Cow Boy II, Part 3 (Patreon)

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Note: This is a male version of Cow Girl III.

Summary: Sequel to Cow Boy. Decades following Lucas’s ordeal, the cow-person condition is becoming an epidemic. Taylor has the misfortune of contracting the gene. Contains:  Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, multiple breasts, udders, lactation, and more.

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Taylor had never seen so many cow people in real life—in fact, he had never seen any, other than the ones on the news. Taylor tried his best not to look as stunned as he felt. The woman with the large, fat-looking mound stuffed in her high-waisted pants was speaking.

“It started at puberty,” the woman said. She had short brown hair and hunched shoulders. Taylor squinted, and could see that her nametag read Sandy. “Slow going, you know… With most people, the change is fast. Takes weeks or months. But for me, it happened progressively, over the course of years. I don’t know if it was something I was doing, or eating. I mean, I always knew it was likely. After all, my mother was a...a cow person. And, well, I have lots of siblings. They’re all cows too. Somehow I always thought I would be exempt. But I guess I was just a late bloomer. Maybe that’s why I have so much difficulty adjusting compared to the others. My udder kept growing over the years, and I just kind of got used to hiding it. I wore clothes that compressed it, even until it was painful. After college things just got harder. Soon I was in the workforce. I’d squeeze myself into this professional attire, and it would just be…painful. I had all kinds of tricks. Bandages, athletic tape, compression garments, you name it. By then my udder had begun to tingle. Of course, I didn’t know what it meant at the time. It was bloated, just this big, obvious mound in my pants. I wasn’t fooling anyone, but I still kept at it with the measures, the tape, the bandages, the spanks, whatever might keep it down, make it look less—massive. It was torture, but I, um…I refused to stop trying to hide it. My family thought I was crazy. But this was before the condition became so widespread, before people actually knew about us. Mom was always so nervous. I was the only one of my siblings who wasn’t home-schooled. Of course, had she known how I would turn out, she probably wouldn’t have let me out of the house. But yeah, I was defiant. I went to college. I got a good job. I squeezed myself into my pencil skirt, lying to myself, telling myself that I wasn’t growing, every day. And then one day, during the biggest presentation of my career, my fucking udder just started gushing! I hadn’t even realized it was engorged!” Sandy’s voice had started to quaver. The woman sitting beside her comfortingly patted her arm.

Sandy swallowed, and went on. “It must have been nerves or something. I don’t know. Maybe I had gotten stimulated from being squeezed so continuously. It just kept swelling up. My skirt started to tear.

“Of course, I quit right there. I was humiliated. I ran out of the office and never looked back.” Sandy took a shaky breath. “That was a year ago. Nowadays, I just work from home. I barely get out anymore. Even though it’s all over the news now, and the cow-gene is becoming this whole big, public thing, I just can't face the world with my udder. Not since that day. And it gets worse. I’m still going through…changes. I can see it more clearly now. I can see my body changing more every day.” Sandy began to get choked up. Now her neighbor was comfortingly rubbing her back. “I know I'm being silly. I grew up with this gene. I know what my mother is. I just got so used to being…human.”

“You are human,” insisted the chubby girl with floppy cow-ears.

“Zoey is right,” said Ms. Clark. “You are human. And you are brave. Thank you for telling your story.”

The group gave a small round of applause. Taylor sat in numb silence.

“Who else would like to share?” said Ms. Clark.

Taylor found himself staring at the volleyball-sized mound perched in Sandy’s lap. She had an otherwise normal physique. Except for that mound.

“I will,” someone said.

Taylor’s eyes darted towards a young woman whose nametag read Violet. He scrutinized her, but Violet was virtually normal. Taylor couldn’t pinpoint any cow features at all.

Maybe she’s like me, Taylor thought, feeling nervous. Suddenly he wasn’t too keen about hearing Violet’s story.

“I’m similar to Sandy, I guess, though my problem is kind of, the opposite,” she said in a high, airy voice. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cute, albeit tiny, physique. “Like Sandy, I grew up in a big family of cow girls and boys. We were always poor, but it was…nice. My parents had a couple of litters, and I was just envious of my siblings. They have clear features—not as clear as my mum, but, you know. Full hips, big breasts, fat bums—three of my sisters even have udders. One of the three actually grew an extra pair of breasts—lucky thing. But, like, she doesn’t appreciate it. I would give anything to be like her. I’m the youngest, and kind of a black sheep. I see my sisters getting knocked up, and growing, almost ready to pop out litters of fat cow-babies, and I’m still just here, waiting around for my turn to start…developing. Sometimes I worry that my time won’t come. I hate looking at all the gorgeous cows on the news. Even looking around this very room, all I feel is jealousy, and—”

Taylor never made it to the end of Violet’s story. Ignoring the disapproving looks Ms. Clark was sending his way, he left.

As Taylor walked stiffly out of the library, he tried to block out everything he had seen and heard during the bizarre group therapy session. Fucking cows, he thought as he climbed into his car. He wasn’t like those freaks. Taylor made a phone call through his car’s bluetooth as he pulled open his glove box. He twisted his lips as he examined the compression vest he found. There was also a spare shirt that wasn’t too rumpled.

“Taylor?” a male voice answered the phone.

“Reese, what's going on tonight?”

“For real?” Reese responded. “You said you were busy.”

“My plans just fell through,” Taylor muttered, glancing himself over and the rearview mirror. He needed to wipe the memory of those weirdos clean out of his head.

“A couple of us are gonna pregame at that new bar downtown. Vibe. Then we’ll head to the club.”

“Meet you there,” said Taylor, hanging up the phone. He pulled off his tanktop and struggled into the compression vest.

As Taylor drove, he encountered a red light at every intersection. It was the downside of a college town, he supposed. He tinkered with the car radio, but the dial had broken weeks earlier during a particularly feisty hook-up. It had been stuck on the same news station ever since.

“Doctor, what kind of precautions should women take if they suspect they might be carrying a cow child?” spoke a somewhat distorted male voice.

“Well the first thing I would like to note is that men can become impregnated with cow-gene children as well, though this is quite rare,” responded a knowledgeable female voice.

“Fascinating.”

“Indeed. And the main thing that should be known is that people who have been impregnated with this gene will remain highly fertile, and it is entirely possible for them to be re-impregnated.”

“Come again?” said the host.

“That’s right, Tim, these carriers can add more embryos to their already-full litters. This is why it is crucial that they practice abstinence from the moment that pregnancy is first suspected.”

“Astounding.”

“Besides that, there are actually fewer dangers to the babies than there are with regular pregnancies. These cow-gene embryos show to be highly resilient. We have seen absolutely no impact from mothers who have consumed drugs and alcohol during gestation. The embryos are not vulnerable to physical trauma either. The one study that I should bring up warns of a substance that can cause growth spurts via fetal weight-gain in-utero. This isn’t only bad for the birth, but it can exacerbate mobility issues that these people are already prone to in the later stages of pregnancy. The substance is simply—"

Taylor turned off the radio, annoyed that he was being bombarded by the cow epidemic. “Everywhere I turn, fucking cows,” he mumbled under his breath as he accelerated his vehicle. How did I get dragged into this anyway? I come from a good family. I have a trust fund. Taylor impatiently sped through the newest red light.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at the bar Reese had mentioned. He pulled over and climbed out of the car, pausing just to admire the sunset. Taking a deep breath, he tried to dispel all cow-related thoughts from his mind. He definitely needed a break from this mess.

Taylor entered the bar and met up with his friends, who were at a table in the back. The five were already tipsy, and challenged him to catch up.

Taylor just grinned and slid into the booth.

Within a few hours, he drank Reese under a table, crediting his high alcohol tolerance for his decent composure. He and Terry kissed a little. Just as things started picking up, Stacy announced that they were heading for the club.

It was a ten-minute walk though dark, but it was a nice spring night. The group did their best to look sober as police cruisers rolled along the streets, looking for college students to pick up.

The group chattered and laughed, Taylor feeling more at ease than he had in a while. He didn’t even mind when Reese wolf whistled behind him, or Derek snickered and commented that his ass was “huge.” Soon they were in line at the best gay club in the city, each of them whipping out their fake-IDs.

When he got inside, Taylor just danced, melding with the crowd, the flashing lights, and the deafening music. He danced with his friends, he danced with strangers. He let Derek grind on his fat ass. Glasses were passed, and Taylor drank up. He drank until everything would periodically blur.

Now a different person was grinding on Taylor, men seeming to gravitate to him. Taylor allowed the stranger to run his hands up and down his body, along his round ass, and his chest that ached for release from the compression vest. As strange as his body was, it felt fucking good. And he never usually got this kind of attention at clubs. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.

Soon Taylor and the stranger were in a dark corner, kissing and rubbing against each other’s bodies. The guy was tall and brawny, his skin hot. Taylor could feel the guys cock through his jeans, and it was huge. The guy pressed him into the wall, Taylor gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. Taylor arched his throat to give the stranger better access. He allowed the guy to slide his fingers under the waistband of his pants. Allowed the stranger to take his hand and pull him towards the bathrooms.

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