Chub-Love Shorts: The Worst Day of the Week (Patreon)

It’s quiet in your apartment. Aside from the clicking of your fingers on your keyboard, the loudest thing you can hear is the occasional noise of a passing car.

That is, until you hear the zombie in your bedroom begin to stir.

Boof… boof… bap.

You’re trying to picture the exact movements. Pale, shapely legs kicking out from their covers. Naked feet softly trundling across the carpet to reach your dresser.

She’d lean over, reaching for the bottom drawer to find a pair of pants and… underwear…

Your mind strays, and the picture refocuses from the drawer to her bottom, gently wiggling back and forth whenever she moves. Her belly on her thighs, her butt in the air.

You know you’re picturing her bigger than she is. Softer, wider, in your imagination she is always just a bit more… plump.

Even though she must be twenty-pounds past plump by now.

You can hear when she stands back up, her chubby stompers coming down through the tiny gaps in her large-sized panties. Next, she’d look at herself in the mirror, and you wonder if she scowls and pokes a finger into her chubby belly, or if she’s looking at her hips before sticking out her tongue and giving herself a playful wink. She knows how much you love her hips.

Then, the noise returns. Slow, heavy, thud… thud… and you suddenly doubt the zombie had looked at herself at all. She’s gotten used to being a fatty.

But you?

You still find yourself taking mental snapshots when she opens the door and plods down the hallway, sleepily moaning, “Baf-room…”

The bathroom door closes and you review the selection of shots. Her eyes have sleepy shadows beneath them, her soft cheeks creating a softer chin. Her hair is messy, her panties don’t fit, and she isn’t wearing a bra.

Still, it’s not her naked breasts that hold the focus of your mind, which has begun to loop several quickly shot images. Up and down, again and again, her belly wobbles and throbs and she jiggles.

Then, the images change, and your desires have stolen your focus. Another pound, another five. You watch her tummy become firm with food or with liquid or even air, and those repetitive bobs become a trundling waddle as the girl in your mind grows.

Bigger. Fatter. Rounder. The transformation has her, and it has you as well. Up, down, jiggle, thud. It’s spread from her gut, now stuffed and solid, to her hips, then her waist, then her thighs, then her breasts. Her tired voice gasps in fear… or is it elation? She’s growing too big, she struggles to walk. Soon, her hips have her caught, and your lover gasps and grunts, hands trying to hold herself in, legs unable to get another step forward.

“U-ugggh!” you hear her moan, pushing back against the tide of her gluttony and her own waist. “Oooough~”

“AHHH-CHOO!!”

The noise is so loud that you bounce in your seat, nearly dropping your laptop as you’re forcefully surfaced through the intoxicating waves of your imagination. You blink several times towards the bathroom before asking, “Are you okay?”

The door cracks. “Fine. Sorry. I… sneeze kinda loud… sometimes…”

“I see.”

A moment passes and the door remains open. You can’t see her, but you can almost feel her presence. You wonder why that is before her voice comes again.

“Thanks for… taking care of me… this weekend.”

“Hmm?”

Oh. Right. None of this is normal. You’ve to remind yourself of that, because how natural every moment has felt. Your date had been on Saturday, celebrating the monthly passage of time since you’d gotten together. These were dinners which you’d been growing to love, and your pudgy creature had been growing to enjoy more and more of.

That hadn’t happened on Saturday. She could dust off a plateful of pasta as if it were an appetizer, especially when she knew you were watching… but she’d only finished half, and hadn’t lit up like normal when offered a nice cold dessert.

You thought she might be feeling down over something, and though you’d expected to be refused, you offered to take her back to your place to watch a movie that had been on your lists.

To your surprise, she’d accepted. And to a larger surprise, you never even started the movie. Instead, you both just sat on the couch, hand in her hair while she nuzzled your chest, apologizing again and again for feeling sick.

You made her a bowl of soup, and she’d fallen asleep. As simple as that.

The next day was worse. She’d a fever, which made you worried and want to go to the doc, but she laughed off your concerns and just asked for more soup before apologizing for having stolen your bed. She seemed really worried that you’d get sick as well, but you mostly felt fine.

Besides the pins and the needles from where she’d slept on your arm…

“It’s no problem,” you finally reply. “Are you feeling better today?”

“Fever’s gone. Still…” she cuts off and you hear a noise somewhere between an ursine growl and the revving of a sportscars engine. “Still a bit stuffy,” she says with her nose. “Ack. Frickin… typical. Gotta get ready for work. Worst day of the week.”

You lift an eyebrow, but she goes back to blowing her nose.

“I’m gonna shower! Is that okay?”

“Sure,” you reply, wondering if the answer would matter.

The shower starts and you briefly wonder if she’d stored product here, before remembering how she’d spent most of yesterday nuzzling your neck and saying, ‘You smell good…’

Poacher…

It makes you chuckle and you take up your laptop to get back to work. Working from home had a lot of benefits, but it could have its fair amount of distractions.

You can’t help but listen as your favorite distraction plods around one the tiles, her heavy footfall thudding into the shower.

The door’s still cracked, so you can hear her soft mumbles as she bathes. You wonder if she’s humming to herself, but you manage to pick up on the word ‘Demographic,’ and remember she’d mentioned how she’d practice while showering.

It isn’t long until the shower clicks off and you hear her thumps as she steps out.

“According to Figure B, the rate of obesity in our nation has increased substantially amongst young women, one of which is currently offering this presen…ta…ion…”

She pauses.

“You better not have been listening to that!!”

“I wasn’t,” you lie.

“… It’s supposed to be a joke!”

“I’m sure.”

“Glaaagghhhh.”

You wonder if laughing will make her feel better.

From the increased intensity to her heavy footfall, you consider that it likely wouldn’t. But then she closes the door with a **Thud** and you laugh anyways.

Two minutes pass, with your fingers and eyes going through the motions while your mind is empty and cheerful. Then the door opens and she steps out, a towel around her chest and another drying her hair.

“I heard that…”

She’s scowling, but it’s too cute to be a scowl. Her cheeks have grown chubby, her chin has turned soft. It’s the sparkle of danger in her eyes that makes you excited.

“That better have been at my joke.”

“It was.”

She watches you for a moment before fixing her towel with a loud ‘Hmph!’ and thudding back to the bedroom. “Did you hang up my clothes how I said?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve a very serious presentation to give today! We’re handling a class action against a major fast food company!”

“I see. Do you think it’s wise to make jokes during it?”

The door opens. It’s surprising how quickly she dried herself off and changed back into her nice dress clothes. The white blouse is tucked into a gray skirt at her naval, giving her a chubby muffintop that she’d surely hide beneath her jacket blazer, while a small black purse with bright golden buckle hangs off her shoulder.

“I think people are gonna fall asleep if I don’t have something to keep them engaged. It’s all numbers and graphs. Nobody cares about pie charts. They’d much rather pies with sweets.”

“Speaking from experience?”

She rolls her eyes before crossing her arms in a way that does… interesting things, with her chubby chest. “Maybe I should have you tag along. We can make it a duo act.”

“The Abbot to your Costello.”

“Huh?” she tilts her head.

“Nevermind.”

She doesn’t press. Instead, she reaches into her purse, taking out a rectangular object that you instantly recognize due to the sparkly glitter and the large, chibified grizzly bear eating from a jar full of honey.

“It’ll be nice to finally have my phone back though. I need to get you a real charger that I can use here.”

“I have real chargers. I should get you a real phone.”

“Oh, whatever,” she says, touching her knuckles to your hair. “Come on, gimmie a kiss, I gotta go.”

She steps back and you place your laptop to the side, rising from your chair. You’d thought it’d be a simple peck, but she moves herself to you, leaning deeply into the kiss and softly holding you in her softer embrace. Your hands go to her hips, feeling how much chub there is, and you feel her giggle as the kiss ends before leaning into your chest and rubbing herself to you.

“Thanks again. For… everything.”

You place your lips to her hair and just enjoy the hug. She smells like your shampoo, and while you prefer hers, there’s something really comforting about all of it. It feels like she already lives here.

You should ask her to, soon.

“Bah. I gotta go, gotta go,” she says, and finally the embrace ends. She tosses her phone back into her purse. “The bus’ll probably be there any minute. They run quicker on Mondays!”

You stop.

Immediately, she senses the shift, and her pull away freezes before she looks up to your wide eyes.

“What??”

“You know it’s Tuesday, right…?”