Satisfaction (BE/MB/Cowgirl)

[SoylentOrange]

Okay, this was originally going to be a collaboration for the Melon Stand between Zdemian and I, but both the story and the pic wound up too big/complicated for it, so here it goes instead. Enjoy- we certainly did!

(Skip to the next post if you just wanna look at Zdemian's illustration- even if you don't care for the story the pic is [b]fantastic[/b[.

==============================
"I've got you beat this time, you little cow!"
Lynn Daniels froze in place, surprised. She had only just stepped into the Bertoni Gelato & Ice Cream Parlor, the bell above the door still chiming. The owner of the voice was Mr. Bertoni himself, brandishing a waffle cone at her accusingly from behind the counter.
After the initial shock wore off, Lynn laughed and continued up to the counter like she had nearly every day for the the past few years. "Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Bertoni?"
"Donnn't you play coy with me," Mr. Bertoni said, scooping ice cream into the cone and handing it over the counter to a customer. "I make my biggest sundae, big enough to stufff my uncle Paulo, and I say you eat it in one sitting, it's free. And pop!-" here Mr. Bertoni sucked his lips together and made a popping noise with his mouth, bringing his fingertips and thumb together before flinging them out and away from his face with the popping sound- "you eat it! I make one even bigger, my super-sundae, and pop!-" he repeated the motion- "you eat it!" He shook his head as he gave his customer their change. "The super-duper sundae- pop! My ultimate sundae- pop!"
Lynn laughed again. Mr. Bertoni's "Ultimate Sundae" had been a thing of beauty, a montrous pile of ice cream, cookies, and toppings, but when it came to ice cream- really any dairy dessert- she just couldn't get enough. That's what had earned her the nickname "cow" from Mr. Bertoni: Lynn's love of those creamy desserts he made so well. He never meant any harm by it- Lynn was undoubtedly his best customer- but his inability to stuff the relatively slim girl (Save for a nice set of double-D's) was a constant source of frustration to him. "Where does it all go?!" He would exclaim, arms thrown to the side. "Not even a cow holds that much milk!"
Lynn would just laugh and chalk it up to a high metabolism and a strict exercise regiment.

"Do you have another 'finish it and it's free' sundae to try, Mr. Bertoni?" Lynn asked as the last customer left.
"No, no more of that," Mr. Bertoni said as he began picking up bowls and tools from under the counter, putting them on the large prep table against the back wall. "This one, it's not even goin' onna menu. This between you an' me."
Lynn laughed again, but Mr. Bertoni was on a mission.
"I gonna stump you today, girl, you jus' watch me!" He said as he began shoveling great heaps of gelatto into the base of a large open tureen.
"You're gonna need more than that," Lynn smiled, her mouth already watering.
"You jus' wait!" Mr. Bertoni exclaimed. "I went alla way back to my great-gran-mama's recipes for this. If this doesn't satisfy that bottomless belly a'yours, won't nothing satisfy it!"
Lynn leaned against the counter, careful not to let her breasts touch the refridgerated glass. Her stomach growled as she watched Mr. Bertoni construct the mammoth sundae, and she was half-tempted to ask for a quick single-scoop to tide her over, but looking at the ever-higher-piled ice cream, she thought it best to save what room she could.
"You know my great-gran-mama was a gypsy?" Mr. Bertoni said as he ladeled chocolate sauce and butterscotch over the most recent layer of ice cream. "My family, we can trace our roots over the entire Mediterranean, we can. S'how we got so good with making food, learning this and that from everywhere and putting it all together." He replaced the ladels and began scooping another layer of gelato on top, reaching a truly dizzying height even for Lynn. "My great-gran-mama, she tell my mama, don't never use her recipes, they're family secrets. But for you, I let out all the stops. I'mma beat you today, girl, you jus' watch."
"I await with bated breath," Lynn teased as Mr. Bertoni finished with the ice cream and pulled a small bottle out of his apron. "What's that?"
"This," Mr. Bertoni said as he drizzled the greenish syrup over her ice cream, "is what will win me the day today," He smiled. "From my great-gran-mama's recipe book. Fill you up right quick!"
Lynn smiled and grabbed a spoon out of the silverware container before heading to one of the tables, listening to the twin hisses of the whipped-cream dispensers as Mr. Bertoni covered the top of the sundae with a generous layer of cream.

Lynn heard a "Hurph!" as Mr. Bertoni lifted the huge tureen up and carefully made his way over to where Lynn was sitting. Lynn rubbed her hands together and licked her lips as Mr. Bertoni gently set the quivering monstrosity in front of her.
"There! See how you do against that!" Mr. Bertoni said as he stood back and dusted his hands off each other. "Now, I need to go get some more cans from the back. You give that a go and we'll see where you are when I return, eh?"
Lynn smiled and waved, then turned her attention to the massive sundae. She started with the whipped cream on top; though cool, it wasn't freezing, and the gradual temperature shift in her mouth would prevent brain freeze. She conspicuously avoided the cherries; she always saved them for the very last, a kind of reminder to be persistent in these big ice-cream-eating contests. It was excellent as always, but when she went through that first bite with Mr. Bertoni's special syrup, her mouth practically exploded with flavor. Lynn's eyes went wide as her reserved bites became shovelfulls of ice cream, no attention paid to mixing of flavors or rationing toppings for the bottom layers of ice cream. Lynn was a machine, scoop after scoop of gelato and ice cream disappearring down her gullet as fast as she could manage.
"So how is it so far?" Mr. Bertoni said as he reappeared from the back with a large can of ice cream under each arm.
"Oh, Mr. Bertoni, it's wonderful!" Lynn said around her ice cream, tilting her head back to keep any of the cream from dribbling out when she talked. "Could- could I have another spoon, please?"
"Eh, drop your first one?" Mr. Bertoni asked as he came around the counter, picking up a spoon on the way. "Mama mia!" He exclaimed as he saw how much Lynn had already packed away of the giant sundae. "You really put a dent in that thing, girl," he said as he put the spoon down. "Don't make yourself sick, now,"
"I don't -gulp- I don't think anything this good could possibly make anyone sick," Lynn said as she smiled and picked up the second spoon in her other hand.
As Mr. Bertoni went back behind the counter, Lynn resumed her voracious assault on the sundae, scooping with both hands, one after the other, the taste barely registering as it went down, save for that delicious syrup Mr. Bertoni had put on. And oddly enough, despite the freezing temperature of the ice cream, she actually felt warmer the more she ate, a kind of comfortable warm, like being wrapped in a comforter and drinking cocoa in front of a fire on a cold winter's night. Lynn smiled at the sensation, or as much as she could smile while still pounding down the gelato as fast as she could, up until the table pinched her breasts. It wasn't an altogether uncommon occurrance, especially leaning forward like she was, so Lynn leaned back, raised her shoulders, and leaned forward again, making sure her breasts cleared the plane of the table top. She barely even missed a beat.

Perhaps a gallon of ice cream later, though, she felt another pinch on her breasts. Only, not her breasts. Lower. Lynn leaned back again, the puzzling sensation enough to get her to stop eating for a moment while she looked down at herself. Of course, she couldn't see much- her breasts were in the way, straining the buttons of a blouse more than she thought they ought to. Where eyes failed, though, fingers would suffice. Lynn brought a hand to her midsection, realizing as she did that she hadn't let go of her spoon, and after a moment's pause realizing further that she didn't want to. Awkwardly, she rubbed the back of her hand over her stomach, feeling two soft bumps just underneath where her breasts hung. It was, momentarily, worrisome; but they weren't hurting, and the doctor's office wasn't going to melt, unlike the other two thirds of the sundae Lynn was gleefully working her way through. Keeping a mental note far in the back of her mind, Lynn continued on through the sundae, the pleasant warmth returning in short order. It was very nearly addictive, this feeling; like everything was right with the world, like her every need was taken care of. She felt very satisfied.

And so she continued, settling in to a steady rhythm of eating the ice cream, the warmth never really intensifying, but feeling more total and complete the longer she ate, like it reached all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She fidgeted in her seat, unaware that patches of her skin were lightening while others were darkening, that the nails on her fingers and toes were turning black and thick. It wasn't until she felt something hard and circular in her mouth that she paused, spitting out the offending object into her spoon and realizing it was a button off her blouse. Lynn looked down, seeing her breasts had strained her top to the point where one of the buttons had been violently rent from its moorings and landed in her gelato. In this rare moment of introspection, Lynn felt like she was taking up more room than she ought to at the table; a quick bounce in her seat let her know that the offending space was on her breasts- her new breasts, right underneath her original pair, the small bumps having swollen up to the size of her original set when she first sat down. Feeling awfully constricted in her top- after all, one can hardly eat ice cream if one can't breathe- she took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back, the buttons of her top snapping off one after the other, leaving only her gray undershirt between her four breasts and the cool air of the ice cream parlor. Well, six, she absently thought as she settled back in to eating her sundae, the two new bumps the lower hem of her top rubbed against announcing their warm and slightly ticklish presence.

The new slack her undershirt afforded her was short-lived; with every creamy spoonful her bustlines seemed to get larger and larger. Her top two pairs rested full and heavy on the table, pulling her gray undershirt so taut she could see light between the threads. Her bottom set resided under the lip of the table, mashing into the underside of it in a way not altogether unpleasant. Her skin bristled with short fur, black patches spotting her skin in places. The short, smooth hairs felt electric on her upper sets of breasts as the fur brushed against her undershirt, causing her to squirm from the sensation. She kicked her feet, and her shoes fell askew on them, the wide bridge and heel replaced by a digitgrade hoof as her toes curled in on themselves. As she broke through to the final layer of gelato, she found herself having to pull her spoons higher and higher over the steadily-rising crest of her upper breasts, both from their own expansion as well as the force of being pushed skyward by her middle pair. But she pushed steadfastly on, spoonful after spoonful, adding inch after inch to her trio of bustlines. At around the time the first stitches in the seams of her undershirt began giving way with tiny pops, she felt an odd pressure in her abdomen, like her waistband was cutting into her too tightly. While the thought of unbuttoning the top button in her pants to provide slack was a tempting one, unbuttoning a button would mean relinquishing not one but *both* spoons at once, a sacrifice Lynn simply wasn't prepared to make while there was still a third of the monstrous sundae remaining. And besides, what with her lowest set of breasts completely filling the space between her lap and the bottom of the table, it was a logistical impossibility as well as a ideological one. Still, it wasn't that uncomfortable- in point of fact it was a little ticklish even, so Lynn paid it no more attention.

After a few more pounds of ice cream, and the subsequent rending of her top by the implacable fleshy onslaught of her breasts, Lynn felt a tingle in her forehead. Not the onset of brain freeze, as she feared, but something altogether odder. She lifted a hand to examine the source of the tingle, and was surpised to hear-and feel- her spoon clinking against a small, curved horn poking out from her sandy blonde hair. Lynn thought that must have been the strangest development she'd had today- after all, a woman having breasts is no big deal, so why should extra ones make a ruckus?- but her horns' tenure as reigning oddity was quickly overturned as a tingle on her backside heralded the beginnings of a tail, the odd pulling sensation on her spine distracting but not enough to slow her eating. About the only thing that was a persistent bother was the growing pressure on her waistline, relieved only somewhat by the spreading of her legs. Lynn imagined she had quite the paunch tucked under her pants by this point, but with the size her lower breasts had attained, completely filling her lap and spilling over the sides of her thighs, she could no more reach the button of her jeans than she could the peak of Everest. As her spoons finally clinked the bottom of the tureen for the first time, Lynn's six breasts were each nearly twice the size of her head and the buldge in her jeans was straining fitfully against the denim, a tiny muffin-top of pink poking out over her waistband. Her skin was completely fur-covered at this point, the black on white patches making her look like a holstein cow, complete with a long, rope-like tail with a tuft of black-mottled fur at the end. Her feet had completed their transition to hooves, and even her hands had thickened into three stubby digits with thick black nails on them, which she noticed with relief didn't hamper her ability to hold her spoon at all. All in all, only the thick buldge in her jeans was causing her any kind of actual discomfort, but every time she noticed it, it caused her to squirm in her seat, which caused all sorts of good sensations from everywhere else, so it all came out a wash. Everything was good so long as she could keep eating the ice cream, which, given that she was on her last layer of gelato, her two spoons chasing from one side of the tureen to the other like a crumbling drawbridge, wouldn't be for much longer. Of course, given the intensity of the pressure in her jeans Lynn was pretty much in a constant squirm now, trying to find comfort and release from jeans that steadfastly refused to provide either. Her six breasts shook and jostled as her bottom ground into the seat, even her tail twitching in annoyance as best it could curled up into the back of the booth as it was.

Finally, the last scoop of gelato made the journey from the tureen, up, up and over the crest of Lynn's topmost breasts, and into her waiting mouth. Letting both spoons down on the table, Lynn plucked the cherry from the shallow stew of melted ice cream on the bottom of the tureen and held it over her mouth, letting the syrup drip on her tongue before she dropped the cherry in and ate it. In that moment, her jeans finally failed, not the slow, gradual hole-opening of her top, but a catastrophic breach of structural integrity. With one loud popping/tearing noise, the entire front of her jeans split, allowing the large, soft, pillowy expanse of her cow's udder to flop forward, the long teats dangling mere inches from the ground. Lynn exhaled a sigh of relief, leaning forward into her topmost cleavage and hugging her arms between her upper two sets of breasts.
"Well, girl, how's it going?" Mr. Bertoni asked as he walked out of the back. "I'm done making the gelato, how are you- dios mio!" he swore as he rounded the corner and saw Lynn.
For her part, the black-and-white cowgirl picked her head from off her breasts and smiled at Mr. Bertoni.
"Do you have any of that gypsy-syrup left?" She asked. "I'd love some moooore..."

[SoylentOrange]

And here's Zdemian's pic! Thanks again, man!

[Miracle overloading]

Wait.
Zdemian?

He's back?!
HELL YEAH!

[BMan25]

Originally Posted by Miracle overloading

Wait.
Zdemian?

He's back?!
HELL YEAH!

Zdemain is the best in my book, and if he's back thats Awsome!!

[Tyrael]

I'm normally not into animal transformations, but that was pretty damn good. I approve.

[SoylentOrange]

I was thinking of just going for the MBE, but I figured, with all the ice cream, how could you not go for the full cowgirl as welll?

[gamonthehand]

beautiful

[spongebathe83]

I love this story. Really well written. I'd definitely read a sequel if you made it (i've got a few ideas). You should post this at OverflowingBra

[SoylentOrange]

No sequels, unfortunately; this is about as big as I'm comfortable making her.

Though posting to the OFB is a possibility; I'll ask Zdemian if it's okay.

[Killa111]

This is an awesome story and one lovely pic too. But I don?t know who this Zdemian is, so please can anybody show me a way to his older works?

[SoylentOrange]

Zdemian was a fantastic BE/MB artist who pulled all his stuff off DA a few years back. About the best collection of his work still around is on Udderplay:

http://vor-com.orcas.net/udderplay/arts/zdemain-001.htm

[cyero]

Hoooooooly.

This is amazing. I don't normally like udders, but DAAAAAAAAAAAMN.

You receive everlasting win, Soy.