I want to live a happy, submissive life as Kurt's Trophy Wife.

You totter across the kitchen in your 6-inch pink high heels and sigh with contentment.

Life with Kurt has turned out exactly as you hoped it would.

Your hair is teased, Big and Blonde, with a capital-B ('B' is for Boobs! you giggle). Your lips are fat and puffy, thanks to your fortnightly collagen injections, your bosom is huge, even bigger than after your first augmentation, because Kurt wanted you to be "really fake and really ginormous". You got liposuction and a rib removed and now your waist is a crazy 26 inches small. It looks even smaller because with your butt augmentation, which makes you nice and round down there ("awesomely fuckable" Kurt says).

Your closet is full of slutty, bimbo, barbie pink clothes. Most of your hemlines are micro, just inches below your crotch. You have tons of crop tops, clingy bodycon dresses, cute sweaters which don't even come close to covering your boobs. For lingerie, you have mostly thongs and floaty, sheer baby-doll nighties, which you wear around the house with your feather mules, like, all the time. You can easily walk in 6" heels, they are your 'every-day' heels now.

And Kurt LOVES it.

It's getting late and you're expecting to hear the garage door open. When it happens, you'll quickly trot to mud-room door, clip-clip, in your high heels and drop to your knees, with your mouth open, waiting like a slut for a nice hard cock to suck.

Sometimes he does, right there in the hallway. He drops his pants and thrusts his hard cock into your mouth and you suck away, content that you are satisfying your man. Of course you swallow and lick your lips and go "ummmm" in a super satisfied way when he shoots his load into your mouth (or sometimes, on your face, if he's feeling especially devilish - you've learned not to automatically wipe it off, because often he'll want you to wear your shameful slut face full of cum all night - even when guests are over).

But that's later. For now, you walk past the kitchen camera, stop to give it a big wet kiss and then you pull up your crop-top T-Shirt, the one which says SLUT BIMBO across the tits and shake your massive boobs in their industrial-strength, custom-designed, heavily underwired brassiere.

Kurt has put cameras all over the house, and you have to do something sexy everytime you pass one, which is all the time, since Kurt is always having you trot across the house dusting (often in your slut-maid costume), masturbating, trying on clothes (endlessly), exercising or doing yoga (several times a day), putting on makeup or cooking, or just putting lotion on your naked body.

You wonder what he does with all that footage. You're pretty sure he shows it to his Goldman Sachs colleagues at work via the live-stream.

You have to masturbate at least twice a day in front of a camera. He checks. And if you don't you get spanked. Sometimes you get spanked even if you do.

Sometimes you ask to be spanked.

And the other women!

{if kurt_threesome == true}Kurt has held you to your pledge of arranging threesomes for him. He now has you do it at least every week. You have a whole stable of hot women, some paid, some not, (one who actually pays you!) who are all eager to be fucked by Kurt and/or licked by you.

You've created an entire spreadsheet of these women, with their names, kinks, proclivities and body dimensions. You have all of their upcoming schedules, when they are available and when not, and you've got them all scheduled, with backups, to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain - making sure Kurt has plenty of pussy to fuck. You showed the spreadsheet to Kurt once and he fucked you right then and there, reading it.

Doing threesomes and arranging for other women to fuck your husband has been more of a perverted thrill than you thought it would be. You actually look forward to the variety of having them in the bedroom. It definitely spices things up, and almost always you get some cuddle time with them while Kurt snores before you have to shoo them away.

Does that make me a cuckqueen? you wonder. You enjoy watching your husband have sex with other women, so... you guess it does.{else@}Recently, Kurt has started having sex with other women. Sometimes he brings them home with him and forces you to serve them dinner. You sit on the couch, typically, as he takes them upstairs to fuck. Sometimes you go to bed in the guest bedroom, and fall asleep listening to them cry out with pleasure and call his name.

You don't much like it, but what can you do? You told Kurt he could have sex with other women. Well you didn't think he'd actually bring them home to have sex right in your own home, of course. But on reflection, you're glad it's out in the open... you suppose.

This has all made you realize that there's something about Kurt that makes him want to endlessly humiliate you. And worse, he seems compelled to always take it to the next level. Recently he's been asking your opinion of the women he brings home, right in front of them, and you have to always say positive things like "Oh Kurt, she is such a hot piece of ass! Her body is amazing! And she is SO BEAUTIFUL. You are SO going to love fucking her!"

He also wants you to start debasing yourself in front of his 'dates'. You have to say things like: "I'm just not woman enough to satisfy my husband like he needs to be satisfied, so would you please let him fuck you? I try my best, but I'm just a dumb bimbo bitch and sometimes Kurt needs more than I can provide. Also, I'm not good in bed."

You blush red with shame at how these woman look at you. Like you're some sort of pathetic skank. It's the ones who are patronizing who are the worst. The ones who say, "Oh sweetie, I understand. It's not your fault if you're too dumb and lower-class to satisfy Kurt. Men need sophistication. I can handle it from here. I'm sure Kurt will appreciate a partner who's an equal."{endif}

Regardless, the anniversary of Mr. Hewitt's **** is coming up. In fact, it's only {marriage_weeks} away. You imagine how happy Kurt will be when he hears about his inheritance.

"He'll stay with me for sure, then," you think to yourself.

Your pussy clenches in pleasure at the thought of a lifetime of being the bimbo trophy wife being fucked by your handsome stud of a husband.

You are on your knees, waiting for Kurt in the mud room, when a young woman steps in!

"Oh, GOD," she says, her voice dripping acid.

"Hello?" you ask.

Without asking, she pushes you aside and strides to the living room.

"I'm sorry, who are you? You can't just barge in like that!" You awkwardly scramble to your feet and totter after her in your high heels.

She's young, maybe 20, tall and leggy and dressed in the latest fashion, a Louis Vuitton oversized bomber jacket, paired with a Saint Laurent Smoked lacy Babydoll blouse and a vegan leather buckle mini-skirt.

She looks at your bimbo crop top, tight pink leggings and sky-high pink heels and snorts with derision. Clearly, you disgust her.

What makes it doubly embarrassing is that you've begged and begged Kurt to let you buy more high-fashion clothes, but he has steadfastly refused. "Bimbos don't need high fashion," he insists.

"Do I need to call the police?" you ask.

"Don't bother," she says, with a bored, put-on attitude. "Kurt told me to come."

"What?"

"KURT??" she yells.

"Oh, hey Babe," Kurt enters. He's carrying suitcases.

HER SUITCASES?

"Take care of it," the woman says, stalking into the kitchen.

"So, hey. Sorry about this, but you need to leave," Kurt says.

"WHAT?" you say, feeling a black pit open up in your stomach.

"Kaitlin's a super model," he says, shrugging. "You've been great, but my rep at Goldman's gonna go WAY up when they all know I'm dating an Estonian super model! I'll make MD next year for sure!"

"Are you kidding me?" you scream. "You're throwing me OUT?"

"Now, don't make a scene," he says. "It's tacky."

"IT'S TACKY? I gave up my life, my dignity, my boobs to be your trophy bimbo wife, and now you're just getting rid of me??"

"Yeah. Sorry," he says. "Oh, and here are the divorce papers. Since we signed a pre-nup, the lawyer says it should be super easy. I'll get your stuff packed up and send it to wherever you want."

Shocked and in tears, you pack up some clothes and get into your pink Mazda MX-5 convertible.

"April," you wail, on your cell phone.

"What is it, Jennifer?"

"He dumped me!"

"Kurt?? HE DUMPED YOU??" she says, horrified. "THAT BASTARD!!"

"I know..." you whimper. "How long does it take to get a divorce?"

"In California? Six months."

"Oh, god. NO!!!!"