Chapter 17

Warren was suddenly awash in Irina’s light, sweet, rustic scent, and his vision had become nothing more than a tumbling mess of her long, dark hair, which seemed to cling to and wrap around his body as she seized him in her arms and brought him up to her face. He felt her firm, strong, soft hands enveloping his midsection, going all the way around and holding him fast. And all the while, her relieved sobs overwhelmed his ears — he felt so bad for her, and so terribly guilty, that he could have driven her to such a state, and yet, at the same time, he was still desperate to get away. The strength and intensity of Irina’s reaction to having him back was making him feel all the more intimidated about what was to come.

Warren hadn’t even had the focus to register that Irina’s hair was damp, which was why it seemed to cling to his body as she lifted him up and held him tightly in between her breasts, forcing his head to hang over her left shoulder as she turned and walked with him swiftly back into the house. After her call with Sarah, Irina had driven back home and tried to make herself some breakfast, but her hands had gone numb and she couldn’t even properly hold the kitchen knife to cut vegetables for an omelette. And in any case, she had found it increasingly difficult not to cry as she looked down, trying in vain to occupy herself. She just couldn’t help but feel that this had all been her fault, and that, despite what Sarah had said to her, she had somehow doomed Warren to a terrible fate out in the harsh and unforgiving new world.

Vivid images from the TV flashed through her mind — pictures of some of the illegal male harems that had been busted by the police in recent days. While it was unquestionably legal for women to have more than one male “dependent” (as the euphemism went), larger harems were subject to more strict regulation, aimed at combating the rise of exploitative male trafficking, which was apparently becoming a big problem. Before Warren had run away, Irina had thought that such trafficking was sad and inexcusable, a blight on the new world order that had risen up out of the Whipple Pandemic. Just because men had become smaller, weaker, and more infantile didn’t make it right for women to start abusing them, and taking advantage of their helplessness to feed their own carnal desires! And while Irina had to admit to herself that she understood the attraction to such pleasures, she had been firm in her opposition to lax regulations on these “mega-harems,” and the inevitable human trafficking that went along with them.

But those had all just been abstract principles before, the typical social policy debates and opinions that everyone had about this aspect or that aspect of the news. But now that Warren had run away, Irina had been unable to keep her mind from the horrors of what he might have been going through. She had heard reports of…what were they? Bounty hunters, basically…roaming the streets…gigantic women who had purposefully exposed themselves to high concentrations of the Whipple Virus so that they grew even bigger and stronger than the “typical” big woman who might oppose them. Irina had heard reports that some of the more advanced of these “bounty hunters” (many of whom were actually medical doctors, apparently) had isolated certain genetic components of the Whipple Virus, the components that accentuated female secondary sex characteristics, and injected themselves with them, causing their breast size and milk production to vastly increase. Irina could hear Julia Winters’s voice echoing in her head, from a news broadcast just a few days before:

“And it has been suggested by some hypothetical laboratory experiments that the high concentrations of androstenol in these women can actually emanate from their pores, into the surrounding air, potentially causing any Whipple-infected men close by to have an uncontrollable desire to nurse at their breasts. Some experts have postulated that this is how certain mega-harems have gotten so big…the little men literally get drawn into their lairs.”

Irina remembered how the news anchor had smiled and given a little chuckle as she shook her head, and moved onto a different story. Even then, Irina had noticed a difference between her reaction and Julia Winters’ — maybe other women didn’t care too much about this story, but Irina had felt so sorry for those poor little men, seduced into their own doom, by irresponsible and greedy women who were using the pandemic to feed their own selfish impulses. Again, Irina could certainly understand these impulses, but as far as she was concerned, other women now had more of a duty than ever to protect men, to care for them, to ease them into the new reality of the post-Whipple world.

But now that Warren had escaped, Irina couldn’t help but think of all those images that had flashed across the news screen days before…a hallway of cages, each of them occupied by a scared, skinny, trembling little man, totally naked, and fitted with an electric collar to shock them if they managed to escape and got too far away from their new prison. This particular news segment had been neutral — Julia Winters had gone to one of these “harems” with a film crew and interviewed a few of the women, even going so far as to stick a microphone in between the bars of one of the cages and ask the captive men a few questions. Irina had watched on with a kind of troubled fascination, as the news anchor’s full, feminine arm held the microphone to one of the men’s trembling lips. He couldn’t have been more than two-and-a-half feet tall…and was even skinnier than Warren.

“And let’s ask this little guy about it,” Julia Winters’s bright voice had begun, as she smiled down at the cowering man in the cage. “I’m told that you ran away from quite a good home life…probably some of the acute Whipple psychosis that we’ve been hearing so much about. What’s it like, being one of sooooo many now? Do you miss your old home life? Your old caretaker?”

“Y-yes!” cried the man, who could barely speak. “I…I m-made…made a mis…mistake! And n-now I’m all s-stuck here w-with nowhere to g—”

“Oh don’t give me that blabber,” interrupted one of the huge “bounty hunters.” Irina remembered how the camera had panned backward to reveal an absolutely gigantic woman, who had to be at least 7’5, a foot taller than both Irina and Julia Winters. Irina thought she looked super-edgy — she was wearing a tight black leather jacket that barely contained her enormous, swollen breasts, and she had a bright red mohawk, with a face full of fierce-looking piercings. Irina had looked on in something like awe, even though she disapproved of this young woman’s behavior.

“He’s well-taken-care-of, Julia,” continued the huge “bounty hunter,” “As he is well aware. He’s just regretting his own decision to run away, now that we’ve captured him. But imagine if he was still out there on the street, wasting away. No resveratrol treatments, no reactive protein therapy, no medical interventions whatsoever to keep you alive. Oh, and of course, no milllkkkk.”

The unnamed young woman had then, in the presence of the TV cameras, popped a colossal breast out of her leather jacket, revealing an oceanic appendage of firm, voluptuous flesh, with a hard, protruding nipple on the end that had to be at least a couple inches long. Irina had shuddered (even as she had become aroused), watching on TV as the woman with the mohawk had brought her engorged teat towards the little man trembling in his cage. Julia Winters said nothing, putting her hand up to her camera crew, indicating that they should continue filming, allowing the interaction to take place candidly. Irina had watched as the man’s face twitched, his eyes helplessly drawn to the warm flesh of the incoming breast. For a moment, it had looked as if he was going to retreat to the back corner of his cage, but his trembling increased, and Irina could see that his mouth had started to water.

The young bounty hunter, smiling knowingly, had brought her breast closer, closer, and closer to the cage bars…and as she did so, the little man had become more and more restless and fidgety. Irina understood — he knew that he was being filmed, and that he would be undermining his message of persecution if he devolved into a helpless, childlike state…but the closer that nipple came, the more he appeared to come apart at the seams. His young captor had finally stopped coming closer, holding her huge, fat nipple just a few inches from the cage bars. The tiny man had looked on…and then the woman had pinched her nipple with two huge fingers, making it grow even bigger, as little flecks of white milk appeared on the surface. The man was putty now — he was pressing his face, his entire body, up against the cage bars. Irina noticed his little erection poking through, and felt a matronly sense of sorrow for him, even as she had felt a strange desire to chuckle.

The huge young woman had grinned furtively at the camera and flicked her nipple, causing little flecks of her thick white milk to speckle the bars of the man’s cage. Like a starving animal, he had immediately started licking the milk off the metal bars, his eyes clouded and unfocused, as he eagerly panted out into the air. The gigantic young woman had then turned to Julia Winters, and the camera, and winked.

“Sorry, he’d like to finish what he was saying,” the woman had chuckled, “About being a victim who can take care of himself…who is fit to live out in the real world by himself, but…well, he’s a little preoccupied, apparently.”

This particular news segment had been at the forefront of Irina’s mind as she looked down at her cutting board, trying to chop up onions and mushrooms for her breakfast. But she hadn’t even been able to hold the knife straight, because her hands had gone numb, and because her eyes kept welling up with tears. She had snorted to herself and looked up indistinctly, blinking tears out of her eyes, feeling ridiculous.

‘Come on Irina,’ she had told herself aggressively, trying to rally, ‘Get ahold of yourself. Just…just try and relax. Sarah’s got everything under control. She really seemed to know what she was talking about. You need to calm down and trust her.’

It was a tall order, to be content with staying in the house and just waiting for something to happen. Irina was a proactive person, unaccustomed to waiting passively around when action was called for. But she trusted Sarah…didn’t she!? Irina had put the knife down, abandoning breakfast, and had instead tried making herself some calming chamomile tea. But her mind was racing. What was Sarah going to do, anyway?? Why did she seem to know so much about what to do? Irina admitted to herself that it had been stupid on her part to think of putting up those posters, especially in light of that news segment she had seen…but everything else just didn’t seem to make sense. How could Sarah have been so confident that she could find Warren? These troubling questions, with even more troubling answers, swirled around in Irina’s mind as she sipped her tea, staring out of the front kitchen window. Was Sarah somehow…involved with the trafficking underworld!? Was that how she knew exactly what to do and where to go? Irina didn’t want to think about it. She finished her tea way too quickly, and didn’t feel calm at all. She had finally decided to just go take a shower, to sit on the ledge and just let the hot water wash over her, as she breathed in the soothing vapors. She’d keep her phone close by, just in case Sarah called.

Half an hour later, Irina was in the kitchen, pacing back and forth in her bathrobe, a white towel tied up on her head, glancing out the window every few seconds, her phone grasped in her hand. At this point, Irina was beyond caring how “crazy” she was acting. She was minutes away from calling Sarah to ask about how it was going, even though, up to this point, she had managed to let the voluptuous nurse do her thing without pestering her. But Irina had run out of options for distracting herself. She had taken her shower, spruced herself up, put on make-up, changed clothes, tidied up Warren’s bedroom from the previous night, and on and on, until she was left pacing the kitchen, occasionally glancing at the high chair that she had brought out from storage.

Irina had remembered the high chair when she had been sitting with her head in her hands in the shower. She had come across it weeks ago, when she had been cleaning, but at that point she hadn’t really given it too much thought. But sitting in the shower, she had managed to get herself to a mental place where she could think about how she would react once Sarah had brought Warren home. She would be happy…so incredibly happy and relieved…but she would also be upset with him. Irina could feel herself getting worked up just thinking about it — how could Warren have been so thoughtless, so reckless, to run away like that!? What on earth had he been thinking?? Even if he had been freaked out by what had happened the previous night, with the breastfeeding and everything, there was surely no excuse for just running out into the world like that! Warren watched the news — he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t know what was going on out there…that he didn’t know the dangers. It was absolutely insane of him to think that any difficulties he had with her here, in the safety of his house, were worse than what awaited him out there.

‘But he was insane,’ Irina had to remind herself as she got out of the shower, looking down at her hands as she flexed them in and out, enjoying the return of sensation that the hot water had brought. ‘He was having a psychotic break…poor little thing…I can’t be hard on him like that. I can’t judge his behavior by the standards that would have been normal for a grown man months ago. Things have changed — the world’s different. And I can’t stay stuck in the past.’

And so, after tying up the towel on her head and putting on a fresh set of clothes, she had gone into the storage closet under the stairs and fished out the high chair, marveling at how easily she was able to do it.

“Guess I forgot I’m 6’5 and built like a tank now,” thought Irina to herself, in a lighthearted moment that was unfortunately fleeting. She was glad to see that the high chair came complete with body straps for securing the supposed infant into the seat, preventing the possibility of escape. And even though Warren was an adult and had the mental ability to understand how to loosen the straps themselves, Irina doubted that he now had the actual strength to loosen what she had tightened.

Now that the high chair was in the kitchen, Irina was pacing back and forth, looking out the window, and occasionally at the high chair itself. A few times she questioned whether this was really the best course of action, reacting to Warren coming home by literally strapping him down…imprisoning him. It somehow felt wrong…or at the very least, overly harsh. So he had suffered a little psychotic break — did it really warrant this kind of dramatic intervention?

But here Irina managed to catch herself. For one thing, she had no idea what state of mind Warren was going to be in when Sarah brought him back. Would she have already tied him up? Would he be screaming and raving about not wanting to be under her care? Under her supervision? Or, even worse, would he feign contrition, only to try and escape again at the first opportunity? Irina simply had no idea what to expect, so of course her forceful intervention was warranted. And, she reminded herself, his “little psychotic break” could have easily resulted in him getting kidnapped and sold into one of those huge male harems, or worse. Irina had been far, far too lax in her care for him, and had underestimated the irrational potential of is Whipple-infected mind. So yes, she thought, as she stared hard at the high chair, she was perfectly right in not wanting to take any chances this time. She knew that she needed to take a more “hands-on” approach to his care now, and she was well aware that such an approach was going to drastically alter the dynamics of their relationship. Irina was determined, though, above all else, to bring Warren into her fold, to give him the most loving possible care, and to prevent anything like this from happening ever again.

She had managed to distract herself with all of this feverish, yet strangely clearheaded musing, but had nonetheless been on the verge of losing her nerve and calling Sarah, when she saw the huge black car pulling up slowly beside the house. The windows were all tinted. Irina’s heart stopped. And then, from the slight change in the sun’s reflection on the shiny black door, she could see it…the passenger door had opened…two tiny little bare legs issuing forth from inside the car, stretching to reach the ground. Irina was already rushing outside. And when she saw Warren standing there, she lost herself again, dashing at him as she sobbed in relief, whisking him up off his feet and carrying him inside.

“Oh my god, oh Jesus thank GOD…you’re back…you’re home…oh my guahauhuaaahdd!” cried Irina, her great bosom heaving with her sobs as she held Warren’s little body to her, palming the back of his head as she felt him sinking into her flesh. She didn’t even really know what she was saying; at the moment, she was just getting it all out, all the desperate anxiety and worry that had been plaguing her for the past two hours. She was standing in the kitchen now, with Warren draped over her shoulder, staring indistinctly at the high chair. For long moments, she just held him there to her, allowing herself to regain control of her breath as she gradually slipped back into a more “normal” homeostasis. Her heart was still racing, though, and suddenly she realized that she hadn’t gotten a good look at Warren’s face. Right about this time, she also realized that she hadn’t heard him say anything. Irina needed to figure out what she was working with here. She used her free hand to wipe the tears away from her eyes, then hooked her hands under Warren’s armpits and extended her arms, holding him out in front of her, his feet dangling in the air by her mid-thighs.

He wasn’t even looking at her. His beautiful blue eyes were wide, but they were focused to the side, conspicuously away from Irina’s face. His mouth was closed, and his lips were twisted up in something like a frown. It was immediately clear that he had been overwhelmed by Irina’s reaction to having him back, and that he didn’t know what to do or say, let alone think. The truth was that Warren was experiencing such a staggering mix-up of emotions in this moment that he was nearly sick to his stomach. He was incredibly grateful to be back, but he was also terrified of slipping back into Irina’s sexual fold…he felt so horribly guilty for running away, and driving her to such emotion…he felt like running away again…her sobbing had totally thrown him off, frightening him…he was afraid of her punishing him…he sensed her milk…he had to look away, even though he desperately wanted to look at her gigantic breasts that were looming down there, slightly below him…he could smell how full they were…he was sure that her nipples were erect and swollen now…he couldn’t look…he had to focus on the floor…was she going to be upset with him…what was next…what was next…?? It all swirled around crazily in his head, and all he could do was focus indistinctly on the floor, trying as hard as he could to resist looking at Irina’s breasts, or at her face. He was terribly afraid that if he looked into her face, he would somehow fall under her spell. Even now, that flame of resistance burned inside him.

Irina felt stunned by Warren’s expression — it felt like a slap in the face. He couldn’t even look at her!? She felt like shaking him…felt like screaming at him. Her negative emotions came rushing back, about how much he had hurt her by running away, about how foolish he had been, all because he had freaked out over a little breast milk…was his manhood really that fragile!? Irina felt her eyes narrowing in pinpointed anger, and she breathed out in a forced huff through her nose; Warren blinked…her exhale had watered his eyes…but still, he didn’t look at her. Irina closed her eyes and breathed in and out deeper a few times. He was back. He was here with her. He wasn’t going anywhere….he couldn’t go anywhere. She didn’t have to lash out at anything — everything was ok. None of this was his fault, none of it. And she would not feed her negative emotions by dwelling on them. She was the caretaker here, and she was going to take care of him, even if it meant gently breaking certain things in his mind that needed to be broken. But first, she needed to take a moment with herself.

Opening her eyes again and setting her jaw straight, she stepped over to the high chair and lowered Warren’s legs down through the holes. Warren hadn’t noticed the high chair before, and only realized what was happening after it was too late. He started kicking and flailing his legs, but it was all in vain — Irina had already put his legs through the holes. He felt a tightness in his chest…she was strapping him in! His weak little arms grasped and grappled with the straps, and his right hand even tried to grip Irina’s forearm as she tightened the last strap. He was shocked to realize how strong Irina felt, how big her arm was. His little hand couldn’t even get halfway around the middle of her forearm as he fruitlessly tried to push it away. Of course, she wasn’t anywhere close to as big as those terrifying bounty hunters, let alone Sarah…but his mind had become singularly focused on Irina now.

She stood back carefully, watching him struggle with the straps. There was no way he was getting out of that high chair — that much was clear. She had tightened everything almost to the point of discomfort, just to ensure that he remained where he was. And now, as Irina stood there, staring down at her captive little man, she knew it was time for her to take that moment with herself. She needed to get Warren out of her sight for a minute, just to clear her head, breathe deeply, and decide how she was going to proceed.

Warren actually did look up now — Irina was leaving the room. He watched her huge breasts swaying out in front of her as she strode out of the kitchen, her big ass bouncing and gyrating in her wake. What was she doing!? He struggled with the straps some more and then deflated, giving up. And then, from the dining room, he heard it: the sound of Irina taking long, measured deep breaths in and out…in and out.