Lexxy Baby Pt. 01

Something was wrong.

There wasn't sight nor sound that tipped her off. Just a feeling; an inkling of a huge shift in her life. The hairs on her neck stood on end as her key entered the lock of her humble condominium that she shared with her fiancé.

A dark living room greeted her; the only source of light being the candles that were lit. Soft music coming from the bedroom. The remnants of a homecooked meal on two separate plates. Two empty wineglasses; one of them with a crescent lipstick stain.

And, a moan. A woman's moan, coming from the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Still, her mind fought against it. Even with everything bombarding her, she kept herself convinced that there was another explanation. Something else was going on. Trey would never do this to her. He just wouldn't.

He loved her.

Her feet followed the sounds. Each step that she took made the lie that she told herself harder to believe. Now, the moans were accompanied by rhythmic creaking of bedsprings.

They couldn't even hear the door being pushed open. That is how much into each other they were.

Monique stared in abject horror, unable to move or speak. Her mouth was gaped open with breath that refused to come out. Her trembling body had trouble keeping itself upright.

In front of her, her fiancé of the past three years was enthusiastically fucking some bimbo. He was perched on the bed, leaning over and holding himself up. His knees were spread, giving him leverage to pump his muscular ass.

Shapely caramel legs sprouted out from either side of his waist; each one having a petite, pedicured foot. Colorful fingernails clawed at his broad, mahogany brown back. His long dreads seemed to sway with each pelvic thrust he threw into the nameless harlot he was currently drilling. And with the way the two were positioned with spread legs, Monique could see his hard cock disappearing into the soft flesh of her hungry cunt.

Then, there were the sounds. Those awful sounds.

The moaning.

The bed creaking.

The sickening slapping of wet skin as he relentlessly pounded her.

This may have been a beautiful, sexy sight had things been different. If she were the woman on the bed, and that was her moaning, she could watch this scene and masturbate herself into a comforting slumber.

But it wasn't her. It was her fiancé cheating on her.

It took a few moments before the passionate couple realized they were not alone. They were so into each other they probably still wouldn't have noticed if the sound of Monique's suitcases crashing to the floor hadn't alerted them.

He was mid-thrust when he looked up and glanced up at the mirror. Instead of admiring his handiwork, he caught the look of horror on his future wife's face, standing in the doorway with a stunned silence.

At first, his mind couldn't tell if this was a hallucination of a nightmare, or just a scary reality. After all, Monique was out of town for the weekend. She was flying out to Atlanta to visit her family. He just dropped her off at the airport three hours ago. There was no way she would be here.

Unless there was a mix-up at the airport, and she couldn't board her flight. Of course, that would mean that she'd been calling him, trying to get in touch with him to tell him all about the rude customer service bitch that casually dismissed her concerns. But if she had been calling him, he wouldn't have known it. His phone was turned off so he could devote all his attention on this whore.

"Oh shit."

Trey didn't exclaim it, like he was surprised or shocked. His tone of voice was more like, "Oh shit I'm caught."

The big booty bitch however, finally lifted her head up to see why Trey suddenly stopped. She was about to whine seductively to her lover, but her eyes caught what was going on.

At least she had the decency to shriek.

She scrambled from under him and made it to the top of the bed. In a ridiculous display of modesty, she pulled the covers over herself to hide her nakedness.

Funny, she wasn't too shy a minute ago.

When what she was seeing settled in, Monique went from shocked to angry. It wasn't a normal anger though. It was a murderous, blood boiling rage.

Now finally finding her voice, Monique exclaimed, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The next words out of Trey's mouth were of crucial importance. He was in an extremely volatile situation. So, in his brilliance, he reached deep down into his box of articulate vocabulary to find the exact phrase that would calm his seething wife-to-be down.

"Babe...it's not what it looks like."

Sigh.

The next five minutes were filled with a lot of expletive-filled yelling and random objects taking flight across the room. The girl, whose name was still as unknown as it was unimportant, gathered up her strewn clothing as she dodged a lamp that missed her head by an inch. Once she had her dress and shoes in hand, she made a break for it. Her big tits bounced as her shapely ass ran out the door. She didn't even care that she was still naked.

Trey wasn't so lucky. By now, Monique was blocking his path to the bedroom door, and she wasn't budging.

"Baby, baby, baby...you need to calm the fuck down!" he pleaded with his hands outstretched in front of him.

"Did you just tell me to calm down? You were FUCKING SOME BITCH in OUR bed, and you tell me to calm down?" Monique laughed at that, almost like an evil, maniacal mental patient. Then, seemingly talking to herself, she mumbled, "This mother fucker wants me to calm down."

Now it was getting scary. Trey was very wary of that look in Monique's eyes. To say it was "crazy" would be escalating the word to proportions it wasn't meant to reach.

Monique was a sweet woman who was full of personality. Her smile was almost a permanent fixture on her face, and her sense of humor was infectious. These features worked for her financially since she was a personal trainer, as well as a YouTube influencer.

To know her was to love her.

But Trey's beautiful, sensitive, loving, full of life woman had turned into a villain the likes of which Batman had never seen. The joker had nothing on her.

She stood there talking to herself, amping herself up. The more she mumbled, the more agitated she became. Finally, in a banshee's voice, she screamed out, "CALM DOWN! CALM DOWN! I'll show you fucking calm!"

She lunged at him, fangs bared and claws out. But that didn't work in her favor. He was faster than her and able to escape by running on top of the bed to get to the other side of the room. Now that she wasn't blocking the door, he slipped out the room and out into the living room.

The sight of a tall, dark, muscular, naked man running on his tiptoes to get away from a woman with a condom still hanging from his limp dick should've been funny. It would've been had Monique been watching this play out in someone else's life. But it was hard to see the hilarity when it was her dick that was just inside of another woman's skanky pussy.

It was a dick she was once proud of. It was thick and just long enough to hit all the right places. And boy did Trey know how to sling it!

Apparently, little Miss Thick'ums thought so too. Her cries of pleasure were still ringing loudly, bouncing off the walls of the bedroom like an erotic echo.

Trey's narrow escape left her feeling empty. Just as suddenly as Monique's rage flared up, it dissipated. It was just gone. All that was left was an immense, empty sadness.

Why does this keep happening to me?

This sudden sorrow overtook her, swarming her from the inside. This shouldn't be happening. Her life shouldn't be like this. What was it with men that made them feel that it was okay to play with her heart like this?

Tears started coming down her face. They were uncontrollable. Before she knew it, she was crying. And not just any crying, with a few sniffles and a hiccup. No, this was an all-out, ugly-faced, body shaking sob fest.

Trey was standing in the living room prepared to defend himself like he was making a last stand at the Alamo. What he wasn't prepared for was the sound of his fiancé's wailing. He could feel her pain, even from a room away.

Dammit Trey! You really fucked up now!

With a sigh, he slowly walked back to the room. There he saw Monique, on her knees, hugging herself as she wept.

His natural instincts took over. His love was hurting. She was in immense pain. He couldn't help dropping to his knees with her and wrapping himself around her comfortingly

"Get off me Trey!" she screamed as she tried to push him off. But he didn't listen. He just hugged her.

Her fists pounded into his muscular chest, but he just sat there and embraced her.

"I'm sorry baby." he whispered into her ear as he held her.

Finally, she just stopped fighting it. Despite her dejection being all his fault, she needed to be in his arms. He was the one she always ran to when depression hit her. His arms were the best place to be.

It was like a tug-of-war inside of her. She needed to be hugged; to be loved. Yet, she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. The sight of his naked body just made an onrush of horrific memories flood her.

She was just...tired. All she could do was sit there in his arms and cry.

Trey took her submission as a good sign. He knew what always worked. He knew what she needed.

In one swoop, he scooped her up into his arms and cradled her. Carrying her towards the bed like one would do a baby, he gently laid her down.

"Trey..."

He descended on her mouth with a kiss and cut off whatever protestations she was going to have. He felt her pushing him off, but he fought against that. If he could just get her to focus on feeling good, he could get her to forget all the hurt and the pain.

Sex was his specialty. It was what he was good at. There weren't many problems with women that couldn't be solved if he could get them naked. And with a woman like Monique, a woman whose sexual appetite was ravenous, his secret weapon was extra handy.

His hands started to knead her breasts over her thin blouse. She had too many clothes on. What he needed to do was get to her nipples. Monique had nice, B-cup breasts. While not big and voluptuous like the other woman who was in this exact same spot not even 10 minutes ago, they were just as nice. Her chocolate areolas were capped off with nipples that always jut out due to the nipple rings. They were ultra-sensitive, and always ready to be fondled and sucked.

In the past, on the rare occasion that he wanted sex and she wasn't in the mood, a few moments of playing with them was all it took to have her begging for dick. Between those nipple rings and the one on her clitoris, she was like an exposed, sexual nerve.

"Trey, stop..." she said, but he could feel her body responding to him. He stopped playing with her tits long enough to pull her shirt up over them. After pulling down her bra, he twisted the nipples around between his fingers.

"God...no, no! You need to stop. Please..."

Her wish was not his command. His mouth found those taut, extended nipples and sucked them with passion.

Her moans and her body betrayed what her words were saying. She threw her head back and arched herself into him. Without even realizing it, her hands had stopped trying to push him away. Now they were laid submissively on his shoulders, as if she were giving into him.

Trey's dick was hard as granite. It was a gift of his, getting hard with little to no provocation. It served him well and got him out of (and into) some sticky situations. Pun intended.

Luckily for him, she was wearing a black tennis skirt. That meant easy access. All he had to do was reach under them, grab the hem of her panties, and...

"Oh, God baby." she said as her thongs were pulled down her legs. She even raised her hips to help him. Once they cleared her feet and were free, he tossed them to the side.

The last stand of her resistance fell when he spread her legs and his mouth found her pussy. By now it was hot, wet, and waiting. With her skirt flipped up onto her stomach and her knees hovering in mid-air, she fell into his trap. She was all his for the taking.

He ate her expertly, eliciting a different sort of crying than what she was doing not even moments before. Her cheeks were still wet with tears, but now her face was in an open-mouthed look of pleasure.

She raised her hips into his mouth, falling deeper in. Her own fingers were pulling on her nipple rings, driving her closer towards a surprising orgasm.

Trey reached down to stroke his erect cock and realized that he was still wearing the condom from before. As trifling as it was fucking his girlfriend within moments of being balls deep inside of another woman, he didn't want to add to that by doing it with the EXACT SAME CONDOM.

So, without even breaking his stride, he pulled it off. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed it.

The inadvertent mistake of that would cost him. What he didn't see, nor care about, was where the condom landed. As fate would have it, that piece of rubber landed on the nightstand, right in Monique's line of vision.

Her eyes looked at it. The condom that was just inside of another woman was laying there, taunting her. She felt her legs being raised as his body stood up. It was then that she realized that she was moments away from being penetrated by the dick that was still dirty with another woman's juices.

Suddenly, it was like a fog cleared. She was lucid; clear headed.

This time, there was more authority in her voice when she said, "Trey, stop!"

He didn't hear anything different though than what he'd been hearing, so he once again ignored her. He was almost home free. All he had to do was...

The bulbous head of his cock pressed up against her wet vagina lips. They easily spread, as if inviting the invader to slip inside.

Despite what her body wanted, Monique was determined to not get fucked. She frantically beat on his chest with her fists as she screamed, "STOP! STOP! STOP! GET OFF ME! I DON'T WANT THIS!"

That got his attention. Stunned by the ferocity in her voice, he backed off quickly. Trey was many things, but a rapist was not one of them.

He looked at her with confusion etched across his face. Even with everything that had happened, he couldn't understand how she could break the spell and turn him down.

"Baby..."

Taking the moment, she shoved him with all her strength. Though she barely moved him, the action was enough to tell him that she was serious. He needed to get off her.

Now free, she scrambled off the bed until she was safely standing. At the same time, she was pulling down her shirt over her exposed tits.

It was like the room just went quiet. The two of them were just looking at each other, separated by a force that was invisible but palpable. What Monique saw when she looked across the chasm of her bedroom wasn't what she'd been seeing for the past three years. She didn't see love and the promise of a future. She didn't see the beautiful man that she was supposed to marry.

Now, all she saw was pain.

Wordlessly, she twisted the engagement ring off her finger. It was reluctant to let go, fighting her the entire way. But it was no match for her resolve.

It fell to the floor, landing at her feet.

"Come on Mo." He said, almost whining his plea. But the look on her face told him that nothing he could say would stop what was happening.

He lost her. After five years, three of them engaged, he lost her.

"Don't do this. Don't go."

With tears in her eyes, she gathered her bags and walked out of the room. The next thing he heard was the front door closing behind her as she exited the condo they used to share for the last time.

*************

EIGHT MONTHS LATER:

Monique sat down for the first time all day, letting out an exhale of relief. After doing 4 training sessions with clients, she was looking forward to eating her lunch while playing on her phone.

The employee's lounge was empty, which was a lucky break for her. There was nothing more annoying than someone who wanted to talk to her when all she wanted was a quiet moment.

Being a personal trainer meant that every part of her day was spent taking care of someone else. Nothing about her day belonged to her. The only time she could gather herself and collect her thoughts was lunchtime.

The microwave dinged for her food. Reluctantly, she stood back up to go retrieve her warm meal. When she opened the door, the smell of beef stew had her mouth watering. She'd been slow-cooking it all night in her Crock Pot and had been anticipating tasting it since she put it in.

Sitting back down and crossing her shapely legs, she scrolled the comment section of her latest YouTube video while slurping her meal.

She made videos about a variety of things; whatever peaked her interest during the week. Most of them related to health and fitness in some way, but not all. One video could be about dispelling a common weight loss myth, while another could be about her views on a particular political subject. Her most popular videos were the most controversial ones. Her latest one "The Dangers of the Fat Acceptance Movement" was a particularly hot topic.

She had a modest but loyal online following. She could have easily quadrupled her audience if she wanted to by making content that showcased her body. Working out almost every day kept her lean (it was literally her job), but there was something to be said about winning the genetics lottery.

Even before she got into physical fitness, when she was younger and on the plump side, her hips and butt were naturally curvy. Her breasts were rather generous also. Getting into weight training, cardio, and calisthenics worked wonders for her body. She lost a lot of weight. Still, the natural curvature of her body remained.

She was what is commonly known as "slim-thick". Slim waist, wide hips, and a nice cup size up top. It was the reason she was one of the most popular trainers in her area. Women came to her gym to try to get a body like hers, and a few pervy guys came to just get her body.

So why didn't she use it to grow her online platform? She could have easily featured her body to boost her persona. Sure, what she was doing was profitable enough, but it was small potatoes compared to women who posted content highlighting how sexy they were. It's ridiculous how much money an ass pic can get you.

In fact, because of her job, she could even play it off like she was making motivational, workout videos. Putting on a pair of tight, ass-hugging shorts while she demonstrated how to do a proper squat was easily a plausible deniability ploy she could use to showcase her sexiness while claiming innocence.

She'd thought about it. She'd be lying if she claimed she hadn't. But that wasn't what she wanted to be known for. It was hard enough being taken seriously by her male clients now. Half of them only chose her as their trainer because they wanted to get close to her. The moment she shut down their advances, they gave her a disparaging review and chose a man trainer.

As she scrolled through the comment section, she couldn't help but to chuckle. Inevitably, there was always at least one person who got so offended by her video that they had no choice but to post a multiple paragraph comment to let her know all about it. There were usually personal digs about her not being as hot as she thought she was, calling her stupid, or telling her to kill herself. You would think that the really mean comments would be coming from the men, but it was actually the opposite. Despite popular opinion in the media, women on the internet can be just as toxic as the men.

Just as she was reaching her fill of cringe and was ready to put her phone away, a text message popped up. It was from her best friend, Antonia.