Cow Girl III, Part 15

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Summary: Sequel to Cow Girl II. Decades following Lucy's ordeal, the cow-person condition is becoming an epidemic. Laura has the misfortune of contracting the gene. Contains: Pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, butt expansion, multiple breasts, udders, lactation, and more.

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Laura had never imagined that she would be able to find clothes that could accommodate the outlandishness of her body. But now that she had, she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

For the unique size and sensitivity of cow girl breasts, there were a variety of soft bras in various styles and sizes, as well as nipple covers that were surprisingly accommodating, especially considering the frequent soreness of her breasts, and the way her bras tightened around her mounds on an unnervingly regular basis.

Laura continued to glide her fingers against the unique pasties she adorned, musing on how the gentle material adhered to her nipples perfectly while somehow minimizing a great deal of the sensitivity she dealt with. It was certainly a—good thing. At least it would be, in terms of going out and about, not wanting to deal with frustrating arousal.

Laura continued to examine herself. Though her breasts felt heavy on her chest, it was a shame that a bra would only distort the eerie perfection of their shape and fullness.

Despite that, she peeled the pasties off her nipples and looked at her pile of clothing. She pushed aside two strapless bras, for now, instead lifting an odd contraption that seemed like two bras attached to each other. The straps of the bottom one connected to the base of the upper one. What was odder was that the upper two cups were a different size from the lower ones. The store clerk—Patty—had guessed her size almost perfectly.

Hesitating only a moment longer, Laura managed to clasp the dual-bra around her body. The bottom cups, C-cups, perfectly cradled her lower breasts, and the upper cups, fucking hell, DDDs, seemed to fit her just as snugly.

Laura glided her hands over the result. It felt good. Comfortable. Still silently baffled that her incongruous breast-sizes would be common enough for companies to manufacture accommodating bras, Laura dug through the clothes pile and continued to grudgingly try things on.

The first outfit was a long, shapeless dress that covered her chest and arms, and immediately made her feel overheated. “Eugh.” It looked abysmal and did little to disguise her abnormalities.

Laura tried on a yellow sundress that seemed to fit her properly. Laura looked around the enclosed room, only to realize that there were no mirrors. She bit her lip. Just great. All of the mirrors must have been outside of the stall, in the communal area, which seemed a ridiculous design choice for a maternity store.

There was a tapping on the door. “You okay in there, miss?” Patty called.

Laura released a huff. Despite her better judgement, she opened the door and walked out of the stall.

She went straight for the mirror, ignoring Patty, and all the other cow-whores around them. Frowning slightly, she examined herself, tugging here and there at the unresisting fabric.

It was slightly better than the first dress, but not by much. It was sleeveless and irritatingly cutesy in style. The chest was actually fashioned to hug against her two pairs of breasts, her belly protruding blatantly in the paneled skirt. Laura turned to her side, and wondered whether it was possible that her ass was getting fatter.

“Gawgeous!” said Patty like a proper salesperson.

Laura ignored her as she continued to scowl at her appearance in the mirror. In an outfit so fitted, she began to notice things she had been ignoring before. Like how deep her line of cleavage seemed to extend now, and how her hips seemed to be rounding out at her flanks.

Laura couldn’t deny that she looked good, but she looked undeniably like a cow girl. And that was specifically what Laura was trying to avoid.

“What do you think?” said Patty cheerfully.

Laura threw her a scathing look, and returned to the fitting room without a word.

The next dress was a lost cause, but for some reason, Laura tried it on anyway. It was a decidedly younger, more, age-appropriate style. Swallowing her nerves, Laura walked back out of the fitting room and returning to the mirror.

In her peripheral vision, she could see other women, in varying stages of pregnancy, adjusting their clothes, changing, some of them standing in the mirrors half-naked—if not completely naked. They conversed enthusiastically and were complimentary towards each other. They chatted about their conditions, whined about how big they were getting, discussed their spouses—or lack thereof—but the consensus was excitement. There was a lightness which was something Laura just didn’t associate with being a cow.

Some of the women were flushed, and glowing, and even savoring the “experience.” It wasn’t like the support group; there was none of the mortification that Laura had thought to be inherent. One of the women was barely showing but getting huge sizes of clothes. She spoke with giddiness and elation. She said she was carrying a heavy litter and couldn’t wait to see how big she got.

Laura tried not to look at them, not understanding how they could be proud of their freakish bodies. Taking a deep inhalation, Laura returned her gaze of her own mirror.

The outfit she had put on seemed like a club dress. It was short, black, and stretchy, and was certainly the last thing a pregnant person should be wearing. She turned to her side, and stared uneasily at the way it exaggerated her eight-month-pregnant-looking belly. It hugged her huge ass and rounded hips, and accentuated every curvature of her breasts. The material snapped back against her every time she fidgeted and tugged, as if to somehow turn it more modest. Because of the spaghetti straps, Laura had gone braless, and she could see every outline of her swollen nipples. The hem ended just beneath her bobbing ass, displaying her curvaceous legs entirely.

“That dress is hot,” said a voice.

Laura abruptly turned her head from the mirror, intending to snap at Patty, but found herself suddenly face to face with an unfamiliar girl. Past the girl's shoulder, Laura could see Patty amiably helping another—perhaps a more willing—customer.

“It looks incredible on you,” continued the stranger—she was a redhead, with a broad, natural grin across her face. She looked to be in her early twenties. “The men will be falling all over themselves.”

“Are you ins—?” Laura narrowly managed to stop herself from completing the sentence with the word ‘insane.’ She glared at the redhead, who somehow reminded her of Mindy. “I mean—I’m not sure if it’s appropriate. Being pregnant and all,” Laura emphasized.

The redhead raised an eyebrow, and it was only then that Laura registered that the girl was standing in just her underwear. The redhead was Laura’s age, and their bodies seemed to almost match. Except the girl’s belly seemed somewhat larger that Laura’s, and she was somewhat chubbier around the hips. There was also an ominous bulge in the front of her green panties, but Laura quickly looked up from it, refusing to give it any additional scrutiny.

The redhead stepped closer, her protruding navel lightly brushing against Laura’s, and Laura released a sharp gasp. She hadn’t realized how close they were, then again, her belly made that a difficult thing to calculate.

“Screw appropriate.” The redhead smirked. “I didn’t ask to blow up like a blimp.”

Laura had to agree. All of this had happened so rapidly. Laura threw a smile, if just to cover up the sudden onslaught of emotion. “I guess you’re right.” She shrugged.

“Damn straight I am.”

Laura froze as the redhead reached out with her arms. The girl had to practically crane herself over her belly to reach Laura’s shoulders, their bellies pressing more firmly together, and there was a wriggling in the redhead’s firm heat, and it was all just…odd.

Finally the redhead reached her goal, pushing gently on Laura’s shoulders with her hands. Laura unconsciously leaned back, straightening her tender spine, pushing her belly harder into the woman’s.

“There,” said the redhead, pulling back and seeming satisfied with herself.

Laura blinked, and belatedly noticed that she had been straightened from the hunch she had taken to since she had first started to show.

“Their shame is not your problem,” said the girl.

“I…right,” said Laura, nonplussed. As the girl turned and tottered off, Laura unconsciously wrapped her hands around her belly. She had never really thought of things that way before. She took a deep breath, and returned to her fitting room to try on her next outfit.

The afternoon proceeded like that, with Laura trying on outfit after outfit, as other cow girls absently called over with critique or wolf-whistles from their own mirrors. They threw her cheeky smiles, sometimes cooing or calling her “adorable” and generally making Laura’s cheeks burn. She seemed to stick out, even amongst them, and it didn’t take her long to realize why.

As her irritation grew, so did her brazenness. Laura quickly became less ashamed of her body than she was of her timidity. She gritted her teeth and ceased with her shuffling in and out of her fitting room. She arched her back—as the redhead had told her—and stood there in just pasties and a pair of panties as she examined the alarmingly skimpy top in her hands.

God, what am I still doing here? Laura deflated somewhat. Clearly she wasn’t planning to wear any of these outfits, much as she tried them on.

“Cute,” someone heckled. Laura turned to a brunette who was wearing a mischievous smile. “Looks like your udder is coming in.”

The shirt dropped from Laura’s hand as she returned her gaze to her mirror. She slid her hand along her lower belly…and lower. She swallowed. She had been avoiding it. She hadn’t wanted to think about it at all.

Yet she allowed her fingers to ghost over her panties, over the faintest swell contained within them.

Laura abruptly returned to her fitting room. She hastily jerked on her her leggings and Brad’s shoddy sweater, before gathering up most of the clothes from the pile, and staggering with them towards the registers. She ignored Patty’s wave goodbye.

Soon enough, she was dumping two bulging bags of clothes into her trunk, then easing her weary body into the drivers seat of her car.

Her belly perched heavily in her lap, her insides turning. The steering wheel slid against it as she turned the wheel left and right.

The redhead was right. Laura’s shame wasn’t serving her. It was only making her uncomfortable and feeding into the stigma that she was lesser just because of her condition.

Laura couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t hang her head or hide away, or try to conceal her body with baggy attire—not that there was anything that could conceal her condition at that point.

It was time to be unapologetically her.

It was time to be a cow.

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