Skank Into Stink-Beast: Second Metamorphosis
What the hell. Two for two.
Sprinting through the rain proved easy and a joy, as the water bathed her, rippling through the overcoat of her gangly new form like a permanent raincoat. Clutching an egg in her mouth, she rustled into a thicket, in search of a dry place to rest.
When she at last stooped on her haunches beneath a leaned-over log, she cracked the thing in her teeth and began to lick at the yolky insides, sloppily munching and slurping at the messy treat; vaguely aware that in a past life, the gritty shell and terrified prospect of food poisoning would have held her stomach back. But now, there was a vacuum filled with stupid satisfaction and contentment, as she crunched and munched and tried to spit out the dregs to no avail of her floppy lips and all-too long tongue. Learning to eat as a beast with no cheeks, no molars, and a massive gullet came as strange to her as writing in her off hand once might have. She swallowed what she could, hacked as a few shards caught in her throat painfully, and after a few minutes, wheezed and slumped into a damp ball of fur, letting the mess digest.
Her mind was now a beast's but her learning remained a human's. While her lusts were adult, her experience with this body was merely infantile, and she needed time to adjust. She'd had her first success--using her mouth in place of a hand, and plodding along on paws--but she was still a neophyte as a fox-monster, and right now she was an ungainly mess.
A certain melancholy arose in her mind, as she shook off as best she could, digging herself a trench in the damp dirt with her eerie monster mitts. Kicking stray autumn leaves atop the mess with her hind legs, she turned and huddled into a ball; squatting, laying still like a dog, and coating her moist nose with her tail like a blanket she would have pulled up around her as a human being. The stink of eggs and her own airy, urine-like scent clung in her mind, as she dreamed she was a dog in a pound, shuddering, twitching her legs and scrambling to fight and escape her captors.
* * *
When the sun was out again, and things had dried a bit, her coat was baked with an undertone of mud, that clung to the end of her belly hairs, and off her haunches and gangly forearms--brown against rust red and pasty white. She widened her maw and belched loudly, feeling strangely satisfied, and ready for another meal. Suddenly, she spotted a flash of movement through the trees, and a snapping of twigs brought her ears high over her vulpine skull; oscillating like radar dishes, tuning toward the direction of new quarry. Her nose told her of a familiar scent--a masculine, human one. Her human memory told her 'friend'. The new, deviant vulpine impulses told her of excitement, of quarry--something to dominate--to mask as she'd been masked--but in piss, in stench, in rut--the new, virulent, and carnal form of her cursed artifact.
She readied her fangs, dripping fresh with infection, and sped off after the sound. She knew the consequences; knew the result, but could not stop herself wanting to draw the process into being once more--to witness in another, the power that had taken her--and then to breed with the resulting beast that would be produced from her victim. She continued to drool, mindlessly--ready--springing and pushing forth with her paws against the thing--the man--pressing his backside down, forcing him against the ground--licking the nape of his neck with her mouth wide open, dripping slime down the collar of his jacket, and into his shirt.
With one quick breath, still-human wrists clutching at his arms and holding him down, she bit--deep into his lower neck, clenching firmly, but gently at the base with her jaws, as if assuaging his pain from a hypodermic needle. In truth, the action was more vice-like, but she gradually eased away, letting the blood flow, without crushing his airway. No; she needed 'this' prey alive and warm, ready for what would come.
His gasps of panic came and went, as he struggled underneath her weight. She simply lay their atop him, happily smearing her scent into his backside. Slapping her tail against his legs, she awaited what she knew would come.
Soon the fox oil spread, percolating from his skin; rank and heady, mixed in his sweat. The skin about his neck turned inflamed and pink, the bite-marks already rising, prickling with orange hairs as the wounds slowly knitted themselves shut. The bruise of the wound quickly began to fade, and the man's veins to throb and disseminate the venom of her bite--though she herself could not see this well--her eyes lent her the appreciation only of the wound itself, for the color of her world was an off-yellow and orange place. Still, she could feel his pulse increasing, his breaths laboring as the mutagen attacked him--drew his nose out painfully and at once, whiskers prickling and already too-sensitive to the grass and weeds his face was shoved into. He wriggled and squirmed beneath her firm ass and tail, his hands stretching and nails growing wicked. Clawing at the dirt for leverage, he flailed in futility, as she laid her warm teats against the cool of his polymer stadium coat and dropped her weight flat upon him, rocking her hips in domination, as she felt his body temperature skyrocket beneath his clothing. Smearing her canid cooch against his denim jeans, she drifted effortlessly into a restful fantasy as her new boyfriend began to evolve.
At first, the change, for him, was innocent. He did not notice the first pressures of his snout in progress, nor was he prepared to understand the sensations his new vibrissae gave him--thick black antennae of the face that he did not recognize at first as anything more than growing stubble. As the creature above him squirmed and settled restfully upon him, however, he did feel something new cloying at his mind--a perverse intrigue at what was happening, and a sudden need to be dominated by the weighty, stinking beast. When he at last realized that his teeth were falling out, and that sharp fangs were needling their way from his tender gums, caressing them with a sloppy new animal tongue--he began to fall into a dumbfounded state.
Above him, the she-beast farted and slapped her brush against his ass, sluggishly napping and kicking at his dirtied coat-tails with her hind-paws. She was heavy as a big dog, and forced him oafishly into the sun-warmed muck of midday with her snooze. Shockingly he watched as his own hand stretched and morphed to resemble her own big, black-stockinged mitts. He twisted and tried to break free from beneath her, only to realize that his pants were coming loose in the slick grass and mud. Beneath his zipper, an all-too-familiar pressure built--and then a new, alien one, from just between his butt cheeks.
Her dream this time was a more pleasant one, of hunts and rut, and sharing a prized fat fowl with her mate-to-be. As she dreamed, he mutated to come more in-line with her visions; new nipples poking from his exposed underbelly, and a tail wiggling from his plump rear-end. She let out flatulence once again in her sleep, and it seemed to coat him like a trans-formative agent, eroding his human image and causing his proportions to go lithe and angular, before a layer of brown down and black began to settle his flank and forearms. He grew and stretched out of his pants, tail flicking eagerly, as the horny lady fox fawned in her sleepy fantasy. Understanding his imprisonment and her goal, he lay there in contemplation, as his face melded and sloped, furring over into a foxy visage as his world skewed and yellowed. With an almost audible thump, his tail hit the ground, and his hair fell out around new ears.
Releasing him, and allowing him to shed his clothes and take a piss, she admired his changing masculinity. What at first struggled to be a human phallus was swallowed in brown-furred foreskin, dusted in white, and spat from those sheathe-lips a tone redder and a tad more moist. The wide and apparent frenulum diminished with the second retraction of his dick, and with the third the head had begun to slope and narrow, beginning to lose its mushroom shape. With a lick from her tongue as encouragement, against his newly furred balls, he willfully retracted his shaft for a fourth and final time into the sheathe, and drew it out spigoted and arced, a streamlined canine prick.
She began a dance of flirtation with him, stroking her flank against his own, and he soon joined, regressing beyond any level of remaining reason; heading the instructions of his doggy shaft. When she presented her black cooze, he licked the palm-sized receptacle of flesh and lust, and pulled himself atop her back. The position was new, but it only took a few thrusts, to get the feel of his animal haunches. Within ten, he was jostling into position, and the twentieth or thirtieth stroke brought his spear within her, sucking and swallowing his width of fox flesh. Her walls probed and jostled his now vulpine member erect, and aided it in swelling well beyond the proportions of any human, bloating into a tight knot that would fuse them for hours--far longer than his human will could ever hope to hold out against the transformation at hand.
With a few final eager tugs, he released a blast of spunk into her; fully mutated, and ready to yield monstrous fox offspring. It was all his testes would ever again produce--and he was soon ready to give it eagerly, to her, and to others.