Side Effects

Disclaimer: All individuals in this story are eighteen or older. The author does not condone sexual acts with non-consenting participants. The author does condone consenting adults doing basically whatever they want to each other in the privacy of their own home. Please enjoy. Constructive feedback is appreciated.

Splicing was just a fact of modern life these days. In the early days splicing was something edgy and bizarre, the exclusive to the wealthy and eccentric. Now it was as routine as tattoos and body piercings.

Most mutagens fell into two categories, corrective and cosmetic. Corrective fixed genetic deficiencies, such as nearsightedness or less than stellar intelligence. These were simple, practical, and popular. Cosmetic were equally popular. They altered everything from eye color to muscle mass to breast size. You could dose yourself with a mutagen to swap genders if you were so inclined.

There were even mutagens that allowed a person to take on animal traits, spliced from the species of choice. The sky was the limit as far as splicing was concerned. Entire industries grew up around the practice, completely changing society and our sense of identity as a species.

I wanted something simple. Bigger breasts. Simple and shallow I know, but I was never satisfied with my modest bustline and I caught my husband discreetly observing the more massive mammaries of other women, natural or otherwise. Breast enhancing mutagens were the most popular on the market, even more popular than the IQ boosters. Go figure.

I was stoked when my dose arrived in the mail. They were still pretty expensive, but I managed to find a distributer that was selling them at a discount. The adds said they should kick in quickly, with noticable results overnight. This was my first attempt at splicing, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. The packaging included a bright red label that read, “Warning: Splicing results in permanent modification of base genetic structure. Splicing is permanent. Splice at your own risk.”

I swabbed my arm and gently pushed the needle in. The injection burned at first, then started to tingle, starting at my arm, then running through my entire body, especially my breasts. I took it as a good sign. My appetite went through the roof within a few hours, although for some reason I craved salad. I ate everything green in the house and them some, going as far as to run to the grocery store to pick up a bunch of ready made salads.

Once I was finally sated, I grew incredibly sleepy. Which was weird, since it was like eight o’clock. I nearly passed out at the kitchen table, but I had the presence of mind to drag my ass into the bedroom before collapsing fully clothed onto the bed. I slept deeply and well, dreaming of sunny fields and the smell of grass.

A painful sensation in my chest woke me. “Hey babe. You feeling ok?” my husband asked. “You were asleep when I got home.”

“Give me a minute,” I muttered, my sleepy brain processing the source of my discomfort. My bra felt like it was about ten sizes too small. I reached back and unclasped the strained elastic, freeing my much more bountiful breasts from their underwired prison.

“Damn Molly. Is it just me, or did you get a little…bigger?” Sam asked me, staring down my new and impressive expanse of cleavage.

“You like?” I asked coyly, shaking my heavy tits back and forth for effect.

“Fuck yes.”

I yanked my blouse up over my head, exposing my new breasts for the first time. Not only were they bigger, so much bigger, but my nipples seemed thicker, fatter, and longer too. There were darker too, the dark pink in stark contrast to my alabaster titflesh. I climbed on top of my very happy, very horny husband, brushing my nipples over his face. I gasped as he caught one between his lips, teasing the tip with his tongue.

“Pants. Off. Now!” I demanded.

I pulled of my capris and panties and he did the same with his boxers. I impaled myself on his cock, fuck foreplay. I ran my hands over my massive tits, sighing with satisfaction as I kneaded them, rolling my thick nipples between my fingers.

“Moo,” I moaned. “Don’t hold back baby. Fill me up. Moo!”

I came just before he did, my pussy squeezing the cum out of my husbands pulsating cock. I had no idea what came over me. The unbridled lust, the bizarre noises, the desire for Sam’s sperm. Not that we had a vanilla sex life or anything, but this was the most intense, animal-like sexual encounter we’d ever had.

“Holy shit Molly,” Sam exclaimed. “Where did that come from?”

“Must be a side effect,” I said dreamily. I’d been fucked sleepy again. “Could you run to the store and get some more lettuce? I’m gonna take a quick nap.”

“Uh, sure. Enjoy your beauty sleep,” Sam muttered, sounding a little confused.

“Moo. Thanks babe.”

I woke up late in the day, pleased to discover my new breasts were still there and still looked fantastic. I threw a t-shirt on over them. I didn’t own a bra that could possibly contain them, so I didn’t bother. It was a little uncomfortable. The skin over my ribs, just under my breasts was kind of itchy and the fabric chafed my nipples. I frowned when I noticed my nails. They were thicker and darker than usual, looking kind of like claws, only with dull tips.

Sam was at work, so I was left to my own devices. I took a week off to accommodate my genetic upgrade, so I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. I was starving, but fortunately Sam was sweet enough to remember to grab a head of lettuce. I managed to wash it before resorting to tearing leaves straight off the head and eating them as is.

As I munched on the lettuce, I noticed something odd about my hands and arms. My skin was discolored, with large dark patches of skin emerging in random spots along my arms. My legs had the same spots as well, although my midriff was clear. I checked myself out in the mirror. My face had the same freaking spots, with one large one forming over the left side of my face and over my eye.

“What the fuck?” I asked no one in particular.

I called the manufacturer immediately, angrily chewing on lettuce while I waited on hold. And waited. And waited. And waited. I was on hold for so long I was starting to get a headache, although it seemed to radiate from two points on the top of my scalp. I felt for them, which was weirdly difficult as my fingers were getting kind of stiff, feeling a pair of identical bumps just under my hairline.

To make matters worse, none of my shoes fit anymore. Not only did my toenails take on the same weird tough, dark thickness of my fingernails, it was as though I’d gone up several shoe sizes. My feet were just way too long to fit into my sneakers. Which sucked because I really wanted some more lettuce.

“Hey Molly, how was your what the hell happened to you?” Sam asked as the caught sight of me.

“Moo. I think I may have gotten a bad batch,” I said irritably.

The drive to the doctor was extremely uncomfortable, mainly because sitting down put this weird pressure on my lower spine that I couldn’t identify, right on my tailbone. The nurse put me through the usual tests, taking my temperature, checking my blood pressure, etc. The doctor came in a few minutes later.

“So, it looks like your mutagen is progressing along as expected, although there seems to be some oversight here. There isn’t any record of you at any of the local dairies,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“No worries, I’ll just scan your chip and pull up your records. Are you her handler?” the doctor asked my husband.

“I’m her husband,” Sam said, not sure whether to be offended on my behalf.

“Her husband. Really? Don’t see many married cowgirls,” the doctor relied.

“Cowgirl?” I asked.

“Yes. According to your genetic profile, you’ve been administered with the bovine mutagen within the last twenty-four hours. It takes about a five days for the psychological and physiological changes to complete, although as you can see they’ve already begun. You should begin production within the next two days,” he explained.

“Production of what?” I demanded.

He looked at me like I was a moron. “Of milk. Did you not read your contract?” he asked.

“What contract? She took a breast enhancement mutagen,” Sam insisted.

The doctor blanched. “Oh dear. That is unfortunate.”

“What is happening to me?” I demanded.

“Well, it seems as though you’ve stumbled across one vial from a lot of bovine mutagen that was reported missing a few weeks ago. This mutagen is very potent, very strictly regulated. It is a speciating mutagen, resulting in a fundamental change in the genetic and physical makeup of the subject it is administered to,” he explained.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“It means that you are transforming into what is colloquially known as a cowgirl, a genetically engineered hybrid designed for maximized milk production.”

“I’m turning into a farm animal?” I whimpered.

“You’ll still retain your human intellect, for the most part. However, the changes to your body and behavior will render you unsuitable for life as you know it. Your best bet is to register with one of the local dairies, where they have the facilities and equipment to accommodate your needs,” the doctor said sympathetically.

“No way. I’m not taking my wife to some place where she’ll be treated like livestock,” Sam said angrily.

“That is your prerogative.”

The drive home was uncomfortable, and not just because of the tail that was starting to grow out of my backside. Yeah, turns out that pressure in my tailbone was in fact a tail.

“We’ll get through this,” Sam insisted.

“Look at me Sam. Moo. It’s only going to get worse,” I moaned.

“I’ve seen cowgirls before. They’re actually pretty sexy,” my husband said encouragingly.

“Really?” I was grasping at straws here.

“Totally. A buddy of mine actually dated one in college.”

“Were they able to, you know?” I asked. Despite the stress of this mind-blowing revelation, I was still weirdly horny. Another side effect I guess.

“That was basically all they did. Apparently when a cowgirl goes into heat, she can’t get enough,” Sam explained.

“Moo,” I nodded. “I guess we’ll just see where it goes.”

I was exhausted when we made it home. Sam was already at work by the time I woke up the next day. He left a ton of salad in the fridge, along with an encouraging note. “Love you, no matter what. Sam,” it said.

Last night’s changes promised to test that claim. A second pair of breasts were swelling up under my original pair. “Udders,” I corrected myself. “They’re not breasts. They’re udders.” The dull ache inside all four of them reminded me that I would start producing a fuck ton of milk soon, and my hands no longer possessed the dexterity to extract it effectively.

The changes didn’t stop there. My skin, save for my face, chest, stomach, and inner thighs was coated in a fine layer of soft black and white hairs. My horns stuck out of my hair, the white tips barely visible above my bangs. My nails were growing up into my fingers, the nail beds extending past the first knuckles. My toenails were fusing together, my big toes and index toes fusing together, leaving a clean split for the other toes on each foot to fuse as well. I was still able to balance upright on my half hooves, half feet, even though my heels no longer made contact with the ground.

The tail, that was something else altogether. It moved, on its own when I didn’t think about it, but when I focused I discovered I could control it. It was kind of fun. The hair on the tip matched the blonde hair on my head instead of the fur that covered my body. It actually liked it.

I ate, napped, ate, napped. I tore through all the lettuce, but discovered something wonderful smelling in the backyard. Good thing we had a privacy fence. There wasn’t a shirt that could fit my four massive udders and my tail precluded wearing pants. I stepped outside naked, happy to discover that the wonderful smell was our lush, abundant lawn. I dropped down on all fours and munched away, mooing happily.

I was still outside when Sam got home. I was facing away from him, so the first thing he must have seen when he found me was my furry ass, my pussy lips obscured only by my tail swaying back and forth.

“Hey there beautiful,” he said sweetly.

I didn’t feel beautiful. For the first time all day, I remembered my sense of shame. I felt like a freak. “I’m a cow,” I groaned.

“You’re a beautiful cow,” Sam insisted.

That’s all it took. His words soothed me. We were married long enough for me to tell when he was lying. He wasn’t.

“Moo. I need you,” I whispered.

He unbuckled his belt and let his pants and underwear slide down to the ground. He was already hard. I felt the familiar pressure as he pushed into me. I was wet, so wet, but just as tight as every. My cunt was still fully human it seemed.

“Moo! Fuck moo! Fuck your cow!” I cried.

The need overtook me again. That deep, devastating need for him to fill me up, make me swell with his sperm, breed me. Holy shit, where did that come from?

“Moo!” I screamed as we came.

I followed him inside, walking on all fours. I could still stand upright if I were so inclined, but this was more comfortable. I crawled into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I woke up the next day, I discovered I could hear things more clearly if I flexed something in my head. A glance in the mirror confirmed that my ears were large and floppy now, and could twitch and change direction at will. My horns were quite prominent now, jutting out proudly from my golden locks. My fur was thicker, obscuring my skin altogether, save for the bare human skin that ran from my face to my nether regions.

My nose had changed too. It was broader and wider, black and textured at the tip and nostrils. I imagined a large ring through my septum wouldn’t look out of place. My hands were now marginally functional as hands, the thick hoof-like nails rendering my fingers into stiff, hard, thick digits. My feet were fully bovine now, a pair of large hooves encasing my former toes.

My tail cheered me up. I discovered I could swat my back and sides with it. Convenient if I got an itch there. It made the bathroom situation complicated though. It made sitting on the toilet a virtual impossibility. I tried to find a comfortable way to hover pee, but it just wasn’t working out. I ignored nature’s call for the moment, deciding to head outside for breakfast instead.

I grazed happily, though the pressure in my udders was getting to me. Farmer Sam needed to get his ass home quickly so he could milk his cowgirl. My lower udders were almost as large as my uppers, and my teats were even longer and thicker, easily over an inch long. I could see white liquid dripping from the tips, begging to be coaxed out by a pair of skilled hands.

That wasn’t the only pressure bothering me either. I still needed to pee. And then, I didn’t. I couldn’t recall deciding it was a good idea to pee in the backyard. I just went. Clearly the bovine DNA was affecting my brain as well as my body.

I fell asleep again, waking long enough to spit out a few of my teeth in the bathroom sink. My canines were gone, but I could already see a new set of molars emerging from my gums. I was officially a herbivore. Unfortunately all the roughage I was eating was catching up with me and my toilet issues hadn’t changed. I went outside. I wasn’t proud of it, but I was a farm animal. Sam would understand. He always did.

I heard the door open. “Hey Molly,” Same said with a grin. “How’s my girl?”

The tension in my udders was growing unbearable. I felt like I might burst. “Moo! I need you to milk moo,” I explained desperately.

“Yeah, of course. No problem,” Sam said, running to the kitchen to grab a bucket. I stood next to the easy chair in the living room on all fours, giving him easy access to my engorged udders. He placed he bucket under me, then took the two closest teats in his hands and began to squeeze.

Instant relief. I could hear the milk spray forcefully into the plastic bucket. “Moo. Thank you,” I cooed. He continued tugging away, methodically draining the milk. When the flow slowed he switched sides, working on the opposite pair. The stimulation, the scent of dairy was incredibly arousing. My tail twitched in anticipation. As soon as he was done milking me, I wanted him to mount and breed me.

Sam obliged, although his cock, while stimulating, was strangely unsatisfying. It was like masturbating, which I had done at length throughout the day. Pleasurable, but not quite the same. He gave a good effort, fucking his cowgirl like his life depended on it until he exploded inside me.

The rest of the changes were minor. My horns finished growing, my new teeth came in, my fur reached full length. The final touches on my transition from woman to cow were complete. We fell into an easy, comfortable, hedonistic rhytym, which consisted of eating, milking, fucking, and sleeping. For a month this went on, and for a while it seemed to be working.

Sam got me an series of milk pumps to take the edge off while he was at work. They filled way too quickly, but they worked in a pinch. My stomachs, plural apparently, were surprisingly efficient, so I only didn’t produce too much solid waste, and what droppings I left composted easily. Sam also went out of his way to bathe and brush me, keeping my fur soft and clean.

But it wasn’t perfect, that the flaws were becoming more glaring each day. Our yard wasn’t big enough to keep me fed without destroying it, so we spent a small fortune on lettuce. My milk production exceeded a gallon a day, outpacing the wholly inadequate milk pumps. Sam was in danger of getting carpel tunnel from milking me by hand for hours on end.

All these things we might have managed. But then I went into heat. And all sense, all reason went out the window. I needed to fuck, I needed to be fucked properly, I needed to bred, to have a little cowgirl growing inside me. My husband, as much as I loved him, wasn’t enough, I needed a cowboy’s, a bull’s cock inside me, filling me up with his seed.

“Moo,” I cried while Sam fucked me furiously. “I’m so sorry baby. It just isn’t enough. I’m so horny, I can’t stand it.”

“I understand,” he said wistfully, slowing his pace. He was still inside me, which felt so good, I wished it was enough, I wanted it to be enough so badly. “I’ll take you in to Swanson’s Dairy tomorrow. They’ll give you what you need there.”

“Moo. I’m so sorry Sam. I tried to be a good wife,” I cried.

“I know.”

I knew the implications of what would follow, what the next day would bring. That life as Iknew it was already over it. But there was still something I could do for both of us. I pulled away from Sam, beckoning for him to follow me inside. I climbed onto the bed and laid on my back, spreading my legs wide for him.

“Make love to me Sam. Let me be your wife one last time,” I said lovingly.

“Anything for you Molly.”

I mooed as he entered me. He kissed me passionately. We hadn’t made love like this in weeks. For a little while, I felt human again. I died a little when I felt him spasm inside me. I still couldn’t cum, but I didn’t care. The feeling of him resting his head against my chest, whispering that he loved me was all I needed.

The next day I was at Swanson’s Dairy, being inspected by my new handler. He checked my mouth, my udders, my cunt, everything the looked for in a healthy cowgirl. Sam watched him handle me dispassionately. I was finally out of heat, but the problem would only return again in a month. This was the right call.

The tag pinched as my handler punched it through my ear. It was like a giant yellow earring. I felt a pinch in my ass cheek as he injected me with my RFID chip. Last but not least was the brand. Strictly unnecessary, more of a tradition than anything else. He was kind enough to numb the area first, but the scent of burnt hair and flesh was one I would not forget. I was part of the herd now.

The other cowgirls were so sweet, showing me around, making me feel welcome. It was like having a brand new family. As the weeks passed, I settled into a familiar rhythm. Industrial grade milking machines replaced Sam’s strong hands, extracting my milk with intense but pleasurable efficiency. Some of the other cowgirls got a good fucking during their milkings, sometimes by a handler, sometimes by a cowboy. Even the ones that were heavily pregnant already.

Strangely, they left me alone. I was just as hot, horny, and naked as the other cowgirls. None of the males, regardless of species, asked a cowgirl’s opinion regarding sex. They just mounted at will. Consent was implicit when you were a cowgirl.

Then the day came. I woke up worked up, absolutely out of control horny. I mooed insistently during my morning milking, desperate for a little relief.

“Moo! Someone, anyone, please fuck me!” I screamed.

“Well, if you insist,” a familiar voice said warmly.

“Sam?” I asked, turning to face him.

It was Sam, or should I say Sam 2.0. Everything from the horns on his head, his muscular fur lined arms, and his massive bullish dick screamed that he was one hundred percent, grade A cowboy.

“Moo,” I said, unable to find the words.

“Moo,” he replied. “I’d do anything for you.”

He mounted me without another word, pumping in and out, in and out. I screamed in pleasure, the rest of the herd watching my husband turned mate impregnate. I came so fucking hard when he spurted inside me. Milk sprayed from all four of my teats. His cum leaked out of my lips before he could even withdraw. I felt like he’d shot a whole litter inside me, and I couldn’t have been more satisfied. He stayed inside me, I’m not sure for how long. I felt whole, complete.

Nine months later I watched Sam mount one of the newer members of the herd. I stroked me swollen belly tenderly as I witnessed him fuck a little cow inside my new friend. Sam knocked up a few cowgirls across the herd, but he saved the bulk of his time, attention, and copious libido for yours truly. I couldn’t wait to give birth, both so I could meet my new daughter and so I could kick off the whole exhilarating process all over again. My humanity was at an end, but in a way, my life had truly just begun.

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