Chapter 3

Wendy returned home, her thoughts finally getting collected and she knew she had to devise a plan of action- specifics to keep that slimy Cartman from reneging on his deal. But first, she had to take a shower- she was pretty sweaty from riding around all afternoon.

She slipped off her shirt, making a displeased noise when she noticed that the underwire of her bra was digging into her right breast again. She hoped that they were just swelling for her period or something and she wouldn't have to go and buy bigger bras. It sucked to go into a store and see all the cute small bras but know that the only ones she could get were the "over the shoulder boulder holders." She knew that if *she* made bras for bigger breasted ladies that she would make sure they were cute and flirty, not simply functional.

'Hmm, but then what would Cartman say if...' she stopped herself, 'What the heck? I couldn't be thinking about that horrible guy right now, especially NOT when I'm standing around in my underwear!'

She turned her attention to the mirror and grabbed her stomach, pinching it. She couldn't understand why she still had this little roll even after all those sit ups. She resolved to continue her regimen and maybe add a couple more reps. In the mirror, she checked her small mole on the side of her left breast, not really sure if it was cute or ugly- she wasn't really a freckled person, but she did have a couple little dark marks on her thighs and her upper arms as well as this small black dot right on the side of the breast itself.

She finally removed her bra and grabbed her breasts with her hands, holding them up like she imagined a girl with a boob job would be able to manage hands-free- defying gravity all the while standing on her toes, elongating her torso so her stomach looked less fat. It was a ritual she always did both before and after a shower- try and make herself look as good as possible so she could keep that mental image in her head. But she knew that wasn't possible to keep up for too long. So, resignedly, she stepped into the shower, taking her time to clean her whole body thoroughly.

In the middle of her exfoliating body wash routine, she thought she heard a sound coming from her adjoining bedroom, but her face was covered in exfoliate so she just waited until she was done and went in the room with a towel around her. Nothing seemed out of place, so she turned to get back into the bathroom when she started to shiver. Did she leave her window open just a crack? She frowned and wasn't exactly sure if she had or not. Whether the shivering was from the cold or from a creepy feeling she couldn't quite place, she wasn't exactly sure.

But she knew that it was about time to get down to business. Dressing up in some soft pajama pants and a nice long babydoll shirt, she got to work on her plan. She was going to beat Cartman at his own game if it killed her.

Meanwhile, Cartman was finally getting home from running some errands. He had been trying to stay out of the house all day, especially since he knew that the car dealership guy had been coming around the house quite a lot for Ms. Cartman's "special cookies." After having walked in on his mom in several compromising positions with all manner of guys, he knew that there was no use to talk to her. She was a stupid whore. As for most women, they were by default stupid whores to him unless they captured his attention and earned his respect...and by respect, he meant that they weren't total sluts who were not even worth his notice .

That was the problem with women, he thought angrily, tapping into his own pit of anger and hatred. They were all liars. Men too. Everyone lied. Lied like fucking pussies to make nice and serve themselves while they committed all manner of horrors in the name of the greater good or some such bullshit like that. Sometimes that's really the only thing that he could consider worth keeping him going- anger and vengeance and directionless horniness. All of his idols did the same- they lived by their assholery and died by it as well, killed by a bunch of self-same hypocrites pretending that they didn't agree to go along with the horror and the bullshit when it stopped serving them well. At least he was more honest than all that fucking bullshit that people seem to store up in their niceties.

"Oh hello there Marty, I do believe that today is so nice and I'm here to fuck your wife behind your back," Cartman pantomimed, making his hand into a pretend mouth, "Oh, yes, look at me, I'm BIlly McStupidson, and I'm going to keelhaul gays behind my truck for God!"

He admitted, he was a monster- he was just more honest about his monstrosity than anyone else. And that had to count for something, right?

"Five more days, Wendy," he muttered to himself, feeling his pants getting tighter with excitement, "Five more days, and then you're going to agree to be mine."

For some reason, his erection pissed him off. He couldn't let just THINKING about her have that much power over him.

"GOD DAMN IT!" he hissed, "I won't let her win again. I WON'T!"