Marigold

It was a bright and crisp morning. Having had your morning coffee, you put on your overalls and boots, and made your way across the farm. The grass was still wet with the morning dew, and the air felt cool and clean. A few of the others were already awake: farmhands ambling about with hay or buckets or tools, chicken harpies out doing their morning stretches, duck harpies waddling down to the watering hole for a morning swim, and pig girls lining up at the kitchen for their breakfast. Some of them - who hadn't had their hands full - would wave at you as you passed, moving into the area of the barns where the cows were kept. Cow women provided a steady source of income through their milk, while bull men where a serious force multiplier for the farmhands, such as yourself. You, however, have been tasked with looking after a very specific cow girl among the herd. Each of the cows had their own, separate stall, the size of a small apartment, and you knocked on the wide door of one. There was a grunt from inside, and a grumpy, feminine voice called out with a gruff, sleepy "Come in!", followed by a groan. Sliding the door to the side, you entered the stall of Marigold. One of the farm's prized do-anything cows, she was currently "working" as a dairy cow. Massive airquotes there, as her "work" consisted on lazing around and stuffing her face, and letting her body convert everything into nutrient-rich milk. Many suspected that this sedentary "workload" had left her rather bored, which would explain her choleric temperament: she nagged and complained endlessly, even when she was clearly enjoying herself.

"You're here early..." she yawned, slowly rising from her bed, and frowning "Too early."

She clambered out from under the covers, her naked, flabby body on full display. She hissed as her engorged breasts were jostled about, her tits audibly sloshing with milk. They were enormous on any given day, drooping slightly over her flabby stomach, but right now, they were rounded out and full, firm to the touch, and quite sensitive. As she got into a sitting position, a wet rumble came from behind her, and she sighed, expelling some morning gas, and rubbing her stomach with one hand as she propped herself up with the other. Still trying to blink the drowsiness out of her eyes, she stood up, yawning, while you closed the door behind you, keeping the morning cool out of her stall. This also trapped the general smell of the room in place - it reeked of Marigold's farts and body odor, though, having just gotten out of bed, she was still clean, aside from the sweat that gathered in her rolls and folds. As you turned back to her, her eyes finally focused on you, fixing you with her signature grumpy scowl, putting her hands on her doorway-wide hips (or rather, the lovehandles on top of them). Her breasts sloshed from the slightest movement, and looked to be around twice their normal size (which was already generous), overshadowing her massive stomach.

"So, it's finally time to milk me, then?" she asked, with mock curiosity, before snapping "Took your sweet time to get to me!"

"At your requests." you thought. Marigold had a habit of putting off her milking until she was practically leaking, and yet, still chided the farmhands whenever it was her turn. As if no-one was aware she was doing this on purpose. Oh, well. Like everyone else here, you've built up a resistance to her tsundere bullshit. You were here to take care of her, and that's exactly what you were going to do.

As the evening draw nearer, you made your way across the farm. It had been a busy day, and you were looking forward to spending some time with Marigold. As much as the cow girl loved to complain, she would always be partial to some company, and her softness made her quite pleasant to lean against - you've long since learned how to drown out her nagging. Around you, the other farmhands rushed about, intent on their toil to get things done before suppertime. Lucky for you, you were way ahead of them in this regard. Idly running your gaze across the yard as you walked along, you saw the other animals line up at the kitchen - the pig girls were there first, as always, eager to fill their bellies, followed by the duck and hen harpies. The sheep tended to eat separately, and the bulls ate with the farmhands, while the cows would have food delivered to their stalls. You even had half a mind to pick up a plate, and load it up for Mary, but then, you figured she already had her fill, and then some, what, with her being on slime breeding duty.

Slime breeding was, perhaps, one of the most bizarre jobs on the farm, and restricted to the cows, who were the only ones with wombs large enough and bellies stretchy enough to hold a whole squish of slimes (a squish being a group of slimes, usually in the dozens). From what the other cow women told you, slime breeding, for them, was a strange, but not altogether uncomfortable experience - it didn't trigger any maternal hormones, and while the slimes could get ornery within their wombs, their inherent squishiness meant that they weren't painful to carry. Yet, at the same time, the bulk of a full womb did put some pressure on their gastrointestinal system, and made them lactate even more. While it wasn't outright stated, they were essentially doing double duty, carrying slimes to maturity while also working as dairy cows. The unusual nature of the job was tempered with some perks: extra feed was provided (not that it wasn't generous, varied and delicious to begin with), and slime breeders were often personally pampered and taken care of by a farmhand specifically assigned to them. This would be you, in Marigold's case. Once the slimes reached maturity, they became restless and eager to leave the womb. A slight push was enough to get them into motion, and they would squeeze themselves out easily. Thanks to their extremely pliable, squishy nature, "birthing" them was completely painless - even quite pleasant, according to some of the cows.

For as much as she loved to complain about it - and she complained a lot -, Mary was one of the farms most prolific breeders, often producing a record number of slimes, and quickly lining up for another "tour" after one batch had matured and left her womb. She was known as something of a generalist, a do-anything cow, but you suspected she took up breeding because of the many perks that came with it.

The other cowgirls were kind enough to let you in on a secret: slimes made cunnilingus delicious, thanks to their fruity flavors, and they basically functioned as living contraceptives, as they could consume semen as protein.

Having arrived to Marigold's stall, you knocked on her door. Your answer was a warbly BRRRLRLRAAAAPPP!, a moan and a tired, grumpy "Come in!" , followed by another fart and moan. Most cow girls were gassy, but Mary was especially flatulent, which her pseudo-pregnancy made even worse. Sliding the wide barn door of her stall to the side, you were quickly buffeted by hot, foul air - it reeked of sulfur, and no doubt consisted almost entirely of the cow woman's dense flatulence. Stepping inside, you waited a bit, letting the stink pour out and fresh air come in, as you took stock of your charge.

Marigold's belly was enormous, turgid and upset. It bounced, rippled and undulated every so often, as the slimes within her womb - likely close to full maturity - were being ornery, wriggling about, causing lumps and bumps to appear and disappear across her tummy. She was sitting on her bed, her plump tail docked against the wall as her glutes quaked from her frequent flatulent outbursts. Her flabby, bingo wing arms hugged her midsection from either side, black fingers rubbing circles on the surface in a vain attempt to soothe her slimy brood. Resting atop her belly were her overfilled breasts, full and sensitive, sloshing as they were jostled by the bounces and bumps of her womb. Milk dewed on her nipples, slowly dripping down from her breasts.

"About--BUUUUURP! Ugh... About time you showed up!" she snapped, groaning as her belly bounced again, forcing out yet another warbling bout of gas from her behind "God, it feels like I'm about to pop..."

You studied her carefully. Judging by the ample amount of adipose upon her frame, she was likely still far from rupturing - not that THAT ever happened to begin with -, but it was safe to assume that the slimes were close to their due date. Just then, her belly made a literally jump, briefly flashing you her engorged, wet pussy beneath it. Mary let out a long moan, unmistakably that of pleasure. The blush on her face - already present when you stepped in - grew even deeper, and once she snapped out of it, she glared at you intently.

"Don't just stand there!" she snapped "Do something!"

You started by closing the door behind yourself, before turning to her.

The midday sun glared down on you as you made your way to Marigold's stall. Everyone else was either having lunch or having a nap to deal with the heat, leaving the farm unusually quiet. You barely saw anyone as you walked across the yard, and even those you did see didn't wave at you or greet you in any way. Not that you were doing any waving or greeting, either - you just wanted to get out of this heat, and get on with your work. Mary usually made for pleasant company (in her own, grouchy way), but that fact was slightly dampened by another: she was on manure duty.

It was, perhaps, the least glamorous job on the farm for any animal, but still ultimately useful. Manure could be either sold or used right here, for the crops... And naturally, cows were the best producers, both by volume and quality. However, the job itself was looked down upon for two reasons: for one, it was stupidly simple - all one had to do was keep eating, and let biology take its course -, and two, because the end product, no matter how useful, was still just crap in a bag. For pig women, this and being the farm's food waste disposals was the only job available. They weren't exactly held in high regard, especially given their slovenliness. For others, like sheep women, chicken and duck harpies, and, of course, cows, there were other avenues for revenue, making manure production little more than a side gig, if even that. For cows in particular, however, due to the sheer amount and quality they could produce, it became a viable alternative job in case there was a drop in milk production. Of course, slime breeding and manure production were mutually exclusive, as the increased bowel capacity required would've been at odds with the pressure placed upon the GI track by having a squish of slimes growing in the womb. Neither of the two hindered milk production, but while slime breeding increased the dairy output of a cow, thanks to their bodies' natural reaction to a full womb, manure production was typically "handed out" as a way to make a cow girl who's milk had ebbed away at least somewhat useful, further stigmatizing the job. The final nail in the coffin was the fact that while slime breeding was considered a strange, but not altogether unpleasant experience by cow women, manure production involved the consumption of a huge amount of a specific feed (which, while tasty, could quickly grow monotonous), the constant feeling of fullness, bloating, increased flatulence, and bouts of constipation. In short, it made them feel exactly like what they thought of the pigs.

And considering how bitterly she complained about doing it, Marigold was still an oddity in this regard. She was something of a do-anything cow, being an excellent milk producer and slime breeder, and yet, from time to time (such as in this case), she took up manure production, even though her milk output hadn't abated. The other cow girls chalked it up to her showing off. You, on the other hand, were of the belief that she did it out a desire for fullness. Knocking on the barn door of her stall, you were quick to make out the sounds of rampant, almost runaway flatulence, and after a muffled "It's open!" was heard from inside, you slid open the door, only to be assailed by air so foul and dense that you could lean against it! Inside the single-room apartment, you encountered an electric fan - likely used to cool down the cow girl, but all it succeeded in was circulating her fumes until the whole room became a dutch oven. Leaving the door open a bit until the air was of breathable quality again, you glanced across the comfortably furnished room, finding the floor littered with the wrappers of the special feed required to be eaten by manure cows. Grunts and groans reached your ear (along with further blaring notes of flatulence), and the sound of chewing. As the sulfurous smell of farts cleared out, you became much more aware of the stench of body odor, and particularly sweat, that lingered. Closing the door, you made your way to the bathroom's entryway. There within you found Marigold, squatting above the trough-like receptacle installed specifically to collect manure-quality waste. And immediately, the problem became obvious: Her belly, filled to the brim, hung low enough to touch the tiled floor, visible between her fat legs. Her ass quivered and jiggled as she clenched and relaxed, her tail docked, her anus appearing and disappearing between her enormous cheeks, bulging and opening to release further bouts of foul gas, but aside from farting, it did little. Mary used a lowered milking rack to keep herself hoisted up, propping her arms on top of it to relieve weight from her legs, and likely to have something to find purchase upon when she stood up from her squat. Through the asscheek-clapping farts, you could still hear her belly groaning and gurgling, overfilled to the brim and finding no release. The rest of her was just as fat as ever, with sweat pooling in her rolls and folds, partly from the heat and mostly from her straining. Walking around her massive frame, you could observe her engorged breasts, the full extent of her overloaded belly (which was starting to grow ruddy from fullness), and locate the source of the chewing noise: she was eating a feed bar. It was the wrappers of these that you found scattered all over her floor, and if you had to hazard a guess, most of those wrappers were from feed bars she had consumed in just this last few hours. The silly cow had stuffed herself to the gills - and indeed, her cleavage, double chin and jowls were dusted with crumbs, while her brunette hair clung wetly to her head and shoulders, no doubt moist from all her sweating.

"It's... BOUUAAAAARP! ...Stuck." she said, belching between bites as she demolished the last bar, and gave another grunt. The gurgling of her stomach became a roar, but aside from a warbling wet fart, she made no further progress with emptying her bowels. Dropping the now empty wrapper, she turned her tired gaze towards you, her flabby arms and hands now both resting on the lowered rack.

"...I've been straining away for hours..." she said, before nodding towards you "...So, instead of just standing there, gawking like an idiot, find a way to help!"

She let out a moan, then, her stomach burbling like a cauldron, as another wet fart bubbled up from withing her bowels. Blushing, she frowned, as the momentary relief was just that: momentary. The pressure returned, and she turned her scowl towards you again, expectantly.