The Weight of Infidelity

Morning hits hard. Naked, sweaty, Angie and John bang against the kitchen cabinets like it’s the last fuck they’ll ever get. He pins her, thrusts deep, and empties straight down her throat. She gulps every drop, hops up, hugs him, all smiles. Then she swaggers over, yanks open the freezer, and pulls out a pint of ice cream. John freezes. She shrugs and says she just torched a shit-ton of calories and wants something sweet. He snatches the tub, slams the door, lays into her about the months of work she’s already put in. She laughs it off, swears she’ll hit body pump at lunch and the gym after work. He doesn’t blink. The message lands cold: don’t slip, she’s still got plenty to lose. Angie shrinks, covers her tits, mutters sorry, asks if there’s really that much left. He stares until the silence cracks her. Finally he grabs her, kisses her forehead, tells her he’s just protecting her, that she’s got so much potential—if she stays lucky enough for him to look past the fat. She thanks him, defeated, and heads off to get dressed. At work Angie stares at her desk drawer. Candy bars. Hidden. Later she’s on her knees in a stall, puking. She wipes her mouth, walks out smiling when a coworker in gym gear asks if she’s ready for body pump. They leave together. Back home John paces. Mistress Karen’s two minutes away and she’s bringing cupcakes. He loosens his tie, lets her in, and they tear upstairs. Karen’s curves bounce with every step—big tits, thick thighs, everything Angie’s been starved into losing. They hit the marital bed hard. He worships every roll, feeds her frosting, fucks her deep. Angie gets home sweaty, hears the moans, climbs the stairs. She stands in the doorway while John rails Karen and slathers frosting on her stomach, coming all over her curves. Angie’s stomach twists. She glances at her soaked gym clothes, then bolts. Running down the street, memories slam into her: John taking her plate away, weighing her every morning, sneering at any soft inch. The flashbacks twist into something hotter—her in his place, tongue buried in Karen’s pussy, sucking those thick thighs, biting the same belly John just worshipped. Karen’s moans turn ragged, then terrified, as Angie’s teeth sink deeper. Days later Angie sits in a diner, sauce on her lips, plate of ribs half gone. Karen shows up trembling, confesses everything. John met her on some feeder site, promised her a life together if she packed on enough pounds. Angie shakes her head. It was never about looks—it was control. She tells Karen she’s done being broken down. Karen asks if she’s confronted him. Angie says no, but she has a plan. And she needs Karen in on it. That night John steps into the plastic-wrapped bedroom and takes a blow to the head. He wakes tied naked to a chair. Angie and Karen stand over him, knives gleaming. The last thing he sees is both women sinking below the frame, hungry, before the frame cuts to black on the wet sound of chewing.