Drunk In Love: The Complete Series: BBW BDSM Erotica by Sasha Livingston

Drunk In Love: Part 1
    H aving sex with another man wasn’t a regular oops or accident. It was a choice, and every stair I climbed was the equivalent to a nail in the coffin of my relationship, if that was what anyone could call it.
    Up these stairs was a decision I wouldn’t be able to undo. Yet I kept going, slow steps of one foot after another. This session would not be like the others.
    Usually when I felt like this, I would get a drink. A shot or two of tequila would make the pain go away. But after my discovery today, or possibly the lack thereof, I was in the mood for revenge, not alcohol. A drink wasn’t going to satisfy my thirst tonight. I craved something else, and I was going to be brave enough to get it.
    I finally reached the door to the second floor opening into the hallway. Normally I would have taken the elevator, but today I needed to slow things down, so my trip to the Curve Down gym was made longer by two flights of stairs.
    Curve Down was a place for big girls to work out without pressure or prosecution. Which was a lie; the trainers were hotter than two firecrackers in the Texas heat on the fourth of July. Who could concentrate while they walked around with those explosive muscles?
    Looking at the sign, I thought about possibly turning around and abandoning my mission, but the throbbing between my thighs wouldn’t allow it.
    Walking into the gym, I wasn’t surprised that it was empty. On a Saturday night, no one wanted to work out when they could be out at a club or bar. Tonight, after my argument with my boyfriend Trevor, I had made a decision: I was going to fuck someone else.
    Maybe I decided on this a long time ago. A girl needs passion in a relationship, and Trevor was only passionate about whiskey and other women.
    Normally I would have been here hours ago, sweating with the other ladies as our trainers coaxed us into fit bodies. A few hours before, I was too busy arguing with Trevor and throwing beer bottles at walls, chasing him from the room to room and begging him to tell me the truth—begging him to put his beer down, pleading with him to stay home, and ultimately crying when he left me in an empty apartment. He was a boyfriend that cared as much about me as a bird cared for a worm.
    When I’d picked myself up from the floor and guzzled down a glass of wine, I got the courage to follow my plans.
    An emergency phone call to Brent became my backup plan. I apologized for missing our training session using some excuse that I made up on the fly and asked him to meet me later for a session.
    “Please, Brent. I really don’t want to miss a day of working out.” My fake devotion to something that I despised got him to agree.
    It was unorthodox, but he agreed to meet me after hours for a training session. Little did he know that exercising wasn’t the only thing on my mind.
    “Sam, is that you?” I heard Brent’s voice from further in.
    “Yeah, it’s me,” I said, scanning the gym to see if we were alone.
    Curve Down was a smaller gym only for women. Walking through the door, there was a juice bar and receptionist desk and a wall blocking the rest of the gym from onlookers. The gym was on the second floor with no windows. It was supposed to be a safe haven to big girls like me; a judgment-free environment.
    That was a good thing, because tonight, I would be committing the crime of adultery, and I didn’t need any witnesses.
    “Lock the door. Don’t want anyone to come in while we’re back here,” he said from the back. That was a good idea for my plan. I didn’t need anyone to walk into me fucking Brent on the weight lifting bench. I flipped the lock as he instructed.
    My idea seemed like genius at this moment. Trevor had left to be with his other girlfriend—the woman that he insisted was a figment of my imagination, and yet his cell phone was riddled with messages from her; texts of her naked body and pleas for him to come over.
    “Why are you looking through my phone,