{"sf1_id":317079,"sf2_id":"zeR5AXM1","title":"A Trap I Laid","author":"Werefox Inari Sachi","words":361,"posted_at":"2011-12-16T07:03:00.000Z","tags":["Fox","M/F","Poem","Poetry","Transformation","Werefox"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/317079-a-trap-i-laid","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/zeR5AXM1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/6a/0a/6a0ad0ab-351f-4ae7-b77e-b681c702b6bd","description":"","content":"Bundled muscles tensing\n\nCrackling bones and marrow\n\nShifting of a shimmering soul\n\nFrom civilized to feral\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nStench, sweet and sour musk\n\nFrom dusky black upon cremy white\n\nThe plume of a foul and fine tail\n\nSwishes in the sacred moonlight\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nHis fingers crack the dry dirt\n\nWith tension from the change\n\nWhile familiar shape, visage,\n\nAnd proportion, rearrange.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nI lewdly stare and fantasize\n\nA shape that's in my head,\n\nBeading with sweat, it percolates\n\nNot man--a fox instead\n\nHe's sweating through his toes now--\n\nAnd panting with his tongue.\n\nHis home will be a den soon,\n\nSweetened from the smell of dung.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nHe bids adieu his smooth round face,\n\nInstead, it's now a snout,\n\nHe hears the call of the vixen's wail,\n\nCringes, tries to shut it out.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nAnd now he's on all fours begging.\n\nStraining with all his might,\n\nAs his eyes contract to slits--\n\nReds and yellows enroach upon his sight.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nWith a swish the vixen comes to court him,\n\nShitting in the grass.\n\nShe circles, dances, parades, and prances,\n\nPresents her sultry ass.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nNo, no grace here. None--\n\nAnd yet, what a wondrous sight,\n\nThat two beasts so small can muster up\n\nSuch fierce, tenacious might.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nBut despite his fighting still, the man\n\nHas merely progressed through change.\n\nHis toes have lifted, feet now four--his\n\nbody's become strange.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nHis will is now anothers;\n\nAnd he feeds in with resistance.\n\nNewfound fangs and whiskers\n\nAre the prize for his persistance.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nAnd the man is lost, in one great fire--\n\nA frenzied trembling of desire:\n\nHe observes: her teats, the cusp of\n\nher own sweet netherlips\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nOut flares the tip\n\nAnd in it sinks\n\nDriving mankin to the brink\n\nThe rutting, screaming, and the stink\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nAt last, he's gone. There's naught, but stink.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nNaught but a fox. Naught but a dog. What loss! What loss? And who to claim a loss today?\n\nIs it you? It is not I.\n\nI praise the change, and beg it hither.\n\nI've been lonely for so long--\n\nAnd my mind is a fox.\n\nAlone, a man... and how, alone, I wither.\n\n  \n  \n\n"}