Return of the Trumpwife

Chelsea's Last Stand

Ivana struck first; her nails glowing white and slashing at the air, creating cuts on Chelsea's breast through her nightgown from a distance. Marla displayed a warm grin, and the same white light beamed from her teeth. When Chelsea's eyes made contact with the light, she recoiled from the vibes of warmth and kindness that the beam of light radiated into her being. Melania shot her a vile death stare, and two narrow shafts of light caused Chelsea's face to burn red. When Jeananne recovered, she mimicked the other Trumpwives to utilize their powers lent to her. Donald and Barron scrambled behind a stack of boxes in order to be shielded from the crossfire.

Despite the Trumpwives' incessant attacks, Chelsea Clinton remained nearly pristine. Chelsea locked herself in her sleeping quarters momentarily to treat her wounded shoulder and the minor scratches on her skin, while the Trumpwives paused to recoup.
"It's no use," Jeananne said, panting. "None of our powers are working on her, and my powers that she's using only affect me."
"It's your Trumpwife purpose, Jeananne," Ivana said.
"What?"
"You're the Trumpwife that fate chose to protect Donald from Hillary Clinton and her supporters," Marla said. "Our powers aren't working on her because our powers were never meant to deal with anything remotely related to the Clintons."
"Then it's hopeless," Jeananne said with a sigh. "As long as she has my powers, there's no way we can stop her."
"Not exactly," Donald spoke up, stepping out from behind the crates. Barron peeked out, watching his father as he left him to speak to the Trumpwives. "Watch this. Oh, Chelsea!" he called out.
The doors to Chelsea's sleeping quarters glided open. "Yes, Donald?"
"You claim to be a Trumpwife?" he said. He beckoned her to step forth, waving his hand toward him. The Trumpwives stepped aside, allowing Chelsea to walk towards Donald. She held her head high in a regal manner.
"Why, yes, Donald," Chelsea said. "Isn't it obvious? I have the power of a Trumpwife, therefore I must be one."
"That's not all, Chelsea," said Donald with a slight grin. "I'm a bit doubtful, but I have my ways of telling who is a true Trumpwife."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Only a real Trumpwife can handle my penis."
Chelsea's eyes widened with alarm, and she struggled to maintain her warm grin. "I--I'm sorry?"
Donald removed his belt and unzipped his pants. "Off with your clothes, Chelsea," Donald said, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Uh, okay," she said, removing her nightgown.
"Donald?" Jeananne said. Donald looked at her and winked with a mischievous grin.
"Barron, don't look," Melania said, and her son didn't hesitate to follow her instruction. He hid with his back to the crates and his head in between his knees.
Chelsea Clinton stood before Donald Trump in the nude.
Marla gasped. "He's not going to ... without ..."
Donald produced a wrapped condom from his pants pocket.
"She's a Clinton," Ivana said to Marla. "He's be foolish to do it with a Clinton without one."
"Yeah, I can only imagine all the STDs that run through that bloodline," Jeananne said. The very thought made the Trumpwives shiver.
Donald kicked his pants off and slipped the condom down his erection with ease. "On the floor, Chelsea," he ordered, pointing at her feet.
"Anything for you, Donnie," Chelsea said, feigning delight.

Chelsea got down on her hands and knees. Donald penetrated her without warning, causing her to scream. The Trumpwives, torn between wanting and not wanting to watch, winced and giggled.
"Oh, take me, Donald!" Chelsea cried despite the tears of sadness and humiliation that streamed down her face. Throughout the ordeal, Donald tried to imagine Chelsea as his wife, Jeananne.
Donald jolted, a sure sign that he was about to climax. Chelsea screamed.
          Immediately when Donald came, Chelsea blew up in a spray of blood. Chunks of her meaty remains and shards of her bones showered the Trumpwives.

It was silent for a moment. Then, Donald came to a stand, threw his soiled condom in the puddle of Chelsea's mortal fuel, and zipped up his pants. He turned to face the Trumpwives with a victorious grin.
          "You ... you did it!" Jeananne laughed. She and the Trumpwives past sauntered to Donald and they held each other in a bloody embrace. Barron left his cover and looked about him in horror and awe at the blood-misted walls.
          "What was that, Donald?" Ivana asked.
          "Like I told Chelsea, only a real Trumpwife can handle this," he said, directing the Trumpwives' view to his crotch.

The main chamber glowed with a bright light, temporarily blinding everyone in the room. The brightness condensed itself into a snake-like ribbon that weaved its way around the Trumpwives and stopped at Jeananne, whose chest it slipped into. The young woman gasped, feeling her power returning to her.
          "My Trumpwife power ... it's back!" Jeananne cried tears of joy. Donald, the past Trumpwives, and Barron applauded.