Tiffany the Trophy Wife

Tiffany

I married a man I adore. He had the two things I needed most in a man: old age and wealth.

My name is Tiffany Wantz. With that name, I was born to be a trophy wife. But what sealed my fate was my body: starting with my boobs, thirty-two double-d beauties. Couple that with long legs and naturally blonde shoulder-length hair, and yes, the carpet, nicely trimmed, matches the drapes.

My sweet, angelic face, with full pouty lips, masked what a dreadful gold-digger I am. I decided that if men wanted me, they would not get me for free. No one would use me without paying for it.

I married Roger when I was nineteen, and he was seventy-two. Much to the outrage of everyone I knew and others, I didn't. He was in good health, but I could always hope that would change. He couldn't last forever. He wanted me to sign a prenup, but I faked how hurt I was. He relented and never brought it up again.

Well, six months later, he's still alive and making plans for our wedding. I was hoping that when we got married, I would be a widow on the honeymoon. But he still plays tennis every morning and doesn't show any signs of imminent heart failure. The worst part is that even with Viagra, he can barely get it up.

To make matters worse, his twenty-five-year-old son hasn't left home yet. And before you think about me using the loser son for sex, forget it. His son is the perfect computer nerd, always in his room with his assortment of computers and all kinds of electronics. He would look decent if he got outdoors and got some color on his face. He's pasty with teenage acne, overweight, and he's in his twenties.

My life consisted of shopping and attending parties with my Roger. At least once a month, he would try to have sex with me. Even with Viagra, I had to work my ass off blowing him even to attempt penetration. He usually wanted me to dress in stockings, heels, and a push-up bra. Then, I posed for him in our bedroom while he played with himself.

Don't think for a minute; I was happy with that situation. I needed to be fucked hard and long and treated like a whore. But there weren't any men in the house capable of that, just an old man and his wimp son.

I thought back to school and my first fucking.

High school was a bore. The only thing I learned was that my looks could support my lifestyle. During January of my senior year, I turned eighteen and was in danger of failing. It didn't mean a thing to me. I would have quit in a minute. But my Uncle Dave had promised me ten thousand dollars for school. There was no way I was going to college, but that money was mine. I knew I could get it. He was old, a male, and could be easily fooled.

I found that male teachers spent more time watching me than other students. I was going to use that for my benefit.

There was a scandal earlier in the year. Three young teachers were fired. They had kept a girl my age captive for a weekend, fucking her silly. But she was eighteen and said she didn't want to press charges. They used her holes, and she got nothing for it. She was a dumb fuck!

My senior year was almost over, and I had to graduate.

The last day of exams. I wore a white mini-skirt, suntan pantyhose, and white running shoes during finals. I walked quickly into the exam room, with my braless tits bouncing under a tight yellow sleeveless top. I sat directly in front of Mr. Swenson, parting my legs just enough so he could glimpse my pink panties. Between him, looking up my skirt, and me going down on my oversized pen with my full red lips. He was a mess. After the test was over, I dawdled, stopping at his desk.

I put on my pouty look that worked on guys and asked him how I did while sitting on the edge of his desk.

"I won't know for at least a week, Tiffany."

"I will go crazy not knowing. I gasped.

Putting the tip of my fat pen in my mouth,

"I would do anything to find out sooner." I purred.

Beads of sweat were on his forehead.

He whispered. "Give me your number, and I will call you tomorrow."

"You're the best, Mr. Swenson."

I said while planting a wet kiss on his cheek. To seal the deal, I squealed,

"You're the greatest," while skipping out of the room.

I already knew my other results. While not great, they were passing. So, I needed Mr. Swenson to work some magic with my grades.

Dating during high school was tedious; the guys were so immature. My few dates consisted of a movie and a walk home, with me fending off groping hands. I knew what I wanted, and it didn't include a teenage pregnancy. Soon, I got a reputation for being cold and probably a lesbian, and the boys left me alone. I didn't care.

My parents divorced in my junior year, and I lived with my mother. She thought she deserved a life and was out almost every night.

After my eighteenth birthday in January of my senior year, I started thinking more about sex. My boobs were super sensitive, and I found that by pinching my nipples and squeezing my tits, I was able to send lightning bolts to my cunt. My first orgasm came late at night. After torturing my boobs, I slipped a finger on my wet pussy, finding my clit.

The feeling was so intense that I followed a nightly ritual with various objects, preferring slender cucumbers.

I watched porn online, and most of the girls seemed to enjoy getting pounded in all three holes. The one thing that intrigued me most was the guys cumming on their faces. It looked messy, and better yet, it was degrading. But they seemed turned on, and I wanted to try it. The other thing I didn't understand was that all the girls in the videos wore garter belts and regular stockings and kept their heels on even in bed. I liked the look, and I couldn't wait to try it.

I wanted a man to take me and do whatever he wanted. Forcing me, if necessary, I wondered if this scared teacher could handle me.

I didn't have to wait too long. He called at ten o'clock. He seemed nervous.

"I have all your grades, but I don't feel right giving them out over the phone. Would you be able to come over tonight?"

"Sure, is seven all right?"

My pussy was positively tingling; my hand stayed in my crotch stroking myself till he hung up. I don't know who was looking forward to this more, him or me.

I was going to get fucked tonight, and on my terms. I had the whole day to get ready. I headed to the local outlet mall.

I got lucky finding a tight, silky dress; I liked how it looked and ignored the fact that it came only to mid-thigh. I struck out finding a garter belt, but the clerk suggested thigh-high stockings that didn't require suspenders. I chose a few shades, including off-black, to go with my dark grey dress.

I was ready to go at six o'clock; I couldn't wait. I checked myself out in the full-length mirror. I looked hot. The dress was tight and short. I never had to worry about stocking tops showing before. But with this dress, it was a possibility. I had always worn pantyhose. The stockings made me feel like a whore, and I liked it. The top of the dress was thin and showed every detail of my bra. It didn't look right, so I went without it.

Shoes were another thing; I mostly wore running shoes or flats. I headed for my mother's room.

She had numerous pairs of heels. I picked out a shiny black pair that was about three inches high. I had never worn heels, and I was unsteady, to say the least.

I took my shoes off and drove to his house. I put my shoes on and gamely tried walking to his door. He opened the door, and his mouth gaped open.

"You look beautiful, Tiffany. Would you like a drink?"

"Thank you, do you have wine?"

We both drank two glasses of wine and were sitting on the couch. He excused himself, saying he was going to freshen up our drinks. Little did I know he was putting something in mine.

When he returned, he explained how he had changed my grades. I was so happy I kissed his cheek, saying.

"I need another drink. I want to celebrate."

I took a few sips and immediately started feeling light-headed.

"I'm not used to wine. I've got to slow down." Giggling, I said. "The room is starting to spin."

I was aware of how he was looking at me. Grinning, he moved closer, and I felt him pushing my dress above my lace stocking tops. I acted shocked and tried to push him away.

"Mr. Swenson, stop that."

My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, and I was moving in slow motion.

I looked down at my dress bunched around my waist. He was tracing his finger over my soft mound through my panties; it felt so good, but I groaned,

"You shouldn't be doing this."

He just smiled, stood me up, and unzipped my dress, pulling it down around my ankles. My firm boobs were standing straight out, my nipples hardening in the cool air. I was shocked standing there in my panties, stockings, and heels. I hadn't anticipated this. I had envisioned a romantic night and my first time having sex.

He took my hand and guided me into his bedroom, easing me onto his bed. My panties were the next to go. He laid me back and spread my nylon-covered legs, kissing my inner thighs. His mouth felt good; I could feel my pussy was getting wet. But it was like watching a movie; I couldn't control anything. Then I realized I looked like one of the girls in a porno lying in bed with my heels and stockings on.

I felt his tongue probing my wet pussy, licking and kissing my folds. I wrapped my nylon-covered legs around his head, urging him deeper. I was trembling all over.

I felt my muscles contracting, nearing an orgasm, when he stopped and slid his body on top of me.

I hadn't seen him undress; I must have blacked out for a minute. I could feel his thing touching my split, trying to get in.

"Come on, you little tease spread those legs; you're going to get fucked; I know it's not the first time."

I started hitting him, trying to get up,

I was scared and begged him to stop, but whatever he gave me left me weak and defenseless.

Then I felt his cock invade me; it felt like he split me in half. It was hard and hot, filling me up. It just hurt more than it felt good.

I don't know how long he battered me, probably only minutes, but it felt like forever. I remembered him tensing up and squirting his cum deep in me. I blacked out, my head spinning. When I came to, I didn't know where I was. I slowly got up, feeling his cum running down my leg.

The room was dark, and I could hear him snoring in another room. I slipped my dress on and ran to my car. My head was still foggy. But thank God, I made it home.

The next day, I couldn't remember much. Except that I was no longer a virgin. Thankfully, I had been on the pill for the last year. I made up my mind; I would not give it away; it was worth something. I received good grades in exchange for my body.

The day went by slowly. My cunt was sore. I half expected him to call, but I never heard from him. He got what he wanted, and so did I.

I wished I had someone to talk to and answer my questions. There had to be more than what I experienced.

My grades were official. With graduation in two weeks, I had a lot to do. I called Uncle Dave; he sounded surprised that I passed and told me to come over. He was in his sixties and had always been sweet and kind to me. I was looking forward to a nice visit.

I chose a white sleeveless dress; it wasn't a mini but ended well above my knees. I slipped into dark beige thigh-highs; they made me feel naughty. I loved the wide lace band at the top. And the silky feeling as I ran my hands over my legs.

I raided my mother's closet for a pair of white heels. This was going to be a little tricky. The heels were close to four inches. I wobbled out of the house. No way was I going to drive with them on.

I arrived at seven; he lived alone in the wealthy section of town. I opened the car door and put my shoes on the ground. I slid around in the seat; the motion hiked my dress up to my waist. I was worried about my shoes and didn't bother to pull my dress down. I slipped into my pumps; they were tight, so it took a few minutes. It wasn't till then that I noticed two men across the street staring at the show I was putting on. I was scared and turned around to see if they were coming after me. I hurried as much as I could in my killer heels. I made it to his porch. I turned to see what they were doing; they were just standing there, leering at me.

The door was unlocked. I knocked and walked in, calling out.

"Uncle Dave, it's me, Tiffany."

"I'm in the office, Tiff."

I walked in, my heels making that great clicking sound men love.

"You look all grown up, Tiffany. Come here for a kiss."

He held me around the waist and surprised me by kissing me on my lips. It certainly shocked me.

I don't know if I'm paranoid, but kindly, Uncle Dave looked like he was undressing me with his eyes.

If there was any doubt, it was erased when he took my arm and pulled me over to him.

"Come sit on an old man's lap, Tiffany."

I was uncomfortable but gave in; what could I do?

Say, where's my money and leave?

He was a big man, so I had to jump slightly as he pulled me up, putting his arm around my waist. My dress was well above my stocking tops; I blushed beet red and vainly tried to pull my dress down.

"I can't remember the last time I saw you. You're all grown up."

I could feel his dick growing under my ass. He started gently stroking my legs, reaching the wide lace band at the top of my stockings. At the same time, he was making small talk while staring at my boobs.

"Would you like a drink, dear?"

"Yes, please, and not too strong."

I needed something to take the edge off. I never imagined my uncle would be feeling me up.

I was looking out of the window when he came back and suggested we sit on the couch. He sat down and said.

"Let me take a good look at you."

I stood before him; my dress had ridden up again. I struggled to cover my stockings. I was tired of pulling my dress down. He cleared his throat and pulled me onto the couch beside him. Laughing, he said.

"Don't be embarrassed in front of me. It's just your legs. Now, how about you show me your stockings? You're having so much trouble with them, Tiff."

He used to call me that when I was younger.

"Uncle Dave, this isn't right. I don't want to. I think I'm going to leave."

He frowned.

"Ok, but if you leave now, the money stays in my pocket."

I smoothed down my dress, my hands shaking.

I gulped down my drink.

"Promise you won't touch me, Uncle Dave."

"Scouts honor."

He had a look in his eyes; I knew he was lying.

I inched my dress up my firm thighs, exposing my stockings and the darker lace bands at the tops.

"Turn around slowly. I want to look at you."

When my ass was facing him, he stopped me and reached up for my zipper.

With tears running down my face, I whispered.

"Please stop, this isn't normal."

He grunted.

"You better get used to it. This is what girls your age have to do for men. You've got a pretty face and a good body. It's the only way for women to get ahead in life. You're lucky; men have to work hard to be successful; women just need to lie on their backs or get on their knees."

I was crushed; I needed the money. I looked at the floor and said, "Do what you want."

I felt cool air on my exposed back as he removed my dress. All I had on was my stockings, heels, white lace panties, and a pink bra. I shuddered as he first palmed my ass and then reached around me, cupping my boobs.

You're beautiful, Tiff. Now show me your tits."

I turned around. I could feel my face burning with shame. I unhooked my bra, holding the cups in place. He gently pulled it out of my hands, my firm boobs jiggling slightly. He immediately started kissing them and biting my pink nipples. I was horrified and turned on at the same time. I couldn't let him know.

He laid me back on the couch, taking his cock out, rubbing it on my lips.

"Did you ever suck dick, Tiff?"

I shook my head; I didn't know what to do. I was trying to remember what the girls in the pornos did.

I never wanted to hear that nickname again. I parted my lips, running my tongue over his dripping cock.

I guess I was doing it right when salty liquid filled my mouth. Could this be all that comes out? It certainly looked like more in the videos. He started pushing it farther into my mouth, reaching my throat.

I started gagging violently. He pulled out laughing.

"You really don't know what to do; breaking you in will be fun."

My eyes were watering; my makeup was ruined. He gave me a glass of whiskey, saying.

"Most women need to be drunk to give good head, so drink up, Tiff."

I drank as much as I could, feeling a warm sensation in my body. He was playing with my tits like I was a toy, pinching and twisting my nipples until I cried out in pain.

In a little while, my head started lolling back. He pinched my nose shut, making me sit up and gasp, my mouth flying open.

"No sleeping on the job, Tiff. Time to finish up."

With that, he pushed my face toward his lap. I fought him a little, but he was just too strong.

My mouth opened, and he slid his dick in.

With his hand on my head, I had no choice. I was moaning and gagging. Pleading with him to stop. My struggles seemed to make him more excited.

He battered my poor mouth, bruising my lips. I could taste blood mixed with pre-cum.

Finally, he pushed me on my back and straddled my chest, mashing my tender boobs together. He spit on my cleavage and put his cock between my boobs, and proceeded to fuck my tits.

His dick was hitting my chin when he was thrusting.

He got a crazy look on his face and told me to push my chest together. He was jerking off wildly.

"Here it comes, Tiffany."

I foolishly thought he was kidding until the first blast hit me between the eyes, and the second and third hit my cheeks and hair. Some got in my mouth, and it tasted nasty. He was gasping for air and coughing as he slumped into a chair—his face blue. I thought he was dying. He didn't seem to be breathing. I watched him, thinking he deserved it. After a few minutes, he appeared to be asleep. Maybe next time. I put on my clothes and checked him. He was starting to snore.

I noticed his checkbook on the desk. If he had died, I would have written a bigger check for myself, but no such luck; he was still alive. I put his check in my purse, cleaned the cum from my face and left.

I was tempted to tell my mother, but she was never home; as time passed, I kept my mouth shut.

So far, my body had gotten me passing grades and money, and I was still eighteen. I had a lot to learn and was looking forward to it.

After graduation, I spent the summer between the beach and our backyard beside the pool.

The end of summer was approaching, and my money wouldn't last forever. I had spent a fortune on clothes and shoes. If my uncle was right, I had to look good to get a decent job or someone to pamper me.

Over a rare breakfast with my mother, she told me her current boyfriend worked at a large law firm and could get me a job as a receptionist.

I called and set up an interview. I was to see Mr. Vander, and unless he were gay, I would have no problem using my body to get the job.

Among the many things I bought was a ton of sexy lingerie; now was the time to use them. I chose a light blue garter belt with a matching bra and panties. Shiny suntan stockings and black four-inch heels completed the outfit. The bra did little to cover my ripe boobs; I liked the way they jiggled when I walked. Looking in the mirror, I wished I could go in my underwear; I would get the job for sure.

I chose a tight black sleeveless dress, barely reaching my knees. I practiced crossing my legs and bending over to see how much of my stockings I exposed. I loved how a garter belt felt pulling up my stockings; I don't know why women stopped wearing them.