The Day Daisy Drew Turned Into a Cow

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      Drew was nearly asleep by the time her bus pulled up to the coffeeshop on the east side of town. The city was dark and the air stung her cheeks as she stepped down onto the sidewalk, careful not to lose her footing and fall into a puddle.

      The street was wet and it reflected the neon lights of the businesses, casting the empty streets into a nighttime wonderscape. The lights were still on inside the coffee shop though the sign in the window made it clear that they were closed. Derek, the owner and full time manager, was lifting stools onto their tables and wheeling a mop bucket behind him. He waved at her as she passed alongside the building. She waved back, managing a tired smile.

      The bare metal staircase made the short climb to her apartment precarious even in sensible heels. The chill in the air meant that there’d likely be ice in the morning. She made a mental note of that as she reached into her bag, past the documents and her laptop, and all the way to the bottom where she kept her keys.

  After a few moments of trying to find her lock in the dark she managed to get the door open and step into the warmth of her studio flat. Finally home. Here she could get a few hours of rest before doing it all again tomorrow.

 

     Fudge, her two year old Tortie leapt onto the back of her couch and strutted over, trilling for pets. Drew obliged as she kicked off her heels and removed her ginger ponytail. Her hair usually fell to her shoulders, but she preferred to keep it up at the office. Reaching down, she peeled off the dark stockings from her legs, sighing and flexing her toes which ached after 18 hours of confinement.

     Fudge didn’t appreciate being ignored and he headbutted her. She made sure to scratch him behind the ears as she pulled off the blazer and undid the top buttons of her blouse. She’d need a free hand to undo her bra and that meant keeping the cat satisfied for at least a moment.

     Getting undressed after work was a process. There were layers that needed to be removed in order but in the meantime, her whole body ached to be free of the restrictive business suits that she wore for work.

  The office dress code was business casual, but working as a woman in journalism, Drew had no illusions about how important self presentation could be. Even her name had been carefully picked. She’d been Daisy until her twenty second birthday, but she’d chosen to go by her last name because of how it looked in print: “D. Drew.” Simple, strong, and with plausible deniability if someone assumed that she was a man. 

     Fudge walked in a tiny circle on the top of her couch as Drew pulled off her restrictive outer layers and finally removed her bra. Immediately, the air in the house, which had seemed so warm, felt frigid against her bare, moderately sweaty chest as she reached into her hamper for a very familiar oversized sweater.

     Safe within its cozy confines, she finally allowed herself to relax. Space in the flat was at a premium. Aside from the couch and her bed, the only other furniture was a desk with a computer monitor and a pair of noise canceling headphones. An office chair was an expense that she wasn’t ready to make so, for the time being the desk was positioned next to the bed so that she could use it while sitting sideways on top of her mattress.

    If she spent any significant time working from home then this setup would have been impractical, but for Drew, the time spent at her desktop was strictly frivolous.

    She slid behind the desk, her slim thighs brushing against the edge as she squeezed in. She grabbed a few pillows to prop behind her back as she wiggled the mouse and waited for the monitor to come to life. 

    Fudge followed her onto the bed and tried to climb into her lap, but she picked him up and set him gently to the floor. There would be plenty of time for cuddles later. Right now she desperately needed to unwind. 

    She wondered what her co-workers might think of her if they knew about her after-work routine. Instead of relaxing with music or a good book, Drew spent her few free hours every evening on something a bit more deviant.

     She had aliases on over a dozen erotica websites, and she feverishly monitored specific tags. Her tastes were particular. Words like “BBW,” “expansion,” and “weight gain” were watched closely. If she were lucky, she would find a story that suited her tastes once or twice a week. If she weren’t, then she would reluctantly return to her old mainstays in one of a dozen different favorites folders.

      Her process was exhaustive. First, she would look for notifications from her favorite writers. Those stories were almost guaranteed to be good, but most of them didn’t update all that frequently. The next step was to search through her tags. That would always elicit hundreds of results so the trick was thinning it down. 

     There were always stories which didn’t apply which found their way into her searches. There were plenty of stories where “weight gain” meant bodybuilding that could be pruned or non-kink writing that the author had innocently tagged with “fat” unaware of the bait that they were dangling.

     Once the outliers had been trimmed the next step was quality control. This was where the majority of stories would be removed. A readthrough of the description was usually enough to cull the herd. She’d remove stories that didn’t appeal to her specific tastes or ones written by authors that she wasn’t fond of, but mostly she was looking for a taste of what she might find in the body of the text. She wanted some sort of connection. Part of her hoped that in those few sentences that she’d find evidence that her and the author shared the same sort of sickness.

     By the end of it she was left with a line of tabs across the top of her screen. She checked the time. It was already 23:40. She couldn’t allow herself to stay up too much longer. It was time for the part that she was ashamed of.

    She opened the first tab and read through the first paragraph. It didn’t grab her. She frowned. That wasn’t enough to disqualify the story, but it wasn’t a good sign. She went for the nuclear option.

  Ctrl+F and then she typed in those three all important letters “F-A-T”. A handful of highlights appeared on the scroll bar. She scrolled to the point in the text where they appeared most prevalent and skimmed, looking for meat.

     It was as she’d feared. This story was about an anime character who was fattened up by her partner by getting her addicted to noodles. It might not have been a bad story, but it definitely wasn’t to her tastes. Drew preferred something transformative and exciting and hopefully more focused on the perspective of the woman being fattened.

  She saved it to a “read later” folder which she could come back to on a weekend and continued hunting. It often went this way. Some nights she’d find dozens of stories and she’d allow herself to hope for something special, but oftentimes, those tabs would be closed one after another and she’d be left sulking back to her old favorites.

     Not that there was anything wrong with rereading her favorite stories! She’d saved them for a reason and they always did the job, but finding a piece of writing that really resonated with her was rare and she wasn’t about to let one go unnoticed.

     Down to two tabs now, she was beginning to lose hope.. The one she was currently looking at had seemed promising at first, but now she was able to see that it was only a few paragraphs long and had likely been uploaded without proofreading. She clicked her tongue as she closed the tab.

  The last story hung on her monitor. It wasn’t from one of her standard smut sites. It had been posted on an obscure blog and she’d only found it through monitoring her tags. She read over the first paragraph. The writing was good! As far as she could tell it was about a woman and her feeder. That wasn’t usually her kind of thing, but the quality of the writing was enough to keep her interested.

  She hesitated a moment and searched out the word “fat”. The scroll bar came alive with hundreds of tiny highlights and she felt her breath catch in her throat. A story being riddled with that word didn’t mean that it would be good, but it did make a baser part of her excited. There was no harm in giving it a look.  Even if it didn’t appeal to her specifically she could always retreat to one of her favorites. 

 

     The story was long! It chronicled a woman who worked at a diner and was fattened up by her boyfriend, much to the couple’s mutual enjoyment. The pacing was slow and realistic with the protagonist growing over the course of months. The real excitement came from the way her newly added size impacted her life. It was no mistake that Drew’s favorite word had appeared so frequently. It was like a mantra for the main character. Every event and interaction in the story served to remind her that she was fat. 

  

     Her boyfriend would tease her, her coworkers would stare. She would try to buy clothing at stores that no longer carried her size and she would struggle with tasks that had previously been easy for her. It was as if her entire identity had been eclipsed by a single adjective.

    Fat!

    A human being had intentionally reduced herself to an object of lust and all in the pursuit of her fetish. Drew was captivated.

     Her hand slid under the hem of her sweater and she pawed at her thighs gently. Occasionally she would slide it upward and rub at her flat stomach and imagined it expanding outward into a fat belly. She bit the inside of her cheek and squirmed as the story reached a particularly lewd section and she highlighted that paragraph to come back to later.

     She was excited! She was ready. The hairs on the back of her arms stood on end and her toes curled. This was the best story she’d read in months and, just as her idle hand began sneaking in between her legs the cat jumped onto her keyboard and chirped for attention. 

     She yelped, tumbling backwards into her pile of pillows. banging her shin on the underside of her desk. She struggled for a moment to sit up, her fingers were smothered in the thick-knit fabric of her sweater and the yielding mattress made adjustments difficult. Fudge was walking in circles on the keyboard as the monitor flashed between multiple screens. 

    She cursed, grabbed Fudge, and tossed him to the floor. He’d managed to close all of her windows and open several unrelated applications in his attempt at sabotage. She closed out of the unrelated tasks and scolded him, calling him a bad kitty and a stupid boy! He ignored her, now sitting on the floor with his back to her as he licked his paw and rubbed at his face.

  She opened up her browser history and was immediately inundated with dozens of stories which she’d already closed. She tried restoring her tabs, but she found no such luck. She tried to remember the name of the story. When she came up with nothing she tried to remember the name of the blog. No luck.

  She sucked air through her teeth and began reopening pages from her history that seemed like likely contenders. She found a few blogs that looked similar, but nothing that matched what she’d read earlier. In a final frustrated bid she began searing through tags again on a site that looked like it might be the host. The word “Fat” turned up mostly pictures from health blogs or women who wanted to lose weight. Irony of ironies. She couldn't seem to find the one story that was about gaining.
 

     Finally she found the right combination of tags to take her to the kinkier stuff. Still, as she scrolled through posts none of the stories looked familiar. She replayed lines from the story in her head. It had been so good! It wasn’t perfectly in line with her kinks but the author had understood her and her bizarre paradoxical desire to become an object of lust by completely ignoring traditional standards of beauty.

    While looking through the results she stumped across a shit-post with a picture of a massively obease anime character with horns and a cow-print apron.

     “Click here to stop worrying and become a massive cow-slut!!!”

      Drew let out an amused breath through her nostrils. Crude, but this person obviously also understood the obsession. Maybe it was the same person? She might as well check out their blog.

    She clicked.

     The screen went white for a moment as she was redirected. When the blog loaded she saw that the meme was the only thing posted. She sighed. This was a waste of time. It was nearly two in the morning and she had to be up by seven. She reached for her mouse to close out of her browser when she noticed something about the back of her hand.

     Her knuckles, which had always been flush with the back of her hand, were now tiny dips behind each finger. She raised her hand to her face, thinking that it must be a trick of the light, but her knuckles stayed the same. Did her fingers look pudgier?

    Her eyes traced down the length of her arm until it got to her bicep. That definitely looked fuller. She poked it and the fat hanging below her arm wobbled. Was that new? She paused for a moment, eyes wide. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she took mental inventory of her body. She didn’t feel any bigger. Was she playing a trick on herself? Had her fantasies gotten the better of her and led her to this imagined fattening, or had she just gotten a bit softer without noticing?

    She steeled herself and ran her hands down her torso. She was caught off guard by the squish. She nearly panicked before she realized that she was still wearing the sweater. Of course that would make her feel softer. She grabbed it by the hem and pulled it over her head and looked down. 

 

    A tiny paunch sat in her lap. That was new. How new? She wasn’t sure. She poked at it. Obviously she’d been eating out for lunch at the office a bit too much. Tomorrow she’d order a salad and try to drink water with her meal instead of…
 

    The belly lurched forward to fill her lap. She paused. She looked at the screen. 

 

     “Click here if you want to stop worrying and become a massive cow-slut!!!”

    She panicked. All at once her body started growing. Modest breasts that had stopped growing in highschool began to swell heavy on her chest. She grabbed the unsupported tits and felt electricity run down her spine as her fingers brushed her nipples. Her belly rolled forward again, this time becoming undeniably fat. She choked out a cry as she tried to pull herself from behind her desk. But her thighs had thickened while she was distracted with her boobs and they wouldn’t slide out easily. She walked backwards on the bed with her elbows trying to pull herself free but her growing belly and breasts began eclipsing her view of anything below her waist. 

 

      She tugged at her bedsheets, trying to free herself, but only managed to pull them away from the bed. She tugged, scraping the tops of her fat thighs against the underside of the desk and finally freed herself with an audible pop, which sent her rolling backward in a reverse cartwheel, right off the edge of the bed. 

      She landed on her softer behind and was still swelling. She got her bearings and stood, every part of her wobbling and jiggling with newly added fat. She ran through a mental checklist about her size even as she continued to expand. Her belly was round and stuck out farther than her breasts but hadn’t grown large enough yet to hang over her pubis. Her tits were still growing: The once small, pert breasts were now heavy with wide areolas and nipples which were beginning to point toward the ground. 

She held her hands at her sides and realized that her hips were rapidly outgrowing her shoulders and that her butt was expanding to compensate for her expanding physique. She hugged her squishier form and dropped onto the bed making it sag as she attempted to pull herself together. She was nude now, but she felt warm, almost too warm as she watched her body rise like dough. Her growing body forced her arms apart and her tits and belly spilled forward. 

      She was still getting fatter! How much fatter could she get? She tilted her head back to look at the drawing of the girl in the apron on the computer screen. She was drawn with exaggerated roundness and a belly that hung to her knees. The idea of getting that big crashed down on her and her horror soon washed away by a tidal wave of confused lust.

      Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? What she’d always imagined? This was her deepest fantasy after all. Her body trembled at the thought of getting that big. She was going to be too fat to ever go back. She was stuck as a fat girl for the rest of her life because a stupid horny misclick.

     She felt her hips tighten involuntarily. This didn’t happen in real life. Women didn’t fatten up overnight except in her fantasies... Maybe this was a fantasy. She’d likely dreamed all this up due to lack of sleep and too much stress. That’s what she got for passing out while reading trash.

      Well, if she was going to have a waking dream about being fattened up, she was damn well going to enjoy it. Her hand reached over her round, swelling belly as she stared up at the picture.

     Fat-cow. That’s all she was. That’s all she could ever be after this. Just an object of lust for the few people out there with her specific kinks. She would eat and get fatter and live a carefree life of docile obesity.

     She moaned as her fingers found her vulva and spread into a V shape, teasing the inner edges of her much fatter thighs.

     “Mmmm..moooo,” she cooed as she touched herself. It wasn’t involuntary, just part of the fantasy. She was so massive now. She was probably getting close to the size of the woman on the screen. Her arms wobbled as she played with herself and when she tried to look down at her belly she felt a double chin bunch up under her neck.

     “I-I’m so fat.” she choked, and she felt her pudgy toes curl. Her back arched under the weight of the mountain of fat sitting on top of her. “Please god, let this be real.” Her fingers found their mark and, just as she was about to tease herself to orgasm, her expanding gut became too large and pulled her hand away.

     “N-no! I need it!” She cried out, but it was too late. She was simply too fat to reach herself while lying flat on her back. A huge gut and fatty pubic area sat in the way of her fingers, and no amount of reaching or pawing would change that. Of course, that wouldn’t stop Drew from trying. Smooshing at soft underbelly, she struggled and squirmed trying to find a way to reach that source of pleasure.

     The motion sent ripples through her body, making her stomach wobble in waves and putting pressure on her FUPA. There was a jot of pleasure that went away just as fast. Her fat body was still in motion even as she tried to take inventory of what had just happened. She’d read stories of the raunchier variety where the lead characters had pleasured themselves with their fat, but she’d always written that off as wishful thinking from horny authors.

 

      She placed her hands on both sides of her gut and jostled it again in slow rhythmic motions. There was no response from her nether regions. She shifted, sitting up slightly and rocking on her massive, fat behind.

      Then it happened again. The subsiding waves of her wobbling belly hit her FUPA just as her thighs had pushed it upward. It was dull and indirect, but the fact that it was the motion of her own fattened body made it exhilarating! She tried again. Wobbling her belly and pressing her thighs together until she found a way to reliably elicit a hint of pleasure.

     This could work!

    She shifted pressing, jiggling, rocking back and forth, each carefully timed wave occasionally interacting perfectly with her own puffed up anatomy to stimulate her. She persevered, edging herself toward orgasm, her arms grasping her fat stomach, back arching, hips flexing. It was exhausting. It was incredible. A sheen of sweat covered her massive form as she rocked closer and closer toward pleasure. Her hammy arms grew tired and her buttery thighs were sore from the effort of holding up her heavy gut, but she pressed on. The destination was in sight. She couldn’t stop now. 

      There was an inevitability to her arousal. It was like a train barreling toward a station at full speed, but even as she coaxed herself closer and closer to climax she couldn’t gauge how much longer it would take. Did this body have the stamina to get her there?

      Her overtaxed muscles began to shake and with effort when it finally came and her thighs and back gave one last herculean effort to flex as she cried out, head back; eyes wide open.

 

     “Stop worrying.”

 

    She relaxed, letting herself go limp against her bed, lying sideways, her heavy calves hanging over the side.

 

    “Become a fat cow.”

 

    Her eyes fluttered closed. This had been one hell of a fantasy, but with her last coherent thought, Drew reminded herself that everything would be back to normal in the morning... if she only could have known how wrong she was.

This is the first part of a longer story:
The Day After Daisy Drew

turned Into a Cow