Joyce Julep
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The Whipple Virus, Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2020-11-14 04:39:23 +0000 UTCHey $10-and-up Patrons!
Here's the first chapter of a long-term commission I've been working on. It tells the story of Warren, a young rich man with agoraphobia, and his new housekeeper, the strong and steady Irina, as they navigate the surreal climate of a new virus that's sweeping the globe. This story is already up to Chapter 4, and is ongoing for the foreseeable future, so I'll be posting monthly or bi-monthly updates here, depending on how ya'll like it.
Oh, and starting in Chapter 2, you'll come across a character I think you all know ;) Tags will include: slow shrink, slow growth, breast enlargement, femdom, mommying, breastfeeding, humiliation. Enjoy! <3
Chapter 1
“And as the new virus sweeps across Europe, and the first positive tests pop up here, we can be certain at this point that it’s only a matter of time before its status is upgraded to a full-scale pandemic. It’s not a matter of “if,” but “when.” It’s coming, and we need to prepare.”
Warren Du Pont blinked at his TV, adjusting his body nervously as he sat amongst the satin pillows and cushions on his oversized sofa. He knew that watching the news didn’t do his anxiety any favors, and yet still, the dark intrigue and allure of the new virus drew him in, seemingly forcing him to watch with rapt attention as country after country shut down. It had all happened so fast. Just a couple weeks before, a new and unexplained virus had started causing fevers, chills, and weakness among certain young to middle-aged men in the Middle East. No one seemed to be dying yet, but the unknown disease had the scary ability to incapacitate its victims, rendering them completely bedridden, unable to work. It had quickly spread to Asia, and then to Europe, moving like wildfire through the male population, wrecking untold havoc on the economy and social life of the two continents. There had been as-yet-unsubstantiated reports of women being affected by the virus too, although these reports so far were dubious at best. Some women had apparently come forward, pointing to unexplained and rapid weight gain, particularly in their breasts, but so far, these effects had not been accepted by the scientific community, which was far more focused on the negative and crippling symptoms suffered by the men.
And now the virus was on the doorstep of the United States, with the first few cases having popped up several days before. Warren had felt like there couldn’t have been a worse time for a scary pandemic to hit than right now. He was all alone in the mansion he had lived in ever since he had been born — the old housekeeper, Anna, had been forced to leave to go join her family in Europe as the virus hit. Warren had heavily depended on Anna for almost everything, and now that she was gone, and with the promise of a serious pandemic to come, he had found himself panicking. It didn’t matter that Warren was 26 years old — he had never held down a job, and years before, he had dropped out of college after only a couple semesters. His parents had both died when he was very young, so he had more or less been raised by a succession of housekeepers, some good, some not so good. He hadn’t graduated form college, because he hadn’t needed to; he had never had a job, because he didn’t need to work. The du Pont family fortune was somewhere in the range of $250 million. But Warren had wanted to do all of these things…he just couldn’t.
Having lived a cloistered, pampered life, Warren struggled with extreme anxiety. He wished that he could have lived a more normal life, being self-sufficient, and taking care of himself, but his agoraphobia, and his overall inability to stave off panic attacks whenever he went into public, made him a shut-in. And now, with this unknown, scary virus on the rise, he was afraid that he would be locked away, all alone, in his gigantic mansion, with no one to take care of him.
As the news blared on the TV, Warren felt his heart rate starting to climb, as his chest began to seize up.
“It’s ok…it’s ok,” he spoke to himself out loud, sitting up cross-legged on the sofa and forcing himself to do the breathing exercises that his psychologist, psychiatrist, and therapist had told him to practice whenever he felt a panic attack coming on. He breathed deeply in and out, in and out…he looked down at his arms and legs. At 5’6, and only 130 pounds, he was a smallish man, with weak limbs, and pale white skin, made so by his lack of exposure to sunlight.
In and out…in and out…
He looked across the room to one of the long, stylish mirrors that graced the wall. Sandy-brown hair, big blue eyes…Warren constantly had to remind himself that, even though he couldn’t really take care of himself, and even though he wasn’t much good at producing anything of value for society, he wasn’t that bad looking. He had even gotten to the point where he had created an online dating profile, with his profile picture showcasing his pleasing face, and in particular those big blue eyes. But when the first girl had sent him a message (“Heyyyy cutie…has anyone ever told you that you’ve got pretty eyes?”), he had been seized with a crushing wave of anxiety, and swiftly deleted his entire profile. There was no getting around it — Warren du Pont suffered from disabling anxiety, and now he was all alone, in his 12,000 square foot mansion, on the eve of a terrible biological calamity.
“But it’s ok!” he repeated again out loud to himself, feeling his chest start to loosen a little. “She’s coming today. I won’t be alone for much longer.”
“She” was Irina Stojkovic, a middle-aged housekeeper who was an immigrant from Croatia during the Bosnian Wars. Warren had found her on a website for high-end, live-in housekeepers, and she had come highly recommended by everyone she had worked for. Warren had to admit, too, that Irina’s profile picture was the main reason for hiring her. it had shown her dressed in a maid’s outfit, which showed off her prodigious bust, staring straight up at the camera with captivating light green eyes. Warren had been immediately drawn to her — everything about her profile, and especially her picture, just screamed “matronly.” She looked like exactly the person he needed to clean, cook, and otherwise care for him.
After a few more minutes of steady breathing, Warren managed to stave off the panic attack. He suddenly felt hungry, so he slid off the sofa and made the long trek to the kitchen downstairs. The mansion was so big that it took him almost a minute to get there, from the opulent upstairs lounge he had been sitting in. When he got to the kitchen, he went straight to the freezer, opening it up to reveal a striking volume of frozen meals, packed so tightly together in the huge freezer that they looked like a brick wall. He picked the nearest one out, made a little slit in the plastic top, and stuck it in the microwave. This was how Warren ate nearly all his meals…it didn’t matter that he had enjoyed a full-scale kitchen at his disposal for years. He had tried to cook for himself once a year ago, and had been forced to stop when the pasta water boiled over, causing angry hissing sounds on the stove that scared him, compelling him to abandon the endeavor. Warren knew he was pathetically incapable, just as he knew that his diet wasn’t too good, from the constant intake of frozen food and restaurant take-out…but there just wasn’t much that he felt like he could do about it.
With four minutes left on his frozen meal in the microwave, the doorbell suddenly rang. Warren nearly jumped out of his skin, feeling his heart leap up into his mouth. Was it her!? It couldn’t be her…it was only…and here Warren looked at the clock on the wall. No, it was already 3pm! How could he have missed that!? Like most of his inactive days, time seemed to blend together for Warren. He abandoned his food and scampered towards the front door, his socked feet sliding perilously on the smooth antique wooden floors. Two or three times, he nearly wiped out going around corners. Warren didn’t know why he was acting this way, but if he had stopped to reflect, he would have realized that two things were happening in his brain simultaneously: first, he was absolutely thrilled that Irina had arrived — he wasn’t going to be alone anymore! Finally, someone had come to take care of him when he needed it most! Second, and perhaps more subtly, Warren was desperate to make a good impression on her. And the last thing he wanted to do was to keep her waiting on his doorstep. He had been planning on greeting her at the door as soon as she arrived, but he had just lost track of time.
But at last he was there, standing in front of the big, looming front door. Through the opaque glass, he could see a dark, indistinct figure standing there, a little taller than him. Warren swallowed nervously as his heart continued to hammer away in his chest. This was it…this was the moment of truth. There was no backing out now. Any instinct he had to flee back up to his room was overpowered by his more powerful instinct to invite this matronly presence into his house. Swallowing again and taking a deep breath, he unlocked the big door, and, with effort, opened it.
Before him stood Irina Stojkovic — there could be no doubt that it was her. She appeared to be wearing the exact same maid outfit that Warren had seen in her profile picture. He felt his eyes go slightly up to hers. She seemed to be a couple inches taller than him, though Warren registered that she also was wearing heels. Her outfit exquisitely highlighted her wide, powerful hips, and showed off the bare, firm fullness of her thighs. But Warren couldn’t help but be drawn towards her most conspicuous assets: her breasts. They looked even bigger in person than they had on her profile. Warren wasn’t an expert on female cup sizes, but he correctly guessed that Irina’s firm, heavy rack had to be at least a double-E size. Time stood still for a long moment as Warren stood rooted to the floor, taking in his new housekeeper with his mouth slightly open. Gone were his plans of confidently smiling at her and warmly welcoming her and inviting her in — Warren found that he couldn’t even speak, let alone project any air of confidence or authority.
“You must be Warren,” said Irina, her intimidating light green eyes boring down into his as she tilted her head slightly to the right, looking down at him. She had an unmistakable Eastern European accent, although she had been in the United States long enough for it to have lost its original thickness. Now, it came out in a delightfully musical tone, seeming to flow gracefully off her tongue.
“I…I…y-yes…yes, th-that’s…that’s me!” he squeaked, feeling his face flush a deep crimson as he struggled to pronounce his words.
“Awww, it’s very sweet, you know,” said Irina, taking a step towards him, engulfing him in her shadow as she extended out her hand for him to shake. Warren saw that she had long, sharp black fingernails, well-manicured, that matched the wavy flows of long, full, black hair that tumbled from her head down onto her shoulders.
“S-Sweet?” asked Warren uncertainly, accepting her handshake and shivering slightly in overwhelmed delight as he felt her larger, warmer palm encompass his, squeezing it with an undeniably strong, yet patiently gentle force.
“Yes,” breathed Irina down at him, her full red lips now curving up into a smile. “It’s sweet to see that you’re exactly the same in person as you were on the phone.”
“I…I am?” asked Warren, looking up into her pretty eyes. He noticed that she hadn’t let go of the handshake yet.
“Haha! Yes you are!” laughed Irina, throwing her head back and chuckling a little before looking back down at him. “You were soooo nervous on the phone; I could tell. And now, in person, haha, look at you! Shaking like a little leaf!”
“I’m s-sorry!” Warren managed to force out, reddening further still. “I…I j-just get so, uhhh…it’s not easy for me t-to — ”
“Warren,” interrupted Irina, squeezing his hand a little harder as she reached up her other hand to fix a bit of his hair that had fallen into his face, “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m here to help you, ok? You hired me — not the other way around.”
“I…ahh…heheh, yeah…ok,” chuckled Warren, laughing a little despite himself as he nodded his head. Irina smiled again at him and let go of his hand, rising up again, slightly above him. Warren estimated, somewhere in his subconscious, that without her heels, they would probably be around the same height. Irina, though, clearly weighed much more — in contrast to his flabby scrawniness, her body was firm, thick, and vigorous…not to mention ridiculously busty.
“Well alright!” said Irina pleasantly, straightening up and picking up her suitcase that she had put down by her feet, “Would you like to show me inside then, Mr. du Pont?”
“I’d…be glad to!” answered Warren, smiling broadly for the first time. He was recovering from the initial shock of seeing her, and he couldn’t believe his luck. She was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined, and she clearly knew how to set him at ease. But even though he had gotten over his shock, Warren still didn’t have the necessary confidence to take the simple initiative of inviting Irina inside. Instead, he just kept standing there, awkwardly smiling, unconsciously waiting for her to make the first move.
Irina waited a few seconds longer, expectantly, with her eyebrows up, until she appeared to realize what was going on. With a little chuckle, her eyebrows went back down, and she strode past Warren, her heels clacking enticingly against the marble floor of the mansion porch, before seeing herself inside. Warren followed her, tottering closely behind as he pushed the door to and locked it.
“This is quite the estate you’ve got here, Warren,” said Irina impressively, looking around approvingly.
“Uhh..haha, uh, y-yeah…my great grandfather was — ”
“A chemical industries magnate, I know,” said Irina, nodding.
“Y-yeah…but, well…” said Warren, flushing again as he felt like he was going out on a limb.
“But what, Warren?” asked Irina, looking at him.
“It, uh…it m-might have been nice to know him, at least,” he said. “And my p-parents too. It’s just…so, uh…so weird, to have all this money, and uh…th-this house…and not really even know the people who gave it to you.”
“Oh you never knew your parents?” asked Irina kindly. As she spoke, she reached out, almost unconsciously, and straightened Warren’s t-shirt, which had been a little lopsided on his left shoulder. He noticed her gesture, but was busy trying to answer her without stuttering too hard.
“Y-yeah, they, uh…they died when I was r-really young,” he answered. He wondered why he had suddenly sprung this information on Irina, more or less the moment she had walked into his house.
“Aww, you poor thing,” she cooed sympathetically, brushing his cheek a little with her finger. “So you’ve lived most of your life with no parents to take care of you.”
“Y-yeah, just, um…just a lot of different housekeepers, haha,” he said, unearthing the confidence to chuckle.
“Well if it makes you feel any better, I lost my parents when I was very young too,” said Irina. “I was able to escape the Siege of Sarajevo during the Bosnian War, but my parents weren’t so lucky.”
“I’m…so sorry!” said Warren, feeling somehow inadequate. His parents had died in a car accident, which was bad enough, but Irina’s had actually died in a war.
“It’s ok, like I said, I was very young,” replied Irina, straightening up and looking past Warren into the distance. “Losing them made me strong. It made me learn how to fend for myself, in a new and unfamiliar environment.”
“Th-that’s…good,” said Warren, feeling still more inadequate. He knew that losing his parents hadn’t made him strong — in fact, it had made him more dependent on others, and less able to do things on his own.
“But maybe that just comes with my culture too,” suggested Irina, looking back down on him, seeming to read his mind. “In Eastern Europe, we’re a little…how do you say…hardy, haha. Tough. We know how to take care of ourselves.”
“I…heheh, I w-wish I could be like that,” said Warren genuinely.
“Well, we can’t all be strong, now, can we?” said Irina gently, her light green eyes calmly regarding him. “It’s ok to admit that sometimes, you just need to be taken care of.”
*Beepbeepbeep!*
The microwave timer suddenly went off, signaling that Warren’s meal was ready.
“What was that?” asked Irina, her brow suddenly furrowing slightly.
“Oh! Haha, uh that was my, um…my lunch,” admitted Warren, a bit sheepishly.
“Mmmm, heating up some leftovers from last night, huh?” asked Irina.
“Um…heh, n-no, actually,” said Warren. “It’s just a…you know…a frozen meal.”
“A what!?” exclaimed Irina, striding over to the microwave and opening it.
“A…f-frozen meal,” repeated Warren, not understanding her reaction. Irina took out the plastic-covered tray.
“What’s this?” she asked bluntly.
“Uhh…chicken tenders and mashed potatoes?” offered Warren, confused.
“No it’s not,” said Irina flatly, stepping over to swipe up the empty meal box with her free hand and flashing the ingredient list in Warren’s face, “You see all that, Warren? Look at all those ingredients. Does that look like real food to you?”
“I…d-don’t know,” he answered, totally out of his depth.
“Processed chicken product, bleached flour, dehydrated potato flakes…” read Irina, looking back up at him and shaking her head. “This isn’t food, Warren. Please don’t tell me that you’ve been eating this stuff regularly.”
“I m-mean,” he stammered, now starting to panic again, “S-Sometimes I order t-take-out from restaurants.”
“Take-out!?” asked Irina, her eyes going a little wider. “But Warren…you cook sometimes, don’t you?”
Warren gaped at his new housekeeper, trying to answer her, but he found that nothing was coming out. He could feel his chest beginning to seize up again as a cold sweat broke out on his brow.
“What am I saying, of course you don’t,” murmured Irina, almost to herself, as she stared at him. Then, realizing that her incredulity was about to thrust him into a full-blown panic attack, she spoke up, changing her tone completely.
“Oh Warren,” she said warmly, smiling at him a little ironically, “I’m SO glad that you brought me in here. Some things are going to change around here, and trust me, they’ll be changes for the better.”
Without wasting any more time, she walked to the garbage can and dropped Warren’s meal straight down into it.
“H-hey!” he exclaimed, a little affronted despite his rising anxiety, “I w-was…uh…gonna eat that!”
“Oh I know you were,” said Irina, “But now that I’m here, Warren, there’s no way that I’m going to let you consume that kind of garbage…no sir.”
As she talked, she walked to the freezer, throwing it open to reveal the brick-like wall of frozen meals.
“My goodness!” she murmured, again almost to herself. “Look at you, Warren. You really, really needed me, didn’t you?”
Warren didn’t know what to say, and he was even more at a loss when Irina started taking his frozen meals out of the freezer and tossing them straight into the garbage. As she moved about, Warren couldn’t help but notice how her massive, heavy breasts jiggled and swayed with every motion. The black maid top that she was wearing barely seemed able to contain her massive mammaries, and Warren thought that he could even hear the fabric stretching as she bent down to throw away his food.
His preoccupation with her body distracted him for several long moments, but eventually, he was able to recover himself enough to protest.
“H-hey! Ir-Irina! D-don’t throw all my food away! I w-won’t have anything left to eat!”
“Oh yes you will,” she countered, undeterred by his protests as she continued to empty his fridge. “From now on, I’m cooking for you, ok Warren? Anything that you eat is going to be prepared by me, understand?”
“I…uhmm,” said Warren, having no idea how to respond.
“Aww, ok,” said Irina kindly, momentarily pausing in her task to come up to him and put a warm, caring hand on his small shoulder, which she gently squeezed and kneaded as she looked down into his eyes. “Normally I’m not this pushy, but Warren, you hired me to take care of things around here, and you can’t deny that you are one of those things, can you?”
“N-no,” he breathed, feeling intoxicated and excited by her proximity, and her physical touch.
“And you also can’t deny that it’s a bit of a dangerous time to be a man right now,” added Irina, “What with this new virus cropping up everywhere. The last thing I want is for you to get sick because your body has a weakened immune system that comes from a poor diet. If all you eat is frozen food and take-out, that’s not doing your body any favors, Warren.”
“N-no, it’s…it’s not,” he agreed, bowing his head slightly in shame.
“Aw but I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” insisted Irina, taking him gently by the chin and lifting it, so that she was staring directly into his eyes. “I just want you to know that you don’t need to worry or be afraid anymore. I’m gonna take care of you, Warren. I’m going to give you good food to eat, and I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you from this incoming pandemic.”
“Th-thank you,” replied Warren, feeling a sudden well-up of emotion inflate inside him, and tears formed at the corners of his eyes.
“What a sweet little man you are,” intoned Irina deeply, and she suddenly engulfed him in a hug that lasted for several long moments. Warren felt her huge breasts squish and splay out against his upper chest, and he smelled her sweet, slightly rustic scent. For the first time in years, he actually felt safe.
A little while later, Irina went to the grocery store and bought a whole fridge-full of delicious, healthy food. Warren was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, watching her bustle about as she cooked him a hearty meal of spaghetti and meatballs. Just watching her move about was fascinating to him — her curvy body, her confidence, her skill…everything seemed to blend together into one impressive whole.
“Now I have to ask you,” said Irina, “When was the last time you had any face-to-face contact with anyone?”
“I…uh, I mean I’ve signed the receipts for, um…my delivery food,” said Warren.
“Hmmm,” mused Irina, stirring the pot of tomato sauce. “How many of these people do you see a week?”
“M-maybe five?” ventured Warren.
“Five?” asked Irina, looking up. “Yes, Warren, I think you should take your temperature right now.”
“B-but…I feel fine,” he protested, feeling a surge of anxiety.
“You know the course of the virus though,” said Irina, “The fever hits first, before the malaise, or anything else. I’m not trying to alarm you, Warren — I just want us to take all the precautions we can. This virus, by all accounts, is very contagious.”
“O-ok,” he said, fetching a thermometer from the kitchen drawer. He turned it on and inserted it in under his tongue. He could feel his heart thumping along in his chest, and his fingers were starting to tingle from the stress of waiting. But he found himself reassured as he looked at Irina, moving about confidently in the kitchen, cooking him a lovely meal. He was safe…safe with her.
*beeeeeepbeeeeeep*
The thermometer was done — Warren took it out and looked at it…and his body turned to stone.
101.4.
Comments
Joyce Julep
Thanks Sheerkray! Just posted Chapter 2! :D
I absolutely love how quickly she asserts herself when she meets him. I can't wait to see more of the story!
