Cow Girl III, Part 3

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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 seen so many cow people in real life—in fact, she had never seen any, other than the ones on the news. Laura tried her best not to look as stunned as she felt. The woman with the large, fat-looking mound stuffed in her high-waisted pants was speaking.

“It started at puberty,” the woman said. She had short brown hair and hunched shoulders. Laura squinted, and could see that the woman’s nametag read Sandy. “Slow going, you know… With most people, the change is fast. Takes weeks or months. But for me, it happened progressively, over the course of years. I don’t know if it was something I was doing, or eating. I mean, I always knew it was likely. After all, my mother was a...a cow person. And, well, I have lots of siblings. They’re all cows too. Somehow I always thought I would be exempt. But I guess I was just a late bloomer. Maybe that’s why I have so much difficulty adjusting compared to the others. My udder kept growing over the years, and I just kind of got used to hiding it. I wore clothes that compacted it, even until it was painful. After college things just got harder. Soon I was in the workforce. I’d squeeze myself into this professional attire, and it would just be…painful. I had all kinds of tricks. Bandages, athletic tape, you name it. By then my udder had begun to tingle. Of course, I didn’t know what it meant at the time. It was bloated, just this big, obvious mound in my pants. I wasn’t fooling anyone, but I still kept at it with the measures, the tape, the bandages, the spanks, whatever might keep it down, make it look less—massive. It was torture, but I, um…I refused to stop trying to hide it. My family thought I was crazy. But this was before the condition became so widespread, before people actually knew about us. Mom was always so nervous. I was the only one of my siblings who wasn’t home schooled. Of course, had she known how I would turn out, she probably wouldn’t have let me out of the house. But yeah, I was defiant. I went to college. I got a good job. I squeezed myself into my pencil skirt, lying to myself, telling myself that I wasn’t growing, every day. And then one day, during the biggest presentation of my career, my udder just started gushing milk for the first time. I hadn’t even realized it was engorged.” Now Sandy’s voice quavered. The woman sitting beside her comfortingly patted her on the arm.

Sandy swallowed, and went on. “It must have been nerves or something. I don’t know. Maybe I had gotten stimulated from being squeezed so continuously. It just kept swelling up. My skirt started to tear.

“Of course, I quit right there. I was humiliated. I ran out of the office and never looked back.” Sandy took a deep breath. “That was a year ago. Nowadays, I just work from home. I barely get out anymore. Even though it’s all over the news now, and the cow-gene is becoming this whole, big, public thing, I just can't face the world with my udder. Not since that day. And it gets worse. I’m still going through…changes. I can see it more clearly now. I can see my body changing more every day.” Sandy began to get choked up. Now her neighbor was comfortingly rubbing her back. “I know I'm being silly. I grew up with this gene. I know what my mother is. I just got so used to being…human.”

“You are human,” insisted the chubby girl with floppy cow-ears.

“Zoey is right,” said Ms. Clark. “You are human. And you are brave. Thank you so much for telling your story.”

The group gave a small round of applause. Laura sat in numb silence.

“Who else would like to share?” said Ms. Clark.

Laura was silently disturbed by what she had heard. It was difficult to swallow. She found herself absently staring at the volleyball-sized mound perched in Sandy’s lap on her otherwise normal-looking physique.

“I will,” someone said.

Laura’s eyes darted towards a young woman whose nametag read Violet. Laura scrutinized her, but Violet seemed virtually normal. Laura couldn’t pinpoint any cow features at all.

Maybe she’s like me, Laura thought, feeling nervous. Suddenly she wasn’t too keen about hearing Violet’s story.

“I’m similar to Sandy, I guess, though my problem is kind of, the opposite,” said Violet, in a high, airy voice. She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cute, albeit slim, physique. “Like Sandy, I grew up in big family of cow girls and boys. We grew up poor, but it was…nice. My parents had a couple of litters, and I was always envious of my siblings. They have clear features—not as clear as my mum, but, you know. Full hips, big breasts, fat bums—three of my sisters even have udders. One of the three actually grew an extra pair of breasts—lucky thing. But she doesn’t appreciate it. I would give anything to be like her. I’m the youngest, and kind of a black sheep. I see my sisters getting knocked up, and growing, almost ready to pop out litters of fat cow-babies, and I’m still just here, waiting around for my turn to start developing. Sometimes I worry that my time won’t come. I hate looking at all the gorgeous cows on the news. Even looking around this very room, all I feel is jealousy, and—”

Laura never made it to the end of Violent’s story. By then, she’d heard enough. Laura was already halfway out of the room, not caring about the disapproving look Ms. Clark was sending her way. Laura opened the door and slammed it shut behind her.

As Laura walked out of the library, she tried to block out everything that she had seen and heard during the very queer group therapy session. Cow therapy is more like it, she thought as she climbed into her car. She wasn’t like those women. Laura dialed a number on her car’s bluetooth. In the meantime, she awkwardly lifted up her leg to pull off her ankle boot, and began to replace it with a strappy heel.

“Laura?” a male voice answered the phone.

“Reese, what's going on tonight?”

“For real?” Reese responded. “You said you were busy.”

“Well my plans just fell through,” Laura grumbled, again trying not to think about her brief attendance at group therapy.

“We're meeting at this new bar that opened up downtown. It’s called Vibe. Afterwards heading to the club down the street.”

“Meet you there,” said Laura, hanging up the phone. She struggled into her other heel.

As Laura drove, she encountered continuous red lights. It was the downside of a college town, she supposed. She tinkered with the car radio, but the FM dial had gotten broken weeks earlier during a hook-up.

Laura absently admired the way her B-cups pushed out in her tiny dress, so plump and round they didn’t necessitate a bra. They couldn’t still be Bs, could they? Laura cupped one with her free hand, lifting it slightly. Her cleavage was bulging heavily over the tube neckline, the stretched material mere inches from exposing her nipples.

“Doctor, what kind of precautions should women take if they suspect they might be carrying a cow child?” spoke a somewhat distorted male voice on the radio.

“The main thing they should know is that women impregnated with this gene will remain highly fertile, and it is entirely possible for them to be re-impregnated,” responded a knowledgeable female voice.

“Come again?” said the host.

“That’s right, Tim, these gene-carrying women can add more embryos to their already-full litter. This is why it is crucial that they practice abstinence from the moment that they first suspect they are pregnant.”

“Astounding.”

“Besides that, there are actually fewer dangers to the babies than there are with regular pregnancies. These cow-gene-carrying embryos tend to be highly resilient. We have seen absolutely no impact from mothers who have consumed drugs and alcohol during gestation. The embryos are even resilient to physical trauma. The one study that I should bring up warns of a substance that can cause growth spurts via fetal weight-gain in utero. This isn’t only bad for the birth, but it can exacerbate mobility issues that these women are already prone to in the later stages of pregnancy. The substance is simply—"

Laura turned off the radio, annoyed that she was being bombarded by the cow epidemic. “Everywhere I turn, cow this, cow that,” she mumbled under her breath. “Give me a break!” She absently accelerated. How did I get dragged into this anyway? I come from a good family. I have a trust fund. I’m not a frickin cow! Laura impatiently sped through the latest red light.

Ten minutes later, she arrived at the bar where she would meet her friends. She pulled over and climbed out of the car, pausing just to admire the sunset. Taking a deep breath, she tried to dispel cow-related-thoughts from her mind. She definitely needed a break.

Laura entered the bar and met up with her friends, who were at a table in the back. The five were already tipsy, and challenged her to catch up.

Laura just grinned and squeezed her plump bottom into the booth.

Within a few hours, she drank Reese under a table, crediting her high alcohol tolerance for her decent composure. She and Stacy kissed a little. Just as things started picking up, Terry announced that they were heading for the club.

It was a ten-minute walk, Laura’s heels in her hands. Though dark, it was still warm out, the group doing their best to look sober as police cruisers hummed along the streets, looking for college students to pick up.

The group just yammered and giggled amongst themselves, Laura feeling more at ease than she had in a while. Occasionally she remembered to tug her dress down, usually when Reese whistled behind her, or commented to a snickering Derek about how much her ass was “blowing up.” Laura found it entirely complimentary. She just giggled, and twirled, and led the group to the club. They got on line, each whipping out their fake-IDs.

Laura was picked out of the line and granted entrance before her friends. Linking arms with the security guard, Laura playfully waved goodbye to the group as they jokingly made faces and heckled her. Laura was escorted right through the door.

It was hip hop night, the music blasting, rendering her near deaf, but it didn’t matter. Laura just danced, colorful lights flashing across the massive crowd. She caught glimpses of her friends as they were individually allowed entrance. For a while she danced with Stacy, and then she allowed Derek to grind on her. Glasses were passed, and Laura drank up. She drank until everything would periodically blur.

Now a different person was grinding on her, men seeming to gravitate to her plump bottom. Laura allowed the stranger to run his hands up and down her body, along her round ass, widened hips, and full breasts, as she stretched out her tiny dress. She was loving her new body. She never got this kind of attention at clubs.

Soon she and the stranger were in a dark corner, kissing and rubbing against each other’s bodies. He was tall and lean, his skin unnaturally hot. She could feel his gender, and it was massive. He pressed her into the wall, and Laura wrapped her legs around him, gripping his shirt. She allowed him to kiss her breasts. Allowed him to hook his fingers into the band of her thong.

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