Revenge of a Fat Bitch [The Bitch Series 1] (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  The Bitch Series 1

  Revenge of a Fat Bitch

  Leigh walks in on her husband, Dick, having sex with Stacey Ray, the town whore. Then, Stacey calls her a fat bitch. Those words cut her to the core just as much, if not more, than discovering that her husband is a cheating jerk. She sees this as a pivotal moment, so she fires a few shots into the ceiling, runs them both off, and sets out to revamp her life.

  Her weight-loss journey begins with her desire to have a revenge body. However, it ends with an emphasis on being healthy, strong, and happy. She is fortunate to have a drop-dead gorgeous trainer, Jake, who steals her heart from the beginning.

  Jake introduces her to the swinging lifestyle and sex clubs. She is apprehensive at first. She has always considered herself to be rather vanilla in her sexuality. However, one taste of The Lifestyle and she is hooked.

  Genre: Contemporary

  Length: 20,377 words

  REVENGE OF A FAT BITCH

  The Bitch Series 1

  Stephanie Rollins

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  REVENGE OF A FAT BITCH

  Copyright © 2017 by Stephanie Rollins

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-404-4

  First Publication: June 2017

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at

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  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to the town whore. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Stephanie Rollins grew up in Kentucky. She has also lived in North Carolina and West Virginia. Currently, she resides in an Amish community in Ohio. During the day, she is a homeschooling soccer/softball mom to three children. She also is a real estate investor. She writes at night when the children are asleep. E-mail her at [email protected].

  For all titles by Stephanie Rollins, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/stephanie-rollins

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Landmarks

  Cover

  REVENGE OF A FAT BITCH

  The Bitch Series 1

  STEPHANIE ROLLINS

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  August 13th

  I hear a primal moan coming from my bedroom. Maybe Dick, my husband, is jacking off. I tiptoe to the bedroom, ready to surprise him with a nooner.

  I open the door quietly. Before me is my husband with his face between the legs of Stacey Ray, the town whore. That saying “rode hard and put up wet”…she epitomizes that saying.

  Beads of sweat line her upper lip. She throws her head back, squeals out his name, and grinds her pussy on his face while pinching her nipples.

  I quietly retrace my steps to the foyer, grab my purse, and retrieve my .38 special—in pink, of course. I tiptoe back into the room. He is balls-deep inside her now. She is frantically rubbing her clit while he fucks her madly. I step into the room, and I fire a shot into my recently repainted ceiling. Damn. I guess I will have to fix the fucking sheet rock and paint it again.

  “What the fuck, Leigh!” yells Dick. It really is amazing how quickly a man can lose a hard-on when he hears a gunshot. They both grapple with their clothing, trying to appear all inconspicuous. Of course, it is a futile attempt. Really, why bother?

  “For fuck’s sake, wipe her stank-ass pussy juice off your face. You did not even bother with protection?” I ask, exasperated. “She has been with how many men? Do you not even have enough respect for me to wrap that thing up?”

  Of course, Stacey has to put her two cents in. “You are such a fat-ass bitch. Look at you, Leigh! Damn! That is the reason your husband wants me and not you. Plus,” she grins up at him. “I heard that you don’t take care of your pussy the way I do.”

  At this point, I am speechless as she lies on the bed and spreads her legs for me to see her cunt. All spread-eagle, she slaps it a couple of times to get my attention. I cannot believe what is happening before my eyes. I will never be able to unsee this.

  “See…not a hair in sight. Smooth as a baby’s butt. Literally. I use baby oil to keep it smooth and silky.” She actually winks at me as she divulges her secret twat hygiene trick.

  There is a part of me that thinks Dick will jump in to protect me. Surely, he will come to my defense, right? He will defend my honor like a husband should. No. The room fills with silence.

  “You’re right. I should get on the crack whore diet. I should completely shave my cunt from front to back porn style, so I can look like a pre-pubescent girl. I’d love to chat with you more about all this, but right now, I’d probably be able to be declared incompetent, mentally deranged. If you don’t want your scrawny ass with a little lead in it, get the hell out of my house.” I turn to Dick. “For God’s sake, take the fucking sheets with you. So fucking uncouth…”

  He rips at the sheets and heads to the closet.

  “What do you think you are doing?” I ask.

  “Packing a bag,” he retorts.

  “Maybe you don’t understand. How’s this?” I fire another shot into the ceiling. Another hole…what the hell? A crack starts to form, connecting the two like a dot-to-dot puzzle. Maybe I should install a drop ceiling and be done with it. “Have your damn whore get you clothes for now. I will have all your belongings on the driveway by noon tomorrow. Now, go! Next shot will be in flesh…and I have an itchy trigger finger.”

  I watch them run down the stairs. My husband is leaving with Stacey Ray. Truth be known, I am relieved.

  Chapter Two

  I know a crying spell is imminent, so I make a few important phone calls while I still have a semblance of control. I call my neighbor
to ask her to pick up Michael from daycare. Michael is two years old. He goes to daycare three days a week. The other two days, he goes to work with me. That is one of the perks of owning my own business.

  I call my parents and ask them to come over immediately. I also ask them to have my sister, Olivia, come, as well. I never ask for them, or anyone, to go out of their way for me. I accommodate people. I am the people pleaser. Never do I ask anyone to accommodate me—not until I walked in on my husband taking his turn with that whore. Of all people—Stacey Ray?

  I call my best friend from high school, Lynn Norton. We really are not close any longer, but she is a hell of a lawyer. Her ex-husband cheated on her with a bartender at The Jugs. Yes, as the name implies, the women there wear extremely revealing shirts to show off their jugs. I know she probably has some built-up angst. Got to love a man-hating lawyer. She’ll go to battle for me. You bet your last dollar that this is going to be a battle—one that I will win.

  Then, I call Julio’s for a large pizza. Their large pizza is so enormous that I have to put it in the trunk of my SUV when I pick it up. Right now, I need all the comfort I can get from wherever I can get it.

  My parents and sister arrive shortly after I arrive with the pizza. I pass out paper plates. They have worried looks on their faces as I recap the story.

  An eerie calm has replaced my anger. I think it has perplexed them all. Quite frankly, it worries me. I am divorcing my husband, yet I am okay.

  “I am happy,” I announce. “I guess, deep down, I wanted out. He gave me an out.”

  “One hell of an out,” Dad deadpans.

  “Don’t know why you kept him around. He is lazy…useless,” Mom adds.

  “I agree. Plus, you cannot have sex with him after he has been with that skank,” says Olivia.

  “Olivia!” Mom scolds. We were taught to never speak of marital relations.

  Dad and Mom leave, and they tell me that they will be back at six in the morning to help throw his shit in the driveway. I know they will want to run over it all a few times, too. They are loyal like that.

  My sister stays. She helps with Michael, which I am thankful for. This allows me the opportunity to down a few margaritas.

  Once I put Michael to bed for the night and the alcohol numbs my thoughts, I break down. “He never went down on me. Not once! I love oral sex. All my other boyfriends did it. I asked if I smelled bad, and he said I did not. I keep my hooha nicely shaved—not porn star shaved, but the main area is shaved. I mean I shave my puss daily. Granted, I still have a landing strip, but damn. I am a grown ass woman. Still, nothing. Yet, the fucking town whore gets her pussy licked. What the fuck?”

  Olivia peppers my one-sided conversations with a few “cock-sucker’s,” “son of a bitch’s,” and “bastards.” In the end of my rant, she says, “It is my opinion that if you want to fuck it, you should lick and suck it.”

  I am laughing hysterically now. Tears roll down my face. I snort a few times. “You should cross stitch that on a pillow.”

  “Damn straight. I always thought that you two were happy.”

  “No. We were just married. We were obligated. Happy? No. I have not been happy in over five years.”

  “You have been married for about five years,” Olivia retorts.

  “Yep.” I take another sip. “She called me a fat-assed bitch.”

  “Well, she is a dried-up pussy peddler.”

  “I agree with that.” I clink my glass with hers. “However, she is right.” Damn. I hear myself slurring my words. I know I am going to regret all the alcohol in the morning. “I am a fat-assed bitch.”

  “First of all, only a weak woman calls another woman a bitch. A bitch is what the weak call a strong, kick-ass woman. So, yes you are a bitch by some standards. Be proud of that. As far as your weight goes, if you are not happy, fix it.”

  “So says the amazingly fit you,” I tease.

  “Yes, I am amazingly fit. Leigh, I am, because I make no excuses. I want hard muscles and little fat. I lift, I power walk, and I do yoga. I do most of this when my kids are still in bed, which means I get up early and stay up late. I often go to bed hungry, and I often eat trail mix when I really want candy. I want it, so I do it. How badly do you want it?”

  I sit my glass down on the end table, and I turn to look at her. I look straight into her eyes. “It is up there with wanting to be a good mom and good business woman.”

  “Then, let’s do it. You know,” she begins, “Oprah once said, ‘Turn your wounds into wisdom.’”

  That is what I vow to do.

  Chapter Three

  August 14th

  The following day, with the help of my parents and sister, we load the driveway with Dick’s stuff. It does not take long for word to spread. Neighbors stop by to help. It becomes blatantly clear that they merely tolerated him. Now that I think about it, I did, also.

  Everyone goes home, after hugging me and wishing me well. Michael is still at daycare. I sit at my computer and go to my Facebook page. I type out a Facebook post.

  After ten years of marriage—all of my 20’s—I found the town whore impaled on my husband’s penis. To make the situation more painful, the whore (not naming names in order to protect the guilty) called me a fat ass bitch.

  According to my sister, a bitch is what a weak woman calls a strong woman, so I will own that. However, she hit a nerve when she called me fat. She is right. I let myself go.

  In the attempt to be the best wife, small business owner, and mother, I forgot to take care of myself. That will change as of now.

  If anyone has a treadmill, Bowflex, Total Gym, or etc…that is simply collecting dust, please message me. It may take a village for me to lose all this weight—the seventy pounds that has accumulated over the past decade. Thanks in advance. Feel free to share.

  With all of Dick’s junk out of the house, there is so much room. With just a little rearranging, I could make a workout area. Out with the old, in with the new.

  I hit “enter” and I decide to take a walk around the block to clear my head before I check in with a couple of employees and pick up Michael. I lace up my Nikes. I close the front door behind me, and I realize that I am about to take the first step in a long journey.

  With a smile on my lips, I accept the challenge. Little do I know, that Facebook post is starting its worldwide journey.

  Chapter Four

  My sister wakes me in the middle of the night. I am instantly panicked. Someone must be hurt.

  “Leigh! Check your messages?” she asks over the phone.

  “What?”

  “Go check your Facebook page, and call me right back!” she orders.

  “You call me at whatever time it is to have me check my Facebook messages?” I exasperatedly ask.

  “Yes.”

  I mutter to myself as I shuffle down the hallway to my office. It occurs to me that I don’t miss him. I really enjoy not having my blanket yanked from me in the middle of the night. I analyze that fact as I type in my password.

  I am taken aback when my Facebook page loads. I have over a hundred messages. I also have nearly a thousand likes on my post. It looks like my simple plea for exercise equipment has gone viral.

  I open the messages. A few offer their support and old exercise equipment. A few just offer support. Their encouraging words bring me to tears. People understand. That is so comforting.

  I read through the comments. It is all the same. A few offer their dusty, never-used equipment. All offer their support. A few tell me of their inspirational stories.

  I call my sister back as I continue to scroll down the page. “You have gone viral!” she yells. “Did you look at the shares?”

  I look at the screen. I have over eight hundred shares. Another message comes in. I open it.

  “Wait!” I tell Olivia. I scan the message. “This cannot be right. This message is from Winstat Productions.”

  “Opal Winstat?” she asks in quiet, reverent amazement. She lov
es Opal. She loves any talk show host. Why? I have no idea.

  “Yes. They want me to call Micah Saltzman tomorrow about making an appearance on the show.”

  Olivia squeals. I think I may have squealed with her. I am not the Opal fan she is, but this is still cool.

  Another message comes in. “There is another message.”

  “Tell me it is from Steve Harvey.”

  “Sorry to disappoint. It is from Fitness World. They want to give me use of their gym and my own personal trainer/nutrition specialist for a year.”

  “That is amazing! Tell me you are going to take it.”

  “Of course!” I am giddy now. “I will not be able to sleep. I think I will go downstairs and do a few jumping jacks.”

  “Love ya, Sis.”

  “Love ya, too.”

  Chapter Five

  August 15th, 202 pounds and size 22

  Lord have mercy. The man standing before me is solid, chiseled, and reeking of manliness. He has dark hair that is cut short. His complexion is dark. I wonder if he may be partially Hispanic. I can simply feel his sexuality radiating through me.

  This is my trainer. This is the man who will be sculpting me into my revenge body. There is a part of me that is simply downright giddy about that fact. There is another part of me that is very self-conscious. I wish I already had a toned body for this man to admire and do with as he wishes.

  It is time to make a change, it all begins with the woman in the mirror, and all that other cliché shit. That is what I keep reminding myself. Damn. Now, I have that Michael Jackson song stuck in my head.