Mission: Chubby Hubby

Chapter 1

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. My new husband snored softly beside me, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in my head.

We had been married a month, and he knew nothing of my secret. At 180 pounds, he was painfully thin. He had the slightest ghost of love handles and moobs, but nowhere near what I needed to grab hold of.

I rolled over and spooned him, my arm wrapping around his waist with plenty of room to spare.

“Someday,” I whispered, “I’m going to get you so big my arm won’t touch the bed on the other side when I spoon you.”

Steve moaned softly in his sleep, and I tried to ignore the twinge I felt in my core. No one knew I was into feedees… and I needed to make sure it stayed that way. What would my husband think if he found out? It’s safer this way… to keep it bottled up. Much safer… and sadder.

Suddenly, a little light bulb lit up in my mind. He didn’t need to know he was being fattened on purpose. He’s enough of a foodie… maybe I could just serve him more and more over time until his stomach is stretched out, and he’d do the rest on his own.

My eyes traced his thin outline slowly. At 6.0’ tall, a size medium tshirt, and size 30x32 jeans, his 180 pounds was stretched thinly over his frame. His legs and arms were especially thin. As a former gym rat, it would be hard to get him to switch his habits… but I decided it was worth the challenge.

I finally fell asleep with a smile on my lips. I’d make Steve my chubby hubby if it was the last thing I did.

—

The next morning, I rose before my husband had to leave for his shift at the nursing home. Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast piled up on the counters. I slathered each pan in butter, and the pancakes were fried in vegetable oil. The bacon fried in its own fat. The toast soaked in a layer of butter, then I spread on some more. The pancakes also soaked in butter while I finished out the batter. The eggs I mixed with an ungodly amount of cheese and heavy whipping cream instead of milk. In another small pan, I made my own egg, scrambled on its own, two pancakes fried without vegetable oil, and I made two slices of bacon.

I began plating my husband’s food. Four generous pancakes, four fattening scrambled eggs, two pieces of butter soaked toast, and six pieces of bacon. I heard Steve begin to stir in our room, and I realized I had forgotten to give him something to drink.

Remembering his fondness for chocolate milk, I grabbed his 16 oz cup and practically flew to the fridge to mix it before he could see what I was doing. With a large spoon, I stirred together 12 oz of heavy whipping cream, 2 oz regular 2% milk, and filled the rest of the cup with chocolate syrup. I set the fattening drink next to his plate, then sat down with my own plate and waited for my husband.

As I waited, I started in on my own food so he wouldn’t be too suspicious that I had less than him. When he finally emerged from our bedroom, he was dressed in his size medium scrubs, which hung loosely from his lanky frame.

“Good morning honey,” I said warmly, rising from my seat to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought I’d make breakfast for us this morning.”

Steve yawned, then smiled at me. “It looks amazing honey, thank you.” He pulled out his chair and sat down, spearing some eggs onto his fork. He practically moaned when he tasted them. “Oh my gosh Emily. What did you put in these?”

I froze. “W-what do you mean?”

Steve looked up, more eggs crammed in his mouth. “These are delicious! How did you get them like this?”

I chuckled, trying to hide my sweaty palms under the table. “Oh you know, the usual. Milk and cheese.”

Steve looked puzzled. “Hm. Well they’re amazing.” He speared the rest of the eggs into his mouth and started in on the pancakes. He drowned them all in his favorite sugary, berry flavored syrup and began taking huge bites. I secretly delighted at the extra 300 calories he had managed to add to his already calorie dense breakfast.

He practically inhaled his pancakes, one after the other, and began to stack the bacon on top of each other so he could get more in his mouth at once.

I began to seriously doubt this man had ever had a woman cook for him before. I squeezed my legs together, hoping to hide my arousal. I busied myself with my own food, hoping to not make it too obvious that I was intently watching him wolf down his meal.

Steve began to sop up the leftover syrup and butter (which, to my horror, had obviously begun pooling on his plate under the pancakes). He folded each piece of bread in half to shove more in his mouth at once. Syrup streaked through his red beard and stained his lips. I offered him a napkin and he took it gratefully. Finally, he chugged the chocolate milk.

I seemingly heard his insides gurgle before he did. I had to bite my cheek to stifle the moan that threatened to escape me. Steve finished draining his milk, and set a thin hand on his distended middle. Try as I might to look away, my eyes were glued to the scene before me.

Steve’s face twisted in pain, as if he was suddenly aware of how much food he had consumed. My heart seemed to stop.

“Oof…” he grunted. “Baby… that was delicious… but maybe a bit much for me in the future, hm?”

I feigned disappointment. “You… you mean you didn’t like it? I’m so sorry, I knew I hadn’t done it right…”

“No, no,” Steve stopped my rambling. “It was perfect honey. Thank you. I um… I do need to use the bathroom before I go, though.”

I watched as he pushed himself up from the table with some difficulty, cradling his distended middle in his hands as he walked to our bathroom.

20 minutes later, he emerged. He kissed my cheek as I finished cleaning the dishes, thanked me for breakfast, and left for work.

I couldn’t help the grin that grew on my face as he closed the door to leave. The drawstrings on his scrubs had been loosened.

—-

That afternoon, Steve came home for his lunch break, as he often did during the week. The nursing home was only five minutes away, which made lunch breaks at home more convenient.

I smiled as he came through the door, noting that while his tiny belly had deflated quite a bit, it was still noticeably round. “Hi honey, I made you lunch. It’s on the table for you.”

Steve seemed to pretty obviously attempt to hide the panicked look that marred his features momentarily. “Th-thanks honey… you really didn’t have to, I’m um… I’m still so full from breakfast. I had actually planned on just napping for my break today…”

I feigned hurt. “Oh… I understand. I had made you a lighter lunch to try to help with that… I don’t know what to do with it now, I hate for it to go to waste…”

Steve seemed torn, but eventually sat down at the table. In front of him sat two very large, pan fried ham sandwiches. Eight slices of deli ham atop two slices of heavily buttered white bread, with three slices of deli provolone cheese each. On the inside of each slice of bread was a large dollop of mayonnaise. A smaller cup of chocolate milk (again made with mostly heavy cream) sat to the side of the plate, accompanied by six Oreos.

Steve tucked into the food with hampered gusto, and I relished every second. Mayo dripped down the side of his mustache, followed by the chocolate milk. His scrub top began to round out over his belly slightly.

He inhaled the sandwiches as quickly as his complaining belly would allow, and guzzled the milk. The cookies sat untouched on the table.

Steve looked at his watch. “I have to get back to work honey, thank you so much for lunch. I’ll see you in a few hours.” He stood to hug me, and when his arms wrapped around me, I slipped the uneaten cookies into his scrub pockets.

“For later,” I winked as he looked at me, confused. “Just in case you get hungry.”

“No chance of that, babe.” He chuckled as he patted his middle.

—-

That evening when the car pulled up, I sat on the couch with a huge family sized bag of Doritos on my lap and a tray of pizza rolls on the other side of the couch. Steve walked in the door and raked a tired hand over his face.

“Long day?” I asked from my perch.

“Yeah,” he admitted groggily. “A lot of fall risks, a lot of paperwork.”

I casually noted the fresh Oreo crumbs that decorated the front of his scrubs.

“Ah,” I said, not fully understanding what that all meant. “Well, I don’t know what that means, but I figured you’d like to unwind a bit.” I patted the couch, where his Xbox controller sat charged, and his headset was attached. His favorite video game was displayed on the screen of the tv.

Steve visibly brightened and I moved the tray of pizza rolls out of the way so he could sit. He donned the headset, kissed me softly, and started to play.

Throughout the next several hours, I hand fed him chips and pizza rolls dipped generously in ranch. Slowly, Steve mindlessly ate his way through the entire family size bag of chips (minus a handful I gave myself) and 32 pizza rolls. I watched in delight as his belly became rounder and more stretched as the night progressed.

Finally, Steve paused his game. “Do we have anything sweet?” He asked. “I could use a break from the salt.”

It was all I could do to stop myself from bolting off the couch. I made my way as casually as possible to the fridge, and pulled out a bowl of pistachio pudding. This experiment would be interesting… I had never tried making pudding with heavy cream before, and I had no idea if the taste would be bad.

I sat down on the couch with the bowl and a large spoon, and Steve began to play again. Into his belly went an entire package of instant pudding spiked with heavy cream, and if he noticed the taste difference, he didn’t mention it.

Not long after the last spoonful descended into his belly, his eyelids began to droop. “I think I need to go to bed, baby. I’m so tired… I don’t understand why I’m so sluggish today.”

I kissed his cheek. “No worries honey. Let’s get to bed. You have another long day tomorrow.”

As we lay in bed that night, Steve fell into a deep sleep likely brought on by the massive onslaught of calories he had consumed throughout the day. I decided it was the closest a skinny man could get to a food coma.

He began to snore softly, my cue that he was completely out. I rolled over and began to fondle his tiny moobs and distended belly.

Soon, my love, you will be huge. Just you wait.