Chapter 23

Irina saw that Warren was semi-conscious as he crawled across her huge legs to measure her. She was looking down softly on him with a close-lipped smile, holding the tape measure even with the top of her head as she watched his 2’3 little body crawl over her, drawing the measuring tape along with him.

Moments before she had woken him up, with her massive face filling the entire panorama of his vision, Irina had seen his tiny little empty belly clench up in expectation. She could tell that Warren was so hungry, and that he badly wanted her milk; from the helpless and adorable way his nose was sniffing the air, Irina knew that he could smell its sweetness emanating from her gigantic breasts that were hanging down from on high, softly straddling his chest. Unlike weeks before, when he had run away in an irrational burst of paranoia upon waking up after guzzling her milk, Irina was confident that there were no thoughts of fleeing in Warren’s mind now. She had taken him the night before, and filled his tummy with her warm, rich milk…and even though neither of them had had time enough to think through or process exactly what all that entailed, they both knew enough to be sure that they had turned a corner. Warren wasn’t going to get away from her…she could tell that he didn’t want to get away from her.

But as she looked into his eyes, Irina also knew that all of this didn’t mean that Warren had fully accepted his subservient position, his submissive “babied” role, or his voracious appetite for Irina’s milk. But gone were his thoughts of “liberation” and personal independence. Even in his current semi-conscious state, Irina was satisfied, by his slow and submissive movements, that his desire for any semblance of a normal, equal life had been irrevocably altered by what had happened the night before.

“I-It…it says that…” Warren stuttered a few seconds later. His voice sounded so different to Irina, and considering that he had undergone a 9-inch CDS-fueled shrinking spurt over the last 24 hours, it was understandable why his voice was higher-pitched. She had not been expecting it, though, and she shuddered in tender pleasure at its almost-squeaky sound.

“Yes, sweet baby?” murmured Irina softly, as her eyebrows went up in patient empathy for his plight. “It says what?”

“I-it says…e-eighty…eighty seven,” answered Warren. Irina blinked down tenderly at him...she could tell, apart from his shock at how huge she was, that he was frustrated and confused as to why his voice was so faint. It was true that Warren felt like he could make so much more noise, but when he tried to clench up his diaphragm and force the air out, he could only manage this weak, piffling little noise. He wasn’t even thinking about the implications of the actual measurement. Irina watched him try to gather his air, and she wasn’t able to help sitting up, reaching out, and petting his cute little head with her enormous hand. It was incredible...she could have easily palmed three or four times the size of his head now.

“Eighty…seven,” repeated Irina richly. Echoing the words Warren had just said called attention to the dichotomy in their voices. Warren’s sounded weak and squeaky, and Irina’s sounded resonant and vibrant. “Do you understand what that means, baby?”

Irina could tell that Warren didn’t want to listen to his voice anymore, especially compared to hers, because he simply shook his head in response. Irina wiggled her big toes against his bare stomach, lightly tickling him. The toes of her foot almost spanned the entire width of his chest.

“It means,” intoned Irina deeply, “That I’m 7’3 now…seven-foot-three, Warren. Do you know that this means that I’m a full 5 feet taller than you are now?”

Again Warren could do nothing but nod his head. He was kneeling down next to Irina’s huge outstretched bare legs, and even though Irina was only propped up into a sitting position against a pile of pillows, his head didn’t even come up to her huge, heavy breasts. Her breasts…her breasts…she could tell that he was looking at them now, hanging low and exposed, impossibly alluring and massive, swollen with milk.

“Oh yessss,” Irina moaned softly, parting her nightgown all the way and letting her exquisite breasts hang completely free, “You want these…don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” mewed Warren. She had broken through yet more of his dying resistance. He didn’t care that he sounded so small and pathetic anymore. She saw that his stomach was clenching up even more, indicating his desperate need to be satisfied.

“Mmmmm, I knowwwww you do,” Irina continued. She cupped her hand under her left breast and lightly squeezed. A thick burble of white milk exuded slowly from her fat swollen nipple and started slowly oozing down the curved underside of her breast. She smiled, watching Warren react; he could feel the desperate heat in his stomach intensify in response to seeing the wellspring of Irina’s sustenance for him, and the next moment he had collapsed back onto all fours and was crawling back up her body towards her breasts.

“Awwww, look at my little baby,” breathed Irina gently, “Crawling up to me for his breakfast. Mmmmm, but I fed you so much last night, didn’t I?”

Warren paused, staring up at her with an almost-frenzied expression of hunger. Irina laughed softly.

“I’m just playing around with you, little guy,” she cooed, scooping him up in one arm and cradling him close to her breast, “Of course I’m gonna feed you. I’m here to feed you, Warren. I’m here to give my little baby aaaallll the milk he needs.”

Five minutes later, Warren had fallen back asleep, his little tummy full. Irina kept him to her breast for a long while after; she just loved looking at how tiny his head was now compared to her breast — it really was like feeding an actual baby. And Irina loved it. She loved how gigantic she looked compared to him. Her fingers wrapped all the way around his shrunken little thigh as she hummed down to him softly, encouraging him to sink deeper and deeper into his milk coma. She had made him hers; she knew what was best for him, because she had come to accept the true reality of the situation: that she was strong and he was weak. In every way, she was superior to him, ahead of him, MORE than him. And knowing all this, in her infinite sweetness, Irina wanted to care for him and love him so much that it made her loins sore.

At the same time, though, something that Irina couldn’t quite place remained unsatisfied deep within her. In so many ways — in nearly every way — she had succeeded in getting Warren to not only acknowledge, but accept his submissive position in the household. One by one, she had dismantled his old, ingrained notions of independence: he no longer dressed himself, and he no longer even decided what he wore. Any meals that weren’t solid food (which were increasingly rare these days), he was forced to eat strapped into his highchair. There was really nothing that he did anymore that was independent of her. Whereas before, Irina had permitted him to take his own medicine, she now administered it to him herself, measuring and weighing him in the process. She did all of this without lording it over him, but she also did it without talking to him about it, or discussing the particulars of why she was now eclipsing this aspect of his independence as well. She had noticed him wordlessly balking at her behavior a few days before, but even then, Irina could tell that Warren didn’t have the power or drive to oppose her. He may have wanted that independence, but she had easily relieved him of it, with a sweet smile on her face. And now, after forcing Warren to drink her from her breast in front of the fridge the night before, she knew that her control over him was simply a given now, and that he would never again try to take back those responsibilities.

‘He’s just too small,’ she told herself, as she looked down at him with affectionate curiosity, his skinny little body all curled up in her lap as he slept. ‘He’s too weak…too fragile…there’s no “man” left in him anymore…and to think, he’s gone from my employer (what a word!) to my little baby…and I’ve gone from his employee…his housekeeper…to his dominant, his caretaker, his alpha…his…’

She dwelled on the word “Mommy.” How could she have forgotten that one time when, in his Whipple-induced delirium, Warren had called her by that name? As much as Irina wanted it, she knew that they weren’t quite to that point yet, where Warren would accept reality and call her by that name openly.

‘Now why is that?’ she asked herself, as she watched him sleep. ‘Why is it that, even though I’ve broken him down to the point of him giving up and accepting me breastfeeding him, it feels like something is missing? What is it?’

Irina wasn’t sure, but she did know one thing: she was in complete control of the household now, and she was not going to be shy in exercising this control to explore what it was exactly that she felt was wanting from their circumstance. She felt deeply happy that she had managed to get to this point with him, and she knew that that nurse…Sarah, that’s what her name was…would have been proud of her. But at the same time, Irina felt something still nagging at her. She wasn’t quite satisfied; her relationship with Warren still felt incomplete. Was it as simple as breaking him down a little more until he properly referred to her as the Mommy-Dom that she had become? Or was it something else? And how would she get at the answer?

‘I know how,’ she thought to herself immediately, grinning down at his precious little sleeping body. ‘I’ll encompass him…I’ll surround him…I’ll make sure it’s clear how much he’s my little beta boy…and then maybe something else will break in him, and he’ll give in to me completely.’

Accordingly, Irina made sure that the next week felt like one long, huge marathon of milk-edging for Warren. His will had been broken, and he had completely surrendered himself to Irina’s breastfeeding. Many, many times every day, Irina would simply sweep Warren up off his feet, bare her breast, and guide his mouth towards her erect waiting nipple. Sometimes she would come into his bedroom while he was watching TV and slide into the bed next to him; inevitably, the weight of her huge body against the mattress would create an incline that fed Warren’s body straight down into hers. His bony frame would bump up against the vigorous, powerful flesh of her enormous hip, and Irina would purr in response, lacing her fingers around his waist as she gently guided him up, up, up towards his next meal.

And it wasn’t only during the daytime. Irina would wake Warren up at odd hours of the night to pump his little stomach full to the brim with milk. While it was true that Warren burned with a rapacious craving for her creamy sustenance, Irina could tell, by the way Warren would sometimes flail his little arms or try and press his tiny hands up against the flesh of her breasts, that he was trying to get away from her, that he was attempting to get a reprieve from her incessant force-feeding. But Irina would always hold him fast, smiling at his pathetic little efforts, as she reassured herself that he was her little baby, and that she was making sure that he was getting everything he needed. More and more, she was beginning to enjoy these acts of soft domination. She knew that she didn’t need to convince Warren anymore that he was her lesser, but the more she emphasized her power over him, the more she smoldered inside with an urge to do it all the time, in all kinds of different ways.

The result was that Irina had ordained that Warren spent his days in a confused time-warp of a lusty, milky phantasmagoria, sleep-deprived, with his stomach either crying out for more milk or begging Irina to stop with the force-feeding. He quickly lost track of what day it was, as the days and nights seemed to blend together according to Irina’s feeding whims. More and more, his world revolved completely around her and her breasts, as he felt himself melting into her gently dominating mommy-fold.

But it wasn’t just Irina’s feeding schedule that was tormenting Warren. Once it had become clear that she had broken Warren’s will to resist breastfeeding, Irina couldn’t stop there. Every opportunity she had to hammer home the new reality of the post-Whipple world, she would do it. Such opportunities came along quite often, since a major joint occupation of theirs was watching the news in bed every night. Almost always, Irina insisted on feeding Warren in bed during the news, filling any space left in his little tummy with her warm sustenance. It was very hard for Irina to have a conversation with Warren while her nipple was filling his mouth, but once she was finished breastfeeding him, she’d always be sure to point out certain things about what they were watching.

“Mmmm, look at how biggggg your crush is, Warren!” she teased him one night, hugging him to her body after a fresh meal. Her huge, warm breast was still exposed, pressing into the side of his head. Warren was only 2’0 now, and she had grown even more, up to 7’7 now.

“Heheh, you think Aly Rainsman is taller than me now?” Irina continued.

“I…I d-don’t know,” breathed Warren. It was hard for him to carry on a conversation with Irina these days, since the size difference was truly starting to eclipse his attention whenever she talked to him, and it was even harder for him to talk to her immediately after a feeding…and Irina knew it. She loved watching him struggle.

“Because, see, I think she had me a few weeks ago,” Irina mused, “But this past week? Haha, I think it’s safe to say I caught up with her. What do you think, Warren?”

“I…th-think…y-you have too,” Warren forced out. They were watching an extended live broadcast from the bombshell blond reporter’s side show — her ratings had gotten so high that she had her own show now. Aly was walking down the street, microphone in hand, closely following a group of young female government employees, dressed in snappy government uniforms, and all in their early 20’s, by the look of them. Not a single one was under 6’3, and most of them looked to be around 6’8 or 6’9. Aly, of course, towered over them all.

“And as you can see now,” she was saying, “The local Search and Rescue Commission has been hitting the streets, using a patented new technology that actually sprays a fine mist of specially-extracted breastmilk into the air. Care to explain, Jenny?”

“Well yes, Aly,” answered one of the government women (about 7-feet tall, from the look of her), looking into the camera as the group behind her sprayed a large mobile contraption into the air; it looked like a big generator with a hose attached to it, and the hose emitted a fine white mist…breastmilk.

“The milk you see there in mist form has been chosen from a VERY select group of women,” Jenny continued, “Chosen out of a large pool of applicants. You see, we’ve discovered that some of us have higher levels of a protein called prolactin in our milk, Aly. It’s secreted by the pituitary gland in response to many things, including, of course, ovulation and nursing.”

“Mhm, with you so far,” said Aly. Irina hugged Warren closer to her as they watched. Neither of them got out much anymore, since Irina was perfectly content to remain at home most of the time these days. She loved these little windows into how the world was developing.

“So that milk,” Jenny proceeded, “That’s especially high in prolactin…well, it exerts a powerful effect on our little lost boys…you know, those poor lost souls who’ve still managed to hold out…”

“Oh I know, Jenny, I know,” Aly chuckled, shaking her head sadly.

“They can’t resist it,” Jenny explained. “Especially in the advanced state of the virus now, untreated, they simply have no way to withstand their basic instincts. They come scampering up out of…oh…oh wait! Here’s one now!”

There was a little commotion behind them, and Jenny and Aly turned as the camera zoomed in towards the action. One of the government women had swooped down, swinging a large net, and when she held it back up into the camera’s view, there was something inside it. The camera zoomed in some more…a filthy, skinny, sickly-looking little man, who looked like he couldn’t have been more than a foot long.

“Got one!” Jenny announced brightly. “And see, look at him — on death’s door. Give him an injection of resveratrol, pronto! And only 2 cc’s…anything more and it’ll wreak his intestines.”

“Amazing,” breathed Aly, “Jenny, you’re truly doing God’s work out here. And…now, supposing a woman watching this wants to help…wants to get her milk tested for prolactin, so she can contribute to this CLEARLY essential government program. How can she sign up?”

“Well all you need to do is go to the CDC website,” explained Jenny, “And…”

She continued speaking, but Irina was finding herself distracted by Warren again. He had fallen asleep against her bare breast, a bit earlier than usual. Irina’s eyes travelled slowly across his little body, taking it all in. She thanked her stars that Sarah had somehow managed to recover Warren after his escape all that time ago…it had seemed like ages had passed by already. She would have been devastated to have had Warren returned to her, in that kind of state…filthy, disease-ridden, 11 inches tall, essentially blind…it went on and on. She had him here; he was safe.

But again, that same thought was nagging at her in the back of her mind. Things still didn’t seem complete between them. True, at least on the outside, Warren had submitted to her completely. He wore what she wanted him to wear; he drank from her breast eagerly and often; when she fed him little crumbs of solid food, he always ate them in his highchair. And all of this he did without complaining, even without a sour, resigned expression. By all appearances, she seemed to have broken him down completely.

But Irina knew that it wasn’t true. She had come to understand, reveling in her dominance all throughout the week, that it wasn’t quite as all-encompassing as it could be. She dominated his life, yes…there was no question about that. But her domination was not total…not yet.

“But it could be,” she whispered out loud, looking down on him from above, “It could be total.”

Her eyes found his little erection. For weeks, she had felt an aching desire to edge Warren in more blatant ways, to play around with his obvious attraction to her, to tease out the truth of the sexual power dynamic between the two of them. It had taken her a long time to finally break him into breastfeeding, but once she had, she wanted to keep going. That was it! Of course…the breastfeeding had been a door into total domination, and now that it was open, all she needed to do now was to walk through it.

‘The breastfeeding is just the start,’ she told herself with slow, determined excitement. ‘Just the start of me making him dependent on me, making him want me…making him desperate for more…making him realize the COMPLETE extent of our relationship. I’m the alpha, and he’s the beta. I’m dominant over him, and he is submissive to me…in every way.’

She reached her hand carefully down and extended out a huge finger. Very lightly, hardly touching it at all, she drew her finger across his erect cock.

‘It’s always hard,’ Irina thought to herself. ‘He’s always hard for me now…whenever I look at it, it’s never soft. He can’t resist me…there’s no way…I know what’s good for him, and I know now how to make him realize the true depth of my control over him.’

Mommy…

He had already called her by that name once before, but Irina wanted to hear it from him again, when he was awake. She knew it would take a little more time, but she also knew that she was getting close…very close. She was going to draw the word out of him, teasing him, edging him, tormenting him the whole way. Not out of cruelty or malice — not out of anything other than her firm conviction that this was the only way to get him to understand, to accept…to surrender.

She tickled her finger across his little cock again, and Warren stirred. Irina peered in closer. His little face was contorting, and his limbs jerked oddly. A pained moan escaped his lips.

“Oh babyyyy,” Irina murmured down to him, “Are you having a bad dream?”