Toon Jooce: Now in Cow!

A couple try out a cow-themed toon transformation drink pulled off the shelves for being a little too potent. Explicit.

The can of Toon Jooce looked exactly like it had in the commercials: flat, bounded by an outline, and subtly unsteady, like some cosmic animator had rotoscoped itinto Andrew’s hand. He could feel its roundness but the only visual cues distinguishing it from a cardboard cutout were the soft-shaded shadows beneath his fingers. The black-and-white cow-print pattern on the label didn’t even move if he turned the can from side to side.

Miranda stood at the foot of the bed, a smile on her lips and an eager gleam behind her glasses. She lifted her eyebrows expectantly when he looked back up at her. “Well?” she asked.

“Weren’t these like, pulled off the shelves?” he asked.

Of course he’d been interested when Toon Jooce came out, billed as the first commercially-available toon transformation drinkable. The inherent volatility of toon matter made it difficult to provide the kind of safe, reversible changes most consumer-grade transformation triggers offered. It had only been on the market for two weeks before a few high-profile cases of unintentional permanence had forced the manufacturer to recall the entire stock.

Miranda just shrugged. “The gas station I bought it from must not have heard the news. But I know you’ve got a thing for cow girls…” She plucked the can from Andrew’s hand and held it between two of her fingers. “So when I saw this on the shelf, it made me think of you.”

It was hard for Andrew to say no to the idea of fooling around with a bouncy cartoon cow-girl version of his girlfriend, but the knot of anxiety deep in his belly made it almost as hard to say yes. “That’s super cool of you, it’s just…you know people have gotten stuck using that stuff, right?”

Miranda sat down on the side of the bed and wrapped an arm around his back to reassure him. “I saw those stories too—it only happened because they got too into it. As long as I keep cool and don’t lose my head, I’ll be fine.” She leaned against him and lowered her voice to a playfully conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I’m not doing this just for you.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll make sure you don’t get too crazy, all right?”

Miranda smiled. “Deal.” Taking the can with her, she hopped off the bed and found a spot on the floor with plenty of open space on all sides. “Got your lasso ready, cowboy?”

Andrew shared a mutual snicker with her as he scooted up to the edge of the bed. He had some idea of what to expect thanks to videos online, but had never seen it this up close and personal.

With a dramatic gesture, Miranda popped open the tab on the Toon Jooce. A few black-and-white toon bubbles fizzled up into the air and poped. Under her breath she counted down, “Three, two, one,” then lifted the can to her lips and tipped her head back in one smooth motion, drinking it all down in several big gulps.

After she swallowed, there was a moment of silence, heavy with expectation. Miranda gave the can a thoughtful look. “Hmm,” she mused, “pretty good, actually. Kinda like caramel cream, but more cream—mmmrrp!” Mid-sentence, a deep burp rumbled its way up her throat. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound, but only succeeded in redirecting the pressure. With an exaggerated thwump like the sound of a foley artist punching a big soft pillow, her chest surged outward so quickly that it split the front of her shirt clean open. Taut, tawny-yellow cartoon muscle thrust itself outward in two jutting swells, shoving her nipples, now thick and glossy green, down and to either side. Despite their jiggling roundness, they were decidedly no longer breasts. They were pecs.

“Wow!” gasped Miranda. Her voice came out deep and rumbling and almost fake, like a recording with its pitch cranked way down. One by one, abdominal muscles packed themselves in along her front, snaking from left to right and back again as they trailed down toward her waist. Then, with an audible throb, the obscene shape of a bovine shaft and balls bulged against the front of her pants.

Throb. The shaft swelled bigger still: at least as thick around as the can of Toon Jooce still in her hand, and twice as tall. Throb. Her new cock split through her jeans, rising stiffly until it stuck out more than a foot and a half in front of her.

Miranda grasped the base of her penis tightly, trying to rein it in like lassoing a recalcitrant steer. “I thought this Jooce was cow flavored, not bull flavored,” she huffed in her deep, handsome voice.

Andrew wasn’t quite as shocked, though it still took him off guard. With a sheepish grin, he explained, “Oh, yeah. The flavors are just species. It’s not like cow girl flavor, it’s just…whatever the toon-stuff latches onto.” After a moment, he added, “If you want to stop now it’s totally cool.”

Miranda glanced up from the over-eager cock she was trying to wrangle with a cocky snort. “I mean, I’m having fun—do you want to stop?” she asked.

Andrew could have come up with a hundred excuses to hesitate, but couldn’t will himself to say a single one. This wasn’t what he was expecting, but if Miranda was up for it...

“No, I don’t,” he said.

“Then what am I waiting around for!?” Miranda bellowed. She grasped the torn halves of her shirt and ripped them clear off her shoulders. Thick muscle bulged outward and chunky toon outlines hugged each rippling curve. Impossibly smooth green fur covered his shoulders and biceps, except where a little tuft stuck out to give it texture, like at the tips of her elbows and just below her wrists.

Guttural grunts sounded from deep in her throat as her cheeks and chin bulged with bullish bulk. A wide snout sprouted from the front of her face and wobbled up and down until it came to rest, followed by a pair of elongated ears poking from either side of her head. Long horns burst from her forehead, tossing her hair up into the air. When it flopped back down over her face, it was long and shaggy enough to cover her eyes completely and brush along the bridge of her snout.

“Woah, nelly!” the cartoon bull grunted, clasping both hands tight around his cock in an attempt to stall his orgasm short. The shaft swelled behind his fists like a stopped-up hose. He couldn’t prevent a few thick spurts of precum from splashing across the floor and bed, but after several seconds of heavy pulsing, the pressure subsided, and he could heave a sigh of relief.

One hoof-hand on hsi hip and still holding his cock steady with the other, he said, “Howdy, partner. Name’s Randy Rawhide,” in a charmingly coarse drawl. Then, in a softer and subtly less-masculine voice, he asked, “So, what do you think?”

Andrew wasn’t sure he was thinking right now. Randy didn’t even look fully real any more, as if he’d been drawn in on top of reality. Watching him shed the last bits of his clothes was like trying to make sense of an optical illusion. The one thing he could say for sure was, “That was really hot.” He’d meant to say it more eloquently, but most of his mental bandwidth was occupied with processing the fact that Miranda was now Randy.

“You’re tellin’ me. Look at this dang thing.” A light push from Randy’s hand sent his cock swinging from side to side, like a beam of timber hanging from a crane and swaying in the breeze.

Andrew had to actively avert his gaze in order to look his girlfriend—boyfriend? Bothfriend?—in the eyes. Or rather, where his eyes would be, behind the rougishly touseled green bangs. “You’re still, y’know, ‘doing all right’ in there, right?” he asked, regaining some tact now that the immediate shock was wearing off.

“I’m more pent up than a stallion in a speedo, but ‘sides that I’m doin’ great,” the bull said with a big bright cartoon grin. Then he cleared his throat and spoke more delicately. His voice still sounded deeper and broader than usual, but with careful enunciation he could approximate a big, hunky bull-man doing an impression of Miranda’s voice. “Seriously, I’m fine. I can try talking more normal if you prefer, but I reckon you’re enjoying it, ain’t ya?”

In spite of his blush, Andrew grinned and chuckled. “Ah, heh, yeah I am... So, anything ‘special’ you want to do now that you’re all changed? I’m up for whatever, but I know it’s probably a big difference so if you want to take it slow...”

“Hoo, baby. Big is right,” Randy said as Andrew trailed off. “Gotta say, the most pressin’ issue right now is this.” He tipped his cock in Andrew’s direction and pushed his hips forward for emphasis, eliciting a small spurt of cartoony fluid from its tip. The droplets glistened neatly as they fell through the air, retaining their thick toon outline even when splattered across the floor. There was plenty more where that came from, if the stock pulsing and sloshing sound effects emanating from his groin was any indication. “Ever milked a bull before?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Andrew began, then flashed Randy a smile as he got up from the bed and stepped closer. “But I think I get the gist of it…”

Andrew’s confidence now had to contend with the sheer size of Randy’s erection. What would have been a couple of inches of back-and-forth motion on a more normal-sized partner was now over a foot of stroking. It was much too thick to use just one of hands, and was still unwieldy even with two. To get a proper grip, he had to put his arms into it as well, and to top it all off, the cartoon bull cock seemed to have a mind of its own. It bucked against Andrew’s hand, throbbed as if trying to fight his grip, and shoved him around if he didn’t keep his feet planted firmly on the floor.

Randy let out a sharp snort, one that lingered in the air like a puff of cartoon dust. “Sorry, kid. Ridin’ bulls ain’t easy, that’s why rodeos is a thing.”

Despite the bucking and heaving of Randy’s animated cock, Andrew managed to maintain his grip on it from underneath, though it had only been a short while and his arms and shoulders were already aching from the effort of giving an oversized hand-job.

Randy’s chest rose and feel with the squeaky squeal of rubbing two balloons together: his oversized pecs, squishing and stretching against one another as he took deep, steadying breaths. “It ain’t…quite as sss-sensitive as yours, so you…gotta…” he squeezed through his teeth. As he lapsed into a deep lowing groan, several pumps of toon precum shot from the tip of his shaft and slapped onto the floor behind Andrew’s back.

“‘Got to do some heavy lifting’?” Andrew quipped back between his own deep breaths. In any other situation, he would have already collapsed into an exhausted heap. But he was horny, dizzy with adrenaline, and spurred on by the urge to prove that he could keep up with Randy, and that kept him going even in spite of his aching arms.

Randy raised a hand above his head to brace himself against the ceiling. Without any walls nearby, it was the sturdiest thing he could grab hold of. “Gaw-damn,” he grunted.

Although hidden behind his overgrown hair, Randy’s eyes spun in opposite directions, rings of color dancing like hula hoops around his pupils. Several wordless groans made it out of his slack-jawed mouth, culminating in one that grew into a loud, “Mooo-ooo!” that reverberated inside Andrew’s lungs and made the windows shudder in their panes.

Then came the cartoon cum.

Andrew’s arms and hands were still wrapped tight around the shaft, so he could feel each pulse of seed building up as pressure against his shoulder, each throb threatening to pry his hands free entirely. Randy’s cock jerked Andrew forward, then lifted him fully off the ground. By rodeo standards, Andrew held his own pretty well, even if he was finally thrown free around seven or eight seconds. He fell back onto the floor, just watching the cock above him pumping out shot after shot of toon cum. Its rendering was so simple and crisp that it could have just as easily been toon icing, or toon paint, or toon milk.

(There’s less difference between these than you might think. Toon matter is slightly protean, defined more by its color and behavior than its composition or provenance. In other words, all sticky white toon fluids are interchangeable.)

While Andrew’s mind pondered the nature of toon matter, Randy was finally coming down from his orgasm. “Hoo-wee, good thing I didn’t turn into a cow or I coulda flooded the whole apartment.” With a sigh of satisfaction, he gave his shaft a final shake, then glanced down at Andrew, who was just now sitting up from where he’d landed. “How you feelin’, hun?” he asked.

For a few moments, Andrew was too out of breath to speak. “My shoulders are pretty sore, but...that was fun. A lot of fun.” Now that he was sitting up, he could see how much of the room was now painted milky-white with toon cum. At least it hadn’t hit anything important. Toon fluids had a way of leaving their mark on stuff if you didn’t mop them up quick enough. Luckily, inanimate objects took longer to feel the effects of toon matter—you had a good fifteen or thirty minutes to clean it up.

Spilling toon matter on people, though, that was a different story.

And now that he was sitting up, Andrew could see the thick glob of outlined milky-white goo that had landed squarely in his lap, already soaking its way through his pants. On people, you had about thirty to sixty seconds after contact with the skin before things started to go sideways.

“Hey, can you grab some towels?” he asked, clambering back onto his feet while careful to avoid getting it on his arms or legs. “And uh, one for me. You kinda…spilled a bit,” he said with a a nervous laugh. He could feel its warmth seeping through the fabric of his pants—but as long as he wiped it off within a minute or so, he’d be fine.

Right?

A sympathetic warmth flushed through Andrew’s cheeks and brought a sheen of sweat to his forehead. Maybe it was from the effort of getting Randy off, like a delayed reaction hitting him now that the adrenaline high was wearing off.

“Here ya go,” Randy said, tossing Andrew a dampened towel from the bathroom.

While Randy handily mopped up the majority of his excesses, Andrew did his best to clean off the crotch of his pants. There was no sign of hypersaturation or outlining on the fabric itself, so everything was fine.

Right?

Well, his crotch did feel bare, like the conspicuous smoothness of a fresh shave. It hadn’t been more than a minute though. Maybe he’d spent more time on the floor catching his breath than he’d thought. He still felt most of the the usual signs of arousal—but it was like his cock just wasn’t there.

Randy paused by the door with an armful of towels headed for the laundry hamper. “You all right?”

Andrew didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Prying open the waistband of his pants, he peered down to see short, white peach-fuzz fur surrounding a pronounced pubic mound and thick labia, subtly highlighted by a cleft in the black outline that rimmed his crotch. “I, uh…I think got a toon pussy,” he said awkwardly.

Randy pitched the towels into the hamper behind him without having to turn and look. “Lemme see,” he said, leaning over the bed to take a peek. Andrew heard both Randy’s sharp snort of surprise, then the twanging thud as his erection snapped back to attention and slammed into the side of the mattress. “Shoot. Sure ain’t a regular pussy, I can tell you that much.”

So it was real. He wasn’t just imagining things. But hearing Randy say it out loud, it seemed...less bad than he might have thought. Not an emergency, just unexpected. More of an inconvenience, if anything. Toon Jooce was supposed to have a duration of twelve hours, give or take; second-hand toonification like this tended to follow the same half-life as the original effect. Barring any strange mishaps, they’d be back to normal by tomorrow afternoon.

Randy slipping his hand around Andrew’s shoulder unintentionally emphasized just how much larger he was now. “You gonna be all right?” he asked gently.

Something pulsed pleasantly deep inside of Andrew’s body, a familiar feeling stretched into a curious new shape. It felt good. It made him want to feel it again. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It’s just, different. Like extra horny.”

“Sorry ‘bout that. Must be my new animal magnetism,” Randy said with a playful flex of an arm. In his Miranda voice, he added, “If you want to take it easy, we can just sit and talk or something’…”

The answer came to Andrew so quickly that even he was surprised. “No,” he said, then tugged at the waistband of his pants squeezing harder and harder against his hips. “I don’t want to…miss the opportunity, you know?” he admitted, then brushed a hand across his brow. “Plus, I’m really horny,” he admitted.

Every breath he took felt like a little tug in Randy’s direction. Randy shifted closer too, moving behind Andrew so that the shelf formed by his pecs was leaning against the back of Andrew’s shoulders. “Oh, that so? Well don’t you worry none. I’ll take things nice n’ easy.”

The difference in size struck Andrew harder than the reversal of roles. Randy was big enough that he could get lost underneath his broad torso, or lie atop his chest like a mattress; Andrew was small enough that the bull could lift him bodily, move him around, hold him steady as he lined their bodies up just right...

The strangest thing about Andrew’s new genitals wasn’t the shape or the sensations, but the intensity. It was an unrelenting kind of horny, an ever-present need. It wasn’t really a surprise; small doses of toon matter could work as aphrodesiacs thanks to their ‘stimulating’ qualities. He just hadn’t expected the feeling to be so potent.

As Randy leaned over him and pulled him closer, Andrew tried to stay relaxed. His back arched as the broad, flared head of the bull’s shaft pressed against his folds. His heartrate spiked for a moment—it was too big. There was no way it was going to fit, and then it did. His toes clenched and a dizzy moan sprung from his lips.

“Doin’ all right down there?” Randy asked.

Between his heaving chest and the impossible snugness squeezing further and further into him, Andrew couldn’t quite speak, but he could nodded vigorously. In any other circumstance, such a tight fit would have hurt, but his cartoonified crotch was elastic enough to handle it with only a little difficulty. Each thrust stretched him a little tighter, eliciting an occasional groan, a spate of eager humping, or a pop as his joints shifted.

While Randy had begun slow and gentle, he now picked up the pace, jostling not just Andrew’s whole body, but making the bed frame squeak underneath them too. Before long, the shaft was bumping up against the bottom of Andrew’s ribcage. His pleasure only mounted as his shifting body stretched tighter, as if encouraging him to seek out bigger, tighter fits. The bulge of Randy’s cock clearly visible underneath his belly provided a visceral illustration of just how big the bull was.

Honk. Squeak. Clank.

At first, Andrew wasn’t sure if he was really hearing assorted sound effects, or if it was the slightly psychedelic effects of cartoon matter paired with cartoon sex. “Sounds like someone’s having fun,” Randy teased him. “Weren’t you the one tellin’ me not to ‘get too into it’?”

“Yeah, but...this is...really good,” Andrew insisted, his voice light and breathy. He twisted his hands into the sheets and clenched the fabric between his fingers. He was seeing double. Each moan he made was higher in pinch, thanks to the rigorous sex driving the air out of his lungs. It was like he was a balloon, blowing up bigger and tighter with every thrust while a strong pair of hoof-hands held him down against the bed.

This wasn’t how he’d expected today to go, and yet if you asked him right now if he wanted to be the one on top, riding a cute toon cow girl beneath him—would he even want to switch? Sure, that sounded like fun, but was it as exciting as this?

Before long, Andrew was on the verge of orgasm, his body reverberating with the low rumble rising up from Randy’s chest. He pulled the sheets in closer and arched his back up off the bed, letting his eyes roll shut and and his mouth hang open. His lips moved wordlessly a few times before he got out, “O-oh mah gawd, fill me up!” in a cute bubbly drawl, and then came, hard. He wasn’t even aware of how vigorously he was squirming and bucking against Randy until the bull took him by the shoulders and pinned him down so that he could finish too. This time, instead of splattering the walls, the sudden rush of cartoon cum all went straight to Andrew’s belly. Each throb pushed the growing bulge in his midsection out bigger and rounder, until the taut dome was stretched so tight he could have passed for pregnant.

Even when their orgasms had subsided, Andrew was still sprawled out on top of the sheets in warm, num bliss. He only vaguely felt the bed sag as Randy lay back beside him, hands folded behind his head and with a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Damn,” Randy said, “I can see why folks get stuck like this.”

Andrew let out a low groan. One of his hands had found the burgeoning swell of his belly, rolling his fingers along his tender and oddly fuzzy skin. A broad nose brushed against his shoulder and a set of hooved fingers waved back and forth in front of his eyes.

“Hey, hun,” Randy said, “You doin’ all right?”

Andrew’s eyelids batted out of sync. He may have blacked out just a bit in the middle of his orgasm, and was slowly catching up with everything that had happened. Miranda, Toon Jooce, Randy, Randy’s cock, the handjob that took way more than just a hand, the toon cum, the toon sex...

“Uh...yeah, I’m good. The toon junk was just...makin’ me extra horny...”

“Y’know what they say: mess with the bull, you get real horny,” Randy said, pulling Andrew in closer against his side. He let his head tip to one side and rest against the bull’s big pecs. He thought they might be firmer, but the subtle cartoon squishiness was more like a particularly firm pillow. His eyelids batted again as he tried to keep himself from dozing off right there. A low mmm came from his throat, like a muffled moo. “You’re so big and warm like this,” he sighed.

After a few moments of silence, he lifted his head curiously to see that Randy had already drifted off himself, making a faint periodic bovine snort with each rise and fall of his chest. Andrew yawned, then put his had back down on the bull’s smooth chest-fur. He wondered briefly whether the effects would have worn off by the time they woke up, and whether he might want to do something about his belly...but before he could come up with any plan of action, he too had drifted off to sleep, snoring softly in Randy’s arms.

When a tender tightness around his middle roused Andrew from his sleep, he had to spend a moment or two squinting at Randy to reassure himself that the haze of cartoon sex he remembered hadn’t all been a dream. Prying himself out of the bull’s arms, he walked groggily to the bathroom door. The faint chill in the air left him cold without something big and furry to cuddle up against. Standing in front of the toilet, he groped blearily at the underside of his stomach until his hand found something long, round and fleshy. When he gave it a light tug, merely intending to aim into the bowl, what he got instead was a spurt of toon milk spraying against the underside of the lid, and a sudden pleasant tingle from the big round weight hanging off his front.

That didn’t seem right. The confusion helped him shake some of the sleep from his head. He was supposed to have a vagina right now, right? He’d assumed that was dream territory, but on closer reflection, he could clearly recall it happening...but if that was true, what was in his hand?

Flicking on the bathroom light gave him some answers. While he’d been sleeping, his swollen belly hadn’t gone down—if anything, it was bigger, a huge pinkish dome sagging slightly under its own weigh, resting atop thighs which were noticeably thicker, covered in white cartoon fur with splotches of baby blue. His hand was wrapped around one of four long pink teats, pointing in slightly diverging directions thanks to his over-filled udder.

In retrospect, this wasn’t that surprising. He’d fallen asleep with a belly full of toon bull semen, what was he expecting to wake up to? Between the driving need to get fucked and the blissfully sleepy afterglow, he hadn’t had time to think through the consequences of dozing off immediately post toon-coitus.

If it was just the udder, that would have been one thing. He’d have to wait for the effects to lapse before leaving the apartment tomorrow, and either Miranda or Randy would probably give him some flirty ribbing over it. His real problem was two-fold: he was still growing, and still horny as hell. His pants strained around his thighs, his teats throbbed, his udder gurgled and bulged outward from his midsection even further. His eyelids fluttered as warm cartoon milk drizzled down his fingers and onto the bathroom floor.

“Mmmohh man,” Andrew groaned, then clapped his free hand over his mouth in case any more ‘groans’ wanted to slip out. It was considerably more of a change than even the genital switch-up had been, but he’d be fine. He just had to stay calm. Stay calm, and not get horny for the big bull boyfriend waiting in bed for him...

Gingerly, he examined himself in the bathroom mirror. Only his midsection had changed thus far, covered in blue-on-white cow-patterned fur from the bottom of his chest to the middle of his thighs. The glossy polished pink of his udder was eye-catching against his short smooth fur. In the midst of examining himself in the mirror, a pang of pleasure struck him—his udder bulged outward in all directions, accompanied by a surprise squirt of milk from all four of his teats.

“Aah! Oof, m-mmooo—” he began to groan, then clamped his mouth shut with one hand again. Even just contemplating his half-toonified body was enough to get him going. It wasn’t just the physical changes that gave him trouble, either. He was soaking wet between his legs, and whether that was from his udder or his pussy, he was frustratingly, maddeningly horny. Even if he wanted to get off, he couldn’t masturbate with his udder in the way. And while milking himself had been pleasurable, it brought out his growing bovine side even faster than sex did...

No wonder Toon Jooce had been pulled off the shelf. It was like, explo-nential, or something. That was a math word, right? Andrew’s thoughts were muddled up and overlapping, like trying to follow several different voices shouting at him at once. The clearest goal he could focus on was getting fucked.

Maybe he was thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe if he let off some steam, he could keep the pot from boiling over. Maybe it was an excuse to indulge his oversized cartoon sex drive, but it was the only path to a solution he had. Once he got fucked, then he could work out all the other stuff.

Andrew was hyper-aware of every jiggle and shake of his body as he returned to the bedroom. He tried not to think about the soft bounciness of his growing chest or the heavy swaying of his milk-filled udder. It didn’t work very well. Climbing back into bed, he sidled up to Randy and nudged his shoulder, his voice low but insistent: “Randy. Randy, wake up.”

Around the third or fourth shake of his shoulder, Randy’s eyelids blinked sleepily and he rolled onto his other side. “Mm, naw, it ain’t mornin’ yet…” he muttered.

“Randy, I…really need to fuck,” Andrew insisted.

“That’s nice, hun,” he murmured. As the big bull shifted around, the sheets slipped off of his chest and waist. Swinging free of its confines, his cock slowly raised itself into the air, half-erect, as if still assembling what would be his morning wood. Andrew’s eyes widened and his soft, pillowy thighs clamped together. Okay, that dampness was definitely from his pussy.

If shaking him wasn’t going to work, Andrew would have to gett Randy’s attention some other way.

Tossing one thick leg over Randy’s body, Andrew straddled his stomach, then settled down into a comfortable sitting position atop his waist, resting his hands on Randy’s pleasantly pliable pectorals. Just siting there, he was already red-cheeked and breathing heavily. No doubt his crotch was dripping wet too, somewhere beneath his big round udder.

He had to stand up fully to position himself over Randy’s erect cock. He gave a brief glance over his shoulder, but could barely see anything past his big fat blue-and-white splotched ass cheeks—and the small tassled tail that had sprouted from his spine while he slept.

The Toon Jooce was really getting to him. This was his last chance to stop himself. He could take a cold shower, lie down on the couch, maybe ask Randy if he had a vibrator he could borrow...

Or they could fuck like cartoon cows.

Andrew needed no further justification to make up his mind. He counted backwards in his head: Five, four, three...two...one—and in one swift motion, he dropped himself onto Randy’s cock.

“Mmoooh!”

Andrew’s udder squeezed against Randy’s stomach, pinned between the two of them. His eyes were unfosuced, his mouth hanging open. A few pumps of his hips was all it took to rouse Randy from his sleep. With a reflexive jerk of his hips, he thrust upward, then grasped Andrew’s thick plush thigh with one hand and wrinkled his snout in a grimace, as if trying to hold back his own cartoon libido. Andrew stared into the distance, glassy-eyed, focused exclusively on how badly he needed to get off.

“Rruh—holy hell, look at you! You feelin’ all right?” Randy asked, the strain clear in his voice. He was caught between his own concern for Andrew and the mind-numbing pleasure that was telling him to just go with it. He had no more power to stop himself than Andrew did. It was just too easy to tell himself one more thrust and then he’d stop. Mmgh. Okay, one more thrust. And another. And another.

Leaning forward an pressing his udder against Randy’s firm, rippling stomach, Andrew whined, “I just...woke up with this udder and...gawwd, I really gotta fuuck.” It took conscious effort to keep the cute country drawl from creeping up into is voice. Of course, it was easy to say that, but each bounce on Randy’s cock scrambled his thoughts up all over again, and he had to keep re-reminding himself to enunicate.

One of Randy’s horns had speared the pillow he’d been sleeping on, dragging it into his face until he tossed it fre with a firm shake of his head. “Hey, hun—I ain’t complaining, but what happened to takin’ it easy?” he asked. “You know, cause of getting stuck and all...”

Grasping the tuft of Randy’s chest fur, Andrew dragged himself forward until they were almost face to face. His shirt creaked under the strain of his growing breasts, splitting through its collar while two large wet spots trailed down the front. His fingernails were thick, smooth and glossy black. Conspicuous wisps of white toon fur poked out along his arms.

In a low, husky voice, he said, “How ‘bout you quit talkin’ and plow me, farm boy.”

Randy’s reaction was immediate, involuntary and intense, like a red cape flapping right in his face. His pupils bulged. His nostrils flared. His jaw clenched tight. His hips pumped so vigorously that at the peak of each thrust, Andrew had a brief moment of air time, suspended in free-fall before slamming back down with all the force of an increasingly heavy toon-cow body. He could feel the shockwaves ripping through his thighs, his udder, his chest, his cheeks... It was no longer just Andrew’s udder that felt taut and tight. It was every inch of him.

His thighs had to stretch wider to straddle his bulging udder. His breasts finally tore clear through his shirt, jiggling and wobbling against one another atop the huge pink mass jutting from his belly. As his clothes gave way, he looked more and more fundamentally cartoonish. Instead of scattered patches of cartoon fur, he now had scattered patches of quote-unquote ‘real’ skin amid his smooth furry pelt. With a snappy clip-clop his fingers and toes rearranged themselves into hooves.

“Uh, Andrew? We oughta stop, or something. Don’t think I keep it all in if we...keep goin’...” Randy said. Not that he really wanted to stop, but Andrew had promised to keep an eye on him. It was only fair that he do the same.

A long bovine ear popped out from beneath Andrew’s shaggy hair, followed by its partner a few seconds later. His nose wrinkled, bulged, stretched, blew up bigger and blockier, and then—pop—a broad-nosed snout sprouted from the front of his face, knocking his glasses askew. And then—chomp. His teeth clacked together, his jaw tense, and then the pressure shifted slantways, leaving him sporting a cow’s snout with sharp zig-zag teeth.

With his jaw locked tight, he squeezed out under his breath, “Call me...Bessie...”

Quietly, almost under his breath, he gasped, “Call me…Bessie…”

“Hmm?” Randy asked, perking up his ears. He genuinely couldn’t hear over the cartoon clangs and thumps and sproings their bodies made as they came crashing tother.

“Call me Bessie.”

Again he asked, “What was that?” This time, there was a playful smirk on his lips.

“I said...my name...is Bessie Blue!” Bessie moaned, throwing her head back as the -ooo trailed off into a lowing moo and her eyes rolled back into her head. Smooth splotchy blue-on-white fur covered her from head to hoof, save for her enormous squeaky-smooth udder. A wave of bliss as golden and warm as fields of grain in summer crashed over her body, and any lingering will to hold herself back went right out the window. She needed more. More of this. So much more, all the time. Permanently.

The gushing streams of milk spraying from her breasts and udder could have put a garden hose to shame. Their spray criss-crossed the ceiling, drenched the walls, soaked into the floor. At some point, the milk coming out of her surpassed the actual physical volume of her body, but her body didn’t care and kept going anyway.

At some point in the midst of Bessie’s milkgasm, Randy came too. It was almost lost in the deluge, like a spritz of water in the midst of a hurricane. Just how long had it been since she’d gotten milked last? It felt like years of pent-up toonfluid gushing out of her. And now that she had reached her full cartoon size, even a full load was only enough to make her body bulge a bit bigger.

Finally, thankfully, wonderfully, the satisfying warmth deep inside of her eased the edge off of her exaggerated lust. How long that relief would last was another question, but for now she was satiated. After a minute and change, the orgasm petered out. Her flow of milk ebbed to a trickle and the numb warmth filling her faded into dull, blissful afterglow.

“Phee-ew,” she sighed, flopping against Randy’s chest and resting her chin in the cleft between his pecs. Being a big round bouncy cow was so much fun, it was hard to imagine being satisfied with a boring old human body bounded by the rules of boring old physics.

The problem with ‘getting stuck’ wasn’t that it was hard to change back—more that it was hard to want to change back.

Picking up her head, Bessie gave randy her best sheepish grin, despite being a cow. “Hey, hun? I think I oughta tell you somethin’...” Unlike Randy’s handsomely coarse voice, hers was sweet and syrupy, though they both shared the same subtly inauthentic country-western drawl.

“Lemme guess,” Randy said, “You’re stuck tighter than glue?

Bessie took a deep breath and said, “Yep.”

“That makes two of us,” Randy said, miming a theatrical wink so that it was evident even with his touseled hair covering his eyes. “Figured if you’re gonna be a farm girl, you oughta have a farm boy to help out with all the chores. Like milkin’ the cow.”

Gosh! Being a big cartoon cow girl was fun enough on its own, but a cartoon cow girl with a big hunky beef-beau was even better. She threw her arms around Randy and squeezed him tight, although their difference in height meant she was squishing her cheek directly against his chest. “Aw, Randy, you’re just the sweetest!”

“I reckon if we did a taste test, you’d be the sweet one,” he said, trailing a hoof-fingertip along the midline of Bessie’s udder with just enough pressure to squeeze a delighted moo from Bessie’s lips. “Not sure where you got those chompers from, though.”

“Huh,” Bessie mused, tapping the tip of one of her sharp fangs. “I don’t rightly know myself.”

“Well, you know us toons. We love bein’ unpredictable,” Randy said.

While the two new full-time cows cuddled and teased one another on the bed, the excess effluvia from Bessie’s milkgasm seeped into the floor. And the furniture. And the walls, and just about everything else in their apartment too. The fluid itself seemed to evaporate, but the thick lines remained like residue, hugging every inch of their increasingly rustic and cartoonish décor. Hardwood floors in place of carpets, hand-carved furniture instead of particle board, and a view of a lush green meadow ringed by a wooden fence—conspicuously soft-shaded, a painted backdrop for their animation cels.

What had been the front door of their apartment still connected to the apartment building, while the door that had led out on a small balcony now opened onto the porch of a quaint backcountry farm house. The spatial strangeness barely even registered to the two of them—one door went to one place, the other went to another: perfectly sensible toon logic.

A short while later, Randy stretched himself out on the bed, laying back and hugging Bessie against his side. “All right, Miss Blue. I think you’re good and milked for now, so how ‘bout we get some shut-eye? Gotta be up bright an’ early to milk the cow anyway,” he said, then gave his arm a little flex to squeeze Bessie’s udder against his hip. She shuddered and let out a pleasant groan.

“Mm-ooh. Sounds like a plan to me, Mister Rawhide,” she said, then cutely kicked up one of her hoof-feet and planted a kiss right on his lips. Without leaving the kiss, Randy grabbed the pillow he’d previously gored and and slipped it underneath their heads

Soon, the two of them had drifted off into pleasant sleep once more. As Bessie’s body slowly began to bulge with excess milk once more, the old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock on the nightstand ticked down the minutes to Bessie’s early-morning milking. (Not to be confused with her mid-morning or late-morning milkings, or the early afternoon or evening milkings.)

Luckily for Bessie, her new boyfriend had just as much of an oversized cartoon libido as she did.