Cow Boy II, Part 6 (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.

Previous Chapter

-

When Taylor woke up, he was sore, and also pleasantly reminded of how well-endowed Jack was. He buried his face deeper against him, absently wondering why Jack was still at the dorm. It was after a few minutes more of being snuggled against that warmth and human intimacy that Taylor could no longer resist his urge to empty his bladder. He climbed out of bed, and with a yawn, walked to the bathroom. Tiredly scratching his head, he passed the mirror, but then he paused.

Taylor walked back over to the full-length bathroom mirror. His jaw dropped at the sight of his physique. His previously flat stomach was now bloated, and presently bulging over the waistband of his boxers. For a while he stared at himself, stunned and in-denial. He slowly lowered his hand against his navel, cupping the bloated mound.

Then Taylor closed his mouth, clenched his fists, and turned around. He walked back to his bedroom and ripped the sheets off the bed, revealing a groggy Jack blinking up at him in confusion.

“Taylor, what…?”

“What did you do!?” Taylor demanded, shaking him. “What the hell, Jack, what the hell!?”

“Taylor—what—what are you—?” Trying his best to avoid injury, Jack scrambled away. He edged along the wall while clutching a pillow against his groin either to conceal it from view or to protect it from assault. “What’s going on?” He managed to grab hold of Taylor’s arms.

Red and seething, Taylor lowered his hands. He motioned to his small belly, causing Jack’s eyes to slide down.

“…oh,” said Jack after a bit of staring. He gritted his teeth in nervousness. “…my…well…Taylor, it…looks like you’re starting to show.”

His face contorting in fury, Taylor grabbed a potted plant and attempted to smash Jack’s head open. Jack was left with no choice but to flee from the apartment.

Taylor stood in his open bedroom doorway, fists clenched as he stared after Jack’s retreating back.

Mike’s face appeared. He looked ruffled himself. “What the hell was all that?”

Taylor grabbed hold of the door and slammed it shut in Mike’s face.

-

Frankly, Taylor didn’t know what the FUCK was going on. It was like Jack had gotten him even more pregnant.

“There’s something wrong with me, with my…condition,” Taylor rambled to his primary doctor over the phone. “I’m as big as a fucking house!”

Maybe that was an overstatement. He looked as though he could have been four months along.

“And I think my…” Taylor couldn’t finish his next statement, but he felt like his dick was getting smaller.

“That’s very unusual, Taylor,” said Dr. Smith calmly. The man was used to Taylor’s exaggerations. “According to the records sent from the hospital, you shouldn’t be showing for another several weeks.”

If it wasn’t unusual then I wouldn’t be calling! Taylor thought irritably.

“Tell me, Taylor, have you had sexual intercourse in the past twelve hours?”

“Well yeah. With Jack.”

“Jack? He’s the father?”

Taylor shuddered. “Yes.”

“Taylor, it is crucial that you avoid sexual intercourse until after you give birth. The hospital should have informed you, but with your gene, you can get reimpregnated at any time.”

“What?”

“What that means is that you can potentially become impregnated every time you have sex—implanted with more embryos.”

Taylor sat there in stunned silence. He stared down at his belly, the way it now bulged over the waistband of his pants.

“Further intercourse is inadvisable, and can lead to a very difficult birth. Your safest bet is abstinence, Taylor. At the very least, you cannot be intimate with this man.”

Abstinence for the next several months!?

Taylor took a deep breath. It was doable. After all, he was getting this thing terminated as soon as his clinic appointment came up. “That isn’t a problem, Dr. Smith. Jack and I are far past over. And for the record, there isn’t going to be any birth.”

“What do you mean?” Dr. Smith sounded perplexed.

“Abortion,” said Taylor flatly.

There was a pause. “Taylor—I fear you haven’t been fully educated on your condition. At this point in time, abortion isn’t—”

Taylor was distracted when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. “Can I call you back in five, doc?”

“Taylor, this is important,” Smith emphasized.

“Five,” Taylor reiterated, before hanging up the phone. He didn’t know what his physician had been about to say, and maybe he had welcomed the diversion a little too keenly. Taylor got up from his bed. He had no time to think about that now.

Taylor opened the door to see that Mike was back. Taylor began to close it again, but Mike blocked it with his shoulder.

“It’s your mother,” Mike mentioned brightly. “She stopped by.”

“Shit,” Taylor hissed, taking a glance down at himself. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, his normally toned abdomen visibly protruding. He quickly dug into his dresser and pulled out a sweatshirt. He had just managed to pull it on when his mother appeared behind Mike.

“Sweetie,” his mother said, nonchalantly pushing Mike aside. Taylor soon found himself being squeezed tightly in her arms.

His mother wasn’t unknown for her unannounced visits. It was a control thing, and a lack of trust. She always wanted to know what he was getting up to. Then again, Taylor was pregnant with a fucking cow now—maybe two! Could he really blame his mother for not trusting him?

Taylor lightly squeezed his mother back as he forced a smile, and just hoped that she didn’t detect his tits or gut through his sweatshirt.

His mother pulled back. “Have you been working out?” she asked, causing Taylor to stiffen. “You seem…bulkier.”

“Yeah…those cafeteria meals are really getting me fit,” he responded sarcastically.

She chuckled. “Come dear, let’s get a proper lunch together.”

Taylor heaved a sigh and grabbed his keys off his dresser. Another forced grin. “It’s a date.”

-

Over the next few days, Taylor found himself getting increasingly…lethargic. There were no more surprise visits, and nothing to really stop him as he became lazier and more sedentary with each passing day. He didn’t know if he was getting depressed, or if it was just another symptom of his stupid condition. But since the day the bulge made its debut, Taylor started limiting his college attendance to the courses he couldn’t get away with cutting. He stopped going out with his friends, and most of his free time was spent siting on his dorm couch snacking on chips or the boxes of chocolate that Jack often sent.

Stupid Jack. First he had gotten Taylor pregnant—then more pregnant—and now he was just making him fat.

Taylor’s feeble efforts to diet had quickly resulted to explosions of hunger and uncontrollable binges. Nowadays he found it best to eat consistently…if not constantly. He was absolutely stuffing his face lately. Taylor didn’t want to think about the number of calories he was consuming per day. He just knew he was generally stuffed at any given moment, and for certain, getting fatter.

At first Taylor had tried to ignore his development of breasts and a full ass. But his mounds were only getting bigger. His breasts were now round, fat Ds on his frame, and his nipples were getting large—unusually large. When they were erect, people genuinely took notice, and he could hardly help his legs from twitching despite it all. He would massage and tweak at the nubs when he was alone. He didn’t know why it felt so good, but it did.

The small bump beneath each breast was still present—moles, he presumed. But it was bizarre that they were symmetric. They were itchy, and slowly becoming more defined. In addition to that, fat was collecting beneath them. Taylor knew he should have scheduled to see his dermatologist, but he had so many other things on his mind.

Despite the loose T-shirts and sweatpants Taylor now donned, he could sometimes feel his roommates eying him, Mike in intrigue and Peter in disgust. Taylor knew they noticed his weight gain and probably thought he was becoming a slob. But wasn’t he? Taylor made a good case for it, with his ass parked on the couch and his mouth packed with fattening junk.

Things had devolved fast since his hook-up with Jack. All his problems started and ended with that prick. When Taylor’s eyes weren’t glued to daytime television, he often imagined Jack dying in a variety of bizarre and painful ways.

“Taylor, come onnn,” Stacy whined on the other line.

Taylor inhaled. “Sorry Stace, just not feeling it tonight.”

“Three weekends in a row?”

“I think I have that three-week bug. But next weekend for sure—”

“That’s what you said laaasst weekend.”

“I know, but this time I mean it.”

There was a pause. “That’s it. I’m coming over.”

“What? Stacy—don’t—”

The line went dead, Taylor blankly staring at his cell phone. He grinded his teeth. He knew this routine. Stacy would pop up, maybe with some others, and drag him out, willing or not. After all, he had done it to her several times in the past. But usually Taylor wasn’t on the receiving end of the ambush.

Taylor absently folded his arms against his abdomen. For the sake of skipping the part where his friends would try to get him dressed, and receive a full view of his nude, fattening body, he decided that he would preemptively get ready on his own.

Taylor got in the shower and hastily washed up. He went back to his bedroom and looked through his clothes options.

Taylor tried on a couple of outfits, but everything was uncomfortably tight. He released a frustrated groan. Did he not have one loose shirt?

Standing in his mirror, in his too-tight briefs, Taylor took inventory of himself.

His ass was bulging heavily out behind him. It was plump and round, and was starting to resemble Nicki Minaj’s.

His round breasts could barely be contained in the strapless C-cup bra he had crammed them into. Taylor sighed, and took it off.

How am I playing this? Taylor wondered. Am I just…out with it, then? He scoffed. Hi, friends. I’m a fucking cow now. Taylor gave a bitter laugh.

His belly was growing rapidly. It had gone from looking like a couple of extra pounds on his torso to slowly morphing into an independent bulge. It was perfectly rounded—too round not to be suspicious—and he already looked as though he was five months pregnant!

Stupid cravings. Stupid fucking Jack. Taylor thought, as he squeezed himself into a string tank top. It just barely pulled down.

There was some chatter and giggles in the living room now. “Tayylorrr,” someone sang.

They’re here, Taylor thought, feeling doomed. He hastily pulled on a fashionable blazer, then tensed as he heard someone open the door.

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