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"So you thought to catch yourself a little fox spirit." the voice booms--a female's, filled with tones of wine's glow and triumph's flame. "Thought to make yourself a big man, a monster-hunter. Had yourself a little kitsune-gari."

He lies pinned beneath two pairs of off-white paws, resting on each of his limbs. His legs scissor wide--open, beneath him--he realizes. He is spread out as if strung up--as if performing a very painful snow-angel. Suddenly he is not so sure of himself. Suddenly this seemed like a bad idea.

He asks her if she is Japanese. She laughs.

"I call myself Kiriko-kon, but it's my invention. A cutting beauty with a cutting bark." she sinks her teeth into his shoulder, drawing blood and tearing his shirt--and he screams. "I don't have a culture. I shat on culture--quietly," she adds, "--a long time ago. Someone always gets killed for it. Lots of someones. I like living."

He squirms like the worm he is, his sandy brown hair mussed up against the dirty cement alleyway.

She sniffs the air, as if making a realization--then lets go of his shoulder, pokes him with a yellow, protuberance of a snout, and a wet little brown button of a nose, which she snorts.

A virgin. she realizes.

Then she says--

"Say. I could shit you out as a pretty good kitsune, if that sat well with you."

He shouts a weak "No!", twists, and shudders under her paws. He is a helpless, fool of a young man, who had dreamed of greatness--of slaying dragons, of exorcising evil spirits.

He has fallen before perhaps the least of these things--the fox.

She scratches the gravel with her long brown nails. Her countenance is human--she is dressed in a crimson kimono. Her hair drapes down over her immeasurable, phallus of a face, obscuring her eyes, hanging down over them long and silky and black... like a funeral shroud. Diamonds of red gleam from behind it, aspiring to filthy deeds--'wishing' him to be a fox.

"That settles it then. With that kind of reaction, how 'can' I resist doing this to you?" she gleams.

She stretches her head back, basks in her triumph, and then lets loose and urinates. A hot, stinking torrent that dampens her garb, and is soon sneaking up in rivulets, snaking into the lad's clothes. She retains her position of dominance over him, neither squatting nor budging an inch, only raising her fan of nine tails: an eerie plethora of limbs, coated in too-sleek fur, like a woman's hair--each, as it turns out, with a mind of its own, waving or twisting, undulating almost impossibly, as if they are not limbs, but nine separate spirits, blown about like ribbons on a phantom wind.

His immediate disgust is palpable, as the hot wetness reaches over to him like fingers, contaminating his jeans and shirt. Soon he is sopping wet--and though warm, stinky. She plods off of him, as if she has made her point--that he is hers. In defiance, he stands, piss literally drizzling off his pant legs and sleeves. It weighs him down like lead balls, and he oafishly waddles, trying to keep his pants on as they hug his waist, damp and tight, but slipping under the weight of her musky urine.

She breathes a deep breath--of appreciation for her own work, and then turns. Her own kimono is dry as a bone, waving in the air with her tails, as if every last drop of foulness had soaked into the boy like a sponge. "Right." She says. "Let's get to making some improvements on you."

First, she steps on his feet, paralyzing him--and suddenly they are meeting face-to-face. Her snout has shrunken away, to the plain face of an unremarkable Asian girl. Unremarkable--save, for the wildness in her eyes. And suddenly it is spreading, the red light gleaming, as fine little bits of downy fur poke from around her eyebrows--as it teases at his cheek, growing from her own--as the whiskers regrow on a human face--and she is made beautiful in a strange and forbidding way, showing her fangs, and licking out at his nose with her little girl tongue.

What her tongue leaves behind is a little bit of black, scaly skin, on the tip of the boy's nose. She pokes it with a claw, and it starts spreading before his horrified eyes, as he stretches his mouth wide and screams.

Silence comes out... and along with it, his essence, which pools into a cloud, and strains into her mouth as she breaths in deep. Perhaps she is becoming high on this boy's very humanity.

The work progresses. She steps off him, lets him wander helplessly, as the moistness engulfs his upper lip--dividing it with a black philtrum, as his nose continues to morph and scale over, nostrils flaring small and round. She decides to make a special gift for him--slinking back into a fox's body, and letting her kimono fly off like a drape. She thinks about all the times people have told her what not to do over the periods that have passed, and squats on all of that.

"My territory, my terms." she thinks, loosening her sphincter and easing into a good shit. Unlike men, she realizes that the world can't all be hers. She is content with the few square miles of space she can stink up with her own, unique scent. And now this boy will be added to that world, even as he squeals and flails.

When next they are together, she has taken a paw, squished in fox droppings, and slapped it across his neck. It burns in like a brand, leaving her paw-print stained in brown on his skin. Like wildfire, the filth spreads, changing to a downy brown coat of fur, spreading across his already stinking skin, and licking up the odor of fox stank--making it permanently his own smell. Again she sucks, breathing in his essence--and now his face torsions, as he tries to fight the popping whiskers, the stretching snout--working out of his face like the vixen's own turd. And when he breathes again, he is floored by the heavenly odor of his new master.

Still seeing the confusion and resistance in his blue eyes, she takes his hand, in her paw--still filthy with scat. Shrinking to obtain the semblance of a girl's hand, she guides his own, now-dirty mitt down to his crotch--undoes his zipper for him, and tugs his meat out of his briefs.

"Cute." she says, patting his hand down against his penis, and stroking with him gently, making sure her stink gets on his little man, too. She kneels down, tails and snout sprouting, form melding back into the fox-faced lady, and puts her teeth dangerously against his shaft--just so that he can feel their tips against the scar of his circumcision--'feel' how close he is to the beast's maw.

She slides them down his shaft, ever so carefully--not wanting to damage her prize. Her tongue works the length of his member, and flicks its way around in a fashion he is ashamed of. Yet, he is so inexorably aroused by this turning, by her musk, and his own afflicted state, that he continues to stand awestruck, as she clings to his cooling jean legs, still damp with her piss, and gives him fox head. Slowly as she does so, his body shrinks within the sopping mire of his clothes--as if the foulness and odor has condensed into him, and is now boiling him down to a more concentratedly acrid state. His little man waves and bobs, as she slowly glides back up it with her tongue--and it is as if she had pulled a zipper, as it reddens and contracts into a tightened rod, with a little swollen ball at its base. Its little head shrinks, and narrows begrudgingly, resisting its transformation, until she kisses it with the broad side of her tongue, and it spurts sour animal juices, popping into a squirting,spraying little oval with an arced, conical tip, at the end of a thin, tapering ruby shaft.

She pulls her head away, pants, and lets her face roll up into a human's once more, poking the side of his leg for his attention--drawing him to the contrast between her face, and his little fox wang that she has cursed him with. Then, before he can do more than stare agape, she dives down the length of his shaft with her mouth shaped in an O, and slides her tight little lips down to suck.

He groans, feels himself knot and swell inside her juicy, moist mouth, as she teases and coaxes a sheathe, with each slide up his pole, to tighten, and climb over his bloated girth, the size of a fist at its base, yet so slender: the perfect combination for prompt entry and then long, thorough breeding. She slides down again, and then up, as his alien, snouted face gapes; fur now punctuating the entirety of what had been bare human foreskin. She gives one last go--and his little todd pops into its new home--tip kissed by a black U of sheathe lips, that hides his vulpine pisser. Almost immediately, he urinates from it, as she steps in for another breath of his passing human soul--feeling its warmth adding to her dominance over him. She catches the spray against her leg and sighs, enjoying the brief shower, even cupping her hands to smell his turning, corrupted fox scent.

He now stands merely four feet tall, clothes bagging and sagging around him. A big brown and black brush has burst from his ass, and his briefs tent hard off it, threatening to pull down. The rank stench of fox sex smells stronger than it ever has, and he drools, realizing he has crossed the point of no return. He invites her transformation now... welcomes her molestation of his body. In seconds, he is stooping, crapping his pants as hard as he can, to fill them with fox's droppings, and watching his hands shrink, and nails pop out into hooked black claws. Awestruck and enamored, he continues to breathe out wisps of his spirit into her, reaching a sexual high, as his ass stretches, and invites the poop out into his pants, his whole body trembling with warmth and shrinking and change, as he does. Now his ears are popping full of veins and capillaries, growing and stretching to their proper place on top of his flattening head, matted in fuzz. He wants this to happen. He needs it.

She sits him down, and pulls off his shirt, then helps him out of his nappy, shitty clothes. His paw squelches in his own stink, and with a tug he is free, completely coated in fur from head to toe, toes clawed and and no longer wiggling individually, but webbed into solid paws. He staggers forward on his converting hands--wanting more change, more loving. He takes a deep breath in, and exhales what must be the core of his own soul--a warm, round light that shines so purely. As he does so, his eyes transition--turning from blue to a vivid brown, his pupils tensing into sharp vertical slits.

She opens wide, mouth filled with teeth and spittle, and swallows it whole. Then she offers him her big, swollen black cupcake of a vixen pussy in return. Not wanting to let her down, he crawls forth on his changing hands, feeling his thumbs tighten up and shrink to their proper shape, giving the fox its proper dominance over him. His back straightens, his shoulders pop--he is sniffing her ass as the whiskers pop from his brows and the fur pelt runs through his hair, thickening, covering, eliminating it along with his last apparent shreds of humanity. He mounts her and thrusts his naked haunches as his asshole flares open beneath his full-formed tail, and begins serenading her with yowls as he proudly displays his unsheathed vixen pricker, which is already dripping in his own, yellow, animal semen.

She simply smiles as he conjoins with her. Kits will be fun to have, and she likes the feeling of suckling at her ten little breasts--especially the pair between her legs; those are her favorite. She briefly thinks about letting him feel what it's like to be a female as well, but decides perhaps he's had one lesson too many for one day.

As the dirty, stinking foxes climax together in little more than a minute, they both wail romantically. It's mindless sound, but thoroughly engrossing, a passionate direction of their sexual energy. Then he is knotted to her awkwardly for what seems like an hour, tugging in confusion, while she lies there with her ass in the air, almost laughing under a blanket of black human hair. His seed squirts helplessly into her, warming her insides no matter what he wills.

She reaches around with an almost serpentine flexibility of her spine, and helps pop out the last of his little human molars, reaching in with her delicate fingers, and stroking his whiskers with her claws. He licks his lips with an overgrown tongue, and yawns--one last final change, as his fangs split gums, and he is given hungry fox teeth.

She passes him a beetle to crunch on, and he burps; a little brown fox, nestled in the nine tails of a much larger golden one. Both stink of animal conquest, but the victory, for now, is hers.