This is my last resort...
Mrs. Cake bit her lip as the dial of the scales spun like the smoke inside of a gypsy’s ball. Surely she knew the divination, the drawing of the cards would be kind to her. She closed her eyes, feeling the whirring of the machine’s delicate innards beneath her hooves slowing.
For the last two weeks she had been starving herself. Well, starving may not be the right word; Mrs. Cake had laid off the delicious confections of her craft, embracing the humble, sugarless life of carrots, oats, and all things green and natural. She had eaten a great deal of the leafy, mundane, and wretchedly bad tasting things so she wasn’t technically starving. Still, sugar had its hooks deep within her and her stomach rumbled. She craved carbs at all hours. She had awoken many times in the median of the night and felt the gnawing in her stomach, heard the addiction whispering of the many delicious things waiting downstairs. And yet, she had remained strong. It was time to see if her suffering had been rewarded. Her eyes popped open to find the dial balancing on the painted face of the machine.
She’d gained five pounds.
“What?” she stammered, bewildered by the boldness of the scales to lie so unabashedly. She teetered, tottered, and even stepped off to try again before the indignity settled soundly upon her. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. All of the misery had not only been for nothing, but for an even greater setback. She shook her head and allowed for a couple tears to spill down her… jowls… that’s what they were.
Looking in the mirror, taking a long look at her puffy, bloated face, jowls was all she could call the fat, jiggling hunks of skin beneath her eyes. They rolled down each side to form a second chin below her normal one. All that work. All that struggle to contain her eating habits… and she was still a cow.
Still gaining weight. How appropriate…
There was no point in crying now. She wanted to look pretty for Carrot; he loved her no matter how… how fat she was. She felt a new batch of tears forming and shook them away with a determined grimace. Another week. She would try hard for another week. Maybe go for a walk every night after closing. As long as the twins were good. It was hard being a mother, a wife, and a business owner. Between caring for her children, maintaining a clean storefront, and cooking for her loved ones, finding that extra half hour would be difficult but she needed to do it, had to.
Cup Cake freshened up, pausing to face the mirror one last time. She could do it if she put her mind to it. She had to believe in herself. Now, though, she must face today’s business. Her family relied on her baking skills as much as Carrot’s.
The day passed agonizingly slowly despite the steady business due to her stomach grumbling. Cup Cake had skipped breakfast after the setback the scales had given her and lunch had been made impossible after a sudden, fervent rush of patrons.
An hour after the rush, business began to settle into tributaries instead of the great river it had been. Finally, the store could be staffed by a single worker again. Of what had been lines nearly to the door, were only single ponies browsing and selecting a pastry or brick of fudge before going about their day.
Cup’s stomach was barren, a blasted wasteland begging for sustenance and every decadent, heavily frosted goodie in the glass cabinet beckoned lustily to her. Cup’s eyes wandered to the confections and cold sweat crashed over her like high tide as her will was tested. Her mind found devious avenues of temptations and bargains to eat just one, maybe two of the desserts. The thoughts crawled like spiders in the begging, needing part of her mind, spinning webs of lies.
Celestia, they look so good. I could eat them all but I shouldn’t. Maybe just one? It wouldn’t be so bad, right? You haven’t eaten yet.
“Cup? Cup?” Carrot asked, his words seemingly lost. Mrs. Cake finally caught the questioning raise of voice and turned to her husband who was worriedly waiting.
“Yes, my dear?”
“You need a break, hon. Have Pinkie come down to help with the store and go stay with the kids for a little bit. Get a bite to eat.” Mr. Cake smiled feebly; he was hungry too, she could tell.
“Thanks, dear,” Cup replied and retired to the kitchen. Her stomach howled within her, a great gurgling, rumbling like an earthquake came from the depths of her bowels. She passed unfinished cupcakes, cooling before being frosted and hesitated. She had missed breakfast and lunch, surely she could have… no. Shaking her head defiantly, she continued her trek to the refrigerator and pulled it open hungrily.
Inside the articles by which she would sustain herself greeted her, an uninspiring, bland batch of vegetables and grains. Chewing the inside of her jaw, she selected a bolt of hay, two slices of nine-grain wheat bread, and a small cluster of radishes. She sighed and dourly assembled the sandwich onto a plate and piled the radishes to the side. Deciding to skip the luxury that was a tasty dip for the radishes, Cup ascended to the second level of her home and followed the giggling, raucous voice of Pinkie Pie into the children’s playroom.
The twins were in the middle of snack time and had patches of jelly and peanut butter on their faces as they burbled and struck tiny hooves slick with sugary strawberry into their little mouths. A pair of baby trays were smeared and streaked with the remnants of their snack. Bread, white and delicious, lay in crushed heaps upon the table. Pinkie cackled and wiped at their sticky faces with wetted napkins unaware of Mrs. Cake’s appearance.
“Pinkie… my, what a mess,” Cup Cake spoke disapprovingly and watched the glistening light on the fringes of the sweet globs of jelly.
Turning her head quickly, Pinkie frowned slightly. “Sorry, Mrs. Cake. I gave them their snacks and just kind of focused on my own.” On the table before Pinkie was a stack of brownies, their edges just slightly burned and crisped just the way Mrs. Cake liked. Her mouth watered. “They were just so good and ooey gooey and crispety crunchety…”
Mrs. Cake didn’t hear Pinkie’s rolling descriptions, fixated on the tray of brownies. How? How could Pinkie Pie eat such high calorie, luscious foods all day and never gain weight? Cup’s eyes took in Pinkie’s average shape and green dots of jealousy filled her crying stomach. Envy filled her tummy with bile. Even in her younger days she had been pudgy. Not like Pinkie at all. Not pretty, like Pinkie.
“Go downstairs and help Mr. Cake, Pinkie Pie. Honestly, they are just two little foals. You couldn’t keep your eyes on them for just a few hours?” There was a snap in her voice like the crack of a whip.
Pinkie started and silenced in mid-erratic, excited rant and cast her eyes to the floor. “I… I’m sorry, Mrs. Cake. I’ll go help Mr. Cake.” She picked herself up and left the room with the tray of brownies quickly, not meeting Cup’s gaze.
Lucky young loaf. You know I can’t have such wonderful things. How dare you eat them in front of me. And letting the twins cover themselves in their food. My goodness, what do we pay you for?
Cup laid her meager meal on the table and gathered her cooing, happy children. It didn’t take long to clean their messy faces or the grimy table. The twins went about their play and Mrs. Cake sighed, happy to be off of her hooves for a moment. She noticed a glob of strawberry jelly that had somehow gone unnoticed on the edge of the table.
It reflected the light from its viscous, thick body. A hunk of strawberry preserve rested in the middle, surrounded by tiny seeds. It was only a small blob but it was enticing. Cup’s sandwich was brown and bland. It would taste like sawdust or cardboard like every other hay sandwich she had prepared on the uninspired, mediocre wheat bread. The jelly would explode her taste buds.
And it is just a taste, after all.
Her hoof moved suddenly, in tandem with the growl of her empty stomach. Before her senses could stop her, Mrs. Cake’s tongue shucked the globule from her hoof and slid it between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. For the briefest of moments, Cup felt disgust at eating something that had been clinging to the table in the twin’s playroom. She and Carrot had changed diapers on that table and who knew when the last time it had been really cle…
Oh….my goodness. It’s so good. So good.
The taste was amazing. Sweet, delightful, filling her mouth. Her stomach rent at the need for sugar and begged for her to swallow the morsel. She wavered and let the taste remain in her mouth, cascading across all the different taste areas of her tongue and appreciating every second of it. Her mouth watered and the gel softened into the pools of saliva filling her mouth. Finally, she swallowed with a slight, appreciative moan.
Regret filled her immediately, crushing the excitement the jelly had brought with disgust and disappointment. She took a moment of self-reproach. How could she eat something unclean? If she broke in the face of adversity she was doomed to being fat forever. A sickened sigh escaped her and her stomach roared.
She lifted a radish and popped it into her mouth. It crunched pleasantly but the taste was pathetic. It was an antithesis to strawberry jelly, slightly hot and picante but bland on the back end. Her hay sandwich was brown. That was the only way to describe the taste.
She watched her children play as she slowly ate. She had gained twenty pounds during her pregnancy. Twenty pounds that remained after it. Little brats. They were worth the weight, though. Even if she would never get back what little figure she used to have. She became deftly aware of the slight jiggle her neck made as she chewed. She dropped the sandwich more than placed it and her eyes flickered to her children.
“You made mommy even fatter… Celestia, I wish I could lose this blasted baby weight.” Pushing away the plate of food, Cup felt miserable and needed a moment to clear her mind.
What a fat old cow you’ve become, Cup. You’re nasty too. Why not just suck up the bread crumbs off the floor too while you’re at it. Debase yourself, you heifer.
It took a little longer than usual for Cup Cake to return to work. She chided herself for taking the extra time since Carrot hadn’t eaten yet either. She had spent fifteen minutes composing herself after what had happened upstairs and she had thrown away the remainder of the sandwich and radishes. She didn’t deserve to eat them after being such a disgusting… well, it was in the past now.
Her stomach didn’t agree and growled as she stepped back into the front of the store. Pinkie was assisting someone at the far end of the counter. Cup felt the inkling of guilt as the pink pony smiled weakly and passed her to return upstairs and to foalsitting. Cup turned to her husband.
“Sorry, Carrot. The twins were fussy and,” she paused. A minty green mare with pink mane was chatting with her husband. The young, beautiful mare flipped her long mane across a hoof, a malicious, seductive grin on her sweet face. Th stranger’s eyes widened a little as Cup stepped to the showcase but then floated over Mrs. Cake’s ample hips and tummy before grinning knowingly and flickering her enchanting azure eyes back to Mr. Cake.
“Anyway, handsome, I should get going. Thank you for the, uh, treats.” The way the harlot paused and decided on the wording infuriated Cup. Bile rose from deep within her and she tasted it in the back of her throat; the same flavor as the hay sandwich. The unknown mare exited with a bit of swish and sashay to her walk, Cup glowered at her husband. His face was red and he would not meet her venomous eyes.
That BITCH!
“A, uh, new arrival in town, honey. Just being, ummm, neighborly,” Carrot stammered.
I’ll kill you, Carrot!
Mercifully, Cup Cake fought the urge to scream at her husband. There were customers still to take care of and, as she knew, the dread of what would be said when the time arose would eat at her husband far worse than anything she could do now.
Her eyes let him know what to expect, however. Glowing with malice and crimson, diabolic intent, she let her gaze linger distractingly long before turning to the next patron in line with a smile so false the corners of her mouth felt as if they would crack like shifting concrete.
The gripping hunger took Cup Cake for the rest of the evening. She somehow made time to walk the entirety of Ponyville’s main street twice before returning home to prepare dinner for her family. Spite weighed upon her. She had caught Carrot with his tongue hanging out of his head for that… that…
No wonder. She WAS gorgeous and you are just a wet sack of sugar. A bag of potatoes. Carbo-loaded sow. Fat, fat, fat.
Mrs. Cake’s family had a wonderful dinner of spiced fruits, thick gravy, and buttery biscuits. Mrs. Cake’s family had a wonderful dinner, Mrs. Cake did not.
She had eaten boiled carrots and a sweet potato without anything on it. She was starving at this point so even the minute treat that was the sweet potato should have tasted wonderful but it was nearly tasteless, unexciting, and drew Cup into an even fouler mood.
Her family had a slice of cake for dessert but she had nothing. She didn’t deserve it.
The twins made a mess at dinner and Carrot did a million small things to earn some favor. He cleaned the kids, promised to do the dishes, said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and complimented the cooking Cup had labored over.
She ate in silence, only acknowledging Mr. Cake and his attempts to assuage her fury with hateful flashes of her eyes embroiled in bitter, unsayable thoughts. Idly, she wondered if Mr. Cake found her attractive still.
No.
Or if he had ever really found her attractive. She had always been… bigger than the other mares.
Bigger… what a joke, Cup. You’re a sow! A great, fat sow. Just rolling around and eating everything in sight. He’d leave you for that skinny girl if he could. You saw he was blushing. He wanted her. When was the last time he looked like that for you?
Mrs. Cake took her empty plate and let it loudly crash into the sink. She cleaned it aggressively, pumping the scrubbing pad over and over the surface of the ceramic long after it had been rendered free of all remaining particles of food. Raking her hooves across the ceramic soothed her in the smallest degree and she needed something else to pour herself over, to squeeze and scrub.
“This cake is wonderful, honey. Thank you so much for…” Mr. Cake began, attracting her attention.
You don’t deserve to have such delicious things, Carrot!
Jerking away from the sink, Cup snatched Carrot’s plate despite the hunk of cake he hadn’t finished yet.
“Hey! I wasn’t,” Mrs. Cake unleashed the fires of Tartarus from her pupils. They scathed the skinny stallion and he went as silent as the grave as she locked eyes with him in challenge, daring him to protest any further. He cowed and looked away, frustrated but subservient.
She dumped the dessert into the trash and then went about abrasively cleaning the dish. Each item she placed in the drying rack threatened to break from the force with which she placed them. Even the twins had ceased their playful squabbling to watch in confusion. Mr. Cake took them into the living room and away from the fuming mother.
Coward!
Cup gritted her teeth and replayed the disdain that snot-green hussy had for her. She was calling her fat, a lard ass, a whale with that sneering look. And, what’s worse, she smirked about it. She was saying, “I’m better than you, pig. Hotter than you. Go wallow in the mud. I could make your stallion mine in an instant.”
She’s right, fatso. You’ll never be as beautiful as her. IF you could lose the weight, and that’s a big if, you’d still be nothing compared to her.
Mrs. Cake began to cry. She bit her tongue to hold the sobs that formed deep in her chest and leaned over the sink clutching her stomach. She felt sick from so much anger, collapsing from the need to eat good things. Breaking down.
She just needed a minute.
The scouring of Carrot Cake had not been as violent or vicious as Cup had intended. When the time came that they were alone she had felt too exhausted to lash out. She had curled up in bed, intentionally taking all the blankets as she rolled herself inside and fended off the inner monologue that reminded her that it was called being a blanket hog. A hog. How fitting.
She showered and glowered at the scales, fighting the urge to stand upon its judging face. If her weight had gone up again, she would break down once more. Still, surely it had dropped a little. Even a tenth of a pound would be better than yesterday.
Biting her lip Cup placed one hoof upon the contraption and watched the dial begin to swing. She recoiled the leg and exited the bathroom quickly, choosing to prepare for the day in another room instead of tempting fate.
Before long, Cup was greeting her first early to rise customers and selling bran and oat muffins, cream cheese and berry frosted doughnuts, and a variety of other goodies. Most of her patrons in this hour of the morning were local government workers who found it easier to buy breakfast than make it at home. Many ponies worked out of their homes, doubling as storefronts. Many of those ponies would close for lunch and frequent the bakery.
It was proving difficult to watch all of those wonderful treats go over the counter to thin, pretty ponies. Mrs. Cake didn’t overeat. Even if her diet consisted of the quick, delicious items she baked, she didn’t eat more than what her patrons bought on a daily basis. Why? Why could they eat the Black Forest cherry cake and remain lithe, trim, or slender while… well, her butt, thighs, and belly grew.
They are young and pretty, of course. Not like you, old nag.
Cup dismissed the thought. She was younger than many of her regulars. Maybe they exercised more? But she chased her children and worked on her hooves ten hours a day, six days a week. Even if she wasn’t running or jazzercising… or whatever the new trend was… Pilates, whatever they were… she still moved, still stood, crouched, and lifted trays laden with sweets. Her legs were strong, stout muscles lay hidden beneath the soft layer of chub.
Of course your legs are strong. They have to carry your fat ass around.
She sighed to herself, prompting an odd look from a customer.
“You okay, Mrs. Cake?” Derpy asked as she laid out a couple bits and accepted the box of cream cheese muffins in return. The gray pegasus’ lips fell and her eyes, each looking different directions, were questioning.
“Of course, Derpy dear. Just… slept wrong last night, I guess. You enjoy those muffins and remember to hold the box upright.”
“Oh! Yeah, thanks Mrs. Cake! Sometimes I don’t sleep well either. See you tomorrow.” Derpy turned and had the box sideways and crushed into one mailbag pouch before she had exited the shop. Mrs. Cake sighed and shook her head. She reminded the poor pegasus every day in proper carrying methods for baked goods to no avail.
Even that walleyed dunce is prettier than you. Celestia knows how many muffins she eats each day and she still stays thin.
“It’s not fair…” Cup murmured to herself.
Maybe you should stick your hoof down your throat. Just puke up everything you eat. Probably wouldn’t work, on second thought. You’d probably just eat it again after licking up that jam yesterday. You really are depressing.
Frowning, Mrs. Cake checked the clock and noted it was time for lunch. It was only fair that Carrot be allowed to go to lunch first today after the extended break she’d taken the day before. The rush was over and she approached her husband. “Go eat, honey,” Mrs. Cake said and lightly touched her cheek to the long, thin neck of her best friend and husband.
“I’m okay, dear. Why don’t you go grab something.” Mr. Cake leaned into the affectionate touch.
“I’m fine...and I’m sorry for yesterday. I’m just grouchy and frustrated over my weight.” She bit her lip and cast her eyes away and down towards neutral ground. Mr. Cake was quick with a loving nuzzle.
“Diet not going well?”
“No… not well at all,” Cup sighed softly.
“Well, don’t worry so much about it. I love you how you are, honey. I’d rather see you happy than miserable because you are starving yourself.”
“I know. I just… I’d like to be pretty for once in my life. I’ve always been heavy and I worry about my health now that we have a family. I’d like to be here to see my grandchildren.” Her words were somber and swelled with the worries of middle age like black clouds ready to break open a torrent of rain.
“You are pretty, honey. The most beautiful mare I’ve ever met. And I think you are plenty healthy. Whatever negative thoughts you are having are just in your own head. You’re perfect how you are. I love you.” Mr. Cake chuckled lightly and ran his chin up Cup’s neck, kissing her forehead.
“Love you, too. Thanks.” Mrs. Cake snuggled against Carrot and sighed warmly. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was just in her head. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth from her husband. “I’m okay. Go eat.”
‘I’m going,” he grinned and popped her ample rump before being chased from the counter.
Mrs. Cake smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time in a few days and leaned against the glass counter. She chided herself for the unfair treatment of her husband. She knew he was loyal to her. They were meant to be together and nothing, not even a sultry harlot would take him from her side.
The bell over the door chimed its silvery tone and Mrs. Cake began her welcoming routine. “Welcome to Sugar Cube Corner. How may I…,” standing before her at the counter was the pastel green mare with the flowing pink mane. A small smirk marked her lips.
“Oh… I was hoping to see the owner of the shop,” the harlot said, her words melancholic like a teenager and yet full of power and passion.
Mrs. Cake’s brow formed a W and she curtly replied, “I am the co-owner of this establishment. I’d be more than happy to help you.”
“Hmm, I’d really rather be aided by that tall, helpful stallion. He was so in tune with my needs yesterday.” Her eyes were like razors cutting into Cup. They were devious, deceptive, and devouringly desirable. “Maybe I should just come back later.”
Cup Cake was tired of the seductress’ game. “My husband is indisposed and will likely remain so for a while. I am more than capable of handling you, miss.”
A small smile played out on the green mare’s lips. “Oh, my name is Sauvignon Rouge. Well, your husband makes a delicious cream-filled cannoli. Simply divine. I really need it again. I dreamt of it last night.”
Mrs. Cake couldn’t believe the audacity of the mare. “Is that so? If it’s that much of a desire, maybe you should stay away from it. It may not be healthy for somepony as… small as you.”
The impudent smirk refused to falter from the hussy. “I’ll let your husband tell me that. I bet he’d like something less filling in his life.”
“What are you implying?” Mrs. Cake’s temper was edging towards unrelenting action. Ire built within her, filling her with boiling hate for this Sauvignon bitch.
“Do I really need to answer that?” Sauvignon’s brow hiked high with similar condescension and schadenfreude.
Slamming her hooves onto the counter hard enough to cause concern for the glass, Mrs. Cake reeled back her emotions just enough to prevent an incident. “I’ve had just about enough of you, Ms. Sauvignon.” Tears were forming in Cup’s eyes and the words slid between her gritted teeth.
Sauvignon flipped her long, lustrous hair back, it sparkled in the light. “I’d say the same but I think that goes without saying. There’s always more than enough of you, sweetheart. I guess I’ll leave for now. Tell that sexy stallion of yours I’ll stop by at another time.” Calm and flowing, Sauvignon’s words were a stream in winter: graceful, collected, and cold. The mare slipped through the door and waved as if she were Cup’s best friend as she disappeared out of sight.
Carrot is seeing her. You know he is. She wouldn’t have come back otherwise. He’s not just cheating on you, making you look a fool, but flaunting his mistress right before you. He knows you won’t leave. Not when you have a business and family together.
“Can’t be… he wouldn’t. He loves me,” Mrs. Cake spoke silently to herself. The plumes of smoke and ash inside her body quieted as she contemplated her husband’s faithfulness, replaced with deep sorrow.
Inadequate. That was the word. Cup Cake was inadequate. The harlot made more references to her size. Carrot must have mentioned it to her, that’s why she had weaponized it. Carrot’s kind words had been empty, hollow. Shells. Shells containing his true feelings deep inside.
He thinks you are a pot-bellied sow. You disgust him. Your bloated body is going to cost you your family.
“He… loves me.”
The whore is evidence to the contrary.
The bell chimed brightly again and Mrs. Cake was brought back to business at hand. She was a professional. It may be all she had left. The false smile returned, the thoughts in her head quieted for the sake of appearances, even when Carrot returned to tag her out for a lunch she refused to take. No pony, not even Mr. Cake, knew her turmoil, the whispers in the dark. Only the faint sound of grinding teeth hinted at her mood.
Mrs. Cake walked after work, taking nearly an hour. Her legs burned, her rump ached, and her empty tummy chewed upon itself sickeningly. None of these things were a distraction to the fervor of grating gears in her head.
You don’t deserve to eat tonight.
Carrot hates what you’ve become, land whale.
You are so ugly that you are going to lose everything important in your life.
You don’t deserve to be happy.
Mrs. Cake didn’t eat for the following two days. Eventually, her stomach stopped churning and aching, begging for food … but the thoughts never ceased.
Mrs. Cake watched the counter incessantly. She waited, especially around the lunch hours, to ward Sauvignon away. The mint harlot had not returned, however. Maybe the whore had seen her guarding the front while she was busy with customers. Maybe she had gotten the message Cup had intended. Or maybe she was just biding her time.
It had been slow enough that Mrs. Cake could concoct reasons to keep her husband in the kitchen most of the day and it really was due for a good, deep cleaning. Still, she was certain Carrot knew something. He had shown concern for her, or feigned it, many times in the days since her confrontation with Sauvignon. Had he heard? Did she get to him somehow?
Her stomach no longer growled. She didn’t care about eating anymore. She needed to save her family and a little hunger didn’t mean much compared to that.
You are still a glutton, Cup. A massive blob. He’ll leave. He’s just waiting for you to let your guard down and he’ll go to her once more.
“It’s okay. As long as he stays. I… I don’t mind if… every once in a while….” Cup didn’t realize she was whispering to herself but Rarity entered the shop and routine took over. “Oh, good afternoon Rarity. My, you are so pretty today. Are you doing something new with your mane?” Cup didn’t care, it was simple habit to make pleasantries.
The pale unicorn smiled and rotated her head, sending the luscious purple curls soaring over her shoulder.
I bet Carrot would leave you for Rarity too if she wasn’t such an uptight…
“How nice of you to notice, Mrs. Cake. I have been trying a new conditioner and I think it makes my mane softer and more radiant than normal.” There was something in the unicorn’s eyes, the way they latched onto Cup’s swirling mane that festered in Cup’s heart.
She thinks you are ugly. Your mane is a dead mess of straw.
“I… I could give you the name of the conditioner if you wanted to try it,” Rarity affirmed her thoughts. They didn’t sting anymore. It was true.
“I would love that, my dear. What can I get for you today?” Rarity rarely visited the shop except to gossip or fraternize with Pinkie.
Carrot’s probably bedding the pink one behind your back too. She’s dumb and certainly very loose as much as she parties. I wonder what her “parties” really entail?
“Nothing for now, but I was wondering if you could make something for a social event I am hosting. There will be several important ponies there and I need a special dessert. Unfortunately, I neither have the time nor the expertise to create what I have in mind.”
“What is it you need?” Mrs. Cake nodded sharply, annoyed with the unicorn’s peculiar, unPonyville accent. As if she hadn’t spent all her life here.
“It’s called a ginger layer cake with wine poached pears and cream cheese frosting.” Rarity unloaded a vibrant purple pack Mrs. Cake hadn’t noticed before, placing a recipe cut from a magazine, a few pert pears, and a bottle of wine on the glass counter.
The label of the wine caught Mrs. Cake’s eye. It was fancy and definitely wasn’t the cheap stuff that one normally found taking up space in the general store. The bottle was decoratively etched and the label wasn’t peeling. The fluid inside was dark, like blood, and flowed closer to oil than water.
“Where did you come across this, Rarity? Been to Manehattan again recently?” Mrs. Cake asked with a slightly genuine interest. Rarity perked her ears, one of only a few signs of excitement the unicorn showed.
“It’s from a new vendor here in Ponyville. You remember where that ghastly candle shop was?” Rarity rolled her eyes.
“Mr. Beeswax candles and salves? Just a couple blocks from here, around the corner?” Cup asked.
“Yes, that’s the precise one, thank Celestia it’s gone. There’s a wine vendor there now. I hate to admit that I, despite the place still smelling of stale oils, have purchased several bottles from the proprietor. She’s new in town, who knows why she would move here.” Rarity gossiped.
Mrs. Cake’s head clicked a degree to the side uncontrollably. “Green mare? Pink mane?” Venom filled Cup’s mouth.
“Why, yes, darling. Sauvignon, uh, something. You know her?”
“We’ve met, yes.” Mrs. Cake answered darkly. A look crossed Rarity’s features and Cup smiled sweetly. “Of course I can make this dessert for you. When did you need it?” She knew Rarity was perceptive and liked to talk about others behind their back. She steered the conversation away from Sauvignon.
“Saturday night,” Rarity was matter-of-fact, pulling the conversation back to her peaked intuition. “What did you think of Sauvignon, Mrs. Cake?”
Bitch. She’ll embarrass you further if she finds out.
“She was very polite,” internally Cup strained to say a positive word about the hussy. It was like having a tooth pulled. “I just didn’t realize she sold wine.”
Lead her on.
“I just, well, Rarity, I hate to say this but Derpy has been getting my mail wrong lately.” There was nothing new about that and Cup recognized her error immediately and moved to correct it. “More than usual I mean. I’ve smelled alcohol on her breath the last two times she’s come into the store. I’ve heard she has been seen carrying bottles similar to this one early in the morning.”
Rarity’s eyes lit up like diamonds. “Oh, how scandalous. I’m sorry, Mrs. Cake but I have an appointment elsewhere. I’ll catch up with you Saturday morning, alright?” The unicorn hurried from Sugar Cube Corner. The ruse had worked. Off she went to tell her gossiping cronies.
She needs a stallion. Keep her away from Carrot.
Cup wasn’t certain what to do with the new information but she was glad to have it. A peculiar notion ran through her head as she surveyed the shelves of confections in the counter. There was a long roll of banana nut inside and laying next to it was a long, sharp knife.
It would be quick. She can’t have him. Even a washed-up hog like you can still do something.
Mrs. Cake was proud of herself for getting exercise after work every night this week even if the jelly rolls hanging from her sides hadn’t shrunk. She was even prouder of the path she took by Ponyville’s new wine shop. What made her the proudest was how she hid her bulk and watched the green harlot from across the street without being noticed.
The scales, despite resting on the floor, somehow loomed over Mrs. Cake. She couldn’t face the spinning dial, the gypsy’s fortune. It had been four days since she had eaten so much as a bite and yet she intuitively knew what would happen the moment she stepped upon the wretched device. It would spell her doom.
“Maybe, maybe it’s not working correctly. That’s why it was off last week.” She didn’t believe that and her inner voice, one that seemed less and less like her own, scoffed at the notion.
If so, you broke it with your massive weight. Poor little thing just couldn’t handle it. I’m surprised the face didn’t explode and springs pop out.
“Tomorrow… I’ll try tomorrow,” she murmured to herself. She sounded sleepy, her voice slurred lightly. She wasn’t hungry. Hunger was nothing to her now. Her stomach had dried up and fallen out for all she knew and that was probably for the better.
She needed to lose weight. Her life depended on it.
Carrot had tried to talk to her a few times, asking her if she had eaten. She made dinner for her family every night, had watched them eat, taking in the warmth of what she may lose to that harlot if she didn’t do something.
She could lose weight for her dear husband. She loved him. Even if he had been unfaithful.
He definitely has.
The mirror held her momentarily. She couldn’t look at herself. Her eyes were deep in their sockets and rims of black encircled them. “Have to get pretty.”
You’ve probably lost a pound in just the fat from around your eyes.
Red veins stood out in a nest of criss-crossing webs intricately festooned around the irises. She realized she was running behind and blinked painfully. She needed to hurry, Carrot was alone and who knew when Sauvignon may show up.
Mrs. Cake stuck her head into the kids playroom, spying Pinkie with her children and stepping away quietly. She hadn’t spoken to Pinkie Pie for more than a few directions at a time. She didn’t want to. Pinkie was most likely sleeping with Carrot too.
Pink slut lives right here. She could come to Carrot at almost any time.
Coming down the stairs quickly, Mrs. Cake entered the kitchen and rolled around to the push door with the small portholes of transparent plastic. She was in the midst of readying an apology to her husband for her tardiness when the soft wafting of a calm, fluid voice she knew all too well caught in her ear.
“Come on, stud. I’d really love to see you. Your wife has it out for me and she’s awfully big. That’s why I haven’t come to see you since last week.” The voice of the harlot scorched Cup’s ear canals. She wanted to burst out and throttle the mare but this was her chance. Now she’d find out what Carrot had been hiding.
“I, um, Miss Sauvignon. Come now, Cup Cake is supposed to be downstairs any moment and I don’t think finding you here would be very good. Cup’s been acting odd lately. She won’t talk to me and she’s very quiet.” Mr. Cake stammered. Cup knew his nervous voice and recognized the wavering timbre immediately. It wasn’t often he sounded like that.
He’s afraid you’ll catch him talking to his marefriend.
Mrs. Cake’s heart was aching. Dried up like a prune and pumping just as much blood, this was the evidence she dreaded. Up until this point it was all speculation and somewhere deep inside she still trusted her husband. But this trammeled upon that last mote of trust. Tears filled her eyes and she backed away from the door, wanting to run upstairs and cry her eyes out. He really was cheating on her.
I won’t let her have you, Carrot. I’ve tried to be pretty for you. I’m sorry I’m such a weak, pathetic mare but that doesn’t give you the right to do this to me. I should kill you for this. I should…
Mrs. Cake’s eyes flickered over to the many knives that hung on a nearby magnetic wall mount. It was important in a bakery to have the sharpest knives in order to slice evenly through the soft, pillowy breads and doughs without deforming, tearing, or shredding them. Sugar Cube Corner took expert care of their assembly of blades. Though meant for cakes, they would certainly make short work of flesh.
“Who cares about that plump turkey, Carrot, dear. Why don’t you find a way to come over to my place this evening? Think you can get away?” The sultry mare swooned and Mrs. Cake watched the light dance on the blades.
“I… I can’t. I’ve got a family here and,” Mr. Cake began but was cut off by Sauvignon.
“I’ve had enough substitutes, Carrot. Creamy cannoli just won’t cut it for me anymore. I need something bigger, something more virile, and more… Carrot like.” Lust dripped from every word like caramelized sugar.
Mrs. Cake, overcome by the coarse, shameless language, fell back in a gasp and crashed into the prep table, knocking a cake mold to the floor. The metal mold clanged and skittered loudly across the hard white tile.
The pair outside hushed suddenly but Mrs. Cake heard her husband answer the harlot, “Fine. I can get away for about an hour when Cup takes her walk this evening. Now go.” Sauvignon giggled like a hostess in a bar of Neighppon and the bell over the entrance chimed as she left.
Mrs. Cake hurried back through the kitchen at the sound of Carrot’s hooves and barely made the darkness of the stairs before Carrot appeared in the push door of the kitchen. He turned his head and surveyed the kitchen before, finding nopony there, picking up the eschewed pan. He looked toward the stairs momentarily but the entrance chimed once more and his brows screwed up as he followed the call of the customer.
“Ah, Mayor Mare. How are things at town hall this morning?”
Cup sat at the top of the stairway and felt warm saline dripping over her hoggish jowls. She stifled the sobs that threatened to break her lungs and racked her muscles. She cradled herself.
Fat cow. You’ve lost him. Old heifer. You’re a broken down sow now. There’s nothing left for you.
Her brain burned, a fog of hateful words stung her like a swarm of hornets. Images of her family, her happiness, flooded her head and burned in the seething flames of hatred and betrayal. And yet they were emotions she couldn’t place on her husband.
Your fault for becoming a whale, Cup. It’s all your fault. Oily lard rack. There’s nothing you can do now, just accept it. You will be a ruined mare after this. Others will laugh at you and how you couldn’t keep your stallion happy. The whole town probably already knows. Everyone knows but you, stupid pig. There’s nothing left you can do.
That wasn’t completely true, Cup realized as one thought slipped through the cheese grater of pain tearing away at her rational mind.
“I can still do that… I can,” Cup’s frown turned upward suddenly. “I can still...do...that.” She rocked herself, eyes locked on the base of the stairs as her mind roiled in torment and broiled with rage inside her skull. There was no comfort for the mare. None but the long, glowing carving knife tucked tightly against her breast.
From the bushes across the way from Sauvignon’s wine shop, Mrs. Cake hid and waited. She had somehow managed to calm herself enough to work through the day alongside her cheating husband. She had not spoken to him in more than a few simple words and refused to look in his direction. Just looking at him further fractured her already pulverized heart. She worked silently and mechanically while the gears in her head ground and turned, grating into a white-hot hatred. Thank goodness for her practiced, perfidious professional smile.
It was the longest business day of her life and she had barely flipped the sign on the door from open to closed before she excused herself for her daily walk. Carefully she had navigated the orange evening to the bushes of the small park she had been using as her stake out spot.
You going to watch him fuck her, Cup? Is that what you’ve become? Why not just invite her over to do it in your own bed.
“Have to be sure. Have to know,” Cup answered the strangling thought that brought a fresh set of tears to her eyes.
There’s nothing left to be certain of. She’s a whore and your husband doesn’t love the hippo you’ve become.
Cup murmured something even she didn’t understand and remained still, unblinking, burnt-out eyes peering through the dimming light to the wine shop.
There were buckets of plastic grapes propping the door open and a sign greeting passersby, inviting them to come inside. The storefront had one large window with a painted pattern of grapes and wine bottles. In the middle was “Du Vin”, the name of the shop in fancifully written, bright green and pink paint. On the other side of the glass was the harlot.
Sauvignon was cleaning up for the day. The mint mare glanced at a clock on the wall behind the counter decorated with grapevines and stepped outside to pull the sign inside and close the door. She paused and looked right at Mrs. Cake but Cup knew she hadn’t seen her by the minute motions of her eyes. She was looking, yes, but she was looking for somepony else.
She’s just dripping to see Carrot. Is that what you want? Are you dripping, Cup? Pathetic pig.
“I just want my husband back.”
What will you do?
“Anything.”
The sweet summer evening songs of birds filled the air but Mrs. Cake was lost with purpose and rendered deaf to the beautiful things around her. Nothing was beautiful to the mare, least of all her. Her heart clenched as if in a vice and each thrum of her inner motor ached throughout her body. Her heart was living but emotionally crippled, stunted, a husk. It only pumped acrid, burning pain.
She didn’t care, however. Her purpose consumed the cognition of all things but itself. It wasn’t long before a tall, thin stallion came creeping up the walk towards the wine shop. Red-rimmed eyes took in every motion he made, read each subtle movement, and digested them.
Carrot knocked upon the door and turned to look behind him, checking for prying eyes but blind to them. Sauvignon swung the door open and seemed to ride it, using the arc to spread herself out to be gazed upon. Her body was trim and lithe. The faintest edge of muscles showed themselves as enticing guides to her body and disappeared into soft, lewd curves. She wore only a damning, promising grin.
Mrs. Cake watched from her hiding place. She had never known such sorrow. She had hoped beyond hope that Carrot wouldn’t show, that he would remember his vows and all the time they had been happy together. She felt as if her heart had ceased and all of her organs had suddenly been sucked into another space, leaving her hollow, empty.
She could hardly form thoughts, her head a cold vacuum. Nothing made sense. Nothing mattered. Just the void that dwelled within her once warm body.
Through the glass Cup watched as Sauvignon flung herself onto her husband, wrapping the tall stallion with her forelegs and sucking his lips to hers. It wasn’t a loving embrace but a lusty kiss. Love had nothing to do with that mare. She was a succubus, a demon. The two fell back out of sight to the floor.
Mrs. Cake had witnessed enough. She felt nothing. The void stole all of her emotions, no… Sauvignon Rouge had stolen all of her emotions. As much as Cup hated to admit it, she was tied completely to her husband and without his love she was nothing.
Slowly Mrs. Cake pulled herself out of her hiding place and began the walk home. It was a walk of shame. She followed the path she took on her exercise walks but no longer pumped her legs with vigor and purpose. She hadn’t lost weight but had lost her husband despite her attempts to get healthy, to become sexy.
As she entered the kitchen of her home, she gazed at the broken life they had created together and wondered why the sadness didn’t come. She felt dead inside instead of mournful to the collapsing life around her.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor; each step she took was more laborious than the one before as memories played through her mind’s eye: meeting Carrot, marrying him, opening Sugar Cube Corner, having their beautiful children. Years passed with each agonizing step and from the corners of the emptiness inside crept streams of silver sorrow. By the time she made the second floor landing her cheeks were wet once more and her emotions had fully returned.
She had the need to see her children and stealthily moved to do so. She paused at the door to the playroom. It was quiet inside and she gently pushed the door open enough to peek through. Pumpkin and Pound lay sound asleep on a snoring Pinkie Pie. The room was a mess but it didn’t matter. She wondered what to do with the children. Would she live a lie for their sake? Would she allow Carrot to have a mistress? Should she divorce him and fight for custody? There were so many questions to which she could provide no answer. She sobbed once at the thought of living as a cuckold to an unfaithful husband. Her shame would be great but could she do it to keep her children happy so they might grow up to be capable adults?
Kill him. Cheating bastard deserves it.
“No…,” she whispered to herself and closed the door.
Then kill the whore. Kill any whore who tries to take him. The pink one is asleep now; she’d be easy.
“It’s me.” Cup Cake made her way to the master bedroom and then into the adjoining bath. She stood before the mirror and took a long, stinging look at herself. Her eyes were red and puffy. Puffy could be said of almost her whole body. What looked back was a fat, middle-aged mare. She never denied her heaviness but it had only become a problem recently. Now she saw all the rolls, all the hanging flab, and all the grotesque hideousness that was her body. She was disgusted at herself. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
Carrot is fucking her right now. He’s happier in this minute than he’s been in his whole life with you. Sow. Cow. Heifer. Tub of lard. Kill yourself if you won’t kill them. Let him be happy with his whore.
Cup began to cry and struck the mirror as thoughts of how to end her life vied for attention. She snarled and slammed her hoof once more into the mirror and it cracked in a spider’s web of reaching, spreading lines. Staring back were a hundred portly Cups suddenly grinning and laughing in gruesome harmony. It was too much to bear. Too much.
“I’ve starved myself for weeks. I haven’t eaten a thing in days and I’m still so gross! Why?” Cup Cake clenched her eyes shut and bellowed. How could dieting be this hard? This unforgiving? She’d went above and beyond what most ponies did to lose weight.
But you haven’t weighed yourself in over a week. Maybe you’ve made some progress?
Her head perked like a predator catching the scent of prey and she turned to stare at the devilish machine lying upon the floor. She had been afraid to see the results of her attempts but now was the time. Maybe, just maybe she could still win her lover back. She had caused this mess; she could fix it. If only the scales would be with her.
There was no hesitation this time. Her family was on the line and petty worries were no longer valid excuses. Cup held her breath and balanced while the dial ran, rolling it’s perpetual condemnation of dice, it’s gypsy curse. Praying was a forgone conclusion. Gods couldn’t help at this point. It was just Cup, her willpower, and the work she had put in. Time ceased to exist and the dial slowed to a snail’s pace as it chanted the diabolic incantations to reveal the fate of the user.
Mrs. Cake’s lungs burned as the dial slowed and tipped back and forth before pausing on the number the tarot unfolded before her. She looked unbelieving at the scales.
You can still save your family, Cup. If you have the courage to do it. You can lose the weight.
Mr. Cake pushed the aggressive young mare off of him and glowered at her. “Just what do you think you are doing, Miss Sauvignon?” He wiped at his lips, stripping her taste from his lips. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome.
“You know exactly what I’m doing, sexy. Now come to momma.” Once more the mare pressed forward but was repelled by the lanky stallion. It stung her, to be rejected and she pouted her lip while narrowing her eyes. “What is your problem, bean pole? I throw myself at you and you deny me?”
“I’m married! I can’t, no, I won’t do this to my wife!” the stallion retorted in frustration. He shook his head and once more pushed the slutty mare away as she came forward.
“That fat hog? Really? You must have something wrong with your eyes if you think she’s hotter than me!” Sauvignon growled, eyes like razors slicing at the male.
“Don’t talk about her like that. She’s sexier than you will ever be!”
“Whatever. That mean bitch has you on such a short leash you can’t even take the best opportunity that has ever come your way,” she grumbled. “How could anyone find her sexier than me?”
“It’s not a leash. I love her. What I find attractive is devotion, loyalty, and friendship most of all. Cup has more of that than you ever will.” Mr. Cake blushed, suddenly terribly embarrassed by the situation.
“Then why did you come here? Hmm?” she demanded.
“To tell you that I don’t ever want to see you in our shop again. You’re upsetting my wife and… yes, I liked the attention you gave me. It made me feel young again and that’s not something that happens much anymore. I made a mistake in reacting to it but I’d never cheat on my wife. No matter who or what came across my plate.” Mr. Cake wasn’t normally aggressive or confrontational and speaking in such a harsh tone was difficult for him but he had to make his point clear.
Sauvignon pouted and held back tears. She had a thing for tall guys and was lonely coming to a new town. She had never been rejected in her life. Single stallions, married stallions, it didn’t matter. She could clack her hooves and have whomever she wanted. She’d been with so many and yet none of them had ever spoken to her so harshly and halted her advances. She lashed out angrily, “Fine! I won’t ever come back to your pathetic little place! Get out! Go back to that lard ass you have at home but remember you could have had me instead of that blob of processed cheese!”
Mr. Cake sighed and shook his head. He moved towards the door but paused. “Miss Sauvignon, you strike me as the kind of mare who has never been in love. Real love. Somepony who has never had a true relationship. Maybe you should try it. You might find something better than this.”
“Fuck you.” Sauvignon turned away to hide her tears and Mr. Cake closed the door behind him as he left.
The walk home was arduous and long for Mr. Cake. He regretted letting Sauvignon chat him up so well the week before. He had let the situation get out of hoof and Cup had been pressed to intercede because of his need to have his confidence stroked.
He was getting older. Not old, not yet, but with the children came the responsibilities of actual adulthood. Before they had come, Cup and he had been owners of a shop and home but they were still children at heart. Children who somehow had a business and took care of adult things like taxes and they frequently joked about it. How could they, of all ponies, have these things? They felt no older, no wiser than they had as teenagers.
But now things were different. Their bodies had settled, and began to hurt whether or not they were taken care of. They weren’t a young couple anymore. He wasn’t young anymore and it was a difficult, bitter pill to swallow. He had made a mistake, being groomed by the young mare’s seduction had caused him to feel like a teenager once more.
Even though he had not been unfaithful at any point, he owed Cup an apology and an explanation. She was his life partner, his one and only. If something happened to her he would never remarry, he knew. And yet he had caused her some pain. She would understand… they shared everything together and he wondered if her sudden need to lose weight was her own version of turning back the clock.
Mr. Cake opened the back door to Sugar Cube Corner and entered directly into the kitchen. The lights were off and the evening had grown dark during his trek. Light was pouring down the stairs at the other end of the kitchen but he couldn’t see as he once did and he slid on something slick on the tiled floor of the darkened kitchen. Catching himself, he avoided falling.
“Need to mop before I turn in, I suppose,” he commented to himself.
The kitchen sink turned on with a whoosh of pouring water and caused him to jump. “Oh! Cup are you here, honey?”
Something moved in the darkness before him. There was a sickening ripping noise like soggy pages torn from a notebook and then something smacked the tile that sounded like a wet mop. Mr. Cake paused, his heart escalating to his throat. “Pinkie? That you?”
“I did it, Carrot.” The voice was wet and labored, familiar but unknown in an unexplainable way. It was wider but less coherent. It hissed as if the speaker didn’t have full control of their mouth. His hoof kicked something that rolled beneath him like a deflated kickball and he squinted into the darkness to see what it was.
As his eyes focused, finally adjusting to the void of the kitchen, he could make out what appeared to be a large clump of dough but stained with some dark color and sopping wet. Confusion filled him and the voice finally clicked in his head. “Cup? Honey? Is that you?”
“I finally did it. For you, my dear.” The voice sounded like a running water hose. It had a phlegmatic rattle.
“Cup? What are you talking about? Why do you sound so strange?” A metallic odor filled Mr. Cake’s nostrils, catching in his throat and choking him. He staggered, nearly slipping once more on the dark stained floor as he fled to the light switch.
“Now you don’t have to see that harlot. You can stay here… with me.” The tap in the sink was shut off but the sound of dripping fluid continued: deafening, thunderous.
Mr. Cake began to hyperventilate. Something was terribly wrong with Cup Cake. She sounded remorseful and proud all at once. Somber and excited. She was always the more level-headed of the two and for her to sound so embattled was unlike her. Mr. Cake’s ragged breathing mixed with the splattering of liquid and he reached for the switch, afraid of what waited in the pitch of the kitchen.
The light came on with a crash like a rifle report, expelling the darkness and exposing the shredded mass of walking meat that was once his wife.
Mrs. Cake stood facing her husband from the sink. Swathes of her flesh were cleaved away leaving sopping, weeping wounds and clinching, glistening muscle. Her lips and cheeks, her jowls, were sliced away exposing the white teeth beneath, stained pink from running blood. From her chin to the turn of her jawbone the meat was stripped, shredded, and hanging like flypaper.
All along her body where even an ounce of flab once hung were missing hunks, hacked away to show torn, dripping muscles and mutilated skin. Her coat was shorn with gaping holes and what remained was splashed in crimson. She had effectively skinned herself. The tiled floor was a widening red mirror as she leaked vital fluids. Her lidless eyes were waxed with madness and intense, searing pain. They stared at him, through him. Flowing streams of tears dribbled down what remained of her face and disappeared into the maw of bone and incarnadine meat.
Mr. Cake began to scream.
One of their bakery knives lay stained in the carmine pool next to the hunk of skin, coat, and fat that Mr. Cake had kicked and once clung to her body. Scattered like islands in a sea of blood were wobbling chunks of his loving wife.
“I lost all the weight, Carrot. I did it. I did it for you.”
Author's Note
So this story comes from a few places.
1: I love body horror. There's nothing so creepy and succeeds in giving you a feeling of being uncomfortable in your own skin as something literally taking your body over without your control.
2: I've gravitated towards psychological horror lately. I don't know why but I love the me vs. myself theme. That feeling that the voices in your head may not be your own... but how could that be? heheh heh...
3: and I've also been dieting recently and had the thought, "Would it kill me to just cut this off with a knife?"
Yes... yes, it would.
This story didn't turn out quite as I had hoped but I'm pretty satisfied with it. I was shooting for 3k words. Obviously that didn't happen.
Anyway, thanks for reading. It's been a while since I've posted something. I've had difficulty finishing things lately. I've got something like 5 stories started but can't figure out what I want to do with them.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Chapter title gives away the twist, by the way. If you know the song.
