Cow Boy II, Part 16 (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

-

That night, Taylor could hardly sleep. He didn’t know whether it was anxiety, or…something else.

He spent the night tossing and turning—as much as his bloated body would allow him to. He squirmed and fidgeted, feeling overheated, and uncomfortable. The things were moving inside of him, but not enough that it should have been keeping him awake. It was a queasy, unpleasant, squirmy sort of rhythm. It was how he knew they were inhuman. His heart pounded, and he turned over one more time, skin hot, loins throbbing. And then he noticed that the sun was out beyond his pale bedroom curtains.

Taylor got dressed, hastily, without really looking. When he finally faced the mirror, the results made him blanch slightly.

It was the sort of thing he would have worn prior to ending up pregnant. A long-sleeved shirt hugged his body, underneath which he was wearing one of the dual-bras in black, that helped support his swollen breasts. The fashionable joggers he had on proudly displayed his plump ass. It was all unpleasantly tight and revealing, but Taylor didn’t allow himself to become overwhelmed by it.

He thought he was huge by then. He looked as though he was eight months pregnant! There was no hiding his condition, and the concept was just ridiculous. He probably wasn’t fooling anyone. And if he was, it probably wouldn’t be for much longer. Taylor sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted back from ten.

Once he was finished, he grabbed up his backpack and slid his feet into a pair of running shoes. He made his way towards the door, trying his best not to contemplate what he was about to do, because then he would probably back out.

He walked with slow, deliberate steps, his four breasts jiggling in turn with his movements. Finally, he was outside of his bedroom, trying for nonchalance, but couldn’t help staring at the ground.

He could hear Peter’s drawling voice pause mid-sentence in a phone conversation. He heard Mike gasp.

Taylor looked up.

Both of his dorm-mates were staring at him, their jaws hanging.

“You’re a cow!?” said Peter with no pretense of politeness. His eyes were bulging as he looked Taylor’s swollen body up and down.

“Holy shit!” said Mike with an inane grin. “You’re gonna be a mommy?”

Taylor just glared, causing the room to fall silent, if only until Peter burst into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Peter said as he recovered his fallen cell phone from the couch cushion beside him. He pressed the device to his ear. “You wouldn't believe this. My roommate—he’s a cow. No, not a bull, a fucking cow. I saw he was blowing up, but I hadn’t realized — yeah, it’s freaky.”

Taylor grimaced and made his way towards the door, deeply wanting to exit the apartment.

“God Taylor, let me help you!” said Mike, flinging himself in Taylor’s path, and immediately beginning to wrestle Taylor’s backpack away from him.

“Fuck off!” Taylor snapped. Things were bad enough without having to deal with his shitty roommates!

After successfully tearing his bag away from Mike, Taylor reeled slightly, but managed to stay balanced. With that, he shot both of his roommates a hateful look, then made his way out the door.

As Taylor walked around campus, he ignored the stares. People were blatantly gawking. Students muttered, gasped, and tripped over their own feel—one even walked into a wall. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. The cow-gene was practically epidemic by then. But it was so fucking taboo still, and the government had hardly acknowledged it. And then of course, there was a fact that Taylor was a dude. He wondered how other people coped with their conditions becoming evident. Lightly shaking his head, he walked on.

There were choked coughs and sharp intakes of breath when Taylor entered his Economics elective. There were more stares than he could count. Students leaned over to whisper to those in neighboring desks. Some blonde guy actually ran out of the room, clutching his baseball cap against his crotch.

His cheeks burning hot by then, and his breasts bobbing with his thin breathing, Taylor made his way to a seat. Just before he could ease his ass down, the professor strolled in, then did a double-take, his eyes bulging. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Mr. Lawrence? A word—outside?”

Resisting the urge to scowl, Taylor gave a curt nod, and followed Professor Paulson out of the room, his breasts wiggling and his belly heaving. He could hear a student take a shuddering gasp somewhere behind him.

By the time Taylor was out of the corridor, he was flushed and breathless. “Is there a problem, sir?” he managed.

His professor frowned. “Yes. I just wanted to have a word with you about your…erm…” His eyes trailed down Taylor’s body, then up again. “…unique choice of attire today. Though I appreciate each student’s belief in self-expression, I’m not sure your clothing is exactly classroom appropriate.”

Taylor blinked. “What?”

Professor Paulson seemed to be struggling to elaborate. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“It’s just a fucking shirtand joggers. There’s literally nothingwrong with it.” Taylor wrinkled his nose as his stomach lurched.

The professor was disconcerted. “I—w-well—you see—”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” Taylor cut him off. “I will not be fat-shamed.”

“You’re not fat, you’re—you’re a—”

Taylor’s shoulders tensed. “What? Pregnant? A cow? What type of discrimination should we call this, exactly?”

Paulson was speechless. He briefly looked horrified, then quickly fixed his face with a neutral expression. “What? No, of course not. You misunderstand. I was simply suggesting that your attire might not be…er…climate appropriate,” he grasped at straws. “You as well as I know how cold it can get in this room. I just wanted to make sure you’re being mindful of the delicacy of your condition. Also, I think congratulations are in order.” He forced a grin.

Taylor gave him a disgusted look. Perhaps everyone would prefer if he wore a bulky jacket at all times. Well that wasn’t going to happen anymore! “Thanks,” Taylor said with his best glare. He turned and made his way back into the classroom, making sure to shove against Paulson in the process. The professor stumbled back, looking aghast.

Taylor felt oddly empowered by his small triumph. Maybe this openness thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-

For the next support group meeting, Taylor donned a low-cut tank top and blazer, even allowing his cleavage to show. He finished the outfit off with some tight sweatpants and a large pair of sunglasses.

He kept his head down as he arrived, shuffling to his seat in the circle. When he looked up, he saw Ms. Clark beaming at him.

“Oh Taylor, I’m so proud of you!” she gushed, causing Taylor’s cheeks to heat up.

After that, most of the meeting was dedicated to Ms. Clark blathering about how Taylor was finally coming out of his shell, what great progress he had made since he’d started attending the (mandatory) meetings, how healthy he looked, and so on. Taylor privately wondered if Ms. Clark derived some sick pleasure from watching cow-people blow up around her week after week. The cow girls who attended gradually disappeared with the passing weeks, no doubt giving birth and having to be stuck attending to their terrible swarm of cow-newborns. New people correspondingly joined the group, sometimes by choice, and sometimes by court order. They stared at Taylor with the same sense of trepidation with which Taylor had stared at Gina, and several others, when he had first joined the group. He gulped and tried not to think about it. He didn’t contemplate about how people were cyclically swelling to bursting then discreetly disappearing. He didn’t wonder whether that would happen to him as well.

The adjournment was the most popular part of the meetings, if just so all the fatsos could waddle over to the snack table. The table in question was so heavily laden with food, the legs creaked and strained beneath it. After suffering through an hour of the maudlin blathering of his supposed peers, Taylor made a beeline for the table, and diligently stuffed his mouth. He seemed to stay later every week, if just to gulp down leftover food with the urgency of a starving orphan. He ignored the way his lower breasts were beginning to get big enough to properly shelve the upper ones, and the fact that the lower ones were undeniably growing, and quite rapidly. He ignored the increasing bloatedness of his smooth pink pubic region, and the interminable tension in his belly. Instead, he just focused on eating.

“Hey,” someone said, nudging him in the side with their elbow.

Though Taylor usually made an effort not to make eye contact with the other attendees, he reluctantly looked up from his fried chicken leg and into the face of his assailant.

It was the redhead from the maternity store.

“You,” said Taylor awkwardly, his mind going blank.

“Yeah,” the redhead grinned as she stuffed some donuts into her mouth. “I’m Kim. Heh, sorry. I can’t stop eating.” She rolled her eyes as she continued to fill her mouth. “I’m becoming a total cow.” Her voice was muffled as she jammed mozzarella sticks between her lips, despite that her mouth was already occupied by words and partially-chewed donuts.

“I know…” Taylor had to agree, now munching on what he suspected was just a ball of lard, both of his cheeks puffed out. He was somewhat cagy around the woman, as he found it odd bumping into her again. Though admittedly, they were at a cow support group, and the cow community seemed rather concentrated to establishments such as this one.

“I’ll tell you what, though.” Kim swallowed, with some effort it seemed. “My sex drive has been out of control. Since last week, I’ve been thinking about cock day and night. Even that meathead with the horns has started to look good.” She shivered and nodded towards one of their fellow group-members.

Taylor bit his lip. It was like Kim could read his mind. His groin just tingled at the thought of Jack’s enormous, atrocious, bull-cock. He snapped out of his reverie and tried to shove the thought away.

“You look good, by the way,” said Kim, surveying Taylor’s outfit. “Better.”

Taylor shrugged. “Thanks. You too, I guess.” Kim was wearing a low-cut spandex blue dress with spaghetti straps. The hem of it went only just below her round ass.

“That shop is such a lifesaver.” Kim rolled her shoulders and arched her back, making her abdomen stick out even more, her four breasts wiggling. “I’m there at least twice a month. These little shits are absolutely blowing up.” She cupped her belly fondly.

Taylor swallowed.

“So…” Kim frowned at her now-empty snack plate. The rest of the table was being rapidly demolished by the hoard. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Taylor hesitated. It had been a while since he had done anything remotely social. And he had made that promise to himself to stop being such a recluse. Looking back at Kim, Taylor fixed his face with a smirk. “Why not?”

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