Cow Girl III, Part 12

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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.

Phat94: I might go with your idea. :)

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Even as Laura gathered the various cheeses into her arms in preparation for throwing them away, she knew that she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

The close proximity of the cheese blocks overfilling her arms left her belly gurgling and grumbling. The smell was nearly intoxicating.

Laura staggered to the trash can, sweat now beading over her brow. She stood there blankly, staring into the abyss of aging trash. A mad thought crossed her mind, and she abruptly turned away.

Laura experienced a distinct lack of control as she piled the cheeses onto the counter, then returned to the fridge for the rest of it. By then she couldn’t tell whether she was hungry or not, but she could not stop fanatisising about filling her body with the decadent treat.

Laura froze in place.

She just needed to think.

“I have class,” Laura said aloud.

That was an idea she could grasp onto—something she could anchor herself with.

Math was an evening class. Laura marched herself to her room. She began the familiar, doomed process of pulling out clothes. She found things that were ordinarily somewhat looser on her—which, with her affinity for tight clothes, didn’t leave her with many options. Laura grunted and fumbled as she attempted to squeeze her bloated body into a variety of too-small outfits. Just as she was attempting to jerk a skirt up over the quivering mounds of her pillowy bottom, she heard her bedroom door open behind her.

“Hey Laura do you mind if I borrow—”

“GET OUT!” Laura shouted at her cavalier roommate.

“Whoopsies,” Mindy backed out of the room, smiling.

Feeling flushed, Laura closed her eyes, and tried not to think of the state she was in—her belly bulging out from the bottom of her tanktop like it was a belly-shirt, her two pairs of swollen breasts on display in the too-tight material. And her skirt tugged up beneath her mountainous ass that it had no hope of accommodating, with said ass turned towards the door.

But how much could Mindy have seen, really? It had only been—like—two seconds. Cheeks burning, Laura abortively struggled with her skirt some more. Somehow she managed to get it up, but now it was almost painfully tight, and her ass was pushing out visibly from beneath the short, tight skirt.

“Laura—your ass looks great, but I think you overdid the injections a bit!” Mindy’s bubbly voice called from the living room.

“I agree. Might be time to cease and desist,” Veronica’s drawling voice added.

“Shut the fuck up!” Laura screeched. She swore as her skirt tore. It was one of her favorites!

There was the sound of movement in the living room; Mindy and Veronica were probably getting ready for class. The three of them had Math together, and if Laura recalled, there was a test day.

“See you in class!” Mindy called. Laura heard the front door open and close.

Laura breathed heavily, her four breasts wiggling as they heaved up and down. She shoved her way out of the stifling clothes, and stood naked for a while, resenting herself. She couldn’t miss another class, or test over this. She couldn’t let one stupid mistake with Brad negate all her hard work.

Laura stomped to the closet and jerked down the one article of clothing she had ignored. It was the type of thing she usually wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. A large, oversized football sweater of Brad’s. It even had his team number on it. She shuddered.

It was old, and a little dingy. Laura pulled the atrocious piece of attire over her head, then turned to her mirror.

For once, her belly wasn’t the first thing she noticed. Instead she turned slightly and stared at Brad’s numbers on her back. It made her look like the type of girl was so insufferably smitten with a guy that she would actually wear his tawdry sports attire. Worse, it made her look as though she was involved with Brad. Laura nearly gagged at the thought.

Belatedly, she surveyed how the sweater fit her. She ran her hands over her belly. It was still obvious, looking seven months along, despite that the sweater was loose on her. And her second pair of breasts—though not pronounced—certainly made an odd protrusion in her shirt.

But if she folded her arms…and hunched just slightly—

Oh, fuck this, Laura though, grabbing her leggings off the floor, because, though they were old and stretchy, and usually reserved for trudging about her dorm, it was one of the few bottoms (possibly the only bottom) of hers that still fit.

Laura tugged and fumbled and jerked it on over too-many minutes, by which point she could feel the moisture of sweat developing on her swollen parts. Her body was overly heated, and her insides felt—discontent, somehow.

To finish off the outfit, Laura pulled on a baseball cap she reserved for hangover days, and hopefully no one would recognize her as the rapidly plumpening, poorly-dressed student. She allowed her thick curtain of highlighted hair to fall in her face.

The muffled sound of the kettle squealing reminded Laura of the tea she had been planning to make.

Her ass rocked as she slid her feet into some flipflops, the seat of her spandex nearly to the point of bursting apart. Testing out her slouch, she slumped out of her bedroom and into the living room. To her immense relief, both of her dorm-mates, indeed, were gone.

Laura crossed the room, still silently resenting herself. She never covered herself up like this. She’d never had to, and it was alien to her.

In the kitchen, Laura approached the stove and began to reach for a nob to turn the fire off. Her gaze passed over the cheese blocks on the counter, and her body froze.

Before Laura knew what was happening, she was pouring several inches of oil into the bottom of the biggest soup pot she could find. Lucidity abandoned her as she shuffled the kettle onto a cool burner, and replaced it with the pot.

Laura added generous portions of cream to the oil, emptying the carton that she had intended to use for her tea. Raising the heat, she then started dropping cheeses unceremoniously into the pot.

There were several rectangular blocks of cheddar, and plump fat balls of mozzarella. There was a cheese wheel with cute little triangles of creamy swiss that she popped into the pot one by one. There was feta and blue cheese which she crumbled hastily with her fingers, then monterey jack, and fancy cheeses like gouda and manchego—did those even melt? She dropped in cute little balls of cheese as she unwrapped them from wax, and even added sticks of string cheese, then went as far as dumping a large jar of cheese sauce into the pot.

To any other person, the whole mess would be disgusting, but Laura was nearly quivering as her appetite surged. She idly unwrapped provolone and American slices—which didn’t even count as cheese—tossing them into the pot one by one as she tapped her foot and waited for everything to cook.

No. This is wrong.

Laura blinked a few times, and looked around at the mess of wrappings. Swallowing deeply, she turned and dragged herself to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and faced the mirror.

Her cheeks were pink and bright, her face sort of—glowing. Her lips were plump and pink now, but natural looking, not as though she had gotten injections. Her face was fuller than she recalled it normally was, but not in a bad way. She just looked softer, perhaps more approachable. She absently glided her fingers down the side of her face, then sighed, and looked down.

Laura turned on the faucet as she murmured a litany of assurances. “You’re fine…fine…everything is fine…” She was going to return to the kitchen and throw that cheese crap away.

Laura splashed her face with water, cooling it. She took a deep breath, and turned back to the door. She hated the way her breasts bobbed about uncomfortably in her sweatshirt. She resisted the urge to cup the tender lower mounds.

Laura returned to the stove. She reached for the knob and attempted to turn it off, but found herself again immobilized, by—by something.

She grunted and reddened, gripping her stomach as it turned in—hunger? Desire? It was almost tangible, the faintest of stirrings, that left her frozen and trembling, because it just wasn’t full enough.

Her body was pulsing. The cheeses were melting delightfully, the pungent aroma filtering through the whole dorm apartment.

Laura gazed into the pot, where oil had surged up in a thick layer above the whole lumpy mess. The edges were sizzling and getting caramelized, and her innards were nearly vibrating with how deeply she wanted it.

Laura abruptly turned to a cupboard and rummaged through it. It was dusty from disuse, and it took some searching, but she eventually found a single box of ziti noodles. It would do.

Laura dumped the whole box into the pot of cheeses. Then she stood there and watched it all cook, feeling saliva collect at the bottom of her mouth and threaten to overflow it.

Laura glanced at the wall clock above the counter and bit her lip. Damn. Class would be starting soon. She would have liked to leave early with Mindy and Veronica to get some last-minute studying done.

Her patience wearing thin, she absently rubbed her side, and waited minute by painstaking minute, for the pasta to cook.

The smell invaded her, salty and potent, and she could almost taste it in the back of her throat as it strengthened and continued to permeate the apartment.

The hot oil must have helped expedite the cooking process, because it didn’t take long until the pasta was finished. Soon Laura was arduously stirring a large wooden spoon around within a massive glob of cheese and noodles.

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