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Space Cow Girl [Antro Cow TG]
🕑 Added 2024-11-23 04:53:57 +0000 UTCCommissioned Anonymously
Flint Daven is a bounty hunter on Thebe station and he’s not about to let something as inconvenient as being turned into a cow person stop him from getting the job done.
This story takes place in the same universe as Out of This World, but can be read standalone. Ever wonder where the mysterious syringe that transformed Mal in that story came from? Here is your answer...
~
Flint Daven stepped into the station, dragging his latest catch by the collar. The lowlife criminal groaned, his face swollen from a recent scuffle, his clothing was torn, and he stumbled every few steps. Probably thanks to Flint slamming him into a wall on the way here; in his defence, the idiot had tried to escape—a mistake he’d only made once. Flint said nothing. He didn’t need to. His arrival alone was enough to turn heads, though most of the station officers pretended not to notice him. They knew better.
The bounty hunter walked with purpose, his heavy boots clanking on the steel floor, his dark, weathered coat brushing the ground behind him. His sharp and cold eyes scanned the room as he moved—every face, every detail, the tension in the air, the officers exchanging nervous glances, someone nursing a bruised knuckle behind the front desk, another officer, pale and sweating, secretly texting away on his personal com unit, thinking nobody would notice, but Flint noticed everything.
When he reached the front desk, he dropped the criminal at the feet of the officer stationed there. The man behind the counter, Cullen, the name badge read, shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking between Flint and the slumped criminal.
"Payment," Flint said, his voice low, gravelly.
Cullen swallowed hard, nodding quickly as he pulled up the necessary paperwork. Flint watched the kid fumble, fingers trembling slightly as he typed. First job, maybe? Or just not used to dealing with someone like him. Either way, Flint didn’t care. The payout was all that mattered. Another officer came and took his mark away. He was muttering something about making him pay in the future, getting revenge; Flint didn’t pay attention. Now that he’d completed the job, that guy meant about as much to him as the space dust on his boots.
"R-right, here’s your cut." Cullen slid a small data chip across the desk. Flint took it without a word, slipping it into his pocket.
There was a beat of silence. Flint didn’t move. He felt Cullen’s eyes darting to him, away, and back again. The kid was holding something back; Flint watched as his eyes ducked down to his screen and back again, Adam’s apple dipping. Flint raised an eyebrow. Clearly the kid had something on his mind.
"Spit it out."
Cullen flinched.
"Uh, well... a new bounty just came in. High priority. High pay. Thought maybe you’d be interested. Y-you normally are."
Flint stared and nodded for Cullen to continue.
"Some scientist," the officer said, pulling up a file on the monitor. "Big operation. Lots of dirty deals. The station higher-ups want him bad."
Flint leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing at the image that flashed across the screen. It was a Plumarian, black-feathered, common looking man with a glint in his eye. This wasn’t just some debt dodger or low-life drug dealer; this guy would put up a fight or, at the very least, make things interesting. This hunt might actually be enjoyable. He held back a small smile, that face was going to earn him a lot of money. Flint had a sense for these things. Experience did that.
"How much?" he asked.
"Two hundred thousand," Cullen replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Two hundred thousand credits. More than enough to get his attention. More than enough to keep him to settle down several times over. Not that he would. Flint wasn't the sort of man who chased bounties for the money, at least, not strictly for the money. He straightened, looking back at Cullen, who did his best to hold Flint’s stare but failed miserably.
"I’ll take it," Flint said, scanning his ID across the screen so the system logged it. He turned on his heel and walked to the door without another word. He could hear Cullen exhale in relief, probably glad to be done with the bounty hunter for now. Flint didn’t care. He had a new target—one that wouldn’t be so easy to drag through those station doors. And that was just the way he liked it.
Thebe station was bustling, as always. Despite being a bit of a backwater, it was one of Jupiter's largest and oldest stations. What had once been a grand, state-of-the-art station was now as close to falling apart as it could get without being a major health hazard. Hundreds of floors, thousands upon thousands of rooms; Thebe was a huge place. Big enough that most people never needed to leave and millions lived side by side. The station was known for two things: ore processing and crime. You either worked for one of the corporations, processing ore, or some other related white-collar job, or you were a criminal. There were a handful of other jobs, bars, restaurants, shops and all that, but they were a minority.
Flint had been born here, hell, he’d even been given an ore inspired name like most people born into mining families. But he’d known since the time he could walk that he wasn't going to spend his life sorting through rocks and melting slag. He’d been a teenager when he took his first bounty; that was almost thirty years ago now, and he hadn’t looked back.
He stomped along the promenade, taking in the faint layer of coal grime that somehow managed to coat everything in the station. He could feel it on his skin and in his beard, and he grimaced; maybe when he finished this job, he’d get a transport to a better station. He wouldn’t give up his job, but a new hunting ground wouldn’t go amiss. He flicked open his handheld PC and opened the file on his latest target as soon as it finished downloading.
“Dr. Keeven Pace.” He muttered. “Fancy.”
The Plumarian had once been a part of GenetaCorp, working towards alien augmentation. Flint huffed; he remembered when that was all anybody was talking about. A decade ago, the Jupiter Moon's Main Government had offered millions to the company that could help augment species together. Terraforming was expensive, as was running stations. If scientists could combine the traits of multiple alien species together to make a living on the barren planet below possible, well, the possibilities would have been endless. Of course, nobody had even gotten close; now, it was just another failed experiment, and it seemed the scientists had taken up new professions.
Dr Pace had decided to turn to the black market, selling everything from stem cells to organs. Delightful. No wonder the government wanted him captured so badly. Still, Flint reasoned he had to have some serious muscle behind him to have a bounty so high. Bounties only got issued for people the regular station police couldn’t catch. This doctor didn’t seem like the type to put up much of a fight; he had to have a guard or a favour pulled from one of the major bosses. Flint grinned to himself; he loved a challenge.
~
It took him three weeks to track Dr Pace down, a long stretch by his standards. The Plumarian had done an excellent job covering his tracks. Finally, Flint managed to track him to an old warehouse district in the abandoned docking ring on Level Seventeen. He crept along in the dark, hand phaser gripped tight. According to his research, three other bounty hunters had taken this job up in the intervening weeks. All three hadn’t been seen since. Flint wasn't about to make himself fourth on that list.
Dim lights flickered overhead, casting shadows across the piles of broken machinery and rusted storage crates. The air was thick with the smell of oil and stale coolant, but Flint barely noticed as he moved silently through the maze of debris.
And then, he saw him.
The scientist was smaller than Flint had imagined, black feathers messily sticking in all directions as he worked away at something glowing on his desk. Flint crouched and watched as Pace slowly loaded several syringes into a travel case, his latest black market product, no doubt. He scanned the area, looking for any sign of bodyguards and found nothing. Not even a used old security droid. He had to fight back a grin; whatever protection Pace had in place that stopped three other hunters, it wasn’t here now. He was almost disappointed; after the challenge of finding him, Flint had hoped for a good fight. Flint crept closer, staying in the shadows, his hand steady on the grip of his phaser. Just as he was about to make his move, the scientist turned, eyes wide with fear. Damn, that advanced Plumarian hearing.
“How—” Pace stammered, but Flint didn’t give him time to finish. He lunged, grabbing the scientist by the collar and slamming him against the workbench.
“You’re coming with me,” Flint growled, his voice cold and low.
Pace squirmed, eyes darting around wildly. Flint felt the shift in the air before he saw it—Pace’s hand moving too quickly, a glint of metal in the dim light. The needle pierced Flint’s neck before he could react.
“Damn it!” Flint roared, yanking the scientist back, but Pace was already slipping from his grip, shoving him hard in the chest. Flint staggered back, the room spinning for a moment. What a rookie mistake! He’d seen the syringes, he knew the risk! His mistake had been assuming Pace wouldn’t want to waste merchandise.
Pace didn’t wait. He bolted, case in hand, toward a nearby hatch, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the bay as he climbed into a small escape pod docked nearby. The docking bay may have been out of use, but that didn't mean somebody with the right hacking know-how couldn’t launch a ship. Flint tried to chase him, but his legs felt heavy and sluggish. His vision blurred, and he heard the hiss of the pod's engines powering up.
“Not… getting away,” Flint muttered, pushing forward, his muscles straining. He managed to make it a few steps before his body betrayed him.
“Brains over brawn, my friend!” Pace taunted nervously as the pod's doors closed. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again!”
Flint grit his teeth, unable to give chase as his body began to betray him. He expected some new sort of party drug but instead a strange tingling feeling began to spread over his entire body. The sensation started in his hands and he watched as his fingers began to thicken. His skin felt like it was stretching, pulling in ways that didn’t make sense.
“H-hallucinagen?” He muttered to himself, but no, that wasn't right. He’d been under the effect of plenty of drugs, but none of them felt like this.
He stumbled, catching himself on a crate as his legs began to swell. The muscles in his calves and thighs expanded unnaturally fast. His chest heaved, and a sudden pressure built in his torso.
“What the hell…” Flint groaned, looking down at his chest as it seemed to swell, growing round in that distinctly feminine way. His arms bulked up, his once lean frame growing wide and heavy. His beloved duster jacket strained under the change, seams popping and fabric ripping as his shoulders sloped and shifted. Panic flared briefly in his chest, but more than anything, it was annoyance that filled his mind. Another complication. Another obstacle between him and his bounty. Still, he couldn't help but groan as he felt his hips begin to widen and his ass inflated.
The transformation continued, his ears shifting, elongating into floppy cow-like ears. He felt a pressure at the base of his spine, then the sudden swish of a tail. His face pushed out into a more bovine shape. His breathing came hard and fast as his chest broadened, his coat straining as his body became impossibly bulky. His shirt tore as his breasts continued to grow, and his belt snapped open as something else pushed against it. His stomach was swelling in much the same way as his chest, but he wasn't getting fat. No, he was growing…an udder.
His clothing fell off his shreds as his body continued to swell, becoming curvy and heavy-set. His new udder sprouted four sensitive, long nipples. No, not nipples, teets. They flopped into the open air, making a shudder run down his spine; they felt so sensitive. They weren't the only thing either. Now, Flint wasn’t the sort to let pride get in his way, but even he couldn’t help but chafe as he felt his cock shifting. The long member turned soft and seemed to melt into the skin between his legs, leaving warm wetness in its place. His torn trousers left his folds exposed to the cool station air, and he let out a deep, braying groan that made his cheeks colour slightly in embarrassment.
“Pace…” he growled, his voice now flighty and husky. It was still deep yet undeniably…feminine. He watched through blurred vision as the scientist’s pod shot out of the station, vanishing into the void of space.
He stood there for a moment, his large, cow-like form filling the small room. His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. He shifted his new body, testing the strength in his legs and the weight of his bulk. He’d seen Bovarians before—strong, tough aliens from the outer rim colonies. They weren’t exactly common, but he’d learned not to underestimate them. And now, he was one—not just that, a female.
Suddenly, the other bounty hunters' disappearance made much more sense. They had probably suffered a similar fate and were holed up somewhere desperately searching for a cure before anybody found out what had happened to them. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Flint smirked. That doctor probably thought he’d do the same, hole up somewhere weeping over his masculine pride, ashamed to be seen as a busty, curvaceous alien woman.
Well, he was wrong.
Nothing got between Flint Daven and his marks. He would catch Dr Pace and collect that bounty, regardless of his appearance. Besides, two hundred thousand credits would probably go a long way to getting him changed back. If bioengineering had come far enough that he could be turned into a totally alien race, surely he could be changed back.
He stepped confidently forward and swayed; the weight of his new body instantly knocked him off balance, and his arms flailed wildly, trying to right himself. His front was so much heavier now, with not only his breasts but his udder. His centre of gravity seemed to have shifted entirely. Flint set his feet wide on the floor and took stock of himself: the wide hips, the extra bulk. Boverians really were anthro cows when it came down to it, not that anybody would say that to their faces these days, it was considered rude like calling a human a hairless ape.
Flint took a few experimental steps, feeling the way his new body shifted; his hips had a natural sway to them now, rising and falling with each step and taking his swollen ass with them. His tail swished between his legs, helping him keep his balance. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't walk without that sensual sway, it was necessary to keep his balance. Without it, he wobbled like a newborn calf.
“...fine.” He muttered. “I can handle a bit of sway.”
Flint gathered his gun and stretched his thicker fingers, finding a comfortable grip on the trigger. It was comforting, in a way, to find something that wasn't so different. But obviously, things were going to be a bit more complicated; all his usual fighting skills were out the window. He was going to have to learn how to fight as a cow woman. Somehow. Flint eyed a table and dove to the floor, ready to duck and roll under imaginary fire, only instead of rolling neatly, he landed heavily on his ass, tail crushed beneath him.
“Ooooowwwww!!’ He cried, cringing a little at just how much like a ‘moo’ it sounded.
Flint grimaced; he was going to have to spend some time training. What a pain. Every second he spent training, pace’s trail would get colder. But the sooner he got started, the sooner his hunt could begin.
~
The gym was quiet, not many people visited at 3 am. Flint was used to having the place to himself regardless, on the rare occasion he walked in to get a bit of practice, the room would empty. Nobody wanted to get in Flint Daven’s way, after all. The low hum of the ventilation system and the occasional clank of weights being racked were the only sounds in the otherwise empty space. He stood in front of a floor-length mirror, taking in his new form. His curvy figure, the udder, his breasts, the massive bulk of his frame. His shirt was barely hanging on, stretched tight across his torso, his udder stuck out between the shirt and sweatpants he’d found. Clearly, a trip to the fashion district was needed, but for now, this would do.
“Gotta make it work,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. He turned to the side, catching the weight of the udder hanging under his chest. It still felt strange, foreign, like a soft reminder of the absurd situation. But Flint wasn’t one for self-pity. He could feel the power in his new body—strong, capable. He may have had more soft curves instead of sharp edges, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be as formidable as before. The first thing he needed was control.
He dropped to a knee, positioning himself in front of a large sandbag in the corner. It was one of the heavier ones, normally meant for military-grade trainees or alien species with considerable strength. He leaned forward, grabbed it by its sides, and, with a grunt, lifted the massive weight into the air. His muscles responded easily, even better than before, and his new bulk gave him raw, explosive power. He shifted his stance, widening his legs for balance, and tossed the bag overhead like it was nothing. He grinned; this body had its upsides, after all! Then, a strange quiver passed through his udder, and pressure began to mount. He threw the sandbag, and it slammed into the ground behind him with a loud thud. Flint stood, chest heaving, the pressure in his udder dissipated somewhat, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever that was, it was over. He lifted the bag again, and the same thing happened, only this time, the same pressure mounted in his breasts. They started to feel tight and…full.
“...Fuck.”
Did Bovarians need to milk themselves? He had no idea. He didn't have time for that! Flint grit his teeth and ignored the pressure, but it seemed to grow each time he flexed his muscles.
“I don’t have time for this…” he hissed. Holding his swollen udder. “I need to get back in fighting shape to get Pace…”
He tried not to think about it, but instead, moving over to it, he hung punching bags near the side of the room. The bulk of his new body made fast, nimble punches a challenge, but he wasn't here for finesse. This was about figuring out his new angles testing what he could do. Flint squared up in front of the bag, fists clenched, and threw a right hook. The heavy bag rocked, but the swing felt off—too wide, too slow.
Annoyance flickered through him, but he adjusted. He took a breath, leaning into his size. If he couldn’t be fast, he could at least be unstoppable. He slammed his shoulder into the bag next, getting a feel for how his new bulk could be an asset in close-quarters combat. Wrestling came naturally—his size allowed him to throw his weight around like a wrecking ball, driving imaginary opponents to the ground.
He punched a few more times before shifting his weight and feeling the bulk of his body moving. An idea crept into his head, and Flint decided to try something different. He planted his feet hard on the floor and swung his whole body, slamming his hips and ass into one of the sandbags with as much force as he could muster. The impact was like a shockwave, sending the bag flying backward into the wall with a dull crack.
“Guess a fat ass isn’t totally useless after all,” Flint muttered, rubbing a hand along the curve of his ass and hip till his fingers brushed that full udder once more. "Might as well see what it can do."
He squared up with the bag again, leaning forward slightly before thrusting his hips forward, driving the udder forward like a battering ram. The impact was shocking. The bag swung violently, nearly tearing off its chains. The impact was powerful but also elicited a powerful wave of pleasure and pain. His taut, full udder revelled in the touch, but the force also caused milk to leak in a sharp stream from each teat. Flint couldn't help but groan a little; that milk flowing out of him felt so good. But he couldn't let pleasure distract him from the job at hand.
He repeated the move, this time with more control. He twisted his hips, using the bulk of his lower body to slam the udder into the bag like a hammer. The force was immense, far more than he could manage with his fists alone. More milk spattered, more pleasure welled in his lower stomach, and Flint felt his nipples starting to harden in response.
Flint continued his experimentation, throwing his weight into the udder like a heavy fist, testing angles and positions. All while trying to deny just how good it felt. The more he practised, the more turned on he became. His mind started to wander, and he was forced to stop in frustration, throw in the towel, and literally walk to the showers. His udder ached with milk; he had hoped that if he didn't indulge the urge, the milk would simply dry up, but that was a lot easier said than done. He couldn’t concentrate like this!
He stepped under the cool spray of the shower and watched the water run in rivulets down his body. It seemed to find its way into cracks and crevices he didn't even know he had, and it felt deliciously good. Maybe it was all that teasing he did using his udder as a weapon, but his skin felt incredible. The mix between the sensitivity and his own constant hyper-awareness meant he could practically feel every teasing touch of water as it ran over his body. It dripped off his nipples, off his teats, and Flint winced as he felt them stiffen and a trickle of milk escaped.
“Dammit, I will never be able to work if I feel like this…I have to take care of it.”
Flint was usually stoic, but even his fingers trembled slightly as he reached down to take one of the teats in his hands. He gripped it firmly and bit his lip; his whole udder quivered in anticipation.
“Tch…why does it have to feel good?” He complained. This would be so much less humiliating if he could turn his mind off and just get it over with.
Gently, Flint squeezed the teat, pulling out slightly and gasping in pleasure as the milk spurted out. He repeated the gesture and groaned, the pleasure grew, and the milk continued to flow fast and smooth, mingling with the shower water and coating his thick legs. Pressure mounted in his other three teats, and milk began to drip from them as well. Flint braced himself, legs trembling, against the shower wall and reached down with his second hand to squeeze another teat. Soon, he had a good rhythm, alternating between teats and letting the milk flow out of him. Pleasure radiated out from his udder, filling his lower belly and making his pussy throb. For the first time in his life, Flint wished he were one of those races with multiple limbs because he wished he could finger himself without giving up a teat.
The bliss continued to spread, filling his new breasts and making his nipples hard enough that even the soft fall of water from the showerhead against them felt wonderful. Water moved over his sensitive folds and down his inner thigh; the milk flowed, and the ecstasy grew until he couldn’t take it anymore. Flint bit his lip to try and keep the sound at bay, but it was useless. His mouth opened, and he let out a low moo as he came. The braying sound echoed off the tiled shower walls and out into the gym. He could only hope that nobody had walked in for a late night workout because, alien or not, there was no way the sound could be mistaken for anything but a sound of ecstasy.
Milk exploded out of all four of his teats as the orgasm rocked his body, turning the shower floor white for a moment before all the evidence was slowly washed away. The tightness in his udder was finally gone, leaving only a warm, wonderful afterglow that made his body shudder and muscles relax. He was no stranger to orgasms, he was a red-blooded man under all that cool exterior, after all, but it had been a long time since he’d had one so…satisfying. Or long.
“Damn, I heard women could cum for longer than men, but…damn.”
The shower had gone cold, and Flint cleared his throat before shutting it off. Drying his udder made him shiver; the skin there was as sensitive as a breast, and he already had to deal with two of those, not to mention his supple butt. He’d never thought something as simple as drying himself could feel so intimate, it almost felt criminal to pull on those ill-fitting clothes. Flint stretched the sweatpants between his fingers and grimaced. He couldn’t be a bounty hunter like this. Once again, he thought of his beloved duster coat, the one thats high collar had hidden his face so easily before. It wouldn’t have a hope in hell of doing it now, with his head this shape and size.
“I’ve learned how to use this body…it’s probably time I learned to dress it.”
~
Flint had to duck as he walked into the shop. It was one of those tiny, hole in the wall places. His favourite place on the station to get gear; they had everything from the latest guns to the old reliable tools of the trade. It was basically his home away from home. The place smelled of worn leather, gun oil, and grease, and the familiarity made his heart ache a little. Not that he’d ever admit it. Racks of armoured jackets, holsters, and weapons lined the walls, and glass cases displayed high-tech gear designed for survival in any number of hostile environments. The old man, a retired hunter called Keevan, sat behind the counter and glanced up wide-eyed as Flint walked in. Clearly, he was more than a little concerned for his merchandise; the area was cramped, and Flint’s new bovine form struggled to get around without knocking into things.
A few shoppers milled about, pretending not to stare at the seven-foot-tall, cow-like figure that had just entered. Flint ignored them. He was here on business. His shirt strained across his chest, and his pants were barely holding together, stretched far beyond their intended size. On the way here, he’d felt the sting of judgmental looks while out in the station more than once. He was used to stares, but normally, they were full of fear or respect, not judgement and disdain. He refused to let Dr Pace’s formula bring him low; even if that meant gaining the respect he once had all over again. He approached the counter with slow, heavy steps. Keeven straightened up as he approached, looking equal parts confused and intrigued.
“Help you with somethin’?” he asked, his voice trying to be steady but wavering just enough for Flint to catch it.
“Need clothes, Keeven,” Flint grunted, “And gear. Got a job.”
“Sorry, do I know you?” Keeven asked, eyes narrowed. He, like most bounty hunters, never forgot a face. For the first time, Flint blushed.
“S’me Keeven. Flint. I…ran into a spot of trouble.”
“I’ll say you did.” The man chuckled. “I wouldn’t believe it was you if it weren't for that surly face of yours. Even female and Bovarian, it’s got your expression down perfectly.”
That was…oddly good to hear. It meant he might still be able to scare people into silence with a single stare. The old man’s eyes flitted over Flint’s form.
“Right. Well, uh… we don’t exactly get many Boverians in here, but…” He gestured toward the back of the shop, where larger sets of armour and gear hung from reinforced hooks. “Might have something in your size. Tough stuff, made for heavyweights.”
Flint gave a curt nod and made his way over, hefting his udder out of the way of a few of the displays as he went. Keeven was right; there wasn't much in his size, but the essentials were there—padded armour vests designed for maximum mobility, reinforced jackets that could withstand high-calibre rounds and tactical belts with enough storage for all kinds of gadgets. He ran his fingers over the material, feeling the fabric's durability and grinning at the size of the utility belt. Wide hips meant more compartments, but then he realised his mistake. With an udder, there was no way he would be wearing anything around his middle. He sighed and felt his ears flick in irritation.
Then, one jacket, in particular, caught his eye. Thick, dark leather reinforced with armoured plating along the shoulders and chest. It was sturdy but flexible, the kind of gear he could move in without sacrificing protection. He grabbed it off the rack and slid an arm inside. The weight sat right on his body, and when he tried it on, it stretched comfortably around his bulk. The reinforced fabric felt like it could take a few hits, and the extra room meant he didn’t have to worry about tearing it apart. He gave a sharp tug at the sleeves, satisfied.
As he turned, his tail swished behind him, knocking into a display of holsters. He scowled, irritated by the constant reminder of his new anatomy. He bent down, picking up the scattered holsters, but paused when he noticed one that seemed just right—longer, reinforced, designed to fit under the bulk of a jacket. It was more powerful than his usual phaser, the kind with a lot of kickback, kickback he could handle now with his extra weight. With a grin, he grabbed it.
He moved next to the pants section, rifling through the thicker, cargo-style options. After a few tries, he found a pair that fit, the waist wide enough to accommodate his bulk, with reinforced padding along the legs and extra straps for gear. Clearly, it was made with tailed species in mind because there was even a small hole just above the curve of his ass for his tail to slip through without pushing the pants down.
“With that, you won't need to worry about accidentally going commando halfway through a firefight.” Keeven teased, and Flint glowered at him.
The tail was easy enough to navigate, but his udder and breasts…they caused much more of a problem. He was used to wearing skin-tight, warm outfits under his coat, the sort of thing that would easily slip under a spacesuit if he had to take a walk outside to the station. But there wasn't a single piece of clothing that could cover his udder.
“Ya gonna have to wear this,” Keeven said with a shrug, holding up a black crop top. “It’ll cover ya modesty unless you count the udder as immodest, I guess.”
A crop top. The sort of thing women wore to clubs and out partying; this one even had a boob window to show off his cleavage.
“Why do you even carry this?”
“We get the occasional lady bounty hunter.”
“And they like showing off their tits?”
“You glower to get information, some ladies use…other assets.”
Flint snorted and snatched the shirt in a huff.
“I ain’t doing that. I ain’t some Sedun.”
Keeven just smirked but his smile quickly turned to an expression of horror as Flint began to lift his current shirt off.
“Wha- you can't just take your shirt off in the middle of my shop!” He hissed, “People are lookin’!”
Flint glanced around; people were already staring, a Bovarian was a strange sight in these parts, to begin with. Let alone one that was getting naked in the middle of a shop.
“It’s just a body. Nobody cared when I did this the other month when trying on combat gear.” Flint shrugged and ripped off his tattered shirt before reaching for the crop top.
“You didn’t have a set of E cups then…”
Keeven’s face went beet red, and he looked away, as did other people. Flint could feel his breasts bounce a little as they settled back down against his chest. They were heavy enough that the movement made him wince. After a moment, he struggled himself into the pants and crop top. Flint was surprised at the instant change. His chest felt much more supported in the tight shirt, and his tail swished without pressing against his waistband. He was more comfortable and flexed a few times to test the fabric. This felt good. His udder even felt more natural now that he had a bit more support for the rest of his body.
“You’re seriously going hunting like that?” Keeven said after a moment.
“Like what?”
“All…female and…you know?”
“I can still do the job.”
Keeven tallied up the items, and Flint scanned his credit chip. He left his old clothes in a pile on the floor for the shopkeeper to deal with. They were useless to him now.
“Uh… good luck with your job,” Keeven said.
Flint smiled, feeling at home in his new body for the first time. He turned, letting his new coat billow dramatically as he walked out.
“I Don’t need luck.”
~
The nightclub was a maze of neon lights, pulsating music, and thick clouds of smoke that clung to every surface. The scent of stale booze, sweat, and illicit substances lingered in the air, mixing with the low chatter of deals made in the shadows. Flint pushed through the crowd, his large form cutting through the sea of patrons like a freight haulier through debris. His nostrils flared as he caught the faint, metallic whiff of fear hanging over one of the nearby booths.
He’d spent the last few weeks training and on the hunt. He’d spent his evenings learning how best to use his new body, learning how to fight using his udder as an asset, not a liability, and then at night followed up on leads. The only thing he had yet to figure out was the milking. He had to do it at least once a day, and the longer he ignored it, the more intense his body’s reaction. While a quick milk here or there felt nice, letting it build resulted in the most earth-shattering orgasms he’d ever experienced. The force of them had him on his knees, splattering milk on the floor like a common cow. As good as it felt, the lead-up had him frazzled and distracted, and he couldn’t have that. A bit of research had informed him that he could do nothing to stop the process. Some Bovarians on the station even visited milking stations to make the process quicker, but he’d quickly dismissed the idea. Being milked by a machine in public was not an option if he wanted to rebuild his credibility. He had a job to do, and now that he had a solid lead on his mark, that was more important than ever.
At first, he’d thought Pace must have fled the station entirely, but then one of his informants mentioned strange new drug phials that were going for insane amounts on the black market. The more he listened, the more obvious it was that they had to be Pace’s. Maybe even the same formula that changed him into his new body. That meant he was still somewhere on the station. He just had to figure out where. Hence, his visit to the nightclub district, on a shady station like Thebe, a club after midnight, was practically a black market.
Flint pushed through the crowd. His crop top and tight-fitting pants actually made him fit in with the skimpily dressed crowd, though he did feel a little naked without his new jacket to hide behind. The song changed, and the lights flashed, but he didn’t see any familiar faces from the underworld.
“Hey, cow girl, lookin’ for a good time?”
Flint raised an eyebrow and looked down at the man in front of him. He was strung out. That much was obvious, and he had a cocky grin that could only be that wide with chemical help. He held up a little bag of powder brazenly, shaking it a few times as if to entice. Flint was about to push past him without a word when he remembered what Keeven had said about female bounty hunters using different kinds of assets to get information. He could brute force his way to some information…or he could try a softer approach, pride be damned.
“I’m looking for something a bit more…exotic.” He said smoothly, lowering himself down and placing his hands behind his back to push his chest out further. The man’s eyes immediately went to the little circle of boob threatening to try and escape.
“W-what did you have in mind?”
“Something a little less common, you know, something new.”
Flint took a chance and leaned forward a little so the teats on his udder brushed the man’s stomach. The effect was instant, and the man shivered in delight, only to look disappointed when Flint pulled back.
“Well…I don't have anything, but… some guys deal in shadier stuff around here…”
“Oh?”
“But…it might be a bit dangerous, don't want to get a nice lady in trouble…”
“I can handle danger, and I’m not always such a nice lady.”
Flint loomed, and the man swallowed, half nervous, half aroused.
“They’re near the back, where the booths are.” He pointed toward the back.
“Thank you, I’ll remember this. Maybe I can do a favour for you in the future.” A promise Flint had no intention of following up on, but the look of utter rapture on the man’s face was too funny for him not to let his gaze linger. He followed the man’s gaze and wove through the crow, easily talking his way into the more exclusive part of the club with a wink and a swish of his tail and hips.
In a corner, half-hidden in the dim light, two black market dealers hunched over a table, their faces shrouded by the flashing lights and smoke. Flint’s eyes narrowed as he scanned them. He knew these men—Xin and Lottz. They were small-time, always involved in dirty trades, usually weapons or contraband tech. But drugs weren't out of the question. He also knew they had information. They always did.
Flint approached with slow, deliberate steps, his weight made the floor pulse just as much as the bass. Xin’s head jerked up, his beady eyes locking onto Flint’s massive frame. Lottz followed suit, his lips curling into an uneasy grimace as he took in Flint’s transformed body.
“Evenin', boys,” Flint rumbled.
The low lighting cast strange shadows across his features, making his cow-like face even more imposing. Xin and Lottz looked at each other, then to him, wary but curious.
“Evening.” Lottz grinned. “What’s a girlie like you doing talking to shady men like us?”
“Drop the charm, Lottz,” Flint growled. “It doesn’t suit you. It’s Flint. The guy who broke your nose last winter, and I am even more capable of doing it again now.”
“Wait…Flint?” Xin gaped. “I heard the rumours, but…wow. You look so…”
Flint narrowed his eyes.
“Think very carefully about how you want to finish that sentence. Or if you even want to finish it at all.”
Xin swallowed hard.
“Right… what brings you here?”
“Information,” Flint said bluntly, cutting straight to the point. “Where’s the next pickup? Pace’s shipment. I know you’re involved.”
Sometimes, pretending to have concrete information when all you had was a hunch worked wonders; they didn’t even deny it. Lottz’s hand twitched as if he was considering going for something under the table. Flint noticed it immediately and placed a hand on his own hip.
We ain’t seen Pace in weeks.” Xin tried.
Flint didn’t flinch. He stepped closer, towering over the pair, casting them in his shadow. The energy in the room shifted. He could feel their nerves.
“You’re lying.” His words were cold, calculated.
Lottz shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing a concealed blade. But Flint’s senses were sharp, and before the man could even make a move, Flint slammed his udder onto the table with a resounding thud. The impact was jarring, knocking over their drinks and causing the tabletop to crack. Xin jumped, his wide eyes flicking between Flint and the ruined table.
“We can't just go giving out information about supplies, the boss would kill us!”
“Your boss ain’t not here.” Flint leaned in, lowering his voice, making it a near growl. “I am.”
Lottz’s hand shot out, going for the blade under the table. But Flint was faster. He used the bulk of his body, twisting and slamming into Lottz with his udder, sending the man flying from his seat. Lottz crashed into a nearby table, groaning as he tried to scramble back to his feet. Xin barely had time to react before Flint grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up effortlessly with one arm.
“I’m only asking once more,” Flint said, his voice as steady as a loaded gun. “Where’s the next pickup?”
Xin’s breath came in short gasps, his legs kicking uselessly in the air as Flint held him up.
“A’ight! A’ight! It’s happening on Level Sixty-three, down in the abandoned processing centre! Tomorrow night!”
Flint’s eyes stayed locked on Xin, judging his honesty. He could smell the fear on the man, see the sweat beading on his forehead. Satisfied, Flint dropped him back into his seat with a dull thud. Xin gasped, clutching his chest and glancing over at Lottz, who was still struggling to get back up.
But before Lottz could make another move, Flint turned, swinging his udder with precision. The fleshy mass connected with Lottz’s face, sending him sprawling once again, this time with a sickening crack. The clubgoers around them stepped back, wide-eyed, as Flint’s unconventional weapon left the man dazed and bleeding on the floor.
“That’s for making this harder than it needed to be.”
Xin and Lottz didn't bother to respond; maybe they finally learned it was better to keep their mouths shut unless absolutely necessary.
He had what he needed. He turned, leaving the wreckage behind him as he pushed through the crowd. His hips swayed, his tail flicked across Xin’s face as he turned, and Flint couldn’t help but grin. He placed his hands on his hips as he walked purposefully, enjoying the movement and the eyes on him. It was nice to be in the spotlight once in a while.
~
He was closing in, he could feel it. Flint spent the whole day preparing, studying the station's schematics, the factory's history where the deal was going down, and even reading up on Pace’s psychological profile. He wasn't going to have any surprises this time; he was going to get his mark. In his new, tight-fitting, comfortable clothes, he found himself lost in the hunt; his new body was no longer a distraction. At least it wasn't until he walked through the main promenade on his way to Level Sixty-three. He had been so focused the last few days, finding Pace’s location and then preparing for the fight, so busy in fact that he’d forgotten to milk himself.
Flint bit his lip; the udder felt tight and full, a sensation that was spreading to his breasts as well. After a few weeks in this body, he knew what to expect when he took care of it, but…he was so full right now it was going to take a while, and he didn't want to waste time. The deal would be going down in an hour's time, and he needed to get in position early to ensure he didn’t miss anything. But he couldn’t just ignore the problem anymore; what was spreading over his skin was going tight. His udder pressed against a stranger as he made his way through the crowd, and it was all he could do to avoid moaning as a little milk dribbled from the tip.
“Dammit…”
He needed release if he wanted to be fighting fit, ready to take on pace. Any distraction could cause him to make a rookie mistake just like last time, and the last thing he needed was to get stuck with one of those syringes again! God knows what he might become. His udder quivered again, and it took all the muscle control he had to keep milk from leaking out of one of his teats. There was no getting around it, if he wanted to fight Pace and win, he needed all his faculties about him. He didn't exactly have time to find somewhere private to take care of himself, though. His eyes slid to the many bars and shops that lined the main promenade and sighed; there weren’t enough Bovarian’s on Thebe to warrant a milking station…but one of those bars had to have one somewhere.
He pulled up his communicator and started searching around, surely at least one place on Thebe had a milking machine he could use. Turns out, there were actually three, but only one on this level. An establishment called “All Things Exo”, a specialty store that sold things for the non-human population of Thebe and offered certain niche experiences. Including a Solarium for Jolites, a feather parlour for Plumarians and, most importantly, a milking machine for Bovarians.
Flint stepped into the dimly lit shop, his heart pounding with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. Not that he let it show on his face; he was here so that he could do his job properly. Not for the pleasure. His large, swollen udder, a gift and a curse, hung heavily beneath his hefty breasts, skin hot and tight. Now that he knew relief was only a few minutes away, it seemed more distracting than ever.
A green-skinned alien woman sat behind the front desk and didn't seem the least bit phased by seeing him. She looked him up and down, taking in the udder.
“After the milking machine?”
“...yes.”
“At the back.” She nodded, “Scan your cred chip. You might need two rounds if you’re really full. Give me a yell if you need getting hooked up.”
The very idea of being helped into the machine made Flint revile, this was undignified as it was. The contraption resembled a harness, it hung from the roof with the suction cup attached to the floor below, soft pads were placed so that he could relax his body fully while still remaining on his hands and knees. Flint almost gagged.
“Is it necessary to be on my hands and knees for this? Can’t I stand up?”
“Sorry, hun.” The woman shrugged, getting up from the desk to join him. “That’s the only model we have. Gravity does a lot of the work this way.”
“...Fine.”
He gently positioned his body, ensuring his udder was accessible, and his breasts were supported. The soft leather embraced his curves, and Flint had to fight back a blush; this felt animalistic in a way he didn't appreciate. As the woman secured the restraints, Flint's breath quickened. His pussy began to moisten, his body already reacting to the anticipation of what was to come. With expert hands, she attached the milking cups to Flint's swollen udder and hit a switch.
“I’ll be over there if you need anything. Try not to be too loud.”
Flint wanted to bite back, but the machine was already humming to life, and he couldn’t trust himself enough to open his mouth.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Pleasure shot through his body, starting from the tight, sensitive teats and spreading like wildfire. His pussy quivered between his legs, and he had to fight the urge to crush it between his thighs. He expected the machine to feel less personal than a warm hand, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. It was strong, secure and, most importantly, relentless.
"Oh, fuck..." Flint groaned, his stoic facade crumbling under the intense pleasure. The suction increased slightly, causing Flint's udder to spasm and release its creamy load into the tubing below the suction cup.
Flint moaned, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy as the machine milked him relentlessly. The rhythmic tugging on his teats sent waves of pleasure crashing over him, and his pussy clenched in sync with each pull. The room filled with the sounds of Flint's moans, the slurping of the milking cups, and the wet, lewd noises of milk splashing.
"I'm gonna... Hnnnnngh!!" Flint groaned, his body tensing orgasm washed over him. The machine continued to milk him through the climax, and the tubes flooded with creamy white milk as he came a second time almost instantly. The pleasure continued, but now he could think clearly. His udder was still half full, and the temptation to stay and let the machine take every last drop was strong. But he needed to get going, he was still a bounty hunter, first and foremost. Besides, his udder was a much more formidable weapon when it had some heft in it.
Awkwardly. he reached around and unhooked himself, flicking off the machine somewhat reluctantly and removing his udder. He got to his feet shakily; his knees felt like jello after such a strong orgasm, but Flint forced himself to walk confidently as he left the shop, nodding to the woman as he went. His mind was clear; finally, he could focus on the job.
“It’s time to get to work.”
~
The old factory was dead quiet; like so many abandoned places on space stations, it was much more pristine than one would expect. Dust didn't exactly build up in space. At least, not as much as it would on a planet. Flint was crouched behind a stack of old, empty crates. His tail swished silently back and forth along the metal floor in impatience. The time for the meeting had come and gone, and nothing had happened.
“If Lottz and Xin lied to me…I’ll make their lives a living nightmare.”
His mind was filled with images of crushing them beneath his udder till they gave up the real information; it brought a grin to his face. Then, suddenly, there was a creaking sound; the door to the factory (the one he had sabotaged so that it would make said creaking sound to alert him) had opened. In stepped his mark; Dr Pace looked around nervously, briefcase in hand.
“Lottz? Are you in here?” He called, and Flint grinned.
Lottza and Xin didn't just know about the pick-up; they were supposed to be the ones doing it. No wonder they hadn't shown up. If they knew he was coming, they were probably a dozen levels away just to be safe. Dr Pace was wringing his clawed hands nervously.
“Xin? Lottz? Come on, this isn't funny!” He looked around again with desperation in his eyes. “I need the credits to get off the station, please! Before…”
“Before I find you?” Flint finished for him, standing up dramatically.
Pace jumped on the spot, and his eyes went wide. He was scared. That much was obvious, but he was also clever. And a frightened, intelligent man was not something to be taken lightly; he learned that the hard way.
“Y-you! You’re still coming after me?” Pace gasped. “I’d hoped the rumours weren’t true…all the others gave up!”
“Rumours, hm? I will have to find out who’s been squealing on me and shut them up.” Flint cracked his knuckles. “Now, are you going to do this the easy way…or the fun way?”
Pace swallowed and, a moment later, reached into his coat. Quick as lightning he flung something in Flint’s direction which he dodged expertly. The needle shattered against the metal wall. For a moment they looked at one another, Pace clearly shocked that he was able to move so quickly despite his new bulk. Flint just grinned.
“Fun way it is.”
He dove forward, heavy footfalls making the metal floor hum as he charged forward, heavy head down, ready to ram the Plumarian into next week. The doctor barely managed to get out of the way, but that itself was a trap. Flint wrapped his cord-like tail around the man’s wrist as he passed and twisted, sticking out his hips and ass to swing himself around as quickly as possible. Pace was flung to the ground, syringes from his briefcase clattered to the ground and bumped against Flint’s feet. With one great step, he crushed one underfoot, much to Pace’s horror.
“No! I need those!”
“Not where you’re going, you won’t.”
Dr. Pace stumbled backward, just barely slipping through Flint’s grasp as his fingers brushed the doctor’s sleeve. The Plumarian was agile, without the burden of the briefcase, Pace moved like lightning, his panicked breath sharp against the cold air of the factory.
Flint cursed under his breath and bolted after him. The factory was a maze of rusted machinery and towering metal structures, perfect for someone as slippery as Pace to disappear. His new body—stronger, faster—made him relentless. The sound of his breathing grew louder in his ears. He saw it before it happened—the glint of the heavy metal door.
“No, you don’t!” Flint growled.
Pace dove through the door and slammed it shut with a metallic clang. A split second later, Flint was there, ramming into it with his full weight. The door didn’t budge. He threw his shoulder against it again, harder this time, the frustration bubbling up inside him. Flint stood still, eyes locked on the door like a predator waiting for its prey to make the next move. But then his lips curled into a grim smile. He reached for his new phaser, the weight of it familiar in his hand. The old model would’ve been useless against something this solid, but this one had power. Flint levelled the barrel at the locking mechanism and braced himself.
BANG!
The shot rang out, reverberating through the narrow space. The kickback jolted through his arm, but his bulk absorbed it easily. The door shuddered, then creaked open under the force, smoke curling from the melted lock. Without missing a beat, Flint was in pursuit again. He found himself in a storage room, Pace backed up against the wall in a panic. He had nowhere left to run.
“W-who the hell are you!?” He cried. “Why didn't you give up like the others?”
“Not in my nature.”
Flint approached, and Pace tried to duck past him again, only to trip as Flint stuck his leg out. The doctor was sent to the floor, and the bounty hunter turned with purpose, slamming his udder into the man’s head and knocking him out cold with a splatter of milk. Flint reached down and tied the man’s hands. He hefted his mark over his shoulder with one hand and patted his udder with another. Useful indeed.
~
“Two hundred thousand.” The chief of police whistled. “Impressive, even for you, Flint.”
Flint just nodded, watching as Pace was put into custody.
“He’s changed several people into different alien races, not to mention a few bosses across the various Jupiter stations have picked up his little formula.” The chief sighed. “So you’re not the only one in this predicament. We’ll see if we can cut some sort of deal, get him to create a human variation or an antidote. Until then, there isn't a lot we can do for you.”
Flint just blinked at him and shrugged.
“So?”
“So?” The chief said incredulously. “Aren't you bothered? You’ve been transformed into a female Bovarian for crying out loud. I’m surprised you were even able to finish the job!”
Flint smirked and patted his udder again.
“All about learning to use the tools you have.” He smiled. “I’m in no hurry to give up something that’s useful.”
The chief just shook his head in disbelief as Flint turned to leave.
“He sure is something.” He muttered, and Flint chuckled under his breath.
He already knew the word on the street; that Flint Daven had been transformed into a terrifying and oddly sexy Bovarian woman. If people thought that was going to make him less of a threat, they were dead wrong. Human or alien, he was still the most terrifying bounty hunter around. He would make sure nobody forgot it.
Comments
DefinitelyNotAYandereImouto
I honestly like the idea of people using these drugs to better perform their jobs, it's an interesting world-building idea tbh.
