She always knew. Everyone knew. Ronald Pump was a scumbag, a horndog. A low-down, filthy, skirt-chasing weasel.

She knew what she’d signed up for. She was to be the trophy wife.

Smile. Look marvelous, be fabulous, maintain her perfect figure and impossibly high cheekbones.

Be eye candy, awe cunty cabals of the rich and famous ... Dress elegantly and catwalk through glitzy locations across the globe...

Posh hotels, Rolls Royce limousines. Shopping sprees at boutiques with one name.

Designer everything.

Not too bad for a slutty little Slovajaynian bitch like herself! The daughter of factory workers!

Her parents, her family, all proud of her! Or at least of her bank account ... And her gold digger model gal pals, oh how jealous those tramps were...

Stelania was living out every gold-digging whore’s dream.

She’d bagged a BILLIONAIRE.

Sure, he was a fat loudmouthed ginger, past his prime in the looks department.

But she didn’t care. In fact, she barely spoke enough English when they first met to even understand what he was saying most of the time. But she could certainly understand the world’s true international language. The language of MONEY!

And he had plenty of it.

They’d met at an ultra-exclusive party her model gal pal had brought her to, one crawling with bankers, athletes, celebrities...

Ronald noticed her from across the room, approached and slipped her his business card while the floozie he was fucking that night was off powdering her nose (i.e. snorting booger-sugar in the bathroom)...

Their first date, he’d taken her to a super exclusive, super expensive trendy restaurant on 5th Avenue in Manhappen.

She was shocked he didn’t drink alcohol. So unlike all the loser factory workers and idiot slobs she’d dated in her shithole hometown.

Those morons, always drunk, in motorcycle accidents, fistfights. Amuricans’ definition of an “alcoholic” was for sure different than that of Eastern Eurotrash’s!

Ronald surprised her also by not having any sort of culinary taste.

Being a New Porker, she figured he’d be a foodie or gourmet of some sort, but he ordered a steak WELL-DONE and sent it back several times until it was charred beyond recognition and proceeded to eat it with ketchup! The PIG!

If he wasn’t rich, she might have walked out right then!

She was a Slovajayvian and, even if her country was a rundown corrupt war-torn shithole, they STILL had refined culinary taste!

She always looked down on so many of the Amuricans for being fat and stupid and eating such awful fast food (well, it was better food than most of the Britters, and while both are lardasses, Amuricans certainly weren’t as ugly as the lot of those inbred, bucktooth, grimy-mouthed island animals!)

(Except those posh, sleek STUPID rich Royals, Harry Style, David Heckbam ... oh, and Benedick Cumberbitch, of course!)

But at least the WEALTHY Amurican (and Britter) guys usually had taste and class.

Not him!

HOWEVER, he did have HEAPS of cash, so she stuck around and had a few extra glasses of wine, which helped alleviate her revulsion...

After dinner he tried to take her back to his penthouse suite in Pump Plaza and fuck her, but she refused, figuring she’d attempt the “long game” with him.

He then asked her how much. She was tempted to slap him. It’d been years since she charged directly! She maintained her composure, played coy and agreed to meet him tomorrow night.

Then, of course, they’d be doing the horizontal mambo, for sure ... She wasn’t going to let a man this loaded escape her manicured claws!

The next night they met, and he picked her up in his limo and again took her to another high-end, posh restaurant, and again ordered steak charred to the bits, chewed loudly with his mouth open and sucked down what must have been three or four glasses of Diet Croak, belching repeatedly and ripping rotten egg farts throughout the meal ... The SAVAGE!

After dinner, and enough wine, she finally consented to go up to his suite.

They ascended up the shiny golden skyscraper in a shiny golden private elevator where they had their first kiss, a sloppy, wet one, with him licking her face and ramming his tongue down her throat while he pawed at and grabbed her pussy, reaching under her Chanel mini and thumbing her dry clit.

Arriving directly to his palatial suite, with its sweeping views of Central Spark, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, like a caveman, and carried her into his massive bedroom, with its 200-inch TV and solid GOLD frame bed that was the size of a yacht.

On top of the bed were piles and piles of $100 bills. Her dry pussy instantly moistened!

Ronald Pump practically duplexed her onto the bed and LITERALLY ripped open her Chanel pink blouse and black mini and, with his teeth, bit and chewed off her Vagina’s Secret black lacey bra, spit it out and began licking and slurping her perky tatas like ice cream cones.

Ronald yanked down her black thong and unzipped his fly.

Whilst still in his three-piece suit, he climbed atop her and jabbed his 10-inch orange third leg into Stelania, sliding and stretching into her fuzzy fuck peach, and Stelania SCREAMED out in pressure!

“Ahhhhhhh! RONAD!!!!!!! RONAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oi moi Gotten!”

Ronald gyrated and PUMPED two or three times and was unable to handle Stelania’s tightness.

Like most Eastern European women, Stelania has an exceptionally tight pussy and did daily Kegel and other clinching exercises to preserve its naked triangle, chokehold grip...

(Her looks and vagina being her only real capital, they unquestionably required such maintenance.)

Ronald, unable to contain himself, shot his sizable stable of BILLIONAIRE sperm straight up into her snapper and cursed afterwards, realizing what he’d done!

Dammit! He was dumbfounded! He knew his sperm was the MOST potent in the world. The tiniest drop able to impregnate a whole heaving horny horde of whores.

Now he’d FOR SURE impregnated this slut!

Ah well, if she was knocked up, he’d make her sign a prenup, marry her and divorce her later. Maybe she’d even birth a fine-looking piece of ass like Jarvanka.

(Hopefully not another pig like Biffany! Or goofy dufus losers like Derrick and Ronald Jr.)

Ronald ran into the bathroom, wheezing, and wiped his dick off with a $100 bill, undressed and showered, washing his massive schlong off with globs of NASA astronaut dick soap, the MOST powerful disinfectant soap in the history of the universe.

He prayed to Fred that he didn’t catch any STP off the nasty woman! Dammit, Ronald, he told himself, quit playing Russian Roulette with your dick! She could have rabies or diarrhea!

Stelania lay naked on the bed, used a $100 bill to smear and rub Ronald’s BILLIONAIRE seed up into her vee trap, trying her best not to let any drip down her ass crack.

She then did snow angels in the pile of Benjamins and giggled...

Two months later, no period. Six months later a YUUUUGGEEE diamond engagement ring...

So there it was. Her perfect life. Why she came to New Pork. To bag a rich man and live the perfect life.

And she was!

Her daily routine: Wake up when she wanted, have breakfast made by her private chef, do Pilates or yoga, go to the Spa, body scrubs, foot massages, shopping with her girlfriends...

Private jets, jewelry, shoes, clothes, fancy restaurants...

Beauty naps, nightly dips in her Perrier spring jacuzzi...

Shower, wash, rinse, sleep, repeat!

She had plenty of maids and private tutors to care for her artistic, “special” son, Baboon.

Baboon was weird from when he was born. If he was a regular American, he’d probably end up being a mass shooter, she thought, something off-putting and creepy about him.

But she was rich, a lady of leisure, so she needn’t worry about Baboon, or anything.

After she got pregnant, she’d pretty much stopped having sex with Ronald too.

Not having that mouth-breathing oaf on top of her for a couple minutes every day made her life practically perfect, though every so often she’d perform a perfunctory blowjob.

(She’d swallow a Xerox pill before, to soften the trauma and would sprinkle Almas caviar or super-pricey Turkey Romo honey on his bushy orange big DICK to make it more tolerable.)

But mostly they didn’t talk or see each other much, except for superficial appearances at some stupid “society” event for business, financiers...

She was living the life. Manicures, pedicures on demand, designer everything, driving her Bugatti along her private beach...

Everything was perfect.

Until.

The Erection of 2016.

It was nothing to worry about, at first.

A publicity stunt. Ronald had been patrolling Obombya on Shitter for years, especially about him being born in Wakanda and not REALLY being an Amurican.

Ronald had plans of starting Pump TV. The most amazing, wonderful, tremendous TV channel to ever exist. It would have the most incredible shows, news, make Rufus Mattlock envious!

Pump Brand empire was going to be HUGE! Big LEAGUE! Incredible!

Ronald would be in the champagne for a few months, and after gagging the Premieres, he’d start his TV NETWORK, open more hotels, build more everything! Most importantly to Stelania, there’d be MORE MONEY! She was totally on board with it.

Until...

It got out of control.

The other side ran an epileptic lizard. An epileptic! Lizard! A fucking lizard! Speaking incoherently, cackling, convulsing, drinking blood, eating insects and mocking the trailer trash and morons who came to Ronald’s raleighs.

Stelania tried her best to impede the beast by purposely plagiarizing Michaela Labamba’s speech at the Repumpian Condescension ... But it was all for naught! Had ZERO effect!

(Ronald was even caught on tape bragging about cat snatching! Not like Stelania didn’t know about his cat snatching fetish! Like every time he saw a cute cat, he’d run up and snatch and pet it. But NO ONE seemed to really care except the glibtards on stupid late-night squawk shows no one watches anymore.)

(But Ronald banging Hurricane Porny ENRAGED Stelania.)

(That was a line he crossed. That horseface, disease-infested animal! She is SO UGLY! What was he thinking?! Did he not have STANDARDS! Plus, her tits were way bigger than Stelania’s... )

(Just to think she had sucked the dick that went into that ... Yuck! Stelania popped two extra Xerox pills and sank a VERY tall glass of Chateau Argaux 1783 that night... )

Bless his shart, Ronald did all he could to lose. The Poles were against him. But then, Erection Night, and ... HE WON!

“The dumb hick!” “So STUPID!” “What they have done to me?!” Stelania thought, as she wept, knowing she’d have a job for the first time in years, and not a job where she’d lie on her back or just have pictures taken of her.

Well, she’d have plenty of pictures taken, but not when SHE wanted! And she’d have to say things! Speak! To people! In English, dammit, what the fuck! She was NOT happy! This was NOT what she’d signed up for.

She had her doctor prescribe her extra Xerox and went into a recession for a few weeks. Only emerging from her bedroom to go for a massage, pedicure or retail therapy.

Before there was plenty of paparazzi clicking photos of her, sure, mostly just random handfuls of Page 7 New Pork Roast and National Admirer jackals and losers.

But this, this she’d never, ever, never seen anything like it. Everywhere, EVERYWHERE, there were news trucks, helicopters, pogo sticks, swarms and swarms of humanity, hideous hornet armies of media, with cameras, buzzing microphones, smartphones...

The shouting, pointing. The breathing at her!

A total NIGHTMARE!

Her BFF gal pals turned their backs on her. Too much attention and her husband’s mouth put them off...

Stelania’s calls went unreturned. She was de-friended on Fakebook, even family members and old classmates wanted nothing to do with her.

And poor Baboon. All the attention he was getting too. It was a frightmare. She or he couldn’t go anywhere without mobs of Seeking Service Hacks shielding them from the masses of media and protestors cursing, spitting, yelling about Prussian sallywackers, Daddy Mullah Resorts, punts, paralegals, cats and muckers...

Worst thing, THE VERY WORST thing, was when she’d have to WAKE UP early in the morning, GO SOMEWHERE and talk in front of people.

She hated that most. Seeing faces, their sneers, fake smiles. Being everyone’s marionette ... Her life not hers anymore...

The televangelist events were particularly revolting. She recognized one or two donors who she or a girlfriend (or boyfriend!) had modelled for in the aughties...

Their guffaws, firm handshakes and double chins! Those hippopotamuses! SCUM!

Most days she kept to herself. Stayed in her room. She’d been so angry with Ronald since the Erection that she’d taken her own bedroom and hadn’t spoken to him since the champagne.

To think that CREEP would try to HOLD her hand in public! Who knows how many dirty cats those hands had just snatched!

Of course, she wanted to divorce him. She’d begun a tell-all memoir. She’d for sure ink a YUUUUGE book deal. Her book would be better than Michaela Labamba’s! Sell WAY more copies. Baboon would go off to college. She’d retire to an island in the Mediterranean and live happily ever after...

But first she’d have to live through this hell. Her PRISON!

Every day was a nightmare. Every day! But then, then, she cast her eyes upon him...

At the castle, Lar-a-Mago, in Palm Bitch, the so-called “Winter Waffle House”, Stelania, Ronald and Baboon had been wintering.

Those dreadful Washingstan winters! Snow, ice, gray skies! Reminded her far too much of her shithole hometown. Coming down to Floridumb was a perfect panacea...

She popped three Xerox bars that morning and was walking around the mansion, contemplating the next chapter of her memoir.

She found inspiration there, at Lar-a-Mago, daydreaming, looking out the double-hung sash windows at the Intracoastal Waterway, traversing the mansion’s exotic gardens, with its lush vegetation and tropical plants, listening to soft soughs of coconut palms and envying the freedom of the colorful birds soaring and cloud-racing azure skies...

The platinum reflections of the waves and crystal-clear waters lapping at the shores of her private beach and barrier island always calmed her nerves...

Sighing, watching the bubbly low tide melt into bronze sands, she fixed her gaze towards the gardens, and she saw ... him...

“Moi BRIGGORIKI!” Stelania thought to herself, in Slovajayvian...

What a hunk! What a SEXY beefcake hunk of a man!

He vaguely resembled Cristianodo Ronaldono but wasn’t quite as handsome and without the cool haircut.

But still, he was hot, hot, HOT!

Around 6’5 and muscular, standing shirtless, his washboard abs gave her pussy glistening goosebumps...

His dark olive skin, so tan! Oh, the character in his aquiline nose, and those rosy cheeks and dimples and cleft chin and jet-black hair tied into a cute, tight little man bun...

What a pair of arms he had, biceps about 16 inches!

The pecs on him too! My goodness! Statuesque! And god, his lats were so big they could be wings!

Not only was his upper body chiseled (so unlike lots of those disgusting obeast mushy Amuricans and plump Ronald!) but his quads and calves were massive and cut too, like a football star’s.

Wow, what a specimen! Stelania was smitten!

Of course, most importantly, shirtless and wearing only a pair of skinny jeans, Stelania could see his thick python penis trailing far, far down his inner thigh, nearly to his knee!

HE WAS HUNG!

When he hunched over to pick up a bag of stones, Stelania gaped at his bubble butt.

Two beefy, rounded mancakes! All she could think of was digging her 3-inch, diamond-encrusted, purple painted acrylic nails into those muscly mancakes while he infiltrated her long-neglected pussy with that anaconda...

Her pussy quivered with lament that that Adonis was nothing like the porker lowlife she’d married. Though turning away for a second and scanning around her palace with its marble floors, tapestries, crystal chandeliers and priceless paintings on the walls uplifted her spirits, slightly...

But still. She had her needs. Her womanly needs.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been dicked-down right, had a right hair-pulling, ass-slapping fuck! Certainly, it’d been years, decades, since she’d had a big hard multi-orgasmic plunging!

In fact, she DID suddenly remember, it was in the early ‘00s; a 21-year-old male model from Latviar, with icy blue eyes, slicked back blond hair, and a pink polo shirt, boning her ragged atop the toilet in a VIP bathroom stall of a posh nightclub in Miami, while that song “Mambo No. 5” blasted...

Fucking gorgoonana! “Mambo No. 5”! That was FOREVER ago, her last REAL lay...

Those rich sugar-daddies of hers before her current were usually done quickly ... To his credit, Ronald, once he’d adjusted to her pussy’s venomous strangle grip, had given her a few decent five minute-fucks, but nothing memorable...