The Problem in The Fields
The Farmer was a strong, healthy man, and the things he tended to were healthy and good. Carrots, lettuce, potatoes, tomatoes--crops for countless seasons of meals and profit could be grown in his myriad fields. He had even managed to erect a henhouse, and care for a chicken's roost. He had everything he needed to make a living.
But one day, he began to face problems.
It started innocently enough--signs of animal tracks in the dirt near his homestead. Fair enough. So long as they left his things in peace--his labors unharmed.
But it did not stay that way for long.
It was unsightly. Almost a curse. One day, out of the blue, crops started turning up half-eaten, from the roots. Countless tiny holes spread across the fields, like bullets riddled in a corpse. Then, his turnips started to have their leaves eaten through. Finally, even the lettuce heads began to be snatched at by the teeth of herbivorous menaces.
His efforts at rebuttal were foiled, again and again. He attempted all manner of remedies--he purchased cats--they contented themselves on scraps from elsewhere, and lazed all day. He tried traps--but the snares lay empty, devoid of prey.
He uneasily strayed from the use of poisonous pesticides, despite his plight. He was unsure of the cost that would bring, should they too fail him--but he was at his wit's end. Something had to give.
Finally, one day--he met the fox. At first, this seemed like another curse, as he went to attend the hens, and collect their eggs. How terrible his surprise, then, when he found countless feathers and blood spattered helter-skelter about the inside of the henhouse.
And the strangest sight of all stood there before him. A woman, feasting on hens. Or she had been a woman, at least--she had the frame, and the elegance, and the breasts of a woman.
But that impression ended there.
Her hair was a crimson pelt, that covered her from head to toe, and she blanketed herself in a bushy tail as she ate. Her frame shifted like liquid when she sighted the farmer, and she took the form of a true fox. Then, darting between his legs, she turned back, a wing of the hen still in her mouth.
And then she arose once more as a woman, though she kept the snout, shiny black lips and nose--the whiskers of her face--and most alluringly, her piercing, shining green cat eyes.
"You should keep your birds better protected." she purred. "You are the most casual caretaker of chickens I have yet met. It's almost as though you have invited me here to feed."
The farmer, who was not without his own personal fear of the supernatural, was frightened by the werevixen. Yet, there was a beauty, and benificence in her presence. Rather than run, and seek a weapon, he stood agape in awe of her enchanting looks. Animal as they may be, he was still a man. He took off his hat, and whiped the sweat from his brow, unsure whether he was suffering some delirium from so many weeks of crisis and failure to overturn it.
"Well? Aren't you going to chase me down, now?" she puzzled, with a canine smirk. "By this point, your kind usually have me on my way, firing into the air with your guns in a hopeless attempt to shoot me down. But you seem different, I see. You're cut from finer cloth than those fools."
The farmer finally got his voice. He explained his crisis to her, up to the point where he had met her. She listened intentfully, and nodded each time he spoke aghast of his losses. Finally, taking a dog-nailed finger to her beastly muzzle in thought, she said:
"I think I can help you, if you allow me my meal. Meet me in the fields in two days, and I will show you what I'll have done for you."
So the farmer hesitantly abandoned the coop, shivering as he passed her by. She crossed her arms over her biggest, most human pair of breasts, and grinned. Then, she turned to the remains of the hens, and licked her lips as the man blankly shut the door and walked away, flabberghasted by the beauty in his midst.
Two days passed, and the farmer stood in his fields. Where there had been half-devoured heads of lettuce, leaves shredded--there now lay a deer, being eaten by a pair of wolves.
When they saw the farmer, they merely stared. As he approached frightfully, the biggest of them snarled and raised his hackles. It approached the farmer, ears raised, head lowered, and ready to pounce.
A hand interjected between the farmer and the hungry wolf who had been interrupted in his meal. It was her--the fox.
"That is far enough." she scolded him, like a child. "You don't need this, so I've given it to friends. Your crops will be better, now, I think?" she cooed.
The stench of blood filled his nose, and he winced. But he thanked her, and returned to his labors, trying to forget the close encounter. Soon, the wolves had left, taking their prey with them. He retilled and replanted, for the season to come.
The damage, however, did not end there and then. Over the weeks to come, signs of deer attacks diminished--but the leaves of his plants were still covered in bites--of a smaller, cleaner-cut variety. Insects.
Still, he hesitated to dust his crops, and took up another audience with the fox. She had long since drug off his dead hens, to where, he could but guess. He had not bothered to clean the coop, for fear of angering her and losing her favor--and so it remained as it had the day they'd met--a bloody mess.
This time, she held an egg in her mouth. She seemed pleased with her find, and was making to leave when the light of the sun from the open door shone down into her eyes.
The slits of her lime green eyes narrowed, as the warmth brightened her sherbert fur. Turning a half circle, she groaned, as her mass expanded, and the woman from before arose from the vulpine form. Opening her jaws, she dropped the egg into her newly formed pair of hands, and clasped them over it, cradling it like a child. She opened them, and offered the egg to the farmer.
It was warm, like her.
"I thought we had a deal?" she asked quizically. "Did something go wrong? Were the wolves I brought you not happy with their new hunting ground, or is there something... else you want?" she whispered seductively.
Embarassed by his need for a second audience, he told her of his continued battle with crops.
"Pests. Yes, I'm no big fan of them either. Getting ticks from my fur is a nuisance. I empathize with your problem--but I still need payment. In fact, I was hoping you'd let me make my home here, beneath this henhouse. If you do that, I'll help you with your pests, too."
Well, he no longer had chickens, so that was a small price to pay. He consented to the fox. She took a long stretch, bent, and shifted into a four-legged predator once more, snatching the egg back from him and placing it in her mouth as her fingers melted into paws. Then, she took off, to wherever she went when she was not hording the spoils of her slaughter.
Another two days passed, and when the farmer returned to see her handiwork, he found numerous skunks rooting through his fields. At first, he thought it was another curse, and turned to his home, to snatch up his rifle.
But the fox was there, behind him, as her woman-self; smiling.
"They were hungry, so I told them they could find free meals here, if they left the crops alone. You might not want to upset them though, when you go to harvest... they, well... stink."
Witnessing her whimsical expression, he realized that she herself reeked of skunk. She must have had some kind of struggle to get them all to cooperate. He winced at the odor, and tried his best to seem polite, but quickly departed to get away from the smell.
"Don't worry. I think you've seen the last of your insect troubles." the fox shouted nasally.
And indeed, it would seem so. In a days time, the skunks had left, and as new crops began to grow in the weeks to come, no signs of pestly predation showed.
At last, it seemed the farmer would be able to relax, and reap the benefits of his efforts in peace.
But then it came at once, in the midst of what seemed like a productive, bountiful season--the worst attacks yet. They were deliberate, intentful, and thorough, as if someone were harvesting the crops before him. And yet, they bore the telltale signs of rodents--chewn roots and holes in the dirt. Strange, large tracks accompanied these holes. Confused and afraid of the spontaneity of this latest curse, the farmer saught one more audience with the fox.
She had dug herself a den for the spring, and the scent from within was potent. Acrid, similar to the smell of skunk from prior--but different.
He did not find her in the henhouse, and so he waited for her a fair distance from this hole beneath the slope of the henhouse door. He observed the trails she'd left in countless directions, dragging hens off to bury bits of them helter-skelter--her method of storing food for harsher months. He contemplated the similarity of her own needs with his--for while she did not do business with her prizes, they were both hungry for them.
He knew it was not so different, what he'd have done with the hens, eventually.
Nonetheless, he was wary of her when she finally did slink up from her hole in the ground. She seemed unusually cordial, as she stepped over a small deposit of her own scat, sat before the farmer, and took on human proportions.
"It's a good day, isn't it, farmer?" she giggled. There was a cool, but not quite chilly breeze in the air. It was strong, and constant, and somewhat ominous.
He frowned, and told her what had happened.
"Show me." she said firmly.
And so he took her through the fields, to see the intentfulness of the damage, and the tracks of the mystery beast.
"Oh my. It looks like this is more serious than anything before. You might actually have someone else here, whose like me... well, like me, but not like me." She frowned. "I can't help you with that. The price is too great, to make an enemy of someone like myself." She said.
Dejected, the farmer turned away and began to walk, thanking the fox. After witnessing the strange miracles she'd performed, he knew to take her words for truth.
"Unless..." she added, speaking up suddenly, thoughtfully.
The farmer paused.
"Unless there were more of us. If I had family, it would be something we could handle. That's what I've been waiting for, anyway--but I've yet to find a suitor." she complained, regretfully.
He swallowed then, paused for at least ten minutes... He knew what she wanted... and then he asked her.
"Could that suitor be a human?"
Softly, treading through the dirt on two padded feet, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, and whispered in his ear.
"It couldn't be."
Then she nipped at it, drawing his blood.
The change took place over only a few minutes. Groaning, he fell to his hands and knees, as the fox's tail erupted from his rump. His entire body seemed to stretch, thinner and longer, his chest rounding out as his arms drew tight to his sides, and his shoulders fused and vanished. She tore at his pants to free him from them, drawing back his underwear over the sleek, bushy tail.
Her scent filled his nose as it changed--moistening and turning black at the tip. He wasn't sure why, but he understood that this had been what was going to happen, all along, from their first meeting. Grunting, he felt his legs shift into place beneath him, as the growth of fur sped and spread up his belly and back.
She took her fingers to his penis, and began to stroke, encouraging the growth of his sheathe. What had been bare skin quickly grew enveloped in a silky fur condom.
He tried to protest, but desire got in the way. Inch by inch, cracks spread in his determination. What was once human grew corrupt. He tried to fight the influx of the fox's mind, as her essence filled him up. He closed his eyes, grunting, fighting.... and finally broke, opening them slitted, and golden, to a world of strange colors and sights. He gave into them with a lustful groan.
His nose and upper lip united. He awkwardly tried to battle what was happening to his lips, shaking his phallic face, as they grew. He felt new rows of teeth begin to tear his gums and fought back a sneeze as his nose distended further.
As he swayed his hips, the head of his turgid member finally succumbed--hooded in a black tipped sheathe, and he was a fox where it mattered most. It spread open once more, to reveal a shimmering red cockhead, ovularly pointed--on a crooked red rod.
He smelled her, and was eager to penetrate, and lose his human virginity. Her touch on his side was nice, as she stroked him like a human would a pet. She ripped his shirt free, leaving him a naked beast--then reared her rump up as his equal--flagging her tail aside, head flattening, proportions narrowing and lengthening, to those of a vixen.
He took a deep whiff, as his neck cracked and stretched. The arousal muting the pain, he began to court her, circling and rubbing her flank. His hair still stood shining, wavy brown on a flattening fox's head. Red velvety ears with brown tips poked up through that mop, and he felt his jaw beginning to stretch pleasantly.
He was hungry for it. So very hungry. He lept upon her, thrusting his member forth, pulling her butt as tight to him as he could get it with his clumsy little paws, pounding against it. Each spring of his pelvis brought his face further into its transformation, as tail outstretched, he pumped, gaining first whiskers, then fullgrown fangs. Finally, with a heave, a shove, and a pop, he was inside her, and with a clumsy fart, his face pushed out into a completed muzzle, rhinarium and all.
And still, he continued to hump, as his fingers and palms grew and changed proportion; his thumbs creeping up his arms. Each grew a single black claw, that hooked into her fur. She began to hump back, panting. Soon he too felt the urge to open his mouth, and let his long, broad tongue hang out drooling.
It was only a matter of thirty seconds, their rapid jackhammering. They both screamed and caterwauled, making horrendous noises of joyful lust. He swole to inhuman proportions within her slick and sloppy insides, as they massaged his aching dick. Soon they were bound tightly, and with the last few clumsy pumps, he reached breaking point, and explosively shot his seed.
Incredible heat rushed out in jets, hosing down her insides with long ropey squirts of semen. For him, humanity was over, and for her, a new life was about to begin.
They both fell over clumsily, still conjoined--an embarassing couple of rutting animals. The last of his brown hair shed across the ground as he opened his jaws wide and cried one last wail of inebriated pleasure, leaving only an auburn reynard's head.
When at last they were able to seperate, she got up groggily, and staggered into her hole. He followed, taking but a moment to lift his leg and piss on a beam of the henhouse.
* * *
Months passed, and the pair of foxes fed themselves--not on chickens, but numerous rats. Their greasy, but appetizing flesh sustained the farmer, who had lost his humanity, but gained a new calling in life.No longer helpless, he was able to protect his crops in the company of his new mate.
While his cursed body made it difficult to sell the fruits of his labors, it no longer had the same importance. No... the crops he had once prized were now mere bait--for an even more delicious quarry.
The pair feasted on a rabbit, which they took turns at tearing to shreds between their teeth. Forgetting himself in the excitement of the hunt, he had become but a mere fox. And he enjoyed it. Immensely.
His mate gave birth, and raised a litter of eight; suckling on her teats, they lived together in their stinking den. Then, when they had grown of age, they roamed the lands about the field, searching for the elusive leaders of the rats, who had brought the farmer so much grief. Within time, the kits learned to hunt, and eventually, split off from their parents, to begin harems of their own, across the many acres of farmland. The farmer was proud of what he had created.
And as for the Rat's fate? Well, that's simply a matter of nature. The farmer belched, and licked his lips--
--his fields safe, at last.
THE END.