Cow Boy II, Part 13 (Patreon)

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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

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Taylor stared down into the massive ceramic bowl set on the table before him. Within it was an amorphous mass which could only be described as a blob. It was largely orange with arbitrary white swirls or spots scattered against the uneven surface. It sizzled as it continued to cool, and almost seemed to be pulsing, though perhaps this was entirely his imagination.

Taylor waited impatiently for the cheese to cool, fidgeting in his seat. He knew that he would be late to class if he didn’t leave soon. But somehow…he couldn’t explain it…but this was more important.

The blob was enormous. Pieces of pasta littered it, though sparsely. It couldn’t possibly qualify as a pasta dish.

The sizzling noises grew fainter until they faded altogether. Taylor could see the cheese darkening now. He prodded it with his fork a few times, before finally allowing the utensil to penetrate the developing shell. He twisted his fork, coiling strands of cheese, until he had a decent glob of it at the end of his fork.

Taylor closed his eyes as the cheese hit his tongue, the goey, tangy mixture causing his cheeks to bulge from its sheer mass. It was a bizarre concoction of sharp, conflicting flavors. Taylor swallowed it down in one huge gulp, his stomach gurgling as the cheese hit it. Heavily. He groaned in a mixture of discomfort and pleasure.

Taylor quickly dug his fork back into the blob. He stuffed down mouthful after mouthful, and something felt utterly right as he filled himself up. Chunk by chunk, he ate his way through the cheese, his skin heating as beads of sweat formed on his forehead and between his cleavage. It just felt incredible.

His insides grew uncomfortable as globs of cheese pushed into his stomach to accompany the abundance of food, fat, and life that was already squeezed within it. The more Taylor ate, the heavier, and more exhausted he came to feel. His four breasts heaved with his thin breathing, but he continued to eat compulsively, almost frantically.

Soon the entire process became quite difficult, but Taylor couldn’t have surrendered had he tried. His fork was replaced with a spoon as he proceeded towards the bottom of the bowl, and soon Taylor was drawing increasingly large amounts of oil, with the occasional chunk of cheese, or piece of pasta, all of which easily slithered down his throat.

When Taylor found that his spoon was becoming increasingly useless in his attempts to fully consume his feast, he lifted the bowl to his lips and tipped it back, allowing the remaining oil to trail directly into his mouth.

Taylor lowered the bowl and leaned his elbows heavily on the table, suddenly feeling as though he might collapse. His whole body was trembling, his stomach so tight it was on the cusp of being painful. A shaky sob escaped his throat as sweat trailed down his face, and he suddenly regretted this episode; his complete loss of control.

“Mmmghhh…” he grunted, his cheeks red, breasts bobbing with his thin breathing. The binge had certainly taken a toll. He felt as though he would vomit, though he knew that he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t allow him to. He had read about the phenomena only recently, and it explained a lot. His body would not allow him to sacrifice any nutrients, even the excess ones. Anything that he didn’t need would go directly to the spawn.

He could practically feel it. Absorbing, mixing, blooming within him. He held his tight belly and groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut as he did.

Class, he thought. He couldn’t keep doing this. This couldn’t be it for him.

Gripping the table, Taylor stood with all his strength. He groaned out as his belly tensed, the chair pushing back and toppling to the floor behind his round posterior.

Trying his best to ignore the overwhelming pressure pushing, pressing, and twisting within him like a star that was about to explode, Taylor turned around and staggered to the door. He took a deep breath, hunched his shoulders, bowed his head, and pulled down the front of his baseball cap. Finally, he forced his weary body out of the dorm apartment.

Taylor panted audibly as he made his way through the campus. He ignored the stares, instead focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, and hoping not to collapse.

Finally, Taylor found himself reeling into class. Keeping his head down, he dragged himself to the back, refusing to look up even once throughout the process. Just as he collapsed into a seat, the lecture hall door re-opened, and the professor strode into the room.

Taylor pulled his hand down over his face, wiping at sweat, trying to breathe and cool off as the professor shuffled about, handing out test papers.

Once he received his exam, Taylor pulled a pen out of his pocket, and immediately began scribbling what he hoped to be correct answers.

He could hear the occasional chuckle on the other side of the room—probably Mike—as well as reproachful hisses from other students. Taylor did his best to ignore it all, simply hoping that his classmates were focused on their exams and not on him.

He felt almost feverish. His sweater was moist against his skin in a way that made him feel disgusting, made him want to tear it off. He just wasn’t used to wearing so much.

He tried not to grunt out when he felt the continuing twinges in his stomach. It felt like something was changing within him. He shifted and squirmed, doing his best to bear the impossible pressure, the pressing, the lurching—his stomach gurgled and he reddened, ducking his head yet farther.

“Nnnghh…” He could almost feel the stares on him by then. He tried to stay focused on a particularly difficult equation, but his heart was pounding, and everything just felt tight. Tighter. The sweater was starting to stick to his sleek skin, and his belly almost seemed to be pressing harder into the desk than it had a moment earlier. He was so hot, so full, his belly seemed to be pulsing. A quiet whimper escaped his throat, and several gazes darted his way.

The professor approached and leaned down. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Taylor managed, writing compulsively, though only producing scribbles. His skin was prickling. Something inside his was rising, swelling, getting fatter, more tangible, more alive. He could tell. The babies were growing. “Ngghhh…” He gripped his belly, and he could physically feel it swelling, pushing his hands farther away from him as his sweater tightened around his girth. Gasps and whispers littered the room. By then, even the professor was gawking.

Taylor mumbled some excuse—he hardly knew—before heaving himself up and reeling for the door, ignoring pointing fingers, the murmured commentary, and his abandoned test paper, before making his exit from the class, all while clutching his stomach, as though to contain whatever was going on within.

His legs quavered beneath him as he forced himself back to his dorm, all while his belly pushed and throbbed, and his groin tingled. By the time he stepped back into the small apartment, a sob escaped his throat. He jerked up his sweater to stare down at the flushed skin. The mound was plump, sweaty, and absolutely huge! He looked a though he was eight months pregnant! It could no longer pass as fatness anymore. He looked blatantly pregnant. And judging by how rapidly things were developing, it would only get worse.

Taylor jerked the sweater back down and bit back some curses. His belly was so large and intrusive he could no longer fit into most of his clothes. And his dick had shrunken so substantially, it was barely even there anymore.

This was a nightmare. The swell was no longer a harmless beer belly, it was practically a fucking entity, and it was not only taking over his body, but his whole life as well! He resented the way it protruded from his form. He tore his eyes away in disgust. His breasts were heated, nipples tingling. He was fucking deformed. Taylor heard a knock on the door. “Go away!” he shouted unthinkingly.

“Taylor?”

Taylor tensed at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“I heard you ditched your Math class,” Jack called. “Just want to make sure everything’s alright?”

Feeling resigned, Taylor opened the door, not before making sure that his sweater was covering every inch of his swollen abdomen.

Jack’s eyes widened the moment he saw Taylor. Jack’s gaze lingered on the sweater—it was Jack’s sweater. Jack seemed to deliberate before he spoke. “You had a growth spurt,” he said quietly.

Taylor grimaced. He cupped the mound, as though to push it back in, but only managed to emphasize it, and perhaps look a bit tender in the process. “I’m going to lie down,” he spat, glaring. “You should probably fuck off.” Taylor wasn’t sure how he had gone from verging on a meltdown to mild annoyance, but he wasn’t about to question it.

Jack raised his arms in a show of surrender, though this mainly just displayed the grocery bags of chips and pastries he had brought along. Taylor hesitated, frowned, then grabbed Jack’s shirt and pulled him into the apartment.

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