Chapter 21

The next morning, Warren made a show of his usually-sluggish morning routine. As the weeks had gone on, it had become slowly clear that he felt groggier in the mornings, and more exhausted in the evenings. Bit by bit, he was sleeping more. Of course, this wasn’t an issue, since Irina was only too happy to make sure that she was on hand to make him breakfast, measure him, and administer his medicine whenever he woke up, but the dwindling daylight hours of mental coherence were beginning to worry him — despite the medication slowing his Whipple symptoms, he was still sliding inexorably down into more infantile habits. It wasn’t lost on him that Irina was always awake before he woke up in the morning, and after he drifted off into sleep at night. More and more, he felt like a child around her. Of course, the 4-foot height difference might have had something to do with it too, and the fact that Irina’s new outfits seemed perfectly designed to show off her M-cup tits, which always seemed like they were a purposeful inhalation away from busting out of her tops.

And all of that was just scratching the surface of the dynamic between the two of them. Even though she was making it a point not to lord the high chair over him, Irina had started behaving in other ways, some subtle, and some not so subtle, that reinforced the slowly-crystalizing power structure between the two of them. She was touching him a lot more…brushing his arm here, squeezing his shoulder there, snuggling him up to her in bed without asking, “accidentally” turning her huge chest to the side so that his face imprinted itself into her side-boob…that kind of stuff.

Warren knew what she was doing, but it was all so calculated, subdued, and innocent that he didn’t feel like he could object to anything without making it worse, without making it obvious how claustrophobic and afraid he was becoming. With each passing day, the scent (and sometimes even the sound) of her milk called to him. The fridge was still packed with glass after glass of the creamy, white, rich milk, and Irina always made sure that she casually reminded him about it a few times a day. Warren inwardly struggled to maintain face, and, with his increasing humiliation in the high chair, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up before he broke and totally surrendered to Irina’s motherly love, to her titanic, milk-filled breasts.

But this morning felt different. This was the day that he was going to take back his independence and do away with Irina’s ridiculous high chair idea. She had had her fun at his expense, but he didn’t have any doubt that he was going to beat her in this chess game and reclaim his full adult privileges.

And so Warren made a point to hop down out of bed almost as soon as he opened his eyes. Irina had been up for some time, reading in bed, and she had looked down at him with impressed interest.

“Feeling a little chipper today, are we?” she asked, grinning pleasantly down at him.

“Sure am!” he replied, doing some morning stretches in front of the mirror as Irina watched him tenderly. She could tell he had gotten smaller during the night, and wondered whether this would be the morning when one, maybe two milestones would be broken.

‘It would be perfect timing,’ she thought to herself, as she watched him do his stretches. His eager enthusiasm was turning her on. He thought that he was in the driver’s seat, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Slowly but surely, she was tightening his hold on his life, and she was determined that today would be no exception.

Warren took his medicine himself, and didn’t even flinch when Irina measured and weighed him.

“Oooh how about that!” she chuckled down at him gently. “You’re jussssst under 3 feet, Warren…and…oh my…”

“What?” he asked, trying to sound casual and carefree. But his heart dropped a little as he saw Irina putting her hand over her mouth, to cover her smile.

“You’re…just under 30 pounds now too,” Irina breathed down at him softly through her hand. “29.7…”

For a moment, Warren just stood there, blinking forward into Irina’s knees. He was under 3 feet…and under 30 pounds now!? Until he had heard the actual measurements, he hadn’t realized how much he had been psychologically clinging to those two markers. But he reminded himself that today was a day of liberation, and not the other way around. Looking way, way up at Irina’s face (which he could barely see beyond the overarching mountains of her breasts when she stood like this in front of him), he affected a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh well!” he chuckled. “Good thing I don’t need to be 3 feet tall to beat you in chess, though, right!”

Irina could have swept him off his feet and straddled his tiny body in between her breasts right then and there, but she controlled herself and laughed back:

“Haha no! No you don’t…well, let’s go downstairs and I’ll make breakfast. One more time in the high chair before we play the game…and who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll be your last.”

“Hoho, I don’t think I’ll need to get lucky to win, Irina,” countered Warren, his face coloring a little as he laughed.

“We’ll see…” she said thoughtfully, moving on past him out of the room and toward the stairs. Irina could feel him staring at her backside, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself a little as she began descending the stairs. She knew that it would take him five minutes to reach the kitchen, but that he would of course refuse to be carried. “We’ll see…”

After breakfast, Warren was clearly eager to start the game. Irina had purposefully stared at him longingly as he sat in the high chair, eating the toast and eggs that she had prepared for him. Tellingly, she hadn’t even asked him if he wanted some of her milk from the fridge this morning. Throughout the meal, Irina eyed him, almost wistfully.

“Heheh, what?” Warren finally asked.

“Oh it’s nothing,” sighed Irina, feigning sadness. “It’s just…you look so cute up there, sitting in your little chair…I’d really hate to see it go.”

“Haha well…guess you’ll just have to play a good game, huh?” laughed Warren challengingly. Privately, he was relishing the moment — for once, it seemed as if Irina had made a rare unforced error in proposing the game.

“I guess so,” said Irina pensively. She loved how excited and worked-up he was getting. Ten minute later, she had assembled the chess board in the living room, and she and Warren were sitting down on either side of the coffee table. Irina was sitting directly on the floor, lounging luxuriously in her new cerulean-blue dress that had arrived the day before. Warren was on the other side, sitting on a tall pile of pillows, trying his best to avoid staring directly into Irina’s huge, swelling cleavage challenging him from across the table. The board was set. Warren took a deep breath and moved his hand to make the first move.

“Now remember,” Irina reminded him, doing her best to hide the slow, burning excitement in her own voice, “If you win...or tie, no more high chair, and no more bib…but if I win…?”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly. Warren knew what she was doing — she was making him speak his own sentence out loud, so that, in the event that he did lose, he wouldn’t be able to claim that he hadn’t understood the agreed-upon parameters of the game. He blinked, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked up at her. She was so huge, so gorgeous…such a kind, calm, loving presence…everything about her was bigger.

‘Except her brain,’ he reminded himself, and he felt his spirit harden within him as his eyes blazed with competitive fire.

“If you win then you get to decide what I wear every day,” he said quickly. His hand hovered over his e2 pawn as he grinned at her. “But you won’t.” And he put the pawn on e4.

“Aha, a fan of Morphy and Fischer I see,” hummed Irina, promptly moving her pawn to c5.

“The Sicilian Defense, huh?” shot back Warren, mentally skirting over his surprise that Irina knew about the chess great Paul Morphy as he moved his knight to f3. “And everyone knows about Bobby Fischer.”

“Does everyone know that he always started his games as white with e4?” laughed Irina, playing her pawn to e6. She readjusted her massive body, sitting up straighter as she watched Warren play his other knight to c3. Warren swallowed and kept his eyes focused on the board. He could tell that Irina’s shoulders were far, far wider than the chessboard, while his shoulders were probably about half its width. The blue mountain of her body seemed to rise up beyond the black pieces, while he felt almost like he was hiding behind the white pieces.

‘White is better here,’ he told himself. ‘You’ve got this…you’ve already got a better position. Just don’t look at her…focus…focus…’

Irina moved her pawn to a6 immediately. They had previously agreed not to have a time limit, but already she was making it clear that she knew what she was doing.

“Oho, taking away squares from my light-square bishop?” he teased, playing his pawn to d4. “Is that your plan?”

“Heheh, something like that,” chuckled Irina, capturing his d4 pawn.

“Main line of the Sicilian,” nodded Warren smartly, taking the pawn back with his knight. “All standard stuff…though I’m sure you know that, right? You’re a student of chess theory, Irina?”

“Nothing like you are, I’m sure!” replied Irina as she played her pawn to b5. “You said you were ranked what? 1750 online at one point?”

“Yep, just a few months ago,” Warren said casually, moving his bishop to d3. He was already feeling more confident now. Irina knew a thing or two about chess, but she wasn’t developing any of her major pieces. ‘An amateur mistake, of course,’ he reminded himself, before adding out loud. “But I’ve never seriously, you know…practiced. Maybe I should now that I have the time, haha!”

“Maybe you should, maybe you should,” nodded Irina, moving her bishop to b7. She knew that she was inviting Warren to castle now, and he did just that a moment later. ‘So far so good,’ she thought, calmly shoving down her growing energy and excitement. The little guy was so cute…he was so confident that he had stopped stuttering around her. He didn’t even realize the trap she was laying for him.

After Irina moved her queen to c7, Warren quickly responded with rook to e1, and Irina pretended to ponder for a moment before moving her bishop to d6.

“You trying to copy me?” Warren teased, feeling elated. He could tell that Irina’s bishop-queen battalion was eying his undefended h2 pawn, right in front of his king. But this was all going according to his plan. He knew she had tried to trap him, but the time had come for him to lay a trap of his own. Making a point to blink down at the board, like he wasn’t noticing the threat to his king, he moved his bishop to b5, capturing Irina’s pawn. It was a clever move…an apparent bishop sacrifice, while his h2 pawn was still hanging. Irina’s eyebrows went up, and she inhaled a deep, slow breath, expanding her colossal diaphragm to the point where her breasts actually stretched over a third of the board for a moment.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Very…interesting.” It was a good move, but Irina knew exactly what he was planning; if she accepted his bishop sacrifice, then he would promptly capture her pawn on b5 with his knight, forking her queen and bishop in a pronged attack. Irina looked across the board, blinking her eyes slowly at Warren. He was staring stonily at the board, determined not to meet her gaze.

‘He’s so precious,’ Irina thought tenderly, although with a hint of plaintiveness in her contemplation. He was trying all these crafty little tricks, and putting all this energy into these sneaky ploys, to try and escape from her love and affection. He was trying so hard to resist her, that in the midst of her motherly tenderness toward him, she actually started to feel a little hurt. But she reminded herself that she was just getting emotional because of the fervor of her attachment to him, and that he wasn’t trying to actively turn her down.

‘He’s just trying to salvage what he thinks is his independence,’ she told herself, reaching for her bishop. ‘I can’t blame him for that, now, can I?’

Irina moved her bishop to h2, capturing Warren’s pawn, refusing his offer of a bishop sacrifice.

“Check,” murmured Irina softly.

“Huh, ooooookay,” replied Warren, quickly moving his king out of check to h1. He was a little rattled by Irina’s refusing his sacrifice, but he chalked it down to her not really knowing what she was doing, and choosing to go for the low-hanging fruit of his king-side pawn. A moment later, though, Irina quickly pulled her bishop back to e5. As she did so, Warren caught sight of her bare forearm, and he could see the muscles and tendons flexing lightly with her slight movement. His cock awakened in his pants; he had been trying not to look at her, because even the mere sight of her luscious, strong-looking arm provoked him to arousal. Her gargantuan tits sat on the horizon of his vision, dominating the landscape. He could at least try to not look at them.

“Guess you didn’t want a free bishop, huh?” he asked, moving it back to safety on f1. “Heheh, you might come to regret that later, you know.” Warren wasn’t generally the type to trash-talk, but his confidence was growing here…and there was a lot at stake.

“Mhm, we both know you weren’t offering it for free,” chuckled Irina, moving her knight to f6. Her breasts jiggled mightily with her soft laughter, and Warren had to pause a moment and collect his bearings, before moving his queen to d2. He was playing fast…maybe a little too fast…but he was satisfied that his positioning was good.

Irina inflated her chest again, taking a deep breath before picking up her knight and moving it to g4. Warren blinked at the move, and his face broke into a little smile.

“Moving the same piece twice in a row?” he asked, moving his vulnerable pawn to f4, out of the knight’s attack.

“What? Is that bad?” asked Irina innocently, as she captured Warren’s knight on d4 with her light-square bishop.

“Heheh, welllll…” Warren replied, chuckling a little as he took Irina’s bishop with his queen, “For normal players it’s fine, but when you get a little more advanced…it’s…not recommen…ded…”

His voice trailed away a little. Irina had silently moved her queen to a5. Warren’s eyes scanned the board desperately for a few moments, taking stock of the Black queen’s position. It wasn’t attacking anything of his…so…it was a bad move. Irina had just blundered! She had basically abandoned her king, leaving basically the entire d-file open for his queen and rook to attack. Warren’s heart drummed faster…he was going to do it…he was going to trap her king in the next couple moves! He moved his pawn to e5, closing the center of the board, in preparation for his attack. The sound of exhaled air came from above…from Irina…and Warren was able to actually work up the pluck to raise his eyes to her.

He was surprised and unsettled, then, to see that Irina hadn’t exhaled in frustration. Her cheeks were colored an attractive and excited pink, and her eyes were wide, sparkling down at him triumphantly.

“That’s it, Warren,” she breathed down at him, smiling broadly. “That’s the game.” She moved her queen back to d8 and sat back, putting her huge arms up behind her head, showing off her muscles as she giggled and flexed them elatedly. She felt like a monument towering above him, despite the fact that he was sitting on a pile of pillows.

Warren stared at the board, starting to panic. What did she see!? What was she talking about?? Was she trying to bluff him!? It didn’t seem possible that the game could be over so quickly. The seconds ticked by as he stared and stared, but still he couldn’t see it.

“You can go ahead and resign, Warren,” purred Irina, still posed with her hands behind her head, leaning back as she beamed down at him. “There’s nothing you can do now.”

“Y-you’re…you’re out of your mind, Irina,” stammered Warren. He leaned forward and moved his knight to b5, continuing his attack in the center of the board. “Trying to get me off my game…haha, well it’s not going to work.”

Smiling at him meaningfully, Irina arched her eyebrow and extended her arm, moving her queen to h4.

“Check,” she murmured again. And now, with a cold shot to his chest, Warren saw it. He had been so focused on his central attack that he had left his king completely unguarded on the h-file, and with Irina’s knight on g4, there was only one place to put his king: on g1. Her full lips now widening in undisguised triumph, Irina gently moved her queen up to squares, to h2.

“Checkmate, Warren,” she whispered down at him. Warren could do nothing but stare blankly at the board. It…it wasn’t possible…how could she…have played him like that!? The game hadn’t lasted five minutes. Helplessly, Warren turned his head to look up at Irina, with thoughts of perhaps begging her to give him another chance…maybe a “two out of three” game!? But as he beheld Irina’s bright triumphant expression, any hope he had of talking her out of the result was extinguished at the source. Her glad, happy face was warm and loving, but there was also something else behind it…a firmness, a decisiveness, that went hand-in-hand with the new responsibility and power over his life that she now possessed. And all because he had been foolish enough to agree to the game! Warren felt an upsurge of despair in his chest, and losing all pretence of adulthood, he started crying.

“Awww, now don’t cry Warren, don’t cry,” cooed Irina, as she reached across the table, over the chessboard, and hoisted him up off his pile of pillows, cradling him to her bosom as she stood up, walking around the living room as she patted him on the back with her enormous hand, purring and whispering encouragingly to him the whole time. She was basically smothering his entire body in her boobs, and even though a part of her felt sorry for Warren in his despair, a much larger part of her was secretly loving his helplessness. Gradually, she was able to calm him down, and she went over to the big armchair, fetching his laptop as she sat down, with Warren planted squarely in her lap (his head right in between her huge breasts).

“Wh-wha…what’s…what’re y-you doing?” sniffled Warren, hating the fact that he had gotten hard during Irina’s comforting.

“Well seeing as how I get to decide what you wear now,” Irina intoned pleasantly, “I thought we should do a little online shopping for new outfits! What do you say, Warren? Come on, cheer up, I think this is exciting! I heard about a lovely little website that Julia Winters was talking about on the news yesterday…aha! Here it is!”

Warren gaped at the title of the website: “betababyboutique.com”

For the next half hour, Warren searched through the website, still on Irina’s lap…or, more accurately, Irina guided Warren’s hand through the website, her huge hand on top of his tiny one, directing it this way, that way, and clicking on what she wanted to click on.

“Ooooo, look at that adorable little jumper!” Irina squealed. “And it comes in baby blue!? We’ve gotta get that!”

“Those precious little shoes!! Oh my GOD, can you imagine your little feet in them?? Haha, sold!”

“Well we need more than one bib now, for sure! You’ve already gotten that one pretty dirty, and now that you’ll definitely be using them every day…”

“Haha, now check out this zebra-themed all-snaps bodysuit! Haha, just think, Warren! You’ll be like a little zebra walking around!”

“B-But…but that’s for guys who are…a-are only a f-foot tall!” protested Warren, trying and failing to wrest his hand out from under Irina’s. She was far too strong.

“Aaaand we’ve got to make some purchases with the future in mind, don’t we?” replied Irina. “Haha, I mean…you’re not gonna be getting any bigger, Warren…and what’s certain is that you will be getting smaller, so…it makes sense to plan for how small and helpless you’re going to become.”

As she spoke down to him softly, she guided his hand, forcing him to make the purchase. There was nothing Warren could do to stop her. Thirty minutes later, she had forced him to purchase over $2000 of degrading outfits, and, combined with his shocking loss in the chess match, Warren’s spirit was nearly broken.

Later on that evening, after they had both gone to bed, Warren opened his eyes. He hadn’t actually gone to sleep, but from Irina’s mighty, rhythmic breathing, he could tell that she had. There was no way he was getting to sleep tonight…not without…without…

Warren could barely bring himself to admit it, but there was no way around it now. The breakdown in his spirit had crumbled all the edifices in his psyche; all of his defense mechanisms had been washed away but Irina’s calm, gentle domination. There was only one thing still standing within his mind: a desperate, mad desire to drink Irina’s milk. He knew that her breasts were full of the warm, thick goodness…he could actually hear it, rumbling and churning behind his head whenever Irina adjusted herself in her sleep. But Warren couldn’t do that. He couldn’t stoop to that level. He had lost everything…everything except that final point of pride — that he had not submitted to the indignity of breastfeeding. Irina might have controlled his meals and his clothing now, but…at least he was still eating solid food. He hadn’t fallen over the precipice into breastfeeding…yet.

But the breakdown of his pride earlier that day had fed his ferocious desire, and now that Irina was asleep, and the house was still, he could finally do what he had wanted to do for days now. Squirming out from under Irina’s big arm, and creeping quietly out of his bed, he made his way softly through the dark and down the stairs, taking each one carefully, so as not to make any noise. His full-body kitten-themed pajamas (Irina’s doing, of course) helped dampen the sound of his feet against the hardwood stairs. Ten minutes later, he was in the kitchen, his heart hammering away like mad in his chest as he pulled a step stool up to the fridge and grimaced as he tried to pull it open. He knew it would take some time, and five minutes later, he finally managed to crack the door open, and light flooded his face as his mouth watered in ravenous expectation.

But there was nothing there. No jars of the thick, creamy milk that he had been expecting. The fridge had been completely cleaned out. Irina must have done it earlier that day, without him realizing. Warren’s tongue spasmed, and his stomach groaned out in desperate despair. He couldn’t hold back any longer, and started weeping in the floodlight of the open fridge, his little hands over his face as his tiny body shook and spasmed. He couldn’t have any…he would never be able to have any…the only way was for him to —

“My little baby!” came Irina’s deep feminine voice from behind him. Warren started and jumped around, totally taken by surprise. But his mind was wiped blank when he saw her standing there. Irina’s thin, see-through lavender nightgown was parted all the way down the middle, revealing her titanic breasts, fuller than ever, in the soft refrigerator light. Her nipples were so erect that they jutted out a full two inches from each swollen tit, and they were both dabbed white at their tips. Irina was so full that her movements to go downstairs had caused her to actively lactate. Warren couldn’t even see her face; it was so high up, shrouded in darkness. All he could see was her glorious bust, from the neck down.

“Oh sweetie…sweetie,” purred Irina, sweeping Warren up off his feet with one arm, and palming his little head completely, guiding it toward her pulsating, lactating nipple, “If you were thirsty, all you had to do was ask.”

She pressed his face into her nipple, puckering his lips open with her fingers, so that her nipple went all the way into his mouth, as far as it would go, filling it completely. Warren tried to flail his arms and kick his legs, in a sheer instinctive impulse to free himself, but Irina wasn’t letting him go. She hummed softly down at him, holding him to her breast, as she squeezed it gently, encouraging her sweet, thick, creamy milk to flow forth, straight into his mouth and down his throat. After a couple seconds, Warren’s struggles ceased, and he relented, giving himself up to Irina’s force-feeding, as his eyes rolled back into his head and closed in surrender to the warm milk filling his little belly.