The Whipple Virus, Chapter 19 (Patreon)

Chapter 19

The next week was pure agony for Warren.  The first couple days, he managed to coast through his daily difficulties by reminding himself that he had only just managed getting sold into sexual slavery by a band of pitiless bounty hunter amazons.  When he was cognizant enough to remember how close he had come to this potential fate, his present predicament didn’t really seem so bad.  At least, this was what Warren was telling himself over and over again.

The thing was, Warren was increasingly feeling like he had, so to speak, jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.  Irina was certainly infinitely more loving and caring than any of those terrifying bounty hunters, but Warren found himself wondering if there was really much of a difference regarding her ultimate goals with him.  Ostensibly, she had agreed to let him be “free,” to let him function as a normal adult in his own house (a strange “victory” for him in and of itself), but under the surface, Warren could tell that Irina was playing games with him…messing with his mind…doing little things to try and nudge him toward his breaking point.

For starters, Irina had started making it a point to dress as suggestively as possible.  True, she was wearing clothes that he himself had bought her in a moment of weakness weeks before, but it was all different then.  That was before she had crossed a line and breastfed him, for godsakes!  Warren went back and forth in his mind, admonishing himself for his past choices, and then making excuses for his behavior.  He hated the fact that he had spent thousands of dollars on stylish new clothes for Irina, and he told himself over and over what an obvious and encouraging message that must have sent to her.

‘God, how did you think she would react to that!?’ he said to himself savagely.  ‘Of course she was going to think it meant something!’

But then he would try and rationalize it all to himself, drumming up some excuse about how it was “only natural” for a considerate employer to provide his housekeeper with an adequate wardrobe.  Warren knew that his excuses sounded pathetic, even in his own head, but he clung to them nonetheless, determined to hold onto some form of normalcy, to keep himself from sinking deeper and deeper into Irina’s aura, into her sexual fold.  He had tried as hard as he could to forget that he had bought himself a bib.

Irina, of course, hadn’t forgotten.  She watched Warren’s struggles with a mixture of genuine pity and barely-concealed amusement, with an overarching sense of calm, steady determination that governed everything she did.  She almost felt bad for taking a little enjoyment out of watching Warren struggle, but she reminded herself that her feelings were harmless and totally understandable.  How could she avoid feeling amused!?  This tiny little man was stumbling along through his own house, trying to reach things out of reach, trying to lift things that were too heavy for him, and generally trying to be a “man” when he was so obviously anything but.  Despite his daily medications, he was continuing to shrink, both in stature and in overall size, and by the end of the week he was only an inch above three feet tall.

Irina generally made sure that there were step stools around everywhere, to ensure that Warren could reach basic necessities, but sometimes, just for fun, in the morning before he came downstairs, she’d take one of the stools away and hide it, so Warren would be forced to ask her to help him up onto the counter, or onto the sofa, or wherever he needed to be.  Inevitably, she’d agree to help him, making it a point to ensure that her huge, heavy breasts squished sensuously into his back, enveloping him completely on either side as she lifted him effortlessly up with one hand, like he weighed nothing at all.  Warren was clearly very uncomfortable with these encounters, but Irina saw the obvious truth every time — the unmistakable impinge of an erection in his pants.

Irina sometimes felt a little guilty after pulling little tricks like this.  Even though she definitely enjoyed slowly and seductively lifting him up every now and then, she much preferred more indirect and psychological ways of getting into Warren’s head.  It was less brutish in her mind, and much more rewarding — in this way, Warren was the architect of his own demise, not her.  All she was doing was existing, and it was Warren’s uncontrollable desires that were spelling his doom.

She had started by making a point of dressing up in a new outfit every day.  The outfits themselves, as Warren had bought them, were not meant to all be blatantly suggestive, but he had bought them weeks ago, back when Irina was “only” a few inches over 6 feet.  And just as Warren was steadily shrinking, Irina was steadily, inexorably growing.  She had reached 6’7 within two days of Warren’s return, and by the end of the week, she had reached an astonishing 6’9.  It was the most aggressive growth spurt she had gone through, and it left Irina wondering whether repressed desire or extra-full breasts had anything to do with her mounting hormone levels.  She was feeling positively lascivious, and her huge body pushing and straining the confines of her outfits seemed like an apt metaphor for her pent-up sexual, motherly energy.

Whenever she was around Warren, Irina felt like her body was about to burst with desire to gather him up, to smother him, to cover him with little kisses all over his precious, shrunken little body.  And her breasts…her breasts…THEY felt like they were about ready to explode with the amount of milk they had been producing.  Irina knew that she was just a day or two away from having to use her breast pump for some relief.  It was getting ridiculous — both of her breasts had become so swollen and engorged that one afternoon, when she slapped them down on the counter as she leaned forward to eat her lunch, Warren could literally HEAR the milk sloshing around inside.  Irina saw his mouth drop open out of the corner of her eye, and she could’ve sworn that she saw it start to water, before he managed to mechanically shut it and settle into his peanut butter sandwich.  As she predicted, he barely even touched the sandwich, and kept looking at her breasts as she chattered on about “normal” things going on in the world.

By the end of the week, Irina had completely abandoned wearing bras.  For one thing, she didn’t have any that fit her anymore, and for another, she was enjoying watching Warren ogle at her bare breasts threatening to rip through the tops and dresses she was wearing.  It had become a bit of a chore to squeeze her burgeoning body into these clothes every morning, but the effect on Warren always proved to be worth it.  She liked strutting around the house with her massive body stuffed into these clothes — they made her feel even bigger, even more motherly, and strong.  She could tell that Warren was trying to wrap his mind around how much bigger she was than him, and how he couldn’t even hope to fill her clothes like that, even if his mass were multiplied five or six times over.

The most glaring feature, though, of how things had changed was that Irina absolutely insisted on sleeping with Warren every night.  The reason she gave was simple, and perfectly genuine: even on his medication, Warren had suffered an episode of delirium (apparently more common in Whipple’s patients at night), and Irina was not about to risk him enduring another episode without her being close by.  Warren had tried to dissuade her from this decision, but Irina had been quite firm on this point, crossing her arms over her gigantic breasts and shaking her head slowly down at him.  Her message was clear: he was free to try and resist, but she was not going to yield.

Warren had briefly considered fighting her on this one, but with a halfhearted shrug of his shrunken little shoulders, he had resigned himself to her choice.  It certainly was hard, trying to act like a man when Irina was snuggling up in his bed every night after measuring him and watching him take his medicine.  In reality, though, Warren was most worried about the temptation her delicious body would pose in bed next to him.  He could literally smell the creamy goodness boiling away in those enormous breasts, just a few feet away from his face now every night.  And Irina wasn’t nearly as shy anymore.  As they watched their nightly dose of TV, she had started casually lifting her robe aside, so that her bare tits hung down freely, torturing Warren with how enticing they looked.  Stealing desperate glances, he could sometimes even see the little white dots of coy creaminess seeping out from her fat, engorged nipples.

“Aaaaaaaah, that’s better,” she moaned out pleasantly one night, wiggling her curvy frame back and forth in pleasure as she settled deeper into Warren’s mattress.  “Mmmmm, of course you understand Warren…these two girls have been pent up all day long and they’ve just gotten sooooo fuuullllll, you know?”

“Y-yeah…yeah I…I u-understand,” he answered shakily, trying as hard as he could not to turn his head and stare at them.  “T-totally…um…understandable, mmhmm…”

“Awww, you know, you’ve been such a good little sport this week,” cooed Irina, reaching her big arm out and pulling Warren’s little body up close to her.  “I know it’s been hard for you, since you’ve just gotten so much smaller…since you’ve lost more strength than you had, even before…but you’ve really tried to put on a good face through it all.  I’m so proud of you Warren, really, I am.”

“Th-thanks,” he muttered, feeling himself sink into her soft, voluminous flesh.  Her left breast was only a foot away from his face now.  Looking across at it, at its huge, fat nipple, he felt a searing desire to latch his mouth on and suck it.

‘It’s just the virus talking,’ he thought desperately to himself.  ‘Just the virus…just the virus…’

Her big arm on his back felt so good, so warm, so strong, so loving; he wanted to melt into her.  But he also knew what she was doing, and it wasn’t lost on him that she had just blatantly mentioned how he was noticeably smaller and weaker now.  He had to try and assert himself somehow…to try and keep himself established in some kind of normalcy from the past.

“I…I’m not sure I’m…that much weaker, actually,” he murmured, staring at the TV, watching a news program in which Aly Rainsman was interviewing an enormous blond woman in a cerulean dress, a public defender who had started an anti-harem group called “Mothers Against Trafficking.”  Warren had noticed that his favorite TV anchor had been filling up more and more of the set recently.  At this point, she had to be at least 7 feet tall, and fresher and curvier than ever.  But with Irina lying there next to him, Warren was finding it difficult to concentrate on the TV.  The screen only served to light up their bodies lying next to each other, to accentuate the enormous difference in size.  Irina’s thighs rose up at least three times as high as his own; Warren didn’t even want to think about how much fuller and wider they were.

Irina inhaled a deep breath and let it out, letting Warren feel the inflation of her massive body, as his rose and fell along with hers.  She could hardly believe he was still dropping these pitiful little comments, to try and squeeze out of this new reality.  But she maintained her composure and put her long fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his little head.  She saw his erection almost instantly rise up in the groin of his oversized pajamas, and an immediate, liquid warmth spread through her loins.  It didn’t even take any effort on her part…his body just reacted that way to hers, and the clear, implicit power of the exchange thrilled Irina, filling her with a sense of growing potential.  In the past, she had shied away from indulging in this power over him, but now, she did not feel so inclined to ignore it.  Instead, she felt like using it to gently, firmly, relentlessly show Warren that things were going to be different in the house.  Irina had been loath to admit it before, but now, she was slowly coming around, slowly realizing that she needed to increasingly accept the dominant role for their relationship to work in the new world.

“Awww, come on Warren,” she replied after a few silent seconds of gently scratching his head, “I was just giving you a little compliment, and then you use that to try and deny that things are obviously changing?”  She palmed his head with her huge hand, shaking it a little playfully, before snaking her fingers off his scalp and brushing his cheek lovingly with her long finger.  “Heheh, I mean, look, like I was saying, I appreciate your…um…your determination to stay strong, Warren, but at some point I think it’s healthy to admit that things are just different now, and that you’re just…well, much smaller and weaker than you were before.  And there’s no shame in that, Warren, no shame at all!  Because you have ME to take care of you.”

At the word “ME,” Irina had slithered her huge hand around Warren’s shoulder and pulled him in even closer to her big, voluptuous body, actually smushing the side of his face into her exposed breast as she did so.  Warren felt his shriveled little body sinking into the soft, voluminous flesh of Irina’s hip, and into the splayed expanse of her ass cheek that rose up in sumptuous vigor beside him.  Even though she was making a far deeper indentation in the bed than he was, Warren was desperate to see that the top of Irina’s ass reached the middle of his stomach; her thick, creamy thighs grew out from her ass in robust, feminine swerves.  Warren felt like he was literally being swallowed up by her body, and with his cheek smushed into the side of her breast, he could feel the rhythm of her mighty heart pumping blood through her veins.  Her milk…all those sweet, warm reserves of milk…they were so close…he could almost see her engorged nipple pulsating, aching for his mouth.  Irina paused as she held him to her, watching him stare at her nipple.  For an intense, luscious moment, she thought he was going to surrender and start latching his little lips over her nipple right then and there.  But, as she expected, he still had a little fight in him.

“I…I ap-appreciate it, Irina,” Warren muttered, staring at the incredible side-by-side comparison of their legs, “But…I mean, don’t, uhhh…don’t take this the wrong way, but…and I r-really owe you a lot, with everything you do for me…”

“Mmhmm…” hummed Irina, a slow smile coming to her face as she looked down on him.  ‘God, he’s really talking himself into a corner, isn’t he?’ she thought.  A little spasm of hurt throbbed in her heart as his resistance reminded her that he had run away from her…that he had basically rejected her love and care.  But the quieter, stronger, more assured part of her was rapidly conquering that part of her that wallowed in the hurt — it felt like an older part of her, an aspect that was disappearing as she got bigger and more confident with each passing day.  She was waiting for him to trap himself, and she got what she was waiting for just moments later.

“B-but I…I think…” forced Warren, “I think that…uhm…m-maybe…maybe I should try and, you know…start doing some more things for myself?”

Warren inwardly winced.  Even his “declaration of independence” sounded weak-willed and halfhearted.  Part of him couldn’t believe he was actually saying this lunacy out loud — who was he kidding!?  But he nonetheless persisted in his clumsy obstinance.  His only other option was to give in to Irina, to completely throw away his identity as a man, to surrender himself to her.  And he knew that as soon as that happened, she would be breastfeeding him like a little baby in no time, and that he would spend his days craving after her milk, until he had completely regressed into a pathetic, needy little infant who had no life or agency of his own.  Warren wanted so badly to submit, to just give in and drink from her glorious tits, to melt into her huge body like a little child.  But at present his desire to resist was still stronger.

Irina smirked and tilted her head to the side, looking at him mildly.  ‘Ok,’ she thought with amused determination, ‘You wanna play this game Warren?  Let’s play it.’

“Oh?” she asked out loud, looking at the manicured nails of her long fingers, “Like what, Warren?”

“W-well…” he began, feeling a little encouraged by her apparent receptivity, “Like…uhh…like maybe…uhm, maybe I can start making breakfast for myself?”

“Hmmm,” mused Irina, pursing her lips and slowly nodding her head as she pretended to consider his proposition.  In reality, she was devising something quite different.

“N-not that I—I don’t like your cooking!” Warren squeaked out earnestly.  “It’s just that…w-well, maybe it’d be a good…a good idea for me to g-get into the habit of uhh, you know, maybe being more active and t-taking a more…active role in…in stuff?”

He was kicking himself internally.  What on earth was he doing!?  Irina’s breakfasts were the best!  Had he seriously managed to talk his way out of them??  But a moment later he felt briefly reassured, because Irina had broken into a smile and was nodding at him.

“Ok Warren,” she replied, “Sounds good to me.  You start making your own breakfast every day.  Haha, you know, I can see where you’re coming from — as you shrink smaller, it totally makes sense that you want to do everything you can to maintain a sense of agency over yourself and your life.  Absolutely understandable, Warren.  I’m on board!”

“Oh!  W-well…well great!” he exclaimed.  He felt himself crack into a sheepish grin.  That had definitely been easier than he thought!  Perhaps he should try and reassert himself like that a lot more often!

“Just one thing, though,” Irina added, pointing her finger up as she gestured with her big hand, looking down at him seriously, “This can’t be some kind of halfhearted experiment, ok?  The fact remains that you’re a man infected with the Whipple Virus, so adequate nutrition is so, so very important, especially right after your morning medicine.”

“Oh y-yeah, yeah, of…of course!” nodded Warren vigorously.  He felt Irina inhale a deep breath again, and once more he couldn’t help but stare at her huge, swelling breasts inflating next to his face.  A tiny bead of thick white milk appeared at the tip of her swollen tit, and Warren had to make a point to keep his mouth clamped shut to avoid openly salivating.

“So seeing as how we both agree that you need to get your proper nutrition,” Irina continued, gently massaging his upper arm with her hand (which easily went all the way around his bicep now), “I think we should add some stakes to the arrangement.”

“S-Stakes?” asked Warren blankly.

“Mmhm,” said Irina.  “Just to make sure that you understand that your actions have consequences, Warren.  I’m more than happy to give you a shot at proving to me that you can…do more things for yourself, but if it turns out that you can’t, well…I want there to be some repercussions…not punishments, you understand…but repercussions.”

“L-like…like what?” Warren asked.  He was trying to keep his voice from trembling; already he regretted making this proposal, but he couldn’t back out now.

“Well how about this,” Irina mused genially, squeezing him even closer to her, squishing his little body into hers some more as she ran her hand lovingly up and down his shrunken arm, teasing him, emphasizing how much bigger her arm was than his, “If you can make breakfast for yourself tomorrow in a timely manner, let’s say by 9 am, then I’ll give you the chance to propose some more independence for yourself.  Sound good?”

“Y-yeah,” agreed Warren.  It certainly seemed reasonable.  But he knew that the flip-side was coming next.

“But if it happens that you can’t make yourself a nutritious breakfast by 9 tomorrow,” Irina continued, smirking down at him, “Then you have to start wearing that adorable little bib you bought on Amazon…for all of your meals.”

“Wh-what!?” stammered Warren.

“Mmhmm!” nodded Irina, “And…in addition to that, you have to start eating all your meals in that high chair.  Deal?”

“B-But…but that’s…that’s not…uhhhhh,” was all Warren could manage to say.

“Oh but Warren, what’s the matter?” asked Irina lovingly, dropping her voice down a little into a deeply feminine timbre, “From your reaction, it kinda seems like you’re afraid that you won’t be able to do it!”

“I…n-no…no I…I know I can do it!” countered Warren unconvincingly.  He turned his face up to hers, trying to be defiant.  “It’s…uhhhh, y-you’re the one who doesn’t think I can do it!”

“Heheh, you’re right Warren!” laughed Irina, “I don’t think you can do it.  But I’m happy to be proven wrong.  So what do you say?  We have a deal?”

Warren just sat there, smushed into Irina’s bodacious body, out of options.  He knew that he had done all of this to himself, but again, there was nothing he could do now.  Silently, he nodded.  Irina snuggled up to him even closer, and he smelled her sweet breath washing over him as she breathed one word out sensually:

“Good.”

The next morning, as usual, Warren awoke to find that Irina had already gotten up.  He stumbled to the bathroom, took his medicine, and then remembered with a cold start that he had until 9 am to make things happen.  Panicking, he checked the clock in his bedroom.  8:30.  He breathed a sigh of relief. That was plenty of time!  He totally had this in the bag.

But five minutes later, he had only just reached the bottom of the stairs, having taken more time than he had anticipated trying to put his clothes on.  Usually Irina left his outfits out on the bed, for his convenience, but she hadn’t done that today.  No doubt to prove a point of her own, Warren figured.  He hardened his resolve, desperate to prove her wrong.

When he finally arrived in the kitchen, though, Irina was nowhere to be found.  Warren wondered if this was all part of her game.  The step stools that he usually used were still in their regular positions, and he went towards the fridge, stepping up one one of the stools and bracing himself to pull the door open.  90 seconds later, breathing hard, he finally succeeded.  But what he saw inside the fridge made him stop dead.

There were jars of thick, creamy milk sitting there on the first shelf in the fridge…open jars.  A delicious, sweet scent wafted up his nose from the jars, and it took all of Warren’s resolve not to break down and just gulp down the milk right then and there.  There was so much of it…four big jars in all…and Warren knew that it had come from Irina.  Not being able to help himself, he reached out and touched one of the jars.  It was warm.  Warren felt a twinge in his cock as he felt his jaw starting to slacken.  Irina had just pumped her glorious breasts, and set the milk in the fridge.  Now that he was looking at it closer, he could see that it was actually still steaming.

“Heheh, sorry little guy!” Irina’s happy voice came from behind him.  Warren nearly fell off the stool as he turned around to see Irina standing there, decked out in an unbelievably tight red dress.  He had bought it to fit her weeks before, but now, her huge body filled it so tightly that it looked like the dress itself was about to burst, particularly at the bust.  She looked even taller and bigger than she had yesterday.

“I just HAD to relieve a bit of the tension this morning,” she continued, cupping her mammoth breasts in her hands and bouncing them up and down.  “And I thought it would be a SHAME to let it all go to waste, haha.  I also thought it might make my breasts a little smaller so I could fit into this dress a little better, but you can see how well THAT worked out!  I think they might even be bigger.  Which would make sense, since I measured in at 6’11 this morning!”

“Y-you…you grew two inches last night!?” burst out Warren.

“Yep!” Irina announced proudly, striking poses, putting her hands on her hips as she swiveled her big ass playfully from side to side.  “I think I’m finally hitting my growth stride….maybe I can actually compete with your girl Aly Rainsman here before long, hahaha!”

Warren just gaped at her for several long moments, totally mesmerized by her curves, and by how huge she looked.

“Well let’s go, Warren!” Irina exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands playfully.  “You’ve got less than 20 minutes to make yourself a nutritious breakfast, or else…well…”

Her eyes travelled slowly to the side, honing in on something next to the counter.  Warren’s eyes followed hers, and then he saw it: the high chair, complete with the bib hanging on it, all decked out with new straps, just sitting there, waiting for him.