Cow Boy II, Part 14 (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

-

There was a twinge in his navel. Taylor cupped it, grimacing.

It wasn’t painful. Not even close. It just felt weird. He took a shuddering breath.

His stomach grumbled, causing his expression to twist into a moue of disgust. He wasn’t even hungry, but apparently the—the things still were. In fact, they never ceased being hungry. Damn cow spawn.

Taylor was distracted from his building feelings of resentment when a lump of chocolate was abruptly shoved into his mouth. Taylor closed his eyes and bit into it, moaning quietly as it burst with gooey custard cream.

He had attempted to tell Jack, several times, to cease with the feeding, however the word “no” simply refused to exit Taylor’s mouth. And so Taylor found himself sprawled supine in bed, his head cradled by Jack’s lap as treats were popped into his mouth.

Taylor still didn’t get why Jack was so keen on feeding him. Maybe it was innate; another cow thing. Taylor was carrying Jack’s loathsome cow-babies after all. So maybe Jack had some weird compulsion to take care of Taylor. And the spawn.

God, Taylor hated how Jack was able to pacify him so easily.

Taylor was wearing a tight tank top, the lower part of his belly protruding visibly under the straining hem. Jack idly stroked Taylor’s head when he wasn’t feeding Taylor chocolates, candies, or pieces of decadent Italian pastries which could have easily been replaced with the cheap pre-packaged stuff, because Taylor was sure he would have eaten it regardless.

He wanted to curse Jack for enabling him, or to tell Jack about the disastrous binge only an hour ago, but something inside of Taylor compelled him not to, even if the risk of Jack discontinuing his ministrations were miniscule.

Taylor luxuriated in the pampering, the sensation of Jack’s fingers on his temple blessedly wonderful. Laying there in Jack’s arms just felt right somehow.

Taylor’s eyes snapped open, his face flushing. He shifted somewhat, releasing a grunt of discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jack.

Taylor ignored him. Instead Taylor cradled his belly again, while still chewing on the chocolates that presently filled his mouth. Because eating was easier than thinking. “Mmmghh…”

Taylor was just stressed out. There was his neglected course work, and then his parents, who he had been avoiding. There was the upcoming appointment, which Taylor refused to cancel, because even with how big he had gotten, he had nothit the deadline for abortion. And finally, there were Taylor’s feelings of guilt over Jack’s strange…happiness. It was as though Jack wanted this. Which was just insane.

“Oh,” Taylor gasped.

“Taylor?” said Jack, his brows crossing in concern.

Taylor raised himself slightly on his elbows, his face scrunching as the tension built, not in his core, but his skin, right at his navel.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

Taylor gasped with the faint popping sensation. A small bump appeared beneath his stretched shirt. His belly heaved with his heaving breathing, and he could feel his face heating.

Jack slid his hand down to Taylor’s belly, rubbing and exploring the nub. Jack slid Taylor’s tanktop up just enough to reveal Taylor’s newly-protruding belly button. Jack chuckled as he rubbed circles on Taylor’s navel. “I didn’t realize how full you were,” he teased.

“I could still eat,” said Taylor, the defiant words escaping his lips before he could control them. Taylor frowned at his own greed, then fixed his face in a scowl, daring Jack to comment.

“Good,” Jack murmured, patting his own thigh in invitation. Taylor reluctantly lowered his head again. He grumbled until Jack stuffed a fat vanilla truffle into his mouth. And so things proceeded.

Taylor didn’t remind Jack of the upcoming clinic appointment, tempted as he was to do so. Despite that Jack had royally fucked up Taylor’s life, and was an absolute turd, Jack was also kind of…a good friend. Ironic as that felt.

Taylor gulped down another truffle.

-

The following day, when Taylor again found his clothing options limited to Jack’s faded sweater, he—arduously—dragged himself to an actual fucking maternity store. In fact, he drove to the one two towns over, if just to circumvent the small risk of bumping into someone he actually knew.

He even went to one geared towards cow girls.

Taylor had not seen his expectations to be lofty at all. He had anticipated a quiet, if struggling, shop, with the occasional hoodie-wearing customer scuttling about and picking from a variety of large, amorphous tops.

But this was not the case. The store was huge, and business was booming. There were clothes of every color, style, and fit. There were specialty contraptions, like belly girdles, and four-cup bras of increasingly massive sizes. There were maternity bras, and baby slings fashioned to hold two babies in the front and three more in the back. There were support bands for udders meant to latch about the hips, some plain and soft, others with holes through which—teats?—could protrude. As their sizes got increasingly large, the mechanics changed, and they came to resemble miniature overalls for a massive udder, and Taylor could hardly imagine an udder getting as large as the biggest size could accommodate.

There were condom-like wrappers, the packaging holding a picture of one pulled over a teat, and another pulled over a—wow!—a huge nipple! And it was the strangest thing Taylor had ever seen. He self-consciously folded his arms. What if his nipples got that large? There were four-piece breast pumps that worked on an automatic machine. Taylor saw maternity pants, some with massive backsides—some with tail holes—or openings and soft harnessing for udder-comfort. There were innumerable tops and dresses, in more styles than Taylor could count. It was simply outrageous!

Taylor didn’t see any discreet hats or loose clothes meant to disguise a cow-person’s budding changes. Instead it was the exact opposite. It was as though this store was geared towards people who would willingly display their abnormalities!

People bustled about the crowded shop, some making easy strides, others waddling heavily, or even being rolled about in extra-large wheelchairs. Taylor swore, he must have been the only dude there. The other patrons were all women in various stages of cow-pregnancy, and had varying levels of deformity, but one thing was consistent—everyone looked excited. Taylor was at a loss of what to think.

“Oh!” said a woman as she bumped into Taylor.

Taylor quickly stabilized himself, holding his belly as his four breasts jiggled under Jack’s sweater. He became conscious that he was still hunching in a feeble attempt to hide his four breasts. Slowly, he looked up.

The woman who had bumped into him was pregnant, blonde, and flushed—almost unnaturally. In fact, her whole body seemed to be a light pink color. Her belly was large and round, making her look as though she was due with triplets, and yet it had a sort of fatty look to it, if judging by the inch that the blonde’s fingers sunk into it as she clutched both sides of the mound.

Another oddity that immediately caught Taylor’s attention was that the woman had three pairs of breasts. Three pairs! Taylor’s eyes bulged.

“Sorry,” she said, sounding breathless. She was wearing a formfitting pale green shirt and some black leggings. Her cheeks reddened even more as she noticed Taylor’s stare. “Piglets,” she nervously admitted, as Taylor continued to goggle her. “I’m one of the first. It’s a new thing. No udder of course, but then, I get these annoying things.” She gestured to her six heaving E-cups, her swollen nipples sticking out in her shirt like thimbles.

The girl was definitely pushing past the boundaries of bizarreness for Taylor, and he was already in a cowgirl maternity store!

“P-p-pig—” Taylor stammered, as he valiantly tried to speak. He wanted to know if she had signed up for this willingly. But then a store clerk appeared from nowhere and interrupted Taylor’s indecipherable blundering.

“Can I help you, miss?” The clerk looked over Taylor’s physique before raising her gaze to Taylor’s face, belatedly. “Uh—sir,” the clerk corrected herself apologetically. Her nametag read Patty.

Pig-girl flashed a weary grin and took the opportunity to waddle off.

Taylor flushed. “Er…” he managed.

Patty followed Taylor’s gaze to the blonde girl’s retreating back. “Oh yes, you’d be surprised by all the weird fertility experiments going on now since the cow-pregnancy boom. I even met a pregnant old lady the other day, and she was fairly far along. With what? Well, I’m not at liberty to say.” Patty gave a conspiratorial wink.

Taylor gawked.

“So what can I help you with?” she went on nonchalantly. She eyed Taylor’s—well, Jack’s—faded sweater. “New clothes? Oh, I have just the thing!” She grabbed Taylor’s arm and pulled him along, Taylor helpless but to follow. He soon found himself immersed in clothing racks from all sides, and Patty was piling his arms.

Before Taylor knew it, he was being shoved gently towards a fitting room. “Try them out. See what styles look good. Once I get a feel for your tastes, we can try some other options.”

Taylor was quite sure that he had more than enough in terms of options. Feeling resigned, he dumped the mountain of clothes on the structurally-reinforced fitting room bench. “Er—” he started, but Patty shut the door, and suddenly he was alone.

He frowned and stared at the clothes, resenting himself even more than usual. And since when had he become such a babbling fool?

Swallowing his nerves, he stripped off his baggy sweat suit, lifted the first purchase option, and tried it on.

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