Vixen's Bedtime Story
Who knows how you got this way, whether you hate it, or want it to stay...
Tufts of white fill out your ears, big and high in your hair... how cute it is when you lower them, show me your mood, and bury your head in my chest, their black-tipped velvet flaps fine and gentle against my skin.
Just like an animal would do, you rub your scent against me.
I scratch your whiskers, that've sprung from your lips--it's ironic, even though they make you masculine, it's effeminately sexy how you brush them against my skin, and tickle my senses.
What happened to make your nose stretch so, was it a curse? It's moist beneath my arm, as you sniff my scent, so aroused, engaged in amor. I can feel the curve of your nostrils, prominent on that cold black pad--so very naughty, sniffling, taking in my odor. People talk of bad smells, but overlook how arousing they can be sometimes--mine is soft, soapy, spicey, yours skunkish and sharp, like dark coffee--it stings my nose hairs, til I can't stop breathing it--it fills my eyes, bends my mind toward sexual thoughts.
With a twist of your neck, and a flap of your big bushy tail against my thigh, I spring an erection, leaning in, kissing you with my tongue--reaching beneath your doglike lip. I graze your carnivore's teeth, the crown of each ridged carnassal--tasting game and blood, perhaps a mouse, perhaps some wayward hare. You blow out warm breath in a pant, that steals away my head of hair beneath tufts of reddish fur, as my own face begins to turn phallic.
It is quite a shock, to say the least, as you invite me to be a chaser of hens, a licker of butts. You who pull off my shirt with bestial claws, call me to run wild, shake off my pants, and give up my aspirations at human life.
I'm quite taken--it's an enchanting offer. I embrace your demands, feel my size diminish with the creeking of bone, and the powerful sprouting of my backbone into a tail compells me to fall to your succubus wiles. As you lick my cheek, I'm drowned in all the thoughts of urges I've ignored over the years, opportunities I've missed solely for fear of admonishment.
It's a killing force, to be a human, when inside, there is an alternative that's stood with your ancestors and gotten them by just fine... we let something rot the day we said no to our old ways.
But you save me--you remind me with your amber orbs, those deep ravines you call eyes, that widen in the dark as our transformations progress--remind me that there is a way to be happy. I hold you tight, feeling the hair of a woman still clinging to your head, though it has grown coarse and orange, like winter fur--changed and shedding. Your lips are strange--puckered, black--a woman's jawbones that are morphing and elongating, trying to take on their vulpine analogue. I steal a kiss from them, and feel as if something has passed between you and me--the soul of a fox, perhaps--or perhaps a piece of my own humanity has bled out into you.
You lap at my nose with your turgid tongue, broad, hot and wet, and each lap steals my expression a bit further away from mankind. Soon, I'm breathing the same dangerous scents that you do--tasting the world a whole new way. So that's why they sniff one another's butts. So that's why they roll in that patch of grass. Good god, how did I go on without this sense? A human's nose might as well not be there! I hung my tongue out, a sense of awe, overpowering as each tender whisker prickled out, telling me more and more about my world...
Hearing the crunch and crack, I feel that mark of bestial love grow stronger on me now--the fox's tail increasing in volume of fur, and length of bone, as I mutate further into the ideal I've dreamt of. Your musk travels, changes the glands in my skin, to produce a matching odor. I give up my modesty, as my legs shift to allow my anus greater exposure, as my body becomes predatorial. You too have shed your human visage, though your breasts are still a woman's, firm--yet accompanied with so many smaller teats, for nursing... what I know will be MY kits.
I can't hold it back any longer--I stroke my erection, dropping my pants. It is an odd feeling, as you take your clawed hand to mine, and encourage this transformation--as I grow hard, my foreskin trembles, and tightens, soft white fur spreading on contact with our hands. Like the old wives' tale, I soon have hairy palms--in a different sense, however, as the coarse black hair thickens into pads. They scrape at my skin, and I cannot bear to make another stroke at my needy member.
Instead, I feel the bones in my groin changing, new muscles and nerves developing, and tensing, I let my slick cock slide from its sheathe. It glistens, red and smooth. I pinch for the tip in glee with clumsy claws--I'm turning into a stinking beast! What my body hosted now was a sleek, crooked rod, curving up, and then dipping down into an ovular head. You slipped down off the bed, and licked my member then--from the soft outline of my base knot, up to my glans, and I felt my senses slipping as dopamine pumped into my brain--that hot, bloody fever, like a baseball bat of bricks and horny, smacked me across the back of my neck.
I get dizzy as I shrink, as the stinking, foul and fine fur coats my back, crests over my shoulders, and up my flattening skull, to coat my broad new set of ears.
I give in to baser instincts and mount your back, as you tear off what bits of panty you had left with your teeth, and I piston into your vulva, big and open, a huge tube of black-furred flesh just hanging down to catch my sleek smooth fox dick inside. I feel what was a man in me give way, disintigrate beneath stench and sensuality, until all that I am is a cattish canid.
Each pump, and I feel the warm, undulating, tightening inside of your vagina, coaxing my penis to give you semen. Like waves, your walls crest over me, and my mind is lost in humping. My hands too, become thick and unmanagable things, my thumbs crawling and shrinking up my wrists, sprouting dewclaws as they grip your flank.
You cry for more, as my fox's dick grows truly erect inside, bloating up with a firm, massive knot, that will let not one drop of my seed spill out.
I pant, and pant, and pant, my tongue lolling out, my instincts driving me to forget--why had I been human?
We reached Eden, together, in our final, intense, passionate thrust, screaming our song of stench and kits, of breastmilk and urine, mouse blood and fox scat--warm dens and wandering dreams, and as my tainted, hot seed spurts and flows, breeding little foxes instead of boys and girls, inside a womb equipped for many, many young--I realize how good it is to have another--not to fool around with, but just to hold dear, close, warm. Can it be said that beasts do not love? I think it is a lie to say so.
With our final inelegant humps, we pulled apart from our rutting stance, rump to rump, curled up together, and fell asleep, our bushy, white-tipped tails over each other's noses, like blankets.
Wholly and truly--at peace.