chapter 2

Miranda had been quite impressed, actually, at how creative Mark could be when it came to their little Saturday games. A typical businessman, he tended to be... unimaginative most of the time. But the desire to satisfy his appetites, sexual and culinary, brought out an entirely different side of him.

And so here they were. His big butt planted on the carpet propped up against the couch, she stradling him, sitting with her crotch brushing against his belly, her slender legs split apart and arching over his... not so slender thighs. Her toes tucked under the couch for a bit of leverage. From this position, she would lean back, acquire an item of food from the piles surrounding her, and then complete her situp, pushing the treat into Mark's willing mouth. The rule was that he ate one treat for every situp she completed... or sometimes two. It was his game, so he got to decide.

He also got to decide when the game ended - a power Miranda was starting to regret agreeing to, given her husband's sadistic streak. Deep down she wasn't sure he'd completely forgiven her for that initial deception. The way he treated her sometimes made her wonder.

Still, the feeling of Mark's belly expanding against her crotch as mouthful after mouthful went down, getting tighter and rounder, was more than worth the pain of a few extra situps. It was also the best possible motivation. And when he was lazy with his chewing - which was often - she swore she could feel the food splosh into his gut after he swallowed.

She was treated to this very sensation right now, as Mark, tiring of his sticky mouthful, sucked the rest of the cinnabon and enchilda down his throat with a big gulp.

He pressed a fist to his lips.

*Splosh*

Uurrp!

"That's the last enchilda babe," said Miranda, still panting gently. She smiled as she watched he husband's chubby hand descend tentatively to his belly. His fingers were as fat as bratwursts, but they looked uselessly small at the centre of his enormous enchilda and snack filled gut.

Miranda surveyed the wreckage of depleted bowls, half-empty plates, pans and packages. With sixty large snacks in his tummy the man must have been feeling stuffed with a capital S, especially when you considered how much breakfast he'd eaten. She noticed he was puffing quite heavily. The realisation gave her a little buzz. She'd started the day with her usual ten mile Saturday run and had now completed sixty situps, not to mention five or six hollow holds. Yet he was the exhausted one, and all he'd done was sit and eat!

Mark burped again.

"Drink!" he grunted demandingly.

Miranda sighed. Break time was over. She reached out to her side.

"No." Mark stifled another belch. "Both."

Miranda lifted her back off the floor slightly. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Beer and milkshake at the same time babe?"

Mark grinned greasily. "Maybe. I'll decide when they're up here.

Shrugging Miranda took a deep breath and reached her other arm out as well. Drinks were the trickiest part of this routine, owing partly to their tendency to spill, but mainly to the fact that Mark had insisted she had to hold her situp position half way up while he drank, and she only got to lie back down when he was finished. Still there was nothing to do but do it. Shuffling her butt, she grasped the pint of Becks in one hand and - as best she could - the gigantic milkshake in her other. It wasn't easy, given the size of it. A Cold Stone PB&C. Over 2,000 calories of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream in one container. Mark's favourite.

The man himself grinned as he watched his wife struggle upwards, the strain clearly visible on her beautiful face.

"C'mon babe," he said in the manner of an overbearing gym instructor, "I'm parched. Get those drinks up here."

Holding abs and arms steady, Miranda slowly rose further. Looking up she saw that Mark had leaned forward a little, his moobs bunching atop his belly. Typical, she thought, He's giving me the toughest hollow hold possible! Oh well, it did make his gut look deliciously round.

Seeing that her big fat hubby was regarding the milkshake with a greedy eye, Miranda lifted the straw to his lips.

"Beer first," he announced grandly, with a sneer.

Rolling her eyess, Miranda adjusted her position, raising her back ever so slightly higher, grimacing as she lifted the huge, heavy stein of golden frothy liquid to her husband's salivating lips.

Mark slurped, Mark sucked, Mark gulped, but after a few moments it was clear to Miranda that despite the noises the weight of the glass was barley decreasing. He was drinking slowly. On purpose.

Heartless b*stard, she thought. She felt her arm start to waver.

*Berp!* "Higher honey!" said Mark, wiping his lips, the glee clear in his voice. "I can hardly reach... That's it, higher... higher... high- Hey!"

Mark's jerked back. his grin replaced with a frothy growl.

Despite the pain it sent through her abdomen, Miranda laughed. "Why darling," she said, her body convulsing. "I do believe you've got something on your nose."

Mark wiped away the froth, revealing a scowl.

So that's how you want to play it, you little b*tch? Well we'll see about that! He nodded at Miranda's other hand.

"Milkshake!" he snarled.