything I could do to help her at that moment.

My heart beat faster as the clock ticked by. James arrived in a dark limousine, as a statement of his dominion here and elsewhere.

"Hi, sweetie, it's so good to see you," I lied, as I put my arms around him.

"Lauren, you look fantastic." He kissed me, and I returned his kiss with an amazing passion unbacked by emotion. I'd been allowed to dress hot and slap on the war paint. I looked every bit the part of a rich man's classy whore.

"They've done me a world of good. I'm thinking so much more clearly now. Everything's back in proper prospective," I said with a broad smile. I whispered into his ear, "God, I just want you to take me right here and now. I can't contain the lust I have from seeing you."

To sell it, I moved my hand up his leg and toward his crotch. He grinned but stopped me. "We'll have to wait to get into the car, baby. I think you're ready to go home."

We got into the back of the limo, but before I closed the door, I pointed to Angela still sitting in her desert sand, only now in a silent stupor awaiting her fate. "You know that's Billy Moreno's ex-wife. Didn't you always hate him?"

"That fucking bastard screwed me on several deals." 

"I have a way to get even with him. Let's take her with us. She doesn't need to suffer."

"Lauren, I have an agreement with this organization. I can't interfere."

I turned on the charm. "You could watch me have sex with her on the ride back to the airport. Or I could watch you fuck her. She really a hot little piece of ass. I've seen what she can do with her tongue."

"As tempting as that is, I really can't."

"James, since when have you ever accepted someone telling you can't do something?"

He said nothing.

"Look, James, she's either sitting in this car next to me, or I'm sitting out there next to her. What's your choice?"

He looked at me with that expression of intimidation he normally reserved for business rivals. "Didn't they teach you anything here?"

"They taught me more than you can imagine. I learned how to be a human being. I need to start act like one." I started to step out of the car. Go, you fucking coward, I thought to myself.

"No, wait," James said. "I would really love to piss of Billy Moreno. Tell her to get in."

We exited the through the ranch gate under a circle that contained a pair of large, rusted steel R's, just in time to see the minibus bringing in eight topless women in manacles; the circle of life continued on at the Reclamation Ranch.

"We have over an hour's drive to the airport. I'd like to see you make love to Moreno's ex," James said with a smug self-satisfied smile.

I started off by kissing her as I ran my hand under her skirt. "OK, bitch, you're at my mercy now," I told her as, I torn her panties off. I rammed my fingers into her cunt and said, "This is for the pain you inflicted on my asshole."

She gasped from the sudden intrusion and began to beg for mercy. "I'll confess to anything, but please go easy on me."

She spread her legs and showed James a full view of my hand violating her. "You decide James, shall I treat her gently?"

"No, give her everything she deserves."

I forced her to organism twice on the trip, and I came once myself. After I'd drained James's balls, I took his load into my mouth and spit most of it into hers, except what I allowed to dribble down her chin.

In the coming month, I had sex with James nearly every night or allowed him to watch as I force myself on Angela. I've managed to use the time well. I was able to divert enough of the household budget to help locate and free Nina and Alyssa from their brothels. I plan to be able to do the same for Dawn and Fonda once I can embezzle enough money from James.

In a couple of years, I should have enough set-aside to begin attending nursing school after I divorce him. In the meantime, Angela is able to provide all the emotional support I need.

                    The end