Paul’s Trophy Wife Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“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.