Neglected Red Headed Trophy Wife

Hey guys, sorry it's been a while. Life, you know? Anyways, I've been working on this story for a while now and it's a little bit hard to categorize all the parts, but I feel like noncon/ reluctance is best as it is clearly a story of blackmail, and I'll be keeping all the other parts categorized the same, for continuity sake. It evolves into something more, but I don't want to give anything away too fast. It's a three part story, but I've finished all the parts so I'll be uploading one part every day. I know committing to a three part story is asking a lot, but bear with me, hopefully it's worth it, ha. And in any case, this first installment really stands alone as its own story. Anyways, enjoy.

**********************

"God damn it, Roger!" Valerie yelled, hitting all the keys on her laptop as it froze for the fifth time that day.

"What is it, hun?" Roger called back, nonplussed, walking into the room as he buttoned his dress shirt up, barely paying her any attention.

"The stupid laptop you bought me! It froze again. I wish you'd have just bought me an IPad!" She moaned, but Roger merely shrugged.

"So I'll buy you an IPad," he replied flatly, grabbing his tie off of the dresser and wrapping it around his collar.

"Fucking Christ, Roger, I've already got all my favorite websites and logins and passwords on here, it'd take me forever to switch it over!" She fussed, holding the power key down until the laptop's screen turned black.

"So take it to the store and get them to fix it," he told her, grabbing a pair of shoes and lacing them up.

"I don't want to take it to a store!" She snapped. "I just want it to work!"

Roger rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath and staring at his beautiful wife for a moment.

She was barely 24, and they'd been married for a little over two years. She had fiery red hair to match her fiery attitude, big green eyes and an incredibly curvy figure: thin waist, big ass, long milky legs, standing at 5' 8". Her tits had been the size of peaches when they'd met, but Roger had quickly offered to pay for her implants as long as he got to pick the size, and she'd jumped on it, her triple D's bouncing in front of him as she huffed and puffed.

And there Roger sat, almost twice her age, grey and balding, pudgy and disinterested. She was the perfect trophy wife, beautiful in every sense of the word. She looked like Jessica Rabbit or Joan from Mad Men.

"Then take it to the kid down the block, Paul or whatever, his parents told me he's going to school for computer science, he could probably fix it for you. Hell, I bet if you ask real nicely and shake those tits for him, he'll do it for free."

She glared at him, but he just shrugged and grabbed his luggage.

"I'm sorry, Val, I just don't have time for this," he said, putting on his jacket. "I've got a flight to catch, I'll be back in two weeks."

He came up to her and bent down, and she kissed his lips lightly, still pouting as he walked out.

"Love you," he called.

"Love you too," she replied, tossing her laptop on the bed and lying back, sighing deeply.

**********************

Paul Scott was sitting on his bed playing video games when he heard his mother calling him.

"Paul!" She bellowed, and he groaned.

"Hold on!" He yelled back, hoping she'd forget.

"Paul!" She yelled again, this time louder and more insistent.

"Sorry guys, gotta go," he told his friends through his headset, and they all yelled at him for quitting halfway through a campaign.

"Can't help it, my mom's yelling at me." He replied.

"Fuckin' pussy!" One of his friends laughed as he signed off, tossing the headset on his bed before standing up and walking out the door.

Paul had just finished his senior year of high school and was now enjoying his first summer before starting college. He was smart, he'd made good grades all throughout high school, choosing to go to the local community college for his associates before venturing off to a four year. He'd have a full ride, and it would cut down considerably any student loans if he stayed with his parents, who had a little saved up for his college tuition. It was practical, it was frugal, but it wasn't exactly as exciting as some of his classmate's plans.

He could hear his mom talking to someone in the living room as he walked down the stairs, rolling his eyes at whatever company his mother thought worthy enough to interrupt his afternoon. But when he turned the corner, he found himself staring at Valerie Mansfield, Valerie Mansfield, the red headed trophy wife from down the block, Valerie Mansfield, the woman he'd masturbated to the thought of countless times, in a short little tank top and yoga pants, sitting on their couch holding a large bag in her arms, looking over at him, almost angrily.

"Oh, hey," he said, crossing his arms.

"Paul, Valerie's laptop is acting up, would you mind taking a look at it?" his mother asked in that well known voice most mothers have, the tone that lets you know their question isn't a question at all, but a command.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Paul offered, shrugging. "What's wrong with it?"

"Well, it keeps freezing, and it's gotten a lot slower," Valerie replied.

"Yeah, probably just adware and bugs, I'm sure it's nothing really," Paul smiled, walking up to her, her giant tits bouncing as she stood up and handed him the bag.

"Thank you, Paul," she said, and his heart skipped a bit as she said his name. "Do you think it'll take very long?"

"A couple hours, maybe?" Paul shrugged. "I could probably have it back to you by this evening."

"Great! I was getting ready to go to the gym, I'll be back in a couple hours, feel free to drop by whenever it's done," she said, exchanging pleasantries with Paul's mother before walking out. Paul made sure to stick around long enough to see her ass in those yoga pants, and to be sure, he was not disappointed.

"That woman," his mother groaned, rolling her eyes once she was gone. "I'm sorry, Paul."

"Ha, yeah, no worries," he laughed, picking up the bag and taking it upstairs.

As he got to his room he thought about everything he'd heard his mother and father saying about the Mansfields ever since they'd moved in. The women in the neighborhood considered her a trophy wife, a gold digger, and any time they'd invited her over, their judgments had only been solidified by her personality. She was haughty, quarrelsome, quick tempered and brash, and it hadn't taken long before she stopped being invited out to their gatherings.

Mr. Mansfield, on the other hand, was a show off, a braggart who loved to remind people of his yearly income, his jet setting lifestyle. It was well known that he spent most of the year travelling for his job, and that Valerie was his third wife.

It took Paul all of an hour to clean up her hard drive, install an antivirus program and debug everything, but curiosity got the better of him and he quickly started going through her browser history.

Her facebook page was the usual, pictures of her with Mr. Mansfield in various exotic locations, all dressed up, her tits hanging out, and the monotonous list of statuses about going to the gym, pictures of a book and a glass of wine with a caption about how she prefers to spend her afternoons, but very little comments or likes.

Upon digging a little deeper, Paul began to suspect Valerie Mansfield wasn't very popular with anyone.

She didn't have that many friends, only a hundred or two, which could be accounted for by her own choices, but her messages told a different story. There was a long list of conversations she had started, all saying hello, how are you, how have you been, etc, and most of them were completely ignored. The ones that had bothered responding were very short, curt, almost hostile, and they'd engage in small talk, but any time she'd asked to spend time together, to go out for lunch or drinks, she was perpetually turned down, or ignored altogether.

She had a long list of favorite websites, but they were mostly for shopping, dresses and shoes, lingerie, furniture, paintings, you name it, and when Paul checked her email, it was a long list of order confirmations, and little more, besides spam.

He kept going through her folders: cat videos, pinterest, etsy, until he came across one titled "fingernail art" and almost skipped over it, thinking nothing in the world could be less appealing, then out of curiosity went back and opened it up.

His heart practically started thumping right out of his chest as soon as he saw it, it was the biggest list of porn videos he'd ever seen, with the raunchiest titles. "Blond slut gets gangbanged," "Dumb whore slapped around," "Forced to sell her body," "Cock hungry slut covered in cum," and on and on and on, gangbangs, degradation, bondage, prostitution, even blackmail, spitting, gagging, rape, all things Paul had seen before, loved and jerked off to even, but never imagined a girl could enjoy.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered to himself, his breath short, shaking his head. "What the fuck?"

And the list went on and on, it was almost endless. On a lot of the sites she even had her own screen name, and there were comments from her screen name on every video.

"I've cum to this vid so many times it made my pussy sore." "Mmm, wish a bunch of guys would use me like that!" "Look at him fuck her mouth, I'd love a cock that big shoved down my throat," and on and on and on.

Paul groaned, shaking his head. He looked through the rest of her folders but that was it, a secret treasure trove of rough, fucked up porn, and nothing else.

"There has to be something else," he reasoned, looking through every last tab, every last website, but that was it. Then he went through her pictures, her folders, but he couldn't find anything. Her email was a dead end, her documents and pictures were all blanks, there was nothing else to be found.

Paul was about to give up when he started looking through her browser history. It was mostly the shopping websites interspersed with her favorite porn sites, but about a month or two back, he found it.

It was an email account on a separate website from her main email, and she'd logged out and the login was blank but all Paul had to do was press the arrow key down and her email popped up, selecting it brought her password up too. It was all so easy a child could figure it out, and once he logged in, he struck gold.

Paul spent the better part of an hour reading the longest email chain between Valerie and a man named Jason. By the time he'd finished, he felt like he really knew Valerie, really understood her struggles, her pains and heartaches and desires, and if her sad facebook messages were depressing, nothing could prepare him for her and Jason's email exchange.

This is what he learned:

Valerie had grown up a rich, spoiled, neglected brat. Her mother was a socialite alcoholic who constantly berated her, her father worked too much and was rarely around, dying from a heart attack when she was a teenager. She was raised by nannies and sent off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, never getting much attention from either parent.

So she lashed out, she acted up for their attention, but they would merely pass her off to the revolving door of nannies who would quit after a few months. She didn't get along with girls in her class, she got kicked out of school after school.

Finally, shortly after her father's death, she entered college, had a few boyfriends, but none of them could stomach her very long. She tried to join a couple sororities but was turned down every time. Then, about a year after barely graduating and moving back in with her mother, she met Roger.

He was still married to his second wife at the time and they attended the same country club. They had an affair, and he was quickly divorced, marrying her not long after it was finalized.

After they'd wed, they moved a couple towns over to get away from their scandalous reputation. Mr. Mansfield had no qualms with her not working, spending all her time relaxing at home or working out, in fact he preferred it, but he seldom gave her the attention she wanted. He was gone most of the year, he rarely spent much time with her, only taking her out when he could show her off to colleagues and coworkers.

And he was patient, so patient, too patient. He never told her off for being a bitch, he never put her in her place or even acknowledged her anger, and that only angered her more. And apparently, to make matters worse, his cock was small and he barely ever wanted to fuck her.

Paul read email after email of Jason trying to cheer her up but failing miserably. Eventually, she dropped it altogether and they began flirting, sending pictures back and forth. Paul's eyes pretty much popped out of his head when he saw naked pictures of Valerie Mansfield, her gigantic tits, her luscious, voluptuous ass.

Jason replied with a picture of his cock, and it looked to be about 6 or 7 inches, but she gushed over it, telling Jason it was so big, that it looked perfect.

"Perfect?" Paul thought, rubbing his head a little. "Isn't that a little small?"

He went back to reading their emails, one in particular standing out.

"Yes, yes, I really love it rough. Honestly, I fantasize about finally being put in my place, being punished for being such a bitch, lol. I want a man that can tell me what to do, that can abuse me, punish me, degrade me, and fuck me until I can barely move. I know it's going to sound weird but nobody's ever dominated me, and I'd just love to be taken control of, to be used, and covered in cum, forced even, gangbanged, pimped out and treated like garbage."

Jason's response: "Wow."

They started meeting up, started fucking. Valerie pushed to be wilder and more experimental, and Jason said he would, but she was constantly begging him to be rougher.

And then the end came. She apologized but said she couldn't do it anymore. If Roger found out, her life would be over. Jason was upset, but she got mad, told him it was just sex, called him a pussy, etc. She snapped, like she was wont to do, and he apologized, never replying again.

Paul was sweating by the time he was done, and the sun was hanging low in the sky. He quickly grabbed his portable drive and downloaded their entire conversation onto it, then screen shot every video and the comments she made, before deleting any trace of his activities and logging off.

********************************

Paul's knuckles were white and he was short of breath when he knocked on Valerie Mansfield's door.

"Coming!" He heard her yell, and he stood there, trying to keep himself calm.

Now, It's not that Paul was a bad looking guy, he was 6'1, skinny, he had black hair, he'd ran track all throughout high school, he'd just never really known how to approach a girl, and worse of all, unbeknownst to him, he'd missed some very obvious signals from some of the girls from his school, so here he was, a virgin still, and he was determined to get what he wanted.

"Oh, Paul, hello," Valerie smiled, a small little grin out of the corner of her mouth. She was wearing a bright blue dress with a big black belt, one shoulder showing off, her cleavage staring him in the face. "Come in."

Paul walked in, handing her the bag, and they sat down.

"Is it beyond repair?" She asked, expecting the worst.

"Oh, no, it was simple, just needed to be cleaned up, I installed an antivirus so it should be fine for some time," he told her, and she laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, until a couple months from now," she laughed. "What do I owe you for your troubles?"

"Oh, ha, nothing, don't worry about it," Paul replied nervously, but she rolled her eyes.

"Don't be a little shit, Paul. What do you want?" She snapped, sneering at him.

"Ok, well, it's been pretty hot out, I was thinking it would be nice to come by for a swim in that pool of yours," he told her, and she laughed.

"Sure, let yourself in through the gate any time you want," she told him, standing up.

"Yeah, well, see," Paul shrugged, scratching his head. "I was hoping you'd like to join me."

Valerie's annoyed sneer turned into a surprised smile, looking him up and down, leaning forward, her hands on her knees, her tits in his face.

"Oh, so you'd like an afternoon with me in a bikini, is that it?" She asked, seductively.

"Yes, that's exactly it," Paul replied, flatly.

"Then it's yours," she laughed, standing up straight again before pointing towards the door. "Now get out, I'll see you tomorrow, noon."

*******************

Paul barely slept at all that night. He kept lying awake, holding the portable drive in his hand, spinning it around, looking at it intently, finally jerking himself off before he passed out.

The next day he showed up at her front door at noon, knocking on the door and standing out in the sun for some time before it opened, and he saw her staring at him, almost disgusted, wearing a robe, her bright red hair done up in a bun.

"Come on," she groaned, closing the door behind him.

"Thanks," Paul said, walking through their house.

"You want a beer?" She asked, then caught herself. "Wait, you're not 21, are you?"

"I'm 18," Paul replied, then took a deep breath. "Yes, I'd like a beer, go get me one."

Valerie's eyes went wide at his demand, and she looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing, before smiling.

"Yes sir," she replied, sarcastically, walking off.

When she joined him on the patio, she tossed him his beer, shaking it up enough to fizzle when he opened it, but not too bad. She had a cold glass of white wine herself, setting it down on the table next to her chair, then opening up her robe and setting it aside.

Paul watched her beautiful body come into sight, standing a few feet away from her. Her giant tits were bursting out of her tiny little bikini, the bottom was a thong that left nothing to the imagination. She bent over to grab her sunglasses, sure to turn so he could see her big, bubble butt while she picked it up, then turned back to him.

"Well, aren't you going to get in?" She asked, almost laughing at his embarrassing attempt to cover his hard on with his towel.

"No, I've got a better idea," he told her, his heart thumping rapidly.

"What's that?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips and staring at him, lips pursed.

It was now or never.

"Take off your bikini, I want to see you naked," he told her.

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared, her lips parting and her chest swelling as she registered what he had just told her.

"Excuse me?" She asked.

"Did I stutter?" He replied, and her head snapped back, glaring at him.

"You little fuck!" She snapped, shaking her head as she grabbed her robe, throwing it on in a flash, "You should have just been glad I was going to let you see me in a bikini all afternoon, you little pervert! I'll- I'll- I'll be having a word with your mother about this, I'll-"

"I don't think you'll be telling anyone about this," Paul told her, calmly, stepping forward, and her eyes widened again, this time with fear, "That is, if you don't want everyone to find out about your little affair."

"You-" She raged, glaring at him.

"Yeah, me, I read everything, you and Jason, all your comments on those raunchy videos, everything, and I downloaded it all, so if you don't want Mr. Mansfield to find out, I'd suggest you take that robe off, right fucking now." He told her, and she huffed, and she puffed, looking around, trying to decide her next move.

"You wouldn't." She growled, and Paul stood still. He was terrified, worried she'd call his bluff, worried she'd go straight to his mother.

"I absolutely would," Paul told her.

She sighed, shaking her head, her lips moving as she whispered something to herself, then she grabbed her glass of wine and downed it all in one gulp.