Contains: Male / Female -> anthro fox transformation. 18+ only.
*****
"You're sure we're all alone? No one's going to interrupt us?" the woman asks, following you into your bedroom.
You shut the door behind you. "I'm sure."
It's nice to see the floor of your room without laundry on it; you should clean more often. Of course it's not every night that you have strangers-- especially strange women-- in your bedroom, but tonight is special, and this woman is strange.
Her name is Shay. You learned that just tonight. She's wearing a black tube top, black lipstick, and a black leather collar with a silver star. Her movements have a nervous energy, like a cat dropped in unfamiliar territory. She glances about, but her eyes always return to you.
"Go sit on the bed," she orders. You sit on the edge, feet on the floor. "Are you ready to turn your fantasies into reality?"
You nod eagerly. Shay has a special gift. You didn't believe her when she first messaged you, but the photographs were too real to be manipulated, and the video. . .
She reaches into her cleavage, retrieves a tiny leather pouch, and, with a flick of her wrist, sends a cloud of lavender powder billowing toward your face. It smells like saffron and alcohol. You go to wipe your face, but your arm doesn't move. You want to ask why, but your jaw is locked. Frozen, all you can do is blink and breathe as the dust dissipates.
Shay waves her hand in front of your face and taps your forehead, confirming your paralysis. She breathes a heavy sigh of relief, and her tense muscles all at once relax. Gazing down at you, her lips hint into a smile.
The timid cat has found a mouse.
"The boy who wanted to become a sexy fox man." Her smile widens. "We are going to have fun tonight, you and I."
The woman surveys your bedroom. She speaks smoothly, savoring every syllable like she's performing a monologue. "You spend a lot of time in here, don't you? It's cozy. Makes me want to get comfortable."
Any anxiety you have about being paralyzed dissolves as she grips her shirt and pulls it up over her smooth stomach. Shay moves slowly, sensually, turning the simple act of disrobing into a strip tease. She sheds her shirt, leaving her bountiful breasts covered only by a minimal, red brassiere. Next she turns around and slides her jeans over her shapely hips, butt bouncing as it's freed from its prison. She kicks off her pants and faces you, lacy panties not quite concealing the smooth, hairless curves of her sex.
"Like what you see?" Shay asks in a sultry voice. "Or would you prefer something a bit more exotic? Something like. . . this?"
Shay turns around and pushes her round bottom toward your face. One dainty hand reaches back to rub her lower back, and then, after a slight pause, you notice movement in her panties. It starts just below the waistband. A small bulge begins to form, twitching and wiggling as it grows. Your stomach jumps as you realize what you're watching. The sight might confuse some people, but you've fantasized about this exact thing a thousand times before.
She's growing a tail.
The nub sprouts quickly, filling and stretching that lacy fabric triangle.The growth snakes up and out, pushing her panties' waistband down under its thickening base. Shay exhales and lets the sinewy length fall between her legs. It stretches toward her knees, little bumps of freshly forming vertebrae stippling the supple skin.
She bends further forward still, palms on the ground, downward dog, raising a foot inches from your face. She stretches and flexes it, and you stare, amazed, as it takes on an inhuman shape. You eagerly anticipate each incoming change: the lengthening of the arch, the thickening of toes, the swelling of pads, the curling of the nails. Every aspect is precisely on-script, and the show ends with you staring at a hairless paw.
The paw is lowered, and you see her other foot has changed to match. Her naked tail sways back and forth, giving glimpses of more movement in your guest's panties. A subtle triangle swells under the silky fabric. The gap between her thighs fills with her freshly plump pussy, and a subtly shadowed divot signals her shifting sex's teardrop shape.
The witch turns to face you. She presses a fingertip against your lips and drags it sensually down your front, bringing it to rest on your jeans and the aching bulge within. She smiles showing pointing teeth as she unbuttons your pants and opens your fly, her forming claws lightly tinkling against the metal zipper. She slides a hand inside, over your underwear, and gives your straining penis a single stroke and a gentle grip before withdrawing.
"I must admit, you aren't what I was picturing when we had those. . . conversations online. You're rather plain-looking. Just a normal everyday guy," she says as she tugs her ears into triangular points. "Luckily, in my line of work, the way you look at the start hardly matters."
With that, she opens her mouth, inserts her fingertips, and hooks them behind her teeth. Then, with a firm and steady pull, she starts to reshape her skull, drawing her jaws forward into the beginnings of a muzzle. Her other hand molds the rest of her head to match, compressing her forehead and widening the bridge of her nose. For a moment, she is hideous, sporting the uncanny in-between face you've seen online, drawn by the artists you tend to avoid. But it's gone the moment she finishes her muzzle. Soon you're staring at a fox's face, albeit a hairless and human-sized one. Her eyes change from brown to greenish-yellow with a single fluttering blink.
Her hands drop to her sides, and she pants, flat tongue peeking from her new maw. "The face is always the hardest part."
Her voice is not so different, less sinusy now that she's opened her nose by molding it into a moist black snout. Her animal face looks surprisingly natural forming words, the way her lips move, the way her emotions come across in the rising and wrinkling of her brow.
Still, she's not quite beautiful, that lady-skinned fox. She has freckles instead of whiskers, a pink blush instead of orange flamboyance, blonde curls instead of a white collar. Without fur, the shapes are as wrong as a hairless cat's.