chapter 1

"Grrff! fifty *huff* six."

Fingertips touching her earlobes, Miranda felt her abs stretch as her back descended once more towards the carpet.

"C'mon babe, faster!"

Spurred on by her husband's words, she gritted her teeth and lifted her athletic torso up once more, keeping her core as tight as possible, so that she could really feel the burn in her lower stomach.

"Fiftyyyy uurff seven!"

Puffing out her cheeks a little, Miranda stretched back again.

As she did so, Mark salivated at the view. Man, those abs looked like a washboard! And her tits were so pert and firm yet well-sized. He'd enjoy seeing those puppies from a different angle later.

Even more enjoyable to him than Miranda's glorious assets, though, was the teeth-gritted grimace on her pretty face.

Thought you could get one over on me, huh babe? Mark thought, smirking. Well, we've seen about *that* little game, haven't we. It dawned on him that she hadn't done a situp for at least ten seconds.

"C'mon!" he cried, clapping his hands together. "No pain no gain! Two this time!"

If Miranda detected the note of impatience in her husband's voice it only fired her up further. Exhaling rhythmically as her toned shoulders descended, she moved her fingers away from her ears and stretched her arms out either side, reaching towards the bowls.

Her left hand grasped a churo, her right a spicy enchilada.

Feeling the back of her ponytail brush the carpet, Miranda began another slow, controlled rise, stomach burning as she gradually brought her arms together. When her back reached a 45 degree angle she faltered, her abs shaking with the strain. Grimacing, she looked up to see her husband's handsome face, his blue eyes glittering eagerly.

It was like a shot of adrenaline. With an effort of amazonian heroism, Miranda pulled herself higher, galvanized by the desire to get nearer to Mark's perfect visage. Those gorgeous eyes, those flawless cheeks, that mouth gaping like a great red tunnel to hell.

Up she rose, higher and higher, drawing her hands together, her husband's handsome features growing ever larger - his mouth ever wider.

Into the tunnel she shoved the cinnabon and the spicy enchilada. Both were huge, and together they were far too large for one mouth, but somehow Mark spread his lips and teeth to make room. Miranda leaned back to begin her sixtieth situp to the sound of her husband's boisterous chomping.

No, the athletic brunette checked herself, fifty ninth. That last one might've been a double for Mark, but she could only count it as one.

Still, the fact that her hubby had such a mouthful to munch through did give her a little break. Even with his aggressive eating style, it would take Mark a good few minutes to work through such an incredibly sticky cinnabom and stuffed-full enchilada. Placing her hands behind her head, she took a few breaths then tucked her chin into her neck, smiling at what she saw.

It showed just how much weight he'd had been putting on lately that the girth of Mark's belly - which jiggled as he chomped stickly - was now wider than the middle segment of the couch.

Miranda bit her lip. Her husband ate like a king, but still she was scarely able be believe just how fat he had grown in such a short period of time. The door was already a bit of a squeeze, and if he kept up the current rate of expansion, pretty soon they'd have to knock it through - or move to a bigger house, one better suited to Mark's regal proportions.

She chuckled to herself at the aptness of the metaphor. Portly thirty-something husbands were in plentiful supply in their rich neighbourhood, but Mark still stood out as the king of the fatties. His appearance at BBQs and parties was a event in itself. That swollen belly of his looming ever larger every time. His massive bubble butt testing the limits of the sunlounger. He received the kind of awestruck stares usually reserved for a passing monarch.

Breathing harder, though more now with desire than fatigue, Miranda pulled her eyes off her husband's belly, admiring his drooping moobs for a moment before focusing on his face. As she'd predicted, the enchilda was taking some eating, the more so because the cinnabun had becom a mesh of sticky icing stretched between his upper and lower teeth.

Miranda smiled wanly. Mark was certainly enjoying his end of the bargain.

It almost made her laugh, now to think back to that day, almost a year ago. The chill she'd felt when she'd walked into the living room with Mark's third helping of sticky toffee pudding in hand, only to find him staring at her iPad.

The one time she'd forgotten to close the browser window.

Boy oh boy, they'd had one hell of a bust up. Mark flat out accused her of treacherously overfeeding him, of trying to fatten him up like a prize pig. He'd even threatened to call the police. Miranda had had to fight not to laugh out loud at the thought of uniformed officers turning up at their house, finding a furious rotund man in his early thirties, green in the face from two helpings of lasagne and a double dose of dessert, demanding between belches that his wife be arrested and charged with... what? Overfeeding with intent to cause husbandly fattening? That would be a new one!

True, she'd made a few extra souflees, put a little more butter into Mark's meals. Big deal. It wasn't as if he'd complained. In fact the truth was he'd been an entirely willing if oblivious glutton, quite happy for his little wifey to fill and refill his plate and do literally all the cooking, even though they both worked. To bring him drinks and snacks while he relaxed after a big meal on the sofa flicking through the channels.

Still, she could understand his anger. Any man who opened up an iPad to browse through Netflix and found on the screen a lewd conversation between his wife and a random woman documenting how fat their husbands were getting, illustrated with candid pictures of bulging bellies and overloaded plates, would probably have reacted the same way.

Thank God he hadn't clocked that it was Amy from across the street.

But Miranda hadn't married an idiot. And once Mark had processed the situation - and his oversized dinner - he quickly realised that he could turn thigns to his advantage. To Miranda's suprise, he agreed to put on weight if that was what she wanted. But in return...

Well, Mark already had two out of the three life goals that most men crave. A Fat Car and a Fat House. Now he wanted to complete the trinity.

Mark wanted a Thin Wife.

That part had come as a shock to Miranda. Not because his desire surprised her. It was what most men wanted, after all. Hardly a revelation. It was just that... well... she'd always considered herself pretty fit. She'd kept up her areobics and yoga, hadn't she?

But when she looked at the matter honestly, Miranda couldn't help but agree with Mark's assessment. In the process of overfeeding her husband, she had sampled too many of her own creations. Examining herself that night in the mirror, pinching an inch, turning to the side to heft her butt a little, Miranda realised that she'd become podgy.

So was born a logical, if somewhat bizarre trade. Miranda would lose weight, and Mark would gain it. They both got what they wanted. In the ensuing weeks, Miranda cooked and worked out, cooked and worked out. Mark ate and ate.

And ate.

And ate.

And amazingly, it worked. Mark went to be every night with a stomach protruding with an overload of incredible food. Miranda with her legs and abs burning from her workouts, but just enough energy left to ride her belching and bulging husband to a mutual climax. Every week it was different, as if the pounds were sliding off Miranda's middle and piling up around Mark's. Seeing their desires fulfilled, the couple's sex got steamier and steamier.

The only issue was how to determine if they were both keeping up their end of the bargain. Putting numbers on it didn't work, particularly as once Miranda had shed her initial pudge Mark decided that he liked her fit and toned rather than scrawny, which meant more lean muscle and therefore a little more weight. But seeing as they both got what they wanted, and each encouraged the other in his or her efforts, both were satisfied.

But Saturdays were the best of all. Saturdays were special. Because every Saturday, the couple took it in turns to come up with a new game that would further the cause of Mark getting fatter and Miranda getting fitter.

And today was one of Mark's more ingenious concepts.