West End Town
#3 of Tails from the Foxx
West End Town
by Heuvadoches Naumova
A constant wind whipped down the center street, carrying with it a dry, flinty dust. A livery sign reading "Silver Gulch" creaked back and forth while a shutter banged out a counterpoint. Tyrius pulled the brim of his hat down and squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun. He pulled down his bandanna to scent the air, testing for life, but only received a face full of grit. He snarled and pulled the mask up and limped into the town, stopping at the empty saloon front.
The shade of the building dropped quickly over the lion's muscular frame as he climbed the two short steps from the street. He reached out and pushed open the swinging doors. They creaked and squealed on protesting hinges before the old nail heads gave out completely. Both sides crashed to the floor. Tyrius grimaced and pulled the rag from his muzzle, but shrugged, kicking the wood to the side and stomping inside.
Framed by the door and silhouetted by the strong afternoon light, he pushed his hat back and looked around at the cobwebs. Behind the bar, a broken and grime-encrusted mirror cast back a blurry, fractured reflection. Dark brown chest fur bristled from two open buttons on his faded red shirt. Worn brown chaps covered his washed-out blue jeans; the open front of the leather framed a healthy bulge. A pair of thick leather belts crisscrossed his narrow hips holding several dozen high-caliber pistol rounds. Two worn walnut handles poked from well oiled holsters within easy reach above a bloody hole that slowly seeped his life down his pants.
He reached into a front pocket and pulled out a stubby hand-rolled cigar. Sticking in his teeth, he scratched a claw across a match and lit the smoke slowly. He shrugged and walked behind the bar, pulling a bottle from off of a low shelf. He blew the dust from the cork, pulled it open and sniffed the contents before taking a quick pull.
From the shadows of the saloon's second story windows, it watched him walk through town and make his way into its domain. It struggled to contain itself as he walked through the front door, settling against the wall near the broken-down piano. The shade studied his body for a moment before it grinned and lowered its eyes, watching as the gunfighter finished the first half bottle.
Tyrius spat a third cork across the bar. This time, he did not even bother smelling the bottle. Instead, he just tipped the liquid down his throat. "Much obliged," he croaked to the spiders, saluting his shattered reflection. Getting up and crushing out the stump of his cigar, he stumbled to the rickety staircase and picked his way to the second floor.
The shade watched him climb the stairs, waiting and watching as he staggered through the only open door. It heard the bed groan as his weight sat on it before floating from her perch. The piano barely played a single, metallic "plonk" as it stepped down across the keyboard and followed him to her room.
Slowly, Tyrius peeled off his clothing, looking at the hole in his leg. He grimaced, poking a claw at the ragged edge of flesh, but unable to feel the slug he knew was still buried deep. "Doesn't matter," he muttered, knowing that he was as good as dead anyway. He ripped the bottom half of his shirt into a long strip and tied it into a makeshift bandage. Then, taking another long drink he passed out on the bed.
It waited until his breathing slowed before it flitted into the room. It ran her hand across his taut body. Black, ghostly fingers passed through his flesh. Outside, the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon, and in the twilight a vixen's outline solidified. A long, sharp orange muzzle, bright yellow eyes and perky ears appeared first. Followed shortly by a gauzy attempt at a floozy petticoat dress before it dissolved into the ether. In its place, a buxom body swam into reality. Full breasts, wasp waist, long legs, and a bushy, orange tail tipped with snow white fur.
The vixen wasted no time, plying directly into her previous craft. She mounted the bed, kneeling down at the male's large sheath. Slowly, her solidifying touch tickled, teased and coaxed Tyrius' cock into peeking from its hiding place. Gently, she bent down and began to lick as the shaft, her soft mouth pulling more and more out with each pass.
Lightly, her mouth bobbed up and down on his twitching pole, stroking with her fingers. She pulled quickly, but delicately along his warm flesh. Soon, she was rewarded with thin bead of pearly precum. As it touched her tongue, it deepened in colour, regaining its life and spreading across her face like a ripple in a bucket of still water.
She looked up at his face, and seeing no sign of him waking, straddled his chest. She pressed her body against his, dragging her soaking slit along his fur. His hair brushed across her ghostly flesh, sending shivers across her body as she worked down to his shaft. She reached underneath, slowly inserted the tip of his drooling cock into her folds, and sat down with a soft, eerie moan.
Her nethers reacted the same as her tongue had earlier. Solid, healthy flesh slowly replaced the ghostly ectoplasm. A new urgency took a hold of the fox. Her changing flesh awakened old urges, desires and passions she'd thought passed long ago with her body. A soft, familiar tingle awoke in her belly as she ground her crotch against the dying lion's.
Her hand slapped down on his chest above his heart. The strong beating slowing and becoming fainter with each passing moment. "No!" she thought, working faster against his pole. "I am so clooooooose...." she moaned and squeezed her hand against his skin while also rubbing hard against the stiff nub of her clit.
Suddenly, her orgasm washed over her body. Bright waves of light and colour brightened the room. Slowly her body became more and more flesh and fur, needing only the final catalyst. The lion's seed would complete her transformation.
She collapsed against his still chest. His last breath rattled from his body, a smile on his face. Inside the vixen, his cock slowly wilted, and with every second that passed, she watched her health fade from her fingers. She cried loud in despair, shattering the glass in the windows and allowing the sound of the wind, and the steady creaking of the Silver Gulch livery sign back into the room.