Date: Mon, 27 Apr 2020 17:38:22 -0400 From: Kods A Subject: Cowmen and Bullmen - Chapter 13 B ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part without author's permission. This story is a fictitious product of my imagination and should not be read if the reader has a hatred of gay/bi people, gay sex, etc., or sex-oriented writing in general. Any semblance to real life within this story is purely coincidental. This story uses components of abstract sexual fantasies and may not be for you. A few involving mpreg, muscle growth, vore, and acts of homosexual intercourse. If you are not 18 years of age, I recommend you click off your browser because it is likely this content is illegal for your reading. Isn't it awesome how we can read so many LGBT stories on Nifty! Well, Nifty needs our support so please consider donating so there will be more wonderful stories http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Author's note: Keep washing your hands and stay safe out there. It's time for some well-deserved backstory. This is like two chapters in one. There's going to be a lot of scene hopping so get ready for that. Anyways shoot me an email at the end of the story if you enjoy it and we can talk about it! Special thanks to my beta reader Dave! CH 13 B: The Tale of Two Cowmen -Extra Chapter Trevor Growing up, Trevor never had any friends. There was no one his age to be friends with. By the time he was born all the other Cowmen had shifted. Even if he did have someone his age, he was sure he'd be labeled as too aggressive. Trevor ate, breathed, and slept, fighting. His owners had thrown him into a match on a whim. Miraculously, Trevor didn't get his face caved in by the adult cowman. Those caged fighting rings were the worst, constant punches and kicking until the opponent went down. Killing each other wasn't allowed, but Trevor thought if he was to die that'd be a small mercy. Ever since his first win, his owners put him in more fights. His owners, a nameless man and woman, loved making money. Trevor could still remember the look on their faces when their bank accounts were flooded with the night's earnings. No matter how the cuts, scrapes, and bruises accumulated, his owners didn't care. He was sure the reason they treated any of his wounds was so he could live to fight another match. He didn't exist for any other reason. He'd heard that Cowmen were special for their milk, but he couldn't produce any. That's why his owners weren't torn up about putting him into fights. His owners claimed the least he could do was put his muscles to use. Trevor had a secret. He hated fighting. Despite how good he was at it, the smell of blood, the constant aches and pains nauseated him. Worst of all, there were times Trevor could feel a part of himself relish in demolishing his opponent, but after the match he'd get bouts of clarity. He abhorred his love for the violence. He'd scan the crowds, appalled at the chanting for the ring, hundreds if not thousands of humans, greedy to see him inflict pain. It all made his stomach churn. Then one day it came to an end. Trevor didn't remember much of what happened, but he remembered sitting in a room with a battered face. That's when he met Farmer Tyrone Watkins. "How would you like to come live with me? You wouldn't have to fight anymore." The question and statement shocked Trevor. There was only one question on Trevor's mind "My Dads... where are they?" The Farmer's face dropped, full of sorrow, "I don't know. I'm sorry. I was hoping we could reunite you, but it seems your previous `guardians' made sure whoever they traded cowmen to, knew how to get rid of paper trails." Trevor felt the tears welling in his eyes, he frantically looked away before the memory pulled him back to the evening after a particularly nasty fight. The fake frown the female wore as she told him his dads had moved on. He begged with her, pleaded that he'd work three times as hard, just get them back. Trevor's owners tried to convince the young cowman that his dads voluntarily left, but he knew the truth. His owners were covering their own asses. Owning another living sentient being, whether human, cowman, or otherwise was illegal. Cowmen choose to live on farms of their freewill. Trevor's dads taught him that. That's how Trevor knew he was no different than a caged bird. His cage was prettier than most. He slept in a decent bed and his owners provided him with food, if only to keep his strength up. His dads tried to teach him about being a cowman, but his owners were always strongly against it. Instead, they'd always reinforce lessons about a cowman's power and strength. Tears rolled off Trevor's face, as he looked at the Farmer, "Can I go with you? I don't want to fight anymore." Trevor packed up his clothes that night, and a week later was brought to the Watkins Farm. On the ride over Trevor thought about his dads. He didn't know much about their life before he was born. Only that they met at their local gym, and that they had never lived on a farm before. It made Trevor wonder how they ended up in their terrible situation. Maybe they were too valuable, and his owners captured them? His parents were top-tier Cowmen, not that Trevor understood what that meant. But he'd catch his owners constantly using it. "Top-tier this and top-tier that," His owners were trying to get his dads to do something. He was painfully aware that they weren't up to anything good. His owners for how greedy they were, weren't exactly swimming in cash, Trevor couldn't imagine them even having the resources to capture his dads though. Trevor stood at the steps of the Watkins mansion; it was huge and white with greenery all around. A new place. A new home. Trevor felt his knees buckle. A voice rang out to him. "Do you need help?" A black kid, wearing a blue t-shirt and tan shorts came walking up the pathway, trailed by a younger white kid with brown curly hair. Were these also Cowmen or humans? The black kid seemed plausible, but the white kid was on the thin side. " ¿Necessitas Ayudar?" the black kid said. Trevor had to do his best not to roll his eyes. Countless people in the ring had tried to insult him for being Mexican, or assuming he was Spanish speaking because how he looked. "I'm Brazilian asshole," Trevor said coolly. He didn't speak Portuguese, but that wasn't any of this kid's business. "Do one of you two guys want to tell me were Farmer Tyrone is at?" Trevor asked he didn't want to around these two longer than he had to be. "I'm his nephew," The black kid responded with an edge in his voice. "Good for you, do you want a fucking medal?" Did this kid think being someone's nephew gave him a pass at ignorance? Farmer Tyrone soon made an appearance and after that introduced Trevor. The look on the nephew's face was pure shock; Trevor couldn't help but smile at that. While Farmer Tyrone's nephew, Marc, sauntered off with his curly haired friend, Ken. Trevor received a quick tour. Towards the end of the tour Farmer Tyrone, showed him the house he'd be staying in. "You're going to live here with Ken." "What, that little guy your nephew was with? He's a cowman?" Trevor had to reevaluate. That kid looked like a skinny human, but if he was a cowman, that was unhealthy. During his time fighting, Trevor had yet to see a cowman so malnourished. The next day, Trevor ran into the idiot duo again. Trevor never built up the social skills for interacting with other people outside of his immediate circle. His previous interactions came from taunting his opponent's during matches. "Hey, Dipshits." What followed from those words leaving his lips was a series of unforeseen consequences. Marc's fist came aiming for Trevor's face. In an instant, Trevor no longer felt he was standing in the oversized backyard of the farm, but in a caged match. His heart clamored against his rib cage, but his body wouldn't move to set it free. He was frozen, incapable of functioning and the bright lights of the rings were beaming down at him. How, how did he get here again?! His mind screamed at him to move but Marc's fist had already connected. When Trevor got up the screams and chanting for violence faded, he could feel the tears burning their way down his face. Marc started walking closer, but Trevor wasn't going to let that happen. He got up as fast as he could and ran. Trevor ran back to the house, he stuffed everything back into his suitcase and backpack. Hadn't the farmer promised that he wouldn't have to fight again? Trevor grabbed his pillow and started punching; he kept going until he collapsed exhausted. Tyrone found him face down on the mattress, heaving raggedly as if he were still under duress. Wordlessly, he sat beside him, gently placed a hand on his back and waited. Once he noted Trevor's breathing evening out, Tyrone gently made circular gestures on the cowman's back. "Are you okay?" Farmer Tyrone asked. Trevor looked up at him carefully before moving into a hug. Tyrone pulled them up from the bed and started a slow stroll around the farm. The whole time he stared intently at Trevor who avoided eye contact. Trevor stopped, the farmer's question still on his mind. He simply nodded and separated from him. He needed to be alone and the farmer didn't follow him. The young cowman watched other groups playing games and talking. He lingered off to the side hoping some of them would ask him what was wrong or invite him to play, but that never happened. Instead Trevor took refuge from the summer heat under a large oak tree. The branches hung low and the shadow stretched far across the ground. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled, adding to the peaceful scenery. There were still tears falling, but Trevor knew he only needed a few minutes to compose himself. He didn't get that chance because he spotted Marc walking up to him. Did the kid want another fight? Turns out he didn't. Marc came with a peace offering. He pressed a cloth with ice against Trevor's face. Trevor never interacted with humans who wanted to do something kind for him. His owners always had ulterior motives. Marc was genuinely regretful. Trevor never thought much of humans due to his own upbringing, but Farmer Tyrone and his nephew were very different from the humans at the cage fights. By the time the ice melted, and the boys had exchanged a few words, Trevor was deep in thought. He thanked Marc then walked off on his own. He needed to think this over. --- The days after Marc's birthday had been a learning curve for Trevor. He had never been to school before or surrounded by hundreds of cowmen. Especially ones that weren't supposed to fight him. Ken was there, but the kid was as lost as Trevor. He carried his bookbag to the next class. He'd gotten Marc to describe human school for him. Based on that, he deduced Cowmen school was an intensive program suited for their aging. However, if a regular Cowman school year was packed, the summer school year overflowed. No matter how much, information was presented, Trevor happily ate it up. Acing the tests and quizzes they would throw at him each day was easy. Trevor had never gotten a hand at trying things if it didn't involve punching. On the bus ride back home, Ken and Trevor did their homework together. The two made a good team when it came to solving problems. By the time the bus stopped in front of the Watkins Farm, the two were always done. "With no homework, what are you going to do little dude?" Trevor stepped off the bus with Ken behind him. He thought about changing his nickname for Ken. While he was still short, he'd started to put on muscle. "I want to see what Marc's doing!" Ken bounced up. That wasn't a bad idea. Trevor also wondered how Marc was doing, He was sure Farmer Tyrone was pushing them to hang out because they were close in age. Honestly, not a bad plan. All three were new to the farm, why shouldn't they hang out? When they entered the Watkin's mansion Ken bolted upstairs, to go find Marc. Trevor however needed to get out of his school clothes. He'd been wearing them all day and he wanted something fresh. He walked out the back of the house entering the yard. He passed by some workers that were carrying planks of wood. One of the planks slipped out of a guy's hand. Trevor bent down to pick it up, but a voice cried out, "I got it." A Cowman worker came rushing up beside him. "I can carry it. I can also help if you'd like." Trevor said. "Don't worry yourself kid." The cowman snatched the plank out of Trevor's hands and rushed off. "Um, okay?" Trevor said surprised at the cowman's bluntness. --- If there was one subject Trevor adored it had to be History. Learning so much of Cowmen history was a pleasure. Where he grew up his owners never took the time to teach him; his dads always taught him about living in the now, not the past. The teacher pointed towards the board, "With the recent decline of Cowmen-- Trevor raised his hand, standing out of his seat. "What do you mean by decline, Sir?" The teacher adjusted his glasses before stepping away from the board, "Well, while no one knows what's causing it there is no doubt there's been a decline in Cowmen as reflected in the Census." Trevor hadn't known that. Was there some disease killing Cowmen? What if his dads caught that and--Trevor did not want to finish that thought. When Trevor came home from school that day he didn't go hang out with Marc. He headed straight to his own room. When he got inside, he fell onto his bed exhausted. If Cowmen numbers were declining as a species. How long before they were extinct. Would he die, Would Ken? He felt a fear that weighed on his chest. Trevor turned to the side, so he could focus on something else. Trevor wondered what the solution was there. Maybe he could become a breeder? Could he help that way? He pushed his face into the sheets. He didn't want his dads to be among the Cowmen that were gone. Trevor pushed himself off the bed he needed to do something. He walked outside, getting fresh air. He spotted a group of Cowmen playing soccer off to the side. "Hey can I join?" Trevor said running up. "I've never played, but I'd love to try." Trevor gave the others playing a glance over. They weren't imposing, but he was sure whichever team he was on he could help win. " I don't know we're kind of full." A tall cowman with a small scrape on his chin replied. He had paused the game and had the ball under his arm. "How can you guys be full? You guys had a bunch of people playing yesterday and the teams weren't even." "If he says we're full, we're full." A cowman giving a distasteful look, spat those words out. Trevor knew they were lying. They knew they were lying. They didn't want to play with him. But he couldn't call them out. That'd lead to another fight and after fighting Marc, Trevor knew he wasn't in the best place to hold his own. "I wouldn't want to play with any of you anyway," he muttered, thrusting his hands into his pockets and stomping away. Their loss. He headed inside the mansion to get out of the heat. He walked into the dining room hoping he could snatch up some food. The only thing he saw when he got there was Marc wiping the table, with a spray bottle in hand. "Are you cleaning?" "I have chores." Marc grumbled. "Want to help?" He pointed to an extra cloth at the end of the table. Trevor slogged over and retrieved it. "Now what?" "Don't you know how clean?" "I'm only good for fighting," Trevor stuck out his tongue. "Hey, where's your shadow?" "You, mean Ken? He goes off when I do chores, He doesn't like to bother me." "I think he doesn't want you to ask him to help. He had the right idea." Trevor began wiping down a chair. Marc stopped wiping the table in disbelief, "I thought you were only good for fighting." "I've seen movies with cleaning scenes before." Marc sprayed another section of the table and wiped it down. "You've seen movies? I thought you were forced to fight 24/7." Trevor threw down his cloth. "If I was forced to fight 24/7, I wouldn't be any good in the rings. My previous owners may have been awful, but they weren't stupid. Seeing a movie was a prize at our house. An incentive to win your matches." Trevor picked his clothed back up. Marc walked over to him, "If you want to see movies, I can pull up some on my laptop." "Really?" Trevor gleamed. "Yeah, but first. I'm going to have to show you how to clean." After along lesson in disinfecting and decluttering, Trevor went to Marc's room to watch a movie. He'd never gotten the chance to have a movie all to himself. No need to share it with a room full of other Cowmen wishing to watch something else. The movie ended Trevor got up to leave. "Wait", Marc grabbed Trevor's arm, "You don't have to rush off. I promise I won't hit you again. In fact, you don't have to fight here. You have a problem with someone bring them to me. I'll fight them for you." Trevor had to hold the urge to laugh. Besides Ken, Marc couldn't beat anyone, and that was less of a possibility each passing day. "Hey, thanks for this... the movie. Maybe tomorrow we can play a video game." Marc smiled. "Let's!" Trevor waved goodbye, then tapped the door frame. --- Post shift Trevor felt different. No, he was different. He stood at 6ft and the scars he'd gain from his fighting days were faded. There weren't gone, but less noticeable. His hands were larger, massive even; this new body could do some serious damage if he wanted it to. He had a fine layer of hair on his pecs and a treasure trail that disappeared under the waistband of his underwear. Farmer Tyrone had graciously given him a t shirt and jeans to wear temporarily. He was still in shock from seeing Marc walk into his room last night. And what had Trevor been thinking approaching Marc while shifting. In fact, why was Marc even there? Trevor walked back into his house. He had to check on the Cowmen that had carried him through his shift. He opened his front door, revealing Dru and Sheila, laid out on the floor. He stepped inside, then bent down checking them out. Their condition had improved form earlier that day. He gently shook Dru awake. Dru's eyes flung open. "Dude! We have to that again." He nudged Sheila. "Again, again." She said but her eyes weren't open. She went back to sleep after demand another sexual romp. "I'll put her on the couch" Dru stood up slowly. "Ow, I think I'm going to be walking funny for a while." Trevor breathed a sigh of relief, Dru and Sheila were mostly back to their usual selves. In an hour or so they'd be beating down his door for more sex. Dru took care of Sheila while Trevor went to his bedroom. Trevor opened the door to his bedroom. Ayden sat on the bed, fully dressed, tying his shoelaces. "How are you holding up?" Trevor walked in. "Last night was great. You were a little rough though, but nothing I can't handle." Ayden craned his neck. The shift was intense. No other words could describe it. Trevor's skin was lightning, and he kept searching for someone to ground him. The more he fucked; the more energy built up. His body crackled with the changes. Trevor was getting euphoric remembering it. Ayden coughed to bring Trevor's attention back. He blinked a few times before responding to his friend. "So last night was?" "Super-hot!" "I'm surprised you're doing okay. Dru and Sheila are still recovering." "Well, I am an exceptional cowman. Though I'm still sore." Ayden rubbed his left shoulder. "I wanted to thank you from stopping me, from going after Marc." "No problem. I'm glad I stopped you. If I feel like this after your shift and Dru and Sheila are still recovering, I can't imagine how a human would have felt afterwards." "I wanted to ask you about my shift," Trevor sat on his bed next to Ayden, "I heard a voice in my head. I fucked Dru and Sheila, then I wanted to fuck you. Then, when I saw Marc, I just had to fuck him. Does that make sense?" Ayden let out a laugh. "Cowmen don't like to say this, but everyone hears the words sex and grow, or some form of the two." "Huh?" Ayden tapped his finger against his head, "Some people hear phrases like `have sex', or `you need to grow,' but the idea is the same. Trevor slowly nodded his head. Ayden continued talking "I mean when `sex' pops into your head, and you feel the need to fuck, or get fucked by something it's the best. When I was going through my shift with Lyla, I wish a guy had been there to fuck me." Trevor furrowed his eyebrows. Sex was not the word that had popped into Trevor's head. Growth was familiar, but with `sex' it was like Ayden was talking about a different experience. Ayden kept talking about `sex' and wanting to get fucked. Trevor had to stop him. He was getting confused. Ayden was explaining the transformation right, but his description of wanting to get fucked didn't describe Trevor's mental process at all. --- Trevor stood at the door to the cowman's, Ron, house waiting. A cream colored 2 story house. Trevor couldn't believe this. He didn't need to learn anything. Trevor knocked at the door again. Evening was already here. How long was Ron going to make him wait? Trevor had better things to do. The door opened and a man in a silk pink robe strolled into view. "I'm terribly sorry, I had my music blasting. I'm such a sucker for a good orchestral piece," Ron chuckled happily as he rested his hand on his chest. "Where are my manners!" Ron shouted, "I'm Ron. You must be Trevor." "Yeah?" Ron certainly had a lot of... something. Ron gently grabbed Trevor's hand and kissed it. "I'm excited to have such a handsome man shadowing me. Come in!" He threw his hands around Trevor and guided him in. Ron's house was elaborate. Sport jerseys were hung up on the walls. An oil painting of a single girl in a forest, an acrylic painting of a boy on a beach. Interior design books were stacked on the table, next to sport magazines. "Like what you see?" Ron whispered in Trevor's ear. Trevor jumped, knocking books over. "Look I don't actually need to be here." "Let's, pick this up." Ron ignored Trevor and bent over collecting his books. "If you could give the okay, sign a waiver, or whatever that says I'm good to go that'd be great!" Trevor kneeled and grabbed scattered books. "That's not how this works." "Then how does it work?" "You stick with me learning about being pregnant and taking care of me. That way when it's your turn you'll have experience with it." Trevor shook his head, "I'm not getting pregnant. I'll be getting others pregnant." He handed Ron the books he'd collected. "You'll be assigned to shadow someone that's impregnates after I've given birth." "I'd rather be with the people that impregnate now. Not that I think they could help me much. I can do a fine job without them." Ron stared a Trevor in disbelief, "What is so bad about being pregnant?" "It's not what I want to do." Ever since his shift Trevor had an underlying desire to fuck someone, not to get fucked. Him bottoming with Marc was a distant dream in his head. Ron stood up and sat the collected books on a shelf. "If you don't want to do it, no one is going to force you, but you might figure out you don't hate the idea of being pregnant." Trevor rolled his eyes, "Doubtful." "You think you're something special, don't you? I hate to break it to you kid, but you're not. Lots of Cowmen boys come here talking about how they'll never bottom or give birth. Most of them learn the only thing holding them back was their own views." Ron adjusted his robe tying it tighter. "Humans think Cowmen are so free, but at the end of the day we're the same. We have insecurities and misconceptions." "I'm not insecure about anything." "If you say so." Ron went through his bookshelf, scanning across the spines. Trever wanted to punch the guy in the face. How dare he doubt Trevor's words. Trevor fingernails pressed into his palm as his fist clenched. Trevor caught sight of his fist and took deep breaths. Trevor's heart was beating quickly. He was thinking about hitting Ron. Why? Trevor hated fighting, yet here he was ready to assault someone he knew for less than an hour. Ron pulled out a book, walked over to Trevor, and placed the book in Trevor's hands. A photo album. One designed specifically to mimic a book. Gold cursive writing on the front and silver along the edges. Trevor sat down, opened the book, and flipped through it. Various pictures of Ron laughing and smiling with Cowmen. Some kids, some adults. Ron was pregnant in most. Trevor realized he was looking at pictures of Ron's previous partners and kids. Trevor stopped in the middle of the album. There were a few photos were the other party was pregnant. "Wait, you're not -- "What did you think I was always on the bottom," Ron patted him on the back, "See? Misconceptions." "It's getting late I'm going to head to bed," Ron yawned. "If you want to go through that book why not stay the night?" Ron pointed back to the shelf, "There's a few more photo albums on there if you want to go through them." Ron went upstairs to his bedroom. Trevor flipped through the pages, taking in each photo. The laughter, the smiles, the frowns, it all warmed his heart. Trevor couldn't help but smile at Ron's memories. His own heart ached wishing he had an album, or even one photo to remember his dads by. Trevor got up and took another photo album. One of Ron on a different farm, he was a lot younger. Trevor retrieved another one. As written on its first page, the next album was full of nothing, but Ron and his kids. Trevor fell asleep on Ron's couch, going through the album. The next morning, Trevor woke up to the sound of Ron's album hitting the floor. Trevor jolted up from the couch. His clothes were wrinkled. What time was it? A hard knock came at the door! Again, and again. Ron didn't come down, so Trevor decided to answer the door. There he found Xander breathing heavily. "I-I was looking for you." Why? Trevor barely knew Xander. "Ken went through his shift while Marc was there." Trevor ran past Xander, knocking the boy over. Trevor's memories of his shift and what he had almost done to Marc, weighed on his heart. He prayed that Marc was okay. --- Ken's first punch was the hardest. Trevor rolled as Ken tried to pin him down. He punched Ken back. Trevor was shocked, Ken hit him. Trevor didn't have time for his own fear of fighting to creep up, he needed to defend himself. Ayden tried to pull Ken back only to get elbowed in the face. Trever punched Ken in the gut, not too hard, hoping that would end the fight, but Ken barely flinched. Trevor saw the smug look on Ken's face. Trevor's blood raced. He hadn't fought such a strong opponent in a while. Whatever it was that used to nauseate him, had changed in the shift as well. Whatever it had become, it empowered him now. He smirked at Ken. Trevor charged. *** Kenneth (Ken) Ken had never been the smartest. For a long time, He didn't even know what smart was. All he knew was that his world began and ended at four walls. A white room that enclosed him with only a bed. No memorabilia or any objects that could signify a young boy lived there. A single window allowed natural light into the room. Ken often rested on the ledge to look outside. That's the way his owners wanted it. Ken saw them when they brought food. He couldn't go too far. Often his leg was shackled to the foot of the bed. However, every now and then his owners would get busy and had to leave another cowman in charge of their humble abode. Ken knew at least 3 others lived there. When they had to feed him and came to his room, they'd always take time to teach Ken a new subject a day. Not impactful on a grand scale, but that was Ken's world. He didn't want more. He didn't crave more. He was content, even though he was trapped. Everyday a white room. Silence. No hope. And one day a ringing came from outside and travelled through the house. Ken could hear people rushing upstairs. Soon the police busted down Ken's door and the young Cowmen was free. Hours had passed by as Ken waited at the police station. He had a blanket thrown over him and a small cup of water to keep him hydrated. Ken rubbed his right foot against his left ankle. Not having the shackle around his leg was an odd feeling. Ken was somewhere new. A different room. How odd. "Excuse me mind if I join you?" A tall black man asked before sitting across from him. Ken shook the man's hands. They were big. Humongous compared to Ken's. He introduced himself as Tyrone Watkins. Mr. Watkins said something about them being in a police station and, that he was a Farmer. Ken couldn't understand the words the older man was using. "Enough about me, though. Let's talk about you Ken. How old are you Ken?" Easy answer. 12. The farmer would ask a question and Ken would respond with little to no words. Ken's attention started to drift. He didn't know what the farmer was talking about. Listening to Farmer Tyrone's words, hurt Ken's head. Famer Tyrone, gently touched Ken's hand, getting his attention back. "Ken you don't have to talk if you don't want to. But I want you to know you'll be living at my place for a while." "How long?" "For as long as you want." The farmer smiled. "Will I get to go outside again?" The farmer stood up, "You'll be able to go wherever you want." --- When the car pulled up to the Watkins farm, Ken's eyes were fixated. He'd never seen a large house before. No, it was a mansion. Ken had learned that word before. But to see one up close. Wow! There was someone waiting for Ken and Farmer Tyrone. A blond man with broad shoulders. The man's name was Dan. A good name. A nice name. Ken though it suited him well. Dan offered Ken a piggyback ride. Ken didn't know what that was. He quickly learned once he was put on Dan's back. The world shifted for Ken as he rose into the air. His feet no longer cemented to the ground; He felt a rush of energy. He wanted to have more piggyback rides. "Now, we have to be careful, I am with child." Ken nodded. Dan was with him. He hoped Dan didn't want to put him down already. Farmer Tyrone and Dan talked, while Ken was carried inside. Ken learned Dan was a Cowman. Ken wished he could look more like Dan. As they walked through the mansion, Dan turned his head towards Ken and sniffed. "Hey kid, are you wearing cologne?" he whispered. The interior of the house has been so entrancing, Ken hardly registered Dan's question until he repeated it. "What's cologne?" Ken looked into Dan's eyes. Dan stared hard at Ken; his brows furrowed. When Farmer Tyrone called their attention back, Dan's eyes relaxed. "You know, I have a nephew, coming here in about a month. You'll be closer to his age then." Farmer Tyrone stepped through the wide back doors of the house. Outside the backyard was filled with endless houses and various people walking, working, and playing. Ken looked around. No one was as young as him. --- The human workers on the farm nice to Ken, always talking, and giving him food. Ken never knew how good food tasted, or maybe he never had good food. He wanted to eat all the time. And if the workers would talk to him while he ate, even better. Ken had learned new words, listening to conversations around him. He had to look them up. Dan had kindly given him a dictionary. Too bad, Dan wasn't as enthusiastic to be around Ken anymore. Enthusiastic. Enthusiastic meant having or showing intense and eager enjoyment, interest, or approval. Ken smiled to himself he had a knack for words. He smiled again. Knack. Ken thought about talking to Farmer Tyrone about it, but the Farmer was always busy. Shuffling papers, on the phone, a crowd of people asking questions, when did Farmer Tyrone sleep? Taking care of everyone was hard work. Instead, to pass the time Ken would wander around. There were hundreds of houses on the land, red ones, blue ones, big ones, and even small ones. Every color of their rainbow could be found here. Ken's house was a bluish gray one-story building with black roofing. It had a small porch with a door knock, but no one ever used it. Ken left the property of the mansion, walking out the front doors. Across the road was a small forest area that he liked to explore. None of the other Cowmen tried to stop him, so it was easy to get away. He stayed out exploring until the sun went down. No longer stuck in a single place Ken often lost himself in enjoyment. By the time he got back to the mansion, it was already nighttime. As Ken crossed the street and made his way back, he was stopped by a figure standing on the walkway leading up to the house. The person's back had an average build. He was looking upwards at the sky lost. The boy turned back and looked at Ken. Ken was in shock, who was this guy? He didn't look much older. He had dark skin and dark brown eyes caught by the porch light. Ken had gotten used to talking to the workers, but new people were still a challenge. The older boy asked a question, but Ken didn't hear it. What was it the workers always said he should do first? Introduce himself! "My name is K--Kenneth, but you can call me Ken." Ken stuck out his hand. Was he doing it right? What if the boy was another cowman that didn't like him? The older boy kindly smiled shaking Ken's hand introduced himself as Marc. Ken had a sigh of relief. That was the name of Farmer Tyrone's nephew and he was a human. No need to worry. --- Marc was fun. He let Ken play video games when they had their sleepover last night. Ken never had a sleepover before! And now Marc was taking him on a walk. Would this count as a field trip, or a hike? Ken had never done either. They stuck to the road, going the way facing traffic so they could move out of the way of oncoming cars. Along the way Ken spotted a stick. A perfect stick for hiking. As he walked, he realize it could also make a great sword. He pretended to slash at monsters in the air. Marc looked over to Ken, "Ken, do you like my uncle's farm?" "It's awesome! I can go anywhere on it." Ken couldn't help but bounce at the question. Look where he was! Where he had been. There's no way he could ever go back. Marc covered his eyes from the sun, "What do you like the most about it?" "I like not being stuck inside all the time," Ken threw his stick off into the distance. "How do you feel about Cowmen?" Was he asking about the Cowmen on the Watkins farm? They weren't mean like his previous owners, but they certainly weren't as nice as Marc, or the workers. Or was Marc asking the question in a general sense? "You were pretty sad watching everyone earlier." Marc added. "Oh, I was thinking it's nice to have friends." Friends. Ken recently learned what that word was. He'd love to have one. Then Marc said something that surprised Ken. He offered to be friends. Maybe they could both help each other get to know Cowmen on the farm. "You want to be my friend?" Ken's voice was shaking. His heart was beating rapidly. Marc looked embarrassed, "I thought we were already friends?" Ken, on the verge of tears tackled Marc in a hug, sending the larger boy and himself to the ground. The boys walked back to the farm. Ken noticed Marc's shirt had dirt from the tackle, but Marc had either not noticed or didn't care enough to mention. When the two arrived back at the mansion. There was a boy standing on the front steps. Marc began talking to him, while he stood back and watched. The mystery boy was more muscular than Marc. His skin was several shades lighter than Marc's and his hair was well groomed. Marc and the boy exchanged words. Their conversation derailed. Marc's words came out more forceful, while the new kid smugly answered back. Marc had started balling his fist. Ken had never seen anyone fight, but he got the feeling they were about to. Farmer Tyrone came out and calmed both boys down. Trevor was the name of the boy. He was a cowman and quite well developed. Ken was in awe with the size of his muscles. Too bad nothing else about Trevor interested him. The boy was mean. Later that night, laying in his makeshift bed on the floor Ken drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of his old room. His shackle snuck from under the bed and sized his leg. Ken spotted Marc outside of the window, but regardless of his shouting Marc never noticed. Ken's eyes flew open. A scream filled the air. His scream. Marc was kneeling over him. "You were having a nightmare," Marc had water in his eyes. Had he been crying? Ken didn't want to go back to the room again, he liked Marc. Would he have to leave Marc? Would Marc force him into the room? Marc grabbed Ken and lifted him up. He let Ken gently fall onto the bed. Sleep gnawed at Ken as Marc talked. Ken was relaxing as he felt the warmth of Marc's body encompass his smaller one. Ken let sleep take him once again. The next morning, Ken had raced downstairs to eat more food. Food was so good! Could there ever be enough of it? He tried to wait for Marc, but his friend was sleeping too long. Farmer Tyrone greeted Ken at the table, but the young cowman was stuffing food into his mouth. He wanted to eat more. Even more than yesterday. A news story came on. Farmer Tyrone turned the volume up. Ken didn't care since he had food, yet when he heard the screaming. His ears perked. Ken looked up from his plate. "What a tragedy," Farmer Tyrone shook his head. "What happened?" Marc appeared standing at the entry to the dining room. All three watched and listened as a voice over played, detailing the tragic events of the Howard farm. "Can a Cowman really do that? Did he really eat that guy?" Marc asked. Ken had been wondering the same thing. He'd never heard of that. If he could he a person, he could eat 20 biscuits in a row. His stomach growled and ken went back to eating his food. "That wasn't a Cowman. That was A Bullman." Farmer Tyrone's voice became hushed and harsh. He was serious, no jokes or smiles. Ken wanted to take the situation serious too. "A what?" Ken knew he didn't understand much but learned the fastest way to find out was through asking. Farmer Tyrone began to describe Bullmen. All males. Larger bodies. Better milk, that was all he grasped from the conversation around him. Also, something about them being more aggressive. Aggressive? That'd be another word too look up later. After breakfast, Ken went outside with Marc to play checkers. He had pulled the game board out from a box and was carrying pieces around in a sandwich bag. A new game! How exciting! Ken was happy Marc kindly taught him the rules. Ken never let his eyes leave Off Marc. If Marc picked up a game piece Ken would let his eyes shoot over, listen to what marc would say then drift back when Marc released the piece. The game wasn't easy. Ken lost. He lost a lot in the beginning. Something in his mind clicked. Ken moved a piece Marc didn't expect. Piece by piece Ken found himself having an easier time against Marc. He won a game. Then another. "Hey dipshits!" Trevor walked towards them, a smug smile on his face. Ken thought Marc was a nice person. He was sure Marc was a good person. Although he only knew him for a short time Ken felt safe with Marc. Ken would have to rethink that, once he saw Trevor get punched. Ken dislike that fact Marc punched Trevor. fighting wasn't a good thing. Though Trevor was rude again and again. Ken couldn't be mad when Trevor was also to blame. "You okay?" Ken wanted to talk to Marc, but the older boy brushed him off. Farmer Tyrone soon came upon Ken, with the checkerboard. Both colors of the board were lined up exactly as Marc had shown him. Farmer Tyrone asked why he was sitting all alone. Ken explained what happened. When Ken got bored of playing the game by himself, he picked it up and walked around the back. He couldn't interact, or talk to any cowmen, but sometimes watching them play soccer, tag, or baseball was fun enough. He hoped one day he'd learn how to play those games; Marc could teach him. Ken bumped into a hard body. He fell to the ground and pieces spilled from the bag. "Ah shoot! Sorry little guy," Trevor said offering a hand to Ken. When Ken took the hand, his body flew up and his feet disconnected from the ground. He wanted Trevor to do that again. "You made Marc sad!" The words rushed Ken's mouth. The moment his adrenaline died down he recalled the situation. "Look little dude." Trevor bent down and picked up the scattered pieces. "Ken!" "Okay, Ken, your friend and I-- "Marc." "MARC and I worked things out." Trevor gathered up the last of the pieces and presented them to Ken. "I'll even be your friend." "You're not lying," Ken raised an eyebrow. "Pinky promise." Trevor balled his fingers except his pinky, presenting it. Ken had no idea what Trevor was doing. What was a pinky promise? Trevor eyed his hand suspiciously. "This is how it goes in the movies. I know I haven't seen that many...is this wrong?" "I've never seen a movie," Ken shared. "Ah," Trevor had Ken make a fist. Ken's pinky was uncurled and crossed with Trevor's. Trevor then bounced their hands twice before breaking their link. Ken smiled. So that was pinky promise. "That guy-- I mean Marc is probably going to want his stuff back. I just left him under a tree, but I don't know if he's still there." "That's okay. I'll wait for him back at his room." Ken grabbed the pieces from Trevor and took off. --- FUBAR that was a word Ken had recently learned. No, not a word, an acronym. Though it was a word too an adjective to be precise. Ken was sparring in his bedroom with his new punching bag, courtesy of a newly shifted Trevor. Marc was in the middle of the room playing video games. He was so cute sitting in the beanbag chair. They were boyfriends. He couldn't believe Marc had mustered the courage to do that. Ken was worried Trevor's shift had destroyed all of Marc's interest in Cowmen. Ken continued to punch away delivering blows in rapid succession. A fiery pang rang through his body. "H-Hey, Marc," Ken's voice wavered. "One minute, I'm about to beat this level. Wait till I get game over. Then I'll do whatever you want." Marc answered. Ken felt the sensation disappear and returned to punching. As he continued, his mind entered a haze. The world was slowing down, but Ken could move at regular speed. He deliver each blow to the punching bag harder and harder. Ken's body was heating up. He heard a voice cry out to him, he couldn't make out the words, sound was muffled. As Ken's body heated, sweat poured down from him. He was overcome with a burning sensation. His body was too small. His skin felt constricting. Ken needed to be free of it! He had to break free, but how. One word popped into his head. GROW. The need to expand cried out all over his body from his chest outwards. His soul was demanding a change. His pecs pushed out and his shoulder and arms developed to keep up. Ken's black shirt, given to him by Marc ripped. Shit. Ken was devastated, but the pleasure he was experiencing was too much to react. Veins writhed and twitched all over his body carrying nutrients to every muscle. The euphoria found its way into Ken's legs they throbbed thicker and tougher. His gym shorts fell to the ground destroyed. Ken's feet were not to be outdone. The bindings of the laces were tougher, but toes pushed out unable to be held anymore. Ken had overwhelming energy building up inside him along with his growth. He tried to release it through the punching bag, but it wasn't enough. He roared as the energy inside him overflowed. He sent the punching bag crashing against the wall. Now only in his underwear he faced Marc. "Game Over, Marc." Ken let the words hit the air and settle into Marc's core. He snatched away Marc's controller. Then made him get on the bed. Ken's body pulsed, his cock and ass ruined the cotton fabric of his underwear. Fully nude, Ken crawled on to the bed. He positioned his body over Marc. Body heat from Ken assaulted Marc. Ken watched as something in Marc's eyes became less resistant and more submissive. "Let's do this!" Marc said. Ken felt the last of his resistance, if he had any, dissipate. Ken tore through Marc's clothes then pressed their mouths together in a lustful kiss. He wasn't even going to give Marc the time to breathe. Ken broke the kiss and ran his chest over Marc's face. He let Marc have a good time in the valley of his pecs. Each pectoral grew against Marc's face, the valley became deeper and Marc's head sunk further. One thought rang through Ken's mind: To dominate. He pulled Marc over to a nipple and the boy sucked eagerly. Damn it was good. No matter how greedily Marc sucked no milk came out. Ken shifted him to the other nipple Marc worked that one over strongly. With each suck, tease, bite and lick Ken felt his pec grow. Marc was working hard to get Ken's milk out; nothing came. Ken cursed to himself where the hell was his milk? Ken's growth was lengthening his hair. He had to constantly push it up to prevent it from falling in his eyes. An idea came into ken's head. If his chest wouldn't give milk, there was one place he could rely on. Ken presented his cock to Marc, and his boyfriend began to nurse on it. The cock was shoved in further multiple times opening Marc's throat. Ken pulled out hearing Marc audibly gag. Man that felt good! Ken briefly wonder why it was good to hear that, but that thought was soon squashed. Ken rested his fat cock on Marc's face. His creamy white skin against Marc's unblemished black one. The heat of Ken's cock and balls radiated onto Marc's face. Marc's breath tickled the underside of Ken's balls. Ken found himself dripping cum on Marc's forehead. Did his boyfriend even notice? Ken said something to Marc. But what was it? He was in control, so in control Marc was folding to his will. It felt right. But was this who Ken truly was? Slapping his cock on Marc's face caused the precum on his forehead to go flying off in various directions. "You hear that? That's what a man's cock sounds like." He slammed his cock again, "Fucking meaty." The words `dominate' and `grow' sounded through Ken's head. He couldn't form a cohesive thought. He had some back and forth with Marc, but what finally sent him over the edge was trying to get into Marc's ass. He lubed up the tight ring, then let his cock tease the outside till, his cock snuck on through. Ken impaled Marc on his cock and fully fucked him. Ken plowed harder when his cock grew inside Marc. He wanted to make sure it returned to the hilt. Ken continued to grow, his body became all encompassing, overshadowing Marc's body. He fought the urge to unload his seed deep in Marc and pulled out coating the boy. His huge body crashed onto Marc after his load was spent. "I'm glad you're back to normal." Marc said relived "That was just round one, we can't end it there." Ken said regaining his composure. From there the night was continuous sex and sexual acts. Ken pinned Marc all over the room, multiple times in various positions. Ken was the first to wake up the next morning. He felt refreshed and energized he smiled. He looked at his hands, his chest, and legs. Something was wrong his body was weird. He had to tell Marc he started to get up, but he noticed the boy was lying next to him in the bed. He had remembered everything. His shift had been amazing no one had ever described it like that. Ken was so excited to get Marc to see his new body. He shook Marc, but the boy didn't wake up. Marc didn't make any movement at all. Ken tried it again, and Marc mumbled something in pain. A wave of relief washed over Ken. He needed to find some humans to check on Marc. No, he had to get Farmer Tyrone for this! Ken grabbed pants and underwear that barely fit and forced them on. Before he could leave the room, Ken's body shook with one last wave of growth. A minuscule one, but enough to destroy the clothes he had chosen. --- Later that day, Ken relaxed in his living room. Marc had woken up twice. The doctor said he needed rest, but was that all he needed? That morning Ken had been scared Marc would never wake up again. Ayden, Sheila, Dru and Lyla were all waiting with him. They were ogling over Ken's new body, but they were also trying to distract themselves from Marc's situation. And there was a lot more Ken to lose themselves in. The door flung open; Trevor stormed inside. Ken watched Trevor's eyes zoom in on him. "What did you do to him?" Trevor shouted. Dru stood up making light of the situation, "Marc had such a wild night he needed twice the beauty sleep." Trevor's expression didn't soften. Ken sighed and stood up. Trevor was surprised to have to look up at his roommate. "It was an accident." "You could have killed him." Xander came into the house, out of breath, "Dude, I said slowdown." "But he's fine." Ken replied. "What if he wasn't?" Ken was offended. He'd never hurt Marc on purpose. Marc had taught him the joys of having a friend. He'd never forsake the person that solidified the reason he never wanted to go back to his old room. "Is it me, or did it get extremely uncomfortable in here?" Dru squeaked. --- Pain rocked Ken's face. He wondered if Trevor held back. He didn't see any bruises, or cuts so it was possible. Ken was in the mansion of the Watkins farm. He had slept on the second floor in one of the many rooms. He headed towards the stairs when he saw Trevor exit a room. The boys didn't exchange any words. They marched to the dining room. They joined Farmer Tyrone for breakfast. When Farmer Tyrone spoke, the young men held their breath. "Boys, I consider myself very lenient, but this is not okay. I gave you enough time to cool off. Why were you fighting yesterday?" Ken eyes went to Trevor. Their eyes met. Ken searched his brain for an answer but found none, no matter how hard he shuffled through it. Trevor had doubted him. Agitated and enraged was primarily what Ken could remember feeling. In hindsight, Ken didn't know why he got so angry. It didn't seem like him. But Ken knew he wanted to throw that first punch. He had wanted to hurt Trevor. He never felt more alive than when Trevor retuned the blows. Why? Ken had never fought with anyone. Why did it feel so invigorating to deck Trevor? Yet the energy, that emotion was completely gone from Ken. The fiasco yesterday played in his head like a movie, and Ken watched someone with his face play the part. It was oddly akin to his shift, though he had a stronger sense of self when that happened. "How about you two make up now?" Farmer Tyrone rubbed his temple, stressed and tired. Trevor crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. He wasn't going to apologize first. Fair enough. Ken had thrown the first punch. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me." Trevor sighed, rolling his eyes, and uncrossing his arms. "Yeah, I'm sorry too," he muttered. "Trevor." Farmer Tyrone's voice caused both boys to flinch in their seats. Trevor huffed. "Okay, Okay! I don't know why I hit you yesterday, I mean I was defending myself at first, but I got a little to into it. It felt like my fighting days... I'm sorry." He thought Trevor hated his fighting days. "You boys can go," Farmer Tyrone said standing up," I have to figure out how to explain yesterday's events to my sister." A conversation he didn't look pleased to have. "Can we go see Marc?" Trevor asked. "Sure, sure" Farmer Tyrone waved them off, and pulled out his phone. Trevor took off. "Ken, one moment." Farmer Tyrone walked closer, "I'm sure you understand what happened yesterday can't happen again. Don't do anything I need to watch out for." Ken nodded. He heard the phone ring and a woman's voice answer. Ken fled. He ran to the backyard to find Trevor standing there. "Were you waiting for me?" Trevor scoffed. "No, I needed a moment to tie my shoes, but since you're here, want to head over together, little dude?" "I'm taller than you now." "Not by much. You coming, or what?" Trevor said walking off. "Race ya!" Ken ran by, with Trevor chasing after him.