Bill Carmichael was not highly educated, but he was no dummy. He realized Charlotte had gold digger written all over her when they met; hell, that’s what the prenup was for! He didn’t mind using her and her big, perfect tits in exchange for some of his money. He had no illusions or grand existential thoughts about his time on this earth, either. He intended to live large every day, no matter the cost, financially speaking or with regards to his health. We all die in the end, he reckoned; may as well enjoy it to the fullest. And so, he hired the best personal chef he could find, kept the refrigerator full of beer, and glutted himself from rising to sleeping, pausing periodically to get some pleasure from Charlotte.
And that last bit was the problem. Charlotte was playing a variety of cards lately to avoid sex, and recently, he had overheard her groaning on the phone about having “to sleep with that disgusting slob.”
And so, Bill had turned the tables on her. Nothing too dramatic, mind you, just having the chef spike her food and drink with appetite enhancers. They were baked into those macarons she loved so much. This, combined with her regular alcohol use ensured that she was lazy and hungry lately, and Bill could see that she was filling out nicely. She was a skinny, top-heavy thing when they got married. Now she had a little jiggle to her and her tits were about to bust out of her tops.
Bill wasn’t sure if he’d keep it up indefinitely, but for now he was content to watch her pack on some pounds.
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