Growing into the Job, Post 491: At Home with the Vaceks

The door to the modest apartment creaked open, and Katarina Vacek - experimental Protsess patient, KOLECTV operative and current Hive member at EP_Site_004 stepped inside. She set her purse down on the narrow console table by the door, hung her jacket, kicked off her white sneakers and - ooof, these ogromne piersi - cracked her aching back. Having to spend her Sunday at the facility to help put the finishing touches on both the new Fertility  department and in the Regression Clinic had been a bit of a burden, but her swollen breasts were currently a bigger one. There should be two hungry mouths here for her to come home to, and she was looking forward to the relief. She paused in the entryway, inhaling deeply, a habitual gesture she’d developed for grounding herself after long days at Far Horizons and returning to her role as provider at home. Unmistakable, the faint scent of her milk lingered in the air, mingling with the acrid tang of something burnt. Her pale blue eyes narrowed.

“Marcin?” she called out, her voice sharp but not raised. Katarina rarely shouted; with her newest husband, a calm tone could most times carry as much authority as yelling.

The apartment the “family” shared was small but tidy - or at least it was supposed to be. The main room served as both living and dining space, with a simple table and mismatched chairs shoved against the wall to make room for a playpen and a well-used rocking chair Katarina used for nursing. The open kitchen was visible from where she stood, its counters littered with plates, glass bottles and plastic lids. There was also what appeared to be a streak of something wet on the wall. A partially opened box of her cereal sat askew on the counter, its contents spilling onto the floor. What in the world has he been doing, she wondered, struggling to keep herself calm, besides his usual nothing?

Katarina drew another breath, tucked a strand of her straight, pale blonde hair behind her ear and stepped farther into the room. The weight of her ample chest bounced heavily beneath her plain white tee, despite the industrial-grade bra she’d been wearing. She paused, listening. Many times she would be greeted by the sound of a baby’s wail cutting through the air, high-pitched and insistent. She looked towards the nursery door, which was closed. All was quiet.

“Marcin?” she called again, her accent rolling softly over the name.

No answer.

First, she checked the nursery. Stepping across the carpet in her socks, she peeked into the small, dark room. Her infant Piotr, appearing as a boy who would grow to a man for the new world, was napping soundly in his crib. Despite the gravid pain in her chest, she decided to let him sleep. 

Closing the door, she stepped back across the carpet and into the kitchen, her nose wrinkling at the sight. A scorched pan sat abandoned on the stove, the blackened remnants of what she could only guess had been eggs clinging stubbornly to the metal. Nie dobrze, Marcin. The sink was half-filled with cloudy water and several dishes that had clearly been there all day. Three empty milk bottles - the baby’s, neatly labeled with times and her instructions - sat unwashed on the counter. At least he has been feeding Piotr. Two others, though - Marcin’s - sat full, untouched on the counter. What had he done with his third bottle, she began to wonder, just as her sharp eyes immediately noted the broken glass sitting in a pool of her milk on the floor, down below the wet stain on the wall..

Marcin, what did you do??

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. The ungrateful słabeusz. They both knew what was needed before next week. 

“Marcin!” she called again, her voice now carrying more than an edge of irritation. Katarina turned on her heel, her steps brisk as she made her way back into the main room. She glanced toward the master bedroom door, which was ajar. Her expression hardened as she decided not to step toward it, but rather make him come to her.

“Marcin!!” she said again, her tone sharp, now betraying anger.

Behind the door, she could hear the faint shuffle of movement, followed by a muffled sound that might have been a guilty whimper. Then, with the soft creak of hinges, he appeared.

“Ah,” she murmured, sharp blue eyes narrowing, her lips pressing into a thin line, “there you are.”

At first glance, Marcin Sobczak-Vacek might have been mistaken for a boy, his stature barely more than that of a child. He stood in the doorway of their bedroom, teetering on thin, pale legs in pajama shorts. Behind him, the bedroom was small and dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. At just over one meter tall, he had become not simply a shadow of his former self, but one could see that he had been slowly changing into something else entirely.

In a worn, grey t-shirt, his shoulders were narrow and slumped forward, his arms spindly. Though the tee was oversized on him, an odd tattoo of a stylized sun with a cross and a central “K” peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his right arm. His beard had long since fallen out, leaving his face bare, and his once thick, dark hair had thinned to a fine, patchy fuzz. His cheeks had grown somehow both sallow and round and soft, lending him a disconcertingly cherubic appearance.

Marcin looked up and across the room at his young wife with wide, guilty eyes, his lips parting as if to talk but no words came. She had been making it harder for him to speak, as of late.

In contrast to his wasted, shrunken self, Katarina’s presence was now commanding. Though not remarkably tall, at 5’7” or so, she appeared suddenly statuesque, her heavy bust straining against her plain white tee, thin shoulders set squarely. Her long blonde hair framed her Slavic features, and though she could have a friendly face when she smiled, there was no warmth in her expression as she considered her husband, and what he’d done.

She folded her arms under her bosomy chest, her fingers tapping impatiently against her elbow. “Marcin,” she said, her voice cold and even. “Explain yourself.”

He couldn’t speak, and - seeing how his gaze had dropped, landing right on her chest - immediately she knew why. She could tell he hadn’t eaten all day and the sight of her enormous breasts gathered in her arms was too much for him. The promise of his gaze on her made her shudder, a fresh wave of her milk coming in to swell her already swollen tits even further. From under bra and T-shirt, her tumescence was visible. 

“At least my nipples are happy to see you,” she scoffed. She would let him stare at them, if he could show the will. Though both their bodies were craving a feeding, there was a lesson to be taught here. “Now, I see you did not drink your milk. Instead, you throw it against wall…”

She took a step towards him, and saw him flinch. Days, days past, where he could pick her up, carry her on his shoulders through the park along the banks of the Vistula, both of them laughing? Those days were gone. Marcin’s eyes were now cast downwards. His lower lip trembled but he remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“And also, other food out. Eggs. Cereal. My food, not yours, not Piotr’s.” Her tone was plainly accusatory. “Why?”

“I…I…” He was beginning to find his ability for speech.

“You thought,” Katarina interrupted, her voice rising slightly, “you could ignore rules? Ignore me?” She took another step closer, beginning to tower over him as he shrank further down into himself. If this was some sort of rebellion, she needed to quash it immediately.

“I…I hungry,” he stammered, finally able to form his words, his small hands clasped in front of himself, wringing, “ I thought maybe I could-”

“And you did not drink your milk?!?” she nearly yelled, “Instead you try eggs, you try cereal?”

“I just…I do not kn-know if want to…” He trailed off, his eyes darting away from her piercing gaze. “If  want become any the smaller…” Marcin Sobczak-Vacek looked down at himself, and visibly shuddered. “...any smaller than this.”

The admission hung in the air, and Katarina’s eyes narrowed. She stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring slightly as she exhaled. “You do not know if you want to shrink any more?” she repeated for him, her voice low and dangerous. Her English was better than his, and she’d insisted they use it at home to help prepare for their new life. “Marcin, do you really think you have choice in this any more?” Incredulous, she was. Incredulous! After all they’d talked about! 

Marcin shuddered again, and groaned. Yes, it had been something they had agreed on, something that has sounded - O mój Boże - thrilling, a fulfillment of his darkest fantasies. But now, here in the United States, now it was quickly becoming a reality - and he was frightened. He was, every day more quickly than the day before, becoming less Katarina’s husband and more like….

There would be a day where he would be like Piotr.

“I can not do it, Katarina!” he wailed.

“But you can throw your milk against wall, break glass bottle!” Katarina yelled back, her next two steps making him yelp and throw his hands up in front of himself, to protect. She was now standing right over him, but just then, she heard the baby cry out, from the other room: hungry. But she needed to attend to this child, first. She grabbed Marcin’s wrists, and pulled them away from his face. “I will tell you what you can not do any more, mały człowiek. You can not be a man. You can no work, you can no eat aside from my milk. I make all money, I provide all everything. You can not live or eat without me. One day you will not able to breathe without me.”

She watched him shudder and groan again, and saw he was hard in his pants. Honestly, when she looked down into his face, the way he avoided her gaze, she could tell he knew it himself: he was not strong enough to resist anything. In fact, he still wanted this, maybe more now than ever. He wanted to drop to his knees, he wanted her to lift him, cradle him, coddle him now. He wanted to supplicate; that she knew. Yes, she thought, thinking for a moment of Piotr, but first, lesson.

”I thought I could treat you with respect, but you just take advantage,” she berated him, watching him wither and crumble with each word of assault - though her words had started to soften,“ You insult me, behaving like this in home I provide for you. You need to remember your place.”

“oh…oh…! K-Katarina! P-please! no I do n-!”

“If you do not stop complaining, If you misbehave again, I not going to just turn you into infant,” she said, her voice dropping down into a more salacious purr as she stepped in closer, her presence overwhelming and pushing him backwards, “I could go further. How would it feel, be back living life as embryo, but not in mommy, like you wanted? Just on mommy, on her hip, on her thigh, under breast? I could do, Marcin, I could do so easy…”

“No Katarina I am sorry!” he whined, though it was no longer just fear fueling his struggling voice, but the thrill of it, the thrill of…discipline. 

“I could make you live on me like a mite,” she snapped, “A pasożyt! An INSECT!”

He looked up at her, his mouth opening as if to respond, but no words came out. She could see it in his watering, rheumy eyes: his mind reeled as his jaw shook, trapped between “NO!” and “YES!!”

“Nothing to say, little man?!? Well, I need to take care of Piotr…”

 At that, Katarina turned on her socked heel, stepping undaunted towards the nursery. She allowed herself a thin smile when she heard Marcin’s little feet beginning to shuffle along after her, trailing behind. Without even glancing over her shoulder at him, she knew his eyes were on her rolling hips, and that he stood in the doorway to watch her rear swell as she leaned over the crib to gather up the fussing baby boy. The first pangs of jealousy were hitting him hard as she cooed down the sweetest consolations to Piotr, and then lifted him to her shoulder. 

Katarina brushed past Marcin brusquely, her hip brushing his chin as she carried Piotr into the main room, cradling him protectively in her arms. The infant, nestled against her shoulder, let out another tiny cry, which she immediately soothed with a soft coo. “Shh, malutki. Mama is here now. No cry, Piotrusiu, no cry.”

Marcin stumbled to follow her, his throat tightening and feet dragging slightly as though the weight of her words and his shame physically slowed him. Through the window, the mid-November sun cast his small, frail shadow onto the wall, though his wide, guilty eyes stayed locked on her and the sway of her hips as she moved. He felt the pangs of jealousy strike him again, sharp and searing, as he watched her turn, still lavishing her attention on the small, vulnerable form of Piotr tucked against her chest. That should be me, he anguished, a thought he wasn’t sure was entirely his own.

Katarina reached the rocking chair, its well-worn arms and faded fabric a testament to countless hours spent there nursing and nurturing. With practiced ease, she settled into it, cradling Piotr in her arms as the chair creaked faintly under her weight and she began to gently rock, humming a soft, tuneless melody that immediately soothed the crying infant. She adjusted him gently, her touch so tender and maternal that it only served to highlight the sharp contrast with how she had just handled Marcin. 

She saw how he still lingered near the doorway, hovering, his eyes glued to her and hands wringing nervously in front of himself. She felt how his gaze was caught in her gravitational pull, one he couldn’t resist. His jealousy was swelling like a dark cloud in his chest. She pretended to pay him no mind, focused solely on the babe in her arms.

“Nie płacz już, Piotrusiu,” she whispered, stroking the infant’s soft, downy hair. “Mama już wróciła.” Her voice was warm and soothing, a stark departure from the cold edge she had used just moments before. She saw how Marcin began to shuffle closer, his hands still wringing together, his lips trembling as he tried to form words. He wanted to apologize again, to beg her forgiveness, but the lump in his throat was growing bigger with each step. He stopped a few feet from her, watching as she expertly balanced Piotr with one arm while using her free hand to tug up the lower hem of her plain white tee.

With a click of a snap, her bra unlatched from the front and her heavy right breast spilled free, pale and round. Marcin recognized, from the countless hours he’d spent himself at her breast, how turgid and full she was, how engorged. Her softly pink nipple, in fact, was already glistening with the first beads of milk. The sight sent a visceral pang through Marcin, a mix of longing, shame, and jealousy that made his knees wobble - and his hunger redouble. He watched as Katarina guided the baby’s searching mouth to her nipple, and he latched on instantly, his tiny hands curling against her skin. On Marcin’s brow, sweat began to break.

“There we go,” she cooed down to baby Piotr, her voice soft and full of love, “Dobry chłopiec, drink, little one. Mama’s here, mama has everything you need.”

Marcin’s fingers curled into fists at his sides as he watched her with wide, glassy eyes that seemed too large for his shrunken face; he knew that tone - she’d used it with him. His stomach twisted with envy as Piotr began to suckle greedily, the rhythmic motion of the baby’s jaw making Marcin’s mouth go dry. He swallowed hard, his eyes flicking from her nurturing expression to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, to the arm that cradled the baby so protectively. He suddenly longed for her touch, her attention, but she didn’t spare him even a glance. It was as if all her love was reserved entirely for the child-thing, and it made his eyes water. His lips parted, as if to say something, but the words died in his dry throat.

Katarina hummed softly, rocking the chair back and forth in a slow, soothing rhythm - though acutely aware of Marcin’s presence. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, the jealousy and longing radiating off him like heat. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she shifted Piotr slightly, ensuring he was latched comfortably. The quiet creak of the wood filled the room, mingling with the soft sounds of the small male nursing.“Such a good boy,” she praised him, her voice thick with affection as she rubbed his back, “Mama is so proud of you, being such a good boy. For obeying all her rules.”

Marcin stepped closer, unable to stop himself. “K-Katarina,” he stammered, his voice weak and pleading. “I am...I am sorry. Truly, I am.”

Still, she didn’t look at him. “Shh,” she murmured, her focus entirely on Piotr, “You will upset the baby.”

“I didn’t mean to...to…” he trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as his cheeks burned with shame. That is no baby.  Finally, he was able to speak again. “P-please..?” 

Katarina finally turned her head, her sharp blue eyes meeting his. The warmth in her expression evaporated instantly, replaced by a severity that made him shrink further into himself. “Please what?” she asked, her voice devoid of the warmth she now reserved for Piotr.

Marcin could not answer, instead standing both stone-still and trembling.

Katarina gestured to Piotr, engrossed in his mother's nipple, with a tilt of her chin. “This is what it means to be a good boy, a good man, a good husband. To take what is given, without question. Without complaint.” She paused, looking down at the nascent male, all the promise he represented. “With thanks for what she provides.”

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered, his hands clenching into small fists at his sides. “I’ll drink…I’ll follow the rules…just…please…”

Her lips curled into a smirk as she shifted in the chair, adjusting Piotr in her arms and looking down at the suckling baby. “You should learn from him,” she said, “See how he trusts me? How he lets Mama take care of everything?”

“Yes, yes, I promise…!”

“You say that now,” she said coolly to her husband, her tone dripping with disdain but eyes never leaving her infant, “But where were your promises when you threw my milk against the wall? Hm?”

Marcin flinched, his face crumpling. His lips, as of late, had taken on a pouty fullness that made him look perpetually on the verge of a sulk, but now he was honestly bereft. “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!”

“Yes, you were,” Katarina said sharply, her voice cutting through the room like a blade as her eyes shot to Marcin’s. “You know how important it is that you drink your milk, how important it is for you to listen to me. And now you see the consequences of disobedience.” She glanced down at Piotr, her expression softening as she stroked his back.

Marcin nodded desperately, his hands trembling as he clasped them in front of himself. “I will be good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I will be good, Katarina. I promise.”

Katarina nodded, not accepting his apology just yet…just acknowledging it. There is more for you to say, mały mąż.

“I…I am sorry,” he stammered, in a voice that cracked and wavered, childlike in its tone. His hands still clenched in small fists at his sides. “I will drink…I will follow the rules…just…please.” He paused again, and his body trembled with humiliation. ”Please…mommy.”

Katarina’s smile returned, cold and victorious. She adjusted Piotr again, so she could cradle him in her right arm.  Her movements were deliberate and slow, ensuring Marcin’s eyes stayed fixed on the baby at her breast. “We’ll see,” she said softly, her tone both a warning and a promise as the rocking chair creaked again and she took the hem of her top in her left hand. Her sharp blue eyes turned out to him, her expression unreadable and her lips parted - though no words came. Instead, deliberately, she lifted the hem of her white T-shirt. The fabric caught on the swell of her left breast before rising further, letting it fall and exposing its fullness - and the faint glisten of milk already forming at her nipple. 

Katarina still rocked gently, her movements slow as she looked at her shrunken husband. She held his gaze, her expression cool and commanding. Without speaking, she gave the faintest tilt of her head, a silent summons. The message was clear: podejdź do męża i poddaj się. wypełnić swoje miejsce.

Approach, husband, and submit. Fulfill your place.

Marcin swallowed hard, his small frame trembling as he hesitated. But the weight of her stare and his newly awakened hunger left no room for resistance. Slowly, reverently, he leaned forward. His thin arms shook as he placed his hands lightly on her knees, steadying himself as he moved closer. His lips parted slightly, and his breath came in shallow, uneven bursts.

Katarina’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. “Climb onto my lap properly, husband,” she instructed, her accent rolling softly over the words. The infant continued to suckle peacefully at her right breast, his soft coos more quiet as he nestled his tiny body against her chest.

Marcin obeyed without question, shifting his weight as he clambered onto her lap.  Eyes fixed on her enormous, naked, swollen left breast, rich veins leading to a swollen nipple, his movements were clumsy, tentative, as if he feared he might somehow shatter the fragile balance of the moment. He positioned himself beside Piotr, his thin frame pressing lightly against Katarina as her left arm came around to encircle him. He turned his gaze upward, waiting for her permission.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her tone both soothing and firm. “Now, latch.”

With a mix of trepidation and reverence, Marcin leaned forward, his lips brushing against her exposed nipple. He hesitated for the briefest moment, his gaze flicking upward to meet hers one last time. Her expression remained unyielding, and with a quiet whimper, he complied. His mouth closed around her nipple, his suckling tentative at first but growing steadier with each passing moment.

Katarina’s hand moved to the back of his head, her fingers threading through his thinning hair. She pressed him gently closer, ensuring a secure latch as she cradled both him and Piotr against her soft chest. The warmth of her milk flowed steadily, filling them both with a sense of comfort and submission.

The room fell into a tranquil rhythm once more, the soft creak of the rocking chair and the faint sounds of nursing the only noises to break the silence. Baby Piotr had already been lulled into a contented doze. Katarina leaned her head back against the chair, her pale blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she closed her eyes briefly and began to concentrate. A faint smile played on her lips, one of quiet satisfaction and triumph.

“You see, Marcin,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, as already she could feel him shrinking in her embrace, “This is where you belong. No doubts, no rebellion. Just this. My rules, my care, my milk.”

Marcin’s small body relaxed against hers, the tension in his shoulders melting away as he drank deeply and felt himself becoming less. His earlier defiance seemed like a distant memory, replaced now by a profound sense of submission and acceptance. Katarina’s hand moved in soothing strokes through his hair, across his back, her touch both possessive and tender as she stared down at the two figures now cradled in her arms. Next week would be here soon, with a new home among others…and her family would be ready.

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