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Marcus wandered around the barn of his ranch, waddling from place to place with a slightly distressed air. It was his birthday, fittingly enough, but what was more troublesome were the pangs running through his gravid stomach, each pulse telling him that it would be his child's birthday too. He let out a small groan as another wave hit him, his eyes wandering the barn to make sure everything was in place.

When he'd gone out nine months ago to find a cure for his mother, this was not what he expected when he'd returned. He'd always been a bit of a feminine minotaur, never really focused on strength or being imposing due to his life in human society, but he still had been a man. But ever since his confusing (and, honestly, wonderful) night with the nymph, the slit between his legs had ached, and the udder where his balls had once been had slowly filled up with milk, expanding between his legs as it prepared for the new life he was growing.

Nowhere in the process, though, had this felt wrong. Perhaps the first day, when he was figuring out how to pee without the appendage he was used to, or as his hips widened and his stomach churned from the early stages of pregnancy, but somehow this had felt right the whole time. And with his mother recovering from the illness that had had her down, his life had been a strange fog of maternal bliss.

One that was shattered once again by a harsh labor pang tightening his muscles. He took a deep breath, leaning against one of the support beams in the barn. Milk was soaking his legs and the underside of his belly, every pulse of tension rushing through his muscles enough to spray the life-giving liquid from his swollen udder, but he didn't have the chance to do anything about it right now, feeling the shifting weight inside him. His time was coming soon.

There, of course, had been a few issues with the sudden transition from bull to cow. For one, his mother hadn't fully recognized him. Apparently his features, while still masculine, had softened slightly. And the fey hadn't made it a clean deal. Some of the closeness they'd achieved as he'd nursed her had been taken away, replaced with the woman from before the illness that was bold, in charge, and didn't ask for help until it was too late. Still, after he explained his trip and... well, his new reality, his mother had to accept that it was real, and she'd been incredibly supportive.

The same wasn't true in town. His new teats were in an odd spot in his clothing, and the first time he ended up in town in a kilt got a laugh from the less tolerant people. It wasn't an issue until a few months had passed, though, and his rapidly-growing udder's teats had peeked out from underneath, dripping the first fresh drops of milk behind him as he awkwardly waddled. As the fey had promised, he wasn't ever called out for sleeping with the cows... but the bulls? That was the new explanation for his growing belly.

He let them think what they wanted, though he got the last laugh. After all, with an udder between his legs growing far more rapidly than the belly above it, all that milk had to go SOMEWHERE. And while he had his own unique flavor, mixed in with the milk of the other cows, nobody had suspected a thing at the market. He chuckled to himself, looking at the milk bucket. His mom had had to help as the months went on, always able to see just how aroused he was and hear his lusty mooing... He'd been so embarrassed the first few times, but right now, he almost wished she was here to do so again.

A kick from his stomach rocked him on the spot, bringing him back to the present and the weight pressing down from his womb. That was going to have to wait, as the pressure was starting to be too much. He waddled over to the stack of hay he'd set up, getting good and comfortable. There had been room in the house, but he'd wanted to move around too much for it, and after he'd helped a cow birth a calf not more than a month ago, some strange part of him had wanted to share the space with the animals he held so near.

He lay down on the hay, testing his legs a little and feeling them hold firm in the dirt. He rubbed his belly, barely able to reach the udder underneath, but he sighed contentedly. It had been a wonderful experience, one he wasn't against repeating... though, supposedly, this would be the true test. He was nervous, but he looked across the barn to the stall there, seeing the young calf nursing from its mother... It made him smile, soothed, knowing it was possible to do.

"Marcus! Sorry I'm late, I have the cloth and something to bite on, and I hope these straps will work for you." His mother rushed into the room, a bit of water in a basin there to help clean things up and a set of shears for once the child was out. She'd helped plenty of animals give birth in her time, and, of course, had helped herself when Marcus had entered the world... Now she was going to help her grandchild into the world, though she probably never would've guessed her son would be the one delivering. "Now, you've been breathing, right?"

Marcus nodded. "Y-yeah mom. Just been feeling a few pangs, and I think I'm getting-AHN~!" He groaned, gritting his teeth as the strongest pulse yet rocked through his body, a splash of liquid gushing from between his legs. For a second he thought his udder had gone off again, but his mom whistled in amazement.

"That's impressive, going through all that before your water even bursts. Now hold still." She got down between his knees, caressing his thighs lightly to relax him as she looked right into his pussy. "Ah, I can't see anything with this big udder in the way... you sure you don't want to roll over for this?"

Marcus groaned loudly as another wave washed through him, glaring at her, though he couldn't see her past his stomach. "No, mom. I'm not a cow, and I'm not stable enough to do it standing, so this will have to do."

She chuckled, peeking over his stomach. "Could've fooled me." A quick tug on one of his sensitive teats made him shudder and groan, a jet of milk firing over his stomach and hitting him in the face. His mom laughed, then rubbed his stomach. "But I'm not going to waste another drop until this little one's out. And I won't even tug like I do on calves."

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Gee, tha~AAAAAAHN!" A huge pulse rocked through his body, the walls of his womb clenching hard suddenly, pressing against the form inside it. It moved in response, the active life inside him moving lower, spreading him out.

At that he gasped, feeling a hand sliding up into him. He wasn't exactly proud with where his mother was, though... he had to admit, it felt good on his aching muscles. He wished it didn't feel quite so good... Somewhere, deep inside him, he felt her hand moving, touching his deepest barrier. "Yep, you're big enough, the baby's coming now. I hope you're prepped." She held up a thick bit of leather. "Would you like something to bite on, or would you rather be screaming?"

The minotaur couldn't respond, though, as the urge to push rocked through his body. He groaned, slamming his hooves into the dirt, and pushed, pressing on his belly with his hands. The heavy life inside him had been there for so long he'd gotten used to it... would he even know how to be in his new form without a growing calf? And what would it look like? Would the nymph come for it? He suddenly got worried, tears forming at the edges of his eyes, though whether from stress or fear, he didn't know.

All thoughts were shoved from his mind a moment later, though, as another contraction hit. He could almost see the young one's foot pressing against the inside of his womb, pushing down as he tried to help it, the huge head starting to move slowly through that barrier deep within him. He sighed, relaxing, then heard his mother laughing. She popped up absolutely soaked with milk, glaring at him. "Look, son, you need to warn me if you can. I only have so many dresses."

He didn't have time to be ashamed, nor the patience right now, as his hands clutched at the straw beneath him. "If you think I can control this, you must've been some kind of genius, mom, because I~Arrrrroooooooooo~." His groan turned into a contented moo as the milk rushed through him, the head of his child slipping past into his pussy. The muscles clenched around it, instinctively trying to move it further, but... it was strange. There was pain, huge amounts, as his body was pushed past its limits... but also so much pleasure. The child's head was milked, the body wanting to savor the moment, and he found himself wet with more than just amniotic fluid and milk as he shuddered, his mind wandering to a common daydream.

Recently he'd been worried about his milk production. It was a silly thing, but he knew that he'd actually helped boost the amount that could be sold in town, and he was proud to help when he did. More than once he'd looked at one of the bulls, wondering if they could help him with that worry... or with the burning need between his legs. Only once had he gotten even close to that, though. He'd leaned against a post as his mother milked him, his body spiking with pleasure with every pull of his teat, and behind him was the bull...

His small tail had whipped up and to the side, his glistening pussy drooling for the bull. He'd let out a long, low moo, fully taken by the milking and the heavy belly beneath him... he didn't want it to end. He'd wished, so many times, that the paddock had been open... that he'd been mounted then and there... When he started running low, he'd have to maybe try~.

Marcus let out a loud, lusty moo that echoed through the bar as his daydream crashed back with his reality, the body pushing forward through his loins. His mother whistled again, impressed. "This is... quick, I ain't gonna lie. It's like you were made for this, son!" He groaned, his tired body aching, wanting this child out of him... but his mind latched onto the compliment, the satisfaction, the feeling he was where he was meant to be, surging through his core. As the next contraction came, so too did Marcus, a rush of feminine honey splashing out with the milk and everything else, coating the straw and even his mother with the orgasmic satisfaction of finding who he wanted to be.

As he waited for the next contraction, he groaned. "My udder is so full... even with the mess it's making. Mom, could you maybe..." He bit his lip, his mind going to a very strange place. "I need you to drain it a little. Do you want to-"

His mom slapped his thigh, making him yelp and whip his tail under him. "Son, that's weird. But if YOU want a taste, open your mouth." He panted, wondering why drinking his own milk was any less weird than her doing it, but he opened his mouth, feeling parched from his work so far. The warmth of her hand on his teat, the gentle tug, the rush of relief as milk squirted out... he didn't even care than it missed, splashing across his nose, as he mooed contentedly, shuddering with another wave of pleasure.

It was a hard pleasure to explain. There was both the instinct, that his body was full, that it needed to be emptied by someone else... It was almost like a mix between when he'd been male, shamefully hiding away his cock in this very barn as he pumped it to... whatever thoughts were going through his mind, and when he'd been out in the woods peeing, relief washing over him and filling him from his hooves up as his body drained. Maybe it was his sensitivity, or his hormone-addled mind, but every tug on his teats right now felt like a small orgasm, and it had him mooing and groaning, leaning into his mother's touches. His mom rolled her eyes, but gave it a few more shots, every rush of fluid like bliss, and the savory, sweet taste on his tongue... divine.

For a moment, he felt like a god... or a goddess... or something in between. A fertility idol, belly full, coated in milk, child on the way... His mind spiked with pleasure, then was wracked with the sharp reality as those shoulders pushed into his birth canal. He groaned, throwing his head back so hard one of his horns left a scratch in the wood behind him. "I can see the head!" His mother cried out, and Marcus could feel it under his udder, stretching his lips wider than they'd ever been before. He felt like he might rip... like he, suddenly, wasn't ready for it. Not a god, not an instinct, a confused and frightened mortal pushing a new life into the world. He gripped down, groaning loudly as he bore on his own stomach, trying to get that pressure past his pussy lips.

Slowly they stretched, wider and wider, until he was sure they'd tear apart, followed by his whole body... before there was an audible pop, then a squelching of fluids. Pressure rushed from between his legs, and his mom crowed ecstatically. "Here we are! It's a head. With a couple little horns and a snout just like yours... oh, they're beautiful. Keep pushing, you're almost there."

Marcus could feel tears welling up again, of joy, of relief, of pain, he wasn't sure, but he knew he was crying now. His body had passed the peaks of bliss, and while it was trying to find pleasure, it was tired and strained. This was, by far, the greatest ordeal of his life. Worse than any long work days, or huge trek through forests and woods... And yet he couldn't say he hated it. Even as his pussy gaped painfully around the body lodged in him, he could only feel satisfied, happy... And then the urge to push again. He groaned, his womb aching, his body wanting to be done with the ordeal... and then there was another rush of pressure releasing.

The shoulders slipped past his lips, and the rest came quite easily with his mother's help. There was something still in him, but his stomach was much flatter, just a cord connecting the child and himself. Another push and that was free too, and he felt... empty. Drained. Like he'd pushed his very core out of himself. He closed his eyes, flopping back in the straw, feeling it sticking to his sweaty fur. Somewhere he heard the snip of the shears cutting the cord, fully making the child a new entity...

He groaned, then gasped, feeling small lips latching onto one of his teats, that wonderful relief rushing from his body... but this time, he knew, into his child. He began to tear up again, lifting himself up with what strength he had as he looked at the beautiful, soft, round head resting on his udder, sucking away at it. He looked at it, then at his mom. "So... is it a-"

"She's a girl, Marcus. Beautiful, and looking just like you when I first held you." His mom smiled warmly, washing her hands, then cleaning the mess between his thighs, neither of them wanting to disturb the baby.

Marcus sighed happily, then flopped back, just enjoying the feeling of the child at his udder. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into the straw for a moment, this whole surreal moment finally over. And, he wasn't going to lie... he sort of wanted to do it again. As for his daughter... he'd think of a name eventually. For right now he just closed his eyes to rest. "Happy birthday, little one. Welcome to this strange new world."