#cowification

Megatron had taken every opportunity to make his latest success at catching the poor Autobot unawares as humiliating as possible for Bumblebee while indulging himself to the finest degree.

The rows of cubes stacked behind him that he insisted Bumblebee would eat for him like a good cow (yes, he had said it just like that, and Bumblebee shuddered to think about whether or not the fluttering fear in his gut had been entirely fear or something else added into the mix—this wasn’t his first time, after all) were bad enough. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the bellyache that lay in store for him when he was stuffed full of those… but the little cow bell dangling from Bumblebee’s neck? That was just too much.

Bumblebee swallowed hard against the ribbon tied all too tightly around his throat. The cow bell jingled its cheery tune as he forced his helm up to meet Megatron’s cruel smile—it was all he could do to avoid the way the ribbon dug into his throat and rubbed the mesh and wiring raw. Megatron was all grins as he curled a servo underneath Bumblebee’s chin and flicked the cow bell with the other, chuckling all the while at the ringing sound it made.

“You make an adorable piece of prey,” Megatron sneered through his smile. “It’s almost a shame I’ve caught you so soon… had I known our paths would cross like this, I would’ve brought a pretty little pair of ears and a nice, plump tail for you to wear.”

He grabbed ahold of the bell and gave it a good tug, and Bumblebee grimaced at the pressure against his throat and the piercing chime ringing in his audials as Megatron gave it another good shake.

“This will suffice,” he said through his laughter. “You’ll make a fine cow as is. I will simply need to ensure you look the part, too.”

It was his fault for trekking off on his own, really. Bumblebee just hadn’t seen the greedy optics staring through the brush or heard the heavy pedesteps coming up from behind him until it was far too late. It was never intentional, no matter what Megatron tried to purr into his processor. He was just out for a stroll when the big, beastly mech had happened upon him. The rest was a whirlwind of flying limbs and Megatron’s bull face staring him down as he lay pinned against the earth, and that brief moment of vulnerability is what left Bumblebee wondering how badly he’d really wanted to escape.

Bumblebee whimpered as Megatron kept him in place with a knee against the yellow bot’s chest as he reached for the first of his many, many cubes. He was agonizingly slow as he peeled off the lid with a cruel smile, and Bumblebee could have sworn his bright red optics glowed even brighter from the giddy excitement of trapping his precious adversary in place for what he claimed was a long-overdue feeding session.

“You’re far too small, you cow,” Megatron said as he lifted the cube to Bumblebee’s face and tipped it forward. When Bumblebee tried to struggle free, Megatron merely held his helm in place and forced him to take the first sip. “You may deny me now, but just you wait… foolish cattle like you always come to your senses eventually.”

Bumblebee tried to kick and thrash his way free, but his fight was useless. Megatron held him in place with a firm servo against the top of his helm—against the tiny, budding horns that sprouted from either side, as Megatron so lovingly referred to them as—and forced the cube inside of him.

The energon was as rich as it was plentiful, and it went down Bumblebee’s throat in thick, heavy gulps. The bell around his neck rang with every twitch of his frame as he tried again and again to fight back, but it was no use. Once Megatron had gotten ahold of him, he could only hope that his feeding would be quick.

“Drink up, cow,” Megatron growled, his face twisted into a determined look of glee as he tossed the now-empty cube aside and reached for another one. “It’s been a while since I last got to feed you… you must be starving without me here to fill your belly.”

The next cube was pushed against Bumblebee’s lips faster than he could respond, but no words came to his mind regardless. He grew slack as Megatron tipped it back and let the thick fuel pour into his mouth, and as he drank, the frantic jingling from his cow bell turned into a softer, quieter ringing that sounded with every bulge of energon that went down his throat.

It was near impossible to avoid running into Megatron anymore, just like it was impossible to avoid the feedings. Bumblebee hated falling prey so easily, but he just couldn’t help it… just like he couldn’t help the way his frame sagged under Megatron’s weight as his tanks grew fuller and fuller. He had finished his second cube even faster than the first, and by the time Megatron reached for the third cube, he no longer had to hold Bumblebee in place. Still, he did, his servo lingering on the mech’s helm and his fingers tracing the small bumps for horns that sprouted from the top.

It was a good thing Bumblebee wasn’t meant to be anywhere anytime soon. As far as he could tell, he’d be trapped here for a while—or at least until Megatron grew tired of purring pet names and flicking his cow bell. His belly was already beginning to swell after the third cube, and by the fourth, Megatron had shifted from kneeling against him to straddling his lap. He sacrificed the servo rubbing Bumblebee’s “horns” in favor of soothing Bumblebee’s gurgling belly as it struggled to digest the one cube of fuel after the next, and Bumblebee groaned at the comforting pressure of his skilled palm working away at the ache blooming just under his plating.

“That’s a good cow,” Megatron said softly, his voice deep and rumbling like the engine in a heavy vehicle. “Keep drinking, Bee. You’re nearly there.”

Bumblebee’s optics fluttered closed despite his best efforts. He didn’t want to be a part of the cattle in Megatron’s metaphorical herd—he never had—but something told him it was far, far too late to be making that defiance known. He squirmed as Megatron fed him the next cube, and then the next, and he panted against the pressure mounting in his stuffed tanks.

Primus, it had been way too long since Megatron last stuffed him full. He didn’t want it to happen again, surely, but… if it did happen more often, it would be easier, right? The little cow bell he wore jingled as he turned his helm away from the last cube, but Megatron eased the fuel down his throat with a coaxing voice and his servo stroking over Bumblebee’s bloated and taut belly.

He had finished again, and Megatron was pleased—he told Bumblebee so as he returned to rubbing Bumblebee’s tiny horns and soothing his big, swollen belly. He made a good cow looking like this… the belly was a nice touch against the curve of his belly stuffed so full (just as it should always be, Megatron gently chided), but it could be better.

“Ears and a tail,” Megatron said, the amusement fading from his voice as he patted Bumblebee’s helm. “One day, Bumblebee, I’ll give you ears and a tail… and with a belly full like this and the bell dangling from your neck, who would ever mistaken you for anything but the cow you are, and the cow you’ve become for me?”

Bumblebee didn’t want to think about it. Primus, he didn’t—he really didn’t. His mind just sort of… thought about it for him.

He could see himself just like that—a tail dangling from between his legs, black and white ears perched on his helm. Megatron always liked to stuff him silly whenever he caught the poor bot alone and unaware. It had started out as some twisted ‘Bot versus ‘Con thing in Bumblebee’s eyes, but now? Now, all he could hear in his audials when Megatron wasn’t whispering was that damned bell ringing around his neck. All he could feel was the churning in his belly and the blessedly painful feeling of his waistline growing another inch.

He shouldn’t have thought about it, surely… but Bumblebee feared the next time Megatron might catch him. There would be those cow ears and a little cow tail, surely. The bell was already there, and his belly was growing with every stuffing. Maybe after that he would be repainted to look like Megatron’s little cow. He should have hated it, and he should have fought back, but he didn’t. Not anymore.

He didn’t like to think on it much, but things really were a whole lot easier when his life and responsibilities were placed in some other mech’s servos. He didn’t like to think about how easy it had become from when he’d first adopted his new title and role compared to now, and for the most part, he didn’t have to. That was what Kiloton was there for. Cybertron was a cold, cruel place in those days, and that much they both knew. when you were stuck at the bottom of a twisted caste system and forced to work from day one, your options were already limited.

Megatron didn’t like to think on it much. He really didn’t like to think on much of anything anymore… not since the changes in hierarchy and the shifts of power. What a lucky mech he was for it, too; he no longer have to think about anything, period.

It must have been wrong on some moral grounds to reduce himself to a gluttonous, fattened creature who could no longer utter a single sentence without bellowing stuttered groans and mooing his way through conversations. It must have been, surely, because what else would explain the strange and unsettling sensation of Megatron’s own mind escaping him? With every day that passed he grew fatter, more docile, much eager to be milked and petted and pampered and spoiled. He was becoming like one of the elites, Primus dammit, and oh… how he loved it.

Kiloton seemed to enjoy it, too. There was no other explanation as to why he would go and spend the last of his shanix on luxurious items and excessive treats to further his and Megatron’s indulgence. They had been built for the mines and sentenced to live out their days beside Cybertron’s core, and yet here they had come, risen to the tops and loved by all that saw them—at least, most of all.

Megatron almost felt bad for betraying his fellow mining crew, but in a way, he had saved them. He wasn’t the only cash cow growing fat off of the riches of the wealthy, that was for sure. Why would they ever stop at one when they could have several?

In the absence of a ruler and amidst the rise of a classist society, the introduction of a new line of entertainment was greatly encouraged. Mechs who came from down under mattered little in the long run, which meant that securing a prized bot for your own and filling them up until they were leaking fresh milk by the hour and bawling for more fuel, more feed, and more belly rubs to soothe their rapidly growing frames was far from a crime. It was an envious pleasure, in fact, and to both Megatron and Kiloton’s surprise, the bots toiling beneath the earth’s surface quick rose up to become precious and coveted—worshiped, even.

The world of breeding, milking, and cows galore was greatly favored. The cattle came in all shapes and sizes, experiences and ages, and not one ever proved unsatisfactory in their ability to gain or produce. Above all, though, Megatron was the blue ribbon example. He was the talk of the town, the pride of their planet, and he was the greatest example of a lowly miner turned fattened cow yet.

A headband with spotted, attachable ears and a bright pink bow had been attached to his helm from the start, and with the long black-and-white tail attached at his back, he embodied the look of a healthy, happy heifer. His belly hung low and stretched out white, leaving him pinned to the floor more often than not. He was hardly anywhere near immobility, though, as the telltale tinkle of the bright gold cow bell that hung from his neck could always be heard around the clock.

Here, he was fed. He was milked, too, and pampered. It was the perfect life for a cow like him, and the longer he stayed, the faster he adapted.

It hard been at first, leaving things behind. Megatron had been forced to embrace the new lifestyle rather quickly, and though the cow ears and cow tail combo hadn’t been sprung on him the very first night, he’d still had his fair share of trouble adjusting to sleeping on piles of blankets and riding out the tank aches that followed being stuffed to the brim every other hour. His feeding schedule was heavier compared to the sparse resources he’d had before, and up amongst the aristocrats and fliers and high-society bots who walked Cybertron’s surface, he felt out of place.

This was what Kiloton was there for, he supposed. Change was difficult, but this change was for the better. Besides, the more he gave in…

…ah. Where was he again? He couldn’t quite recall. The dinner bell had rung again, and his mind was now elsewhere.

Nothing much had changed outside of the small additions Kiloton added here and there, but as the days passed and time began to blend, Megatron found himself… drifting. Not necessarily changing, too, but shifting. Adapting, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. The ringing of the bell around his neck pierced his audials as he lifted his helm from where he lay lounging in his stall, and to his relief, his handler—Kiloton, he chastised himself; he didn’t say handler, he said Kiloton—opened the door to his stall.

“There you are,” Kiloton said, his face softening as he met Megatron’s gaze. “Hungry?”

Megatron didn’t speak, but Primus, he didn’t moo either. Or… maybe he did. There was a familiar sound, a low, rumbling noise, that seemed to have come from him. He couldn’t tell, though. It had simply been too quiet to say. Kiloton was by his side a moment later, and after dragging the feeding trough closer and dumping the hour’s feed inside, he propped his servos on his hips and turned back to stare at his cow—er… at Megatron. Who was his cow, of course, but—but still Megatron.

Primus, thinking was so hard. Megatron just wanted to eat, to be milked, then to be pet, and—

“Well?” Kiloton said, “aren’t you going to eat?”

Tinkle, tinkle.

The bell around Megatron’s neck rang its obnoxious song as he lowered his helm to stare at the trough, then lifted it back up to look up at Kiloton. He was lying on his side instead of his back this time, but his belly was still so heavy…

He could stand up and walk over. He could ask Kiloton “why the trough.” Slag, he even could have gotten up on all fours and waddled over like he always did. It gave the onlookers he knew were watching quite the sight, especially when the bell around his neck swung side to side like the sway of his belly as it grazed the floor.

Oh, it was just so hard to think. It was even harder to move. He felt glued to the spot by his own lengthy idleness. His belly was still empty, though, and he still felt the ravenous hunger that came from adapting to such an excessive diet. You didn’t get prize-winning cows without proper feeding schedules, after all.

Kiloton gave in even faster this time than he had before, and with a sigh, he tugged the trough closer and closer until Megatron could bend his helm over the edge and lap up the creamy fuel inside. This was one of the best parts of being taken in as a pampered show pet, he had decided. The food was truly a luxury, and the housing no less.

“You’ve gotten so spoiled,” Kiloton said with a shake of his helm. The words were scolding, but the servo reaching out to stroke the underside of Megatron’s massive belly ruined their effect. “Lazy, too. What ever am I going to do with you when it comes time for breeding season?”

Nothing, that was what. Most bots who came around to stare in awe at the fat beast Kiloton had created asked if Megatron was carrying already. That, of course, was a false assumption—his belly was just that big.

“You’re a showstopper, at least,” Kiloton said, his servo stroking over Megatron’s belly as he watched his companion feast. “A fat and spoiled one, but a showstopper nonetheless.”

That was true, too. Megatron couldn’t form proper words like he used to, but he could still understand things all the same. The barnyard gossip never changed, and to no surprise of theirs, Kiloton’s beloved cow was often the topic of discussion.

It felt good to sit and eat, to stuff his face while the bell around his neck jingled and the servo against his belly rubbed the ache away. Megatron wanted to stay like this forever, but he also wanted to be led off to the milking stations to empty his chest of the excess weight of energon stored inside. He wanted to be pet a while longer too, and he wanted to be bathed, and he wanted to be fed again and again and again. He wanted it all, and he would have it all today, tomorrow, and the days after that.

Megatron lifted his helm from the trough, his face sticky with energon and the ribbony ears sticking out straight. He wanted to beg for something, and he wanted to ask for something else. He wanted to speak his mind and share with Kiloton everything he was feeling and everything that was on his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp the words. He frowned, his tongue swiping across his lips as he licked up the last bits of energon, and then he mooed.