Cow Boy II, Part 10 (Patreon)

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Note: This is simply 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

-

“You’re incredibly sexy,” Jack assured, his hands rubbing up and down Taylor’s body in that phenomenal way of his. “Now more than ever. I can hardly resist you, and you know it.” Jack guided Taylor back to the bed, and Taylor found himself cheering up some, if just by the ridiculousness of Jack’s words.

“You’re an idiot,” Taylor mumbled as he got on the bed, leaning back against Jack’s chest.

Jack just kissed him all over, fingers massaging, working their way through Taylor’s clothing. Taylor closed his eyes, submerging himself in the sweet little lies.

“Gorgeous...” Jack went on. “...glowing...healthy...fertile...”

Jack’s talented digits made their way down Taylor’s lower belly. Taylor’s breathing shuddered, his body arching by impulse.

Taylor shivered, his eyes dropping closed as Jack continued his idle exploration. Taylor’s pubic region had gotten smoother and softer, and was visibly flushed. His dick had continued its steady retreat, now smaller than ever. It was all so frightening and bizarre. The area was completely hairless by then, and Taylor’s skin had taken on an almost rubbery texture. And it was sensitive. Taylor grunted as Jack’s hands glided over the area. He didn’t even proceed onwards to the pathetic nub that had become Taylor’s gender, Jack just caressed the smooth skin.

“Your udder is coming in,” Jack noted.

Taylor’s eyes snapped open. “What?” he choked out.

“I thought you’d have noticed…” Jack’s fingers traced over the vague bumps that had begun to emerge on Taylor’s skin. Four of them.

Taylor struggled out of his arms, his face burning. “You’re deluded!”

“Taylor...”

“Get out!” Taylor yelled, deeming it as good a time as any to kick Jack out. “Go!”

Taylor grabbed Jack’s wrist and dragged him to the door, opened it, then pushed Jack out of the room. Taylor threw Jack’s clothes out as an afterthought, and could hear Mike laughing in the living. Of course that idiot would show up now.

Taylor went over to his mirror to study his reflection.

He couldn’t hide anything anymore. His current wardrobe was doing him no favors, as he was nearly popping out of most articles of clothing, and could no longer fit anything that wasn’t stretchy. Only recently, Taylor had put in an order at a clothing store for some bigger T-shirts and sweatpants, because he was too embarrassed to shop in-person.

Still, Taylor cringed at the concept of wearing even looser clothes. He had always dressed neat and nicely. He didn’t like the thought of being frumpy. But it was the only alternative to drawing even more attention to his condition.

It felt like his friends were avoiding him. Or they just stared at Taylor like he was an alien on the occasions that they did meet up. Tragically, Taylor was spending an unhealthy amount of time with Jack in consequence. Jack’s company was almost tolerable, particularly when Taylor had no other options. Taylor sighed, and turned to the side, continuing to examine his form.

Despite the speculations, and the staring, and the mortifying snickers that followed Taylor around the halls of the university, most of the attention he got was still directed towards the fat DDD-cups on his chest. The mounds seemed even larger with B-cups pressed up beneath them, pushing them higher. People couldn’t seem to decide whether Taylor’s tits were fake or not. And the mounds decidedly distracted from his belly-growth. It was just a matter of time before people managed to put the whole picture together.

Taylor’s nipples were extremely swollen and erect as they bulged against his taut shirt fabric. Taylor hated leaving his breasts unsupported by a bra, but they were round and plump whether he wore one or not. The main benefit would have been to his B-cups beneath them, which were flushed, sweaty, and uncomfortably squished, yet now big enough that they neededhis upper breasts bobbing atop them, concealing them.

-

Taylor plopped down behind a desk at lecture one afternoon. He was wearing a baggy T-shirt in a feeble attempt to disguise his condition. He looked as though he was six months pregnant by then, and knew others would have realized it too, were it not for the plump pillows heaving on his chest.

He had squeezed into some sweatpants that managed to show off the weight gain in his hips and ass. Taylor shifted somewhat, unaccustomed to the sensation of his belly resting on his hips. The mound had sprung out seemingly overnight, and he hardly knew what to do with it.

Taylor belatedly noticed that his round DDDs were resting on the high desk, if just by the disappearance of the tension ever-present in his back, and the feeling of cool relief he got in his B-cups.

Taylor sighed and dismissed the awkwardness of his belly to properly savor the relief in his lower breasts. They were presently secured in a tight strapless bra about his rib cage, but he knew the mounds would still be noticeable without the overhang. He entertained the concept of staying that way for the whole lecture, but he could already see the special attention that students were paying to him as they took seats flanking him—frat guys, as usual. Taylor shifted away from the desk, allowing the weight of his upper breasts to plop back down onto the ones beneath them. He groaned quietly.

It’ll be fine,Taylor reminded himself, squirming. This wasn’t going to proceed any farther. He didn’t even entertain the thought of the udder thing. Because Jack was stupid. And this would all end soon.

As if on cue, Taylor’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He lifted his phone beneath his desk and opened his email account.

It seemed to be an automated message from the clinic where he had booked his abortion. It had been pushed back another week.

Taylor blanched.

He unconsciously rubbed his belly beneath the desk and tried to reassure himself that another week would be worth it. In fact, it would hardly matter in the end.

-

In the following days, Taylor could barely sleep. He tossed and turned, and checked his phone continuously, paranoid of yet another delay.

He was getting bigger, the creatures inside his almost tangible entities, if just by the way they were causing his stomach to bloat. It made the situation so much more real, and more frightening. Taylor began to feel faint squirming sensations, but he was sure it was his imagination. Or gas.

This theory seemed consistent with his recent eating habits. To distract himself, Taylor had taken to eating almost constantly. He favored dairy for some reason. Milk, butter, and cheese especially. He worked himself up into a sweat from the enthusiasm of frantic food-binges. It seemed to be the only thing that could calm him, aside from Jack’s rub-downs.

Taylor suspected that the insatiable hunger was just another part of his condition. When his roommates were present, Taylor ate slowly and gingerly. He would pluck one potato chip into his mouth at a time, so that he constantly had something in his mouth, to chew and swallow. It was the slowest pace he found possible, even under Peter’s incredulous glances and Mike’s benign grins.

But once his dormmates collected their books, and left, and Taylor knew he had the place to himself for at least the next few hours, his hunger would explode in ravenous desperation, and he would get to work on indulging it.

Cake-batter was a favorite, though admittedly, it took a lot of steps he didn’t have much patience for. He pulled out a massive industrial bowl he had from when he and some friends had playfully waterboarded some freshmen earlier in the semester.

Eyeballing ingredients in lieu of measuring them, Taylor tossed in three boxes of cake mix, several eggs, nearly half the gallon of oil, generous portions of butter, milk, sour cream, whipped cream, pancake syrup, and various other things Taylor thought might enrich the recipe.

He broke into a sweat as he stirred the massive concoction, breaking only to make his way over to the freezer and remove a 3-gallon container of buttercream ice cream he had purchased the previous day. Taylor hauled it across the kitchen and set it on the ground near the radiator, before he quickly returned to the batter, now pulling out the mixer, and blending the ingredients more industriously than he did anything these days. When there was a minimal amount of lumps, Taylor took some gasps of breath, as he dumped the mixer into the sink. He then dug into a drawer for one of the tall, thick straws that Mike used for his obnoxious bubble teas. With one more deep breath, and a quiver of anticipation, Taylor dipped the straw into the batter, lowered his mouth, and began to suck.

It took nearly an hour of Taylor sitting there, elbows on the kitchen counter, as he ceaselessly slurped down the batter, drawing breaths only occasionally and from his nose. He wasn’t in ecstasy, or in some delirious state that entailed the loss of control. He just sat there, his face blank and cheeks puffed out, as he concentrated on getting as much of the sweet, goey batter into his stomach as he could, and as quickly as possible. He drank and drank, feeling his body tighten and throb. He could see the batter-level progressively lowering in the bowl, and entertained the concept of adding more ingredients to prolong this. But that would entail getting up. It would necessitate a pause, and Taylor was unwilling to do that. So he sat there, and continued to suck down the batter, even as he felt his belly tighten uncomfortably, and as his body was beaded with sweat. He fidgeted and occasionally tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants or cupped his tight belly. But he stayed put, because he needed this.

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