Bound In Beast Flesh -- No More Regret
#7 of Bound In Beast Flesh: Transformation RPG Scraps
Kitsune gypsy Shanon prepares our hero for a dirty new deed.
As much as I love the nine-tailed fox, and Japanese fox folklore in general, I'm not really one for trying to cling to tradition. My kitsune know culture in the same way that a wild animal would, rather than as a person--they merely adopt what's familiar to their victims.
Admittedly, I also get tired of referencing terms in romanji all the time, in an English text, and I'm not as much an anime buff as I used to be (see also why Seven Tails doesn't get writing, these days).
I'd rather try and put together a mythology of my own--I just find some elements, like the woman-imitation, and the multiple, ghostly tails, very captivating--which is probably why I still consider them kitsune, despite the absence of samurai and geisha and daimyo.
One day, I might want to try and slip in a scene where Shanon is caught enjoying udon with tofu, or something. For now, I'll stick to fleshing out the stinker in my own way.
I split this one up, and the actual invasion will begin in my next piece. Let me know if you like where things are going. I admit, I didn't think I'd end up doing so much writing for this one story, which I'd just intended as just one possible outcome of a much broader adventure game story.
You enjoy a warm, toasty baptism, within the confines of your captor's magic cave. Wading into a deep pool, you swish your tails, and feel the unique sensation of the natural heat welling up through the cold water, and into your fur, as it clings tight and damp against your skin.
You relax, and let loose a nice piss. You grin as your new friend, Shanon, flicks her tails through the water, sitting down on a rough stone ledge in the pool. You feel the water move as she adds her contributions. You wade to her, and lick at her tits for awhile, holding tight to her waste, as she pets your head.
After a pleasant bit of alone time, in the low-lit cavern, amidst the glowing eyes of your kindred, you feel your humanity lapse. In place is a wonderful subservience, and yet, also a level of equality, to your female. You feel the time coming soon, when you and Shanon will mate, and yield something incredible.
You lower your muzzle to her muff, and get ready to lick her folds, but she brings her hand underneath your muzzle, and scratches under your jaw, lifting your face away.
You whine regretfully.
"Not yet, sweet hunter." she whispers, reaching under and patting your balls. "We, as exemplars, must tend to our lesser kin first."
You look about, listening to the purrs and the whimpers of lusty vixens. You wince for a moment, staring conflicted, between your padded, claw-tipped fingertips, down in the dark water, to the black silhouette of your flaccid, sheathed penis.
Then you speak your mind, issuing words through your new, awkward mouth. Some of it must be illusion, for you feel the grunts, and growls, and chirps of a fox's voice, even while your own firm, now-nasal male voice is what makes it into the air.
"Though you have changed me, and filled my mind with this... this wonderful... filth," You begin to append the 'wonderful', regretfully, as she leans down and licks at your long ears...
"Go on then," she whispers. "What lingering human regrets torment you?"
"Even I cannot tend so many females." you finish, lowering your head in shame. "What should I do, my love?"
She scratches gently at your testicles, and strokes your penis through its sheathe.
"Find more males to help, of course. Or make them. Do you like males?"
You blink, not sure if you do, or don't, and turn your snouty fox-face her way. Words of disgust or resistance want to roll out, but they've become blank, like air, and simply don't exist to be produced from your mouth. Instead, you roll your pink tongue out over your yellow teeth and blackened lips, and just pant vacuously.
"You'll like it all soon, I'm sure." she says. "You've made such wonderful progress, in such short-time, hunter. Maybe come with me, into town, and we'll see about exercising your loins productively."
When you finally get out, the smell of poop is gone, but the smell of fox stays. You shake yourself off like an animal, and join Shanon in a walk toward the surface.
* * *
A few vixens curiously follow you; a mix of red, sherbert, and ginger fur, trailing confidently behind the two of you--black furred, human figures with animal skulls, animal tails, and animal paws. Shed is the silvery armor, but your musculature is firm beneath your shimmering tod fur, and you walk hand in hand with a buxom sly vixen, with a decent bust, and and an elegant gait. Her long muzzle pokes from her silky, straight black hair, that dangles past her shoulders. The two of you look up with your predator eyes, as the dirty, root-filled tunnel slopes, and reaches the surface.
It's a bit of a squeeze as you press out from beneath a loosely rooted old stump, that has been left at the top of a rocky hill. Though it's hard to tell with your changing eyes, which bathe the landscape in eerie yellow and orange tones, not unlike the hides of your kin--you can make out the setting sun in the distance, and just vaguely ascertain the moon in the sky. Your body feels more roused and active, as your eyes adjust to an evening on the surface. You wonder if this is your future from now on--to rest in the warmth of day, and rustle out of your den on lively summer nights, when the crickets sing.
Whatever the case, your lover Shanon strolls ahead of you, turning back your way. Framed under the sillouhette of a single distant tree, you look on past her, toward the fields of Brightfen--and in the distance, Brighthollow village.
In another time, in a recent life, you would be defending that distant locale. You would go down into Shanon's den, and grab her by the nape of her neck, and slice her throat.
Now, the thought of pooping, and peeing, and making fox young plays crazy games with your brain. And frankly, you're also a little hungry. When she dangles something out of her hand, you look on with a distracted, shaken and obsessed gaze, and stagger close to palm your mask from her hand.
"I thought you would like wearing it, to help remind you of your changed priorities in life. You can still be a hero to us, though, hunter."
The thing has warped again. What was once a mold to catch the growing snout you now possess, with insides which captured a human face, now sits gently atop your brow and muzzle, a mere half-mask, that lets your canine jaw hang uncovered, to eat. Though you can't tell for sure through your color-blindness, it seems the mask is a startling, pure white, with some kind of intricate garnish of colored lines around the eyes, that make the headpiece more intimidating--ghostly, even. These lines run the bridge of the mask's vulpine nose, and you feel like you're donning some kind of intricate second-skull, as you hold it and settle it down over your wedge-shaped hybrid head. Your wet rhinarium pushes out to fit in a concave opening at the tip of the nosepiece.
"See, now I can tell you were the knight, in the cave, who gave in to the pleasure of the vulpe life, and not just some random stranger."
It's not so bad, when you can wear your old, regret-filled past, like an article, that has ever so slightly outgrown you. Nostalgia wells through you, as you get ready for what the fox-gypsy Shanon has in mind for you tonight.
"Well, you feel it too, after all." she says. "You hunger for companionship, and would like to celebrate your new freedom, with a blissful orgy."
They aren't exactly the words you'd have chosen, wearing this mask when it was a helmet. But your new face guides you to nod, as more foxish whispers wrack your brains.
"How well armed are the humans of Brighthollow?" she inquires. "From the perspective of someone who has lived within their gates, you would know more than even our most tenacious spies among vixenkind."
A canine grin etches itself down your lengthy lips, with a show of teeth. You cannot tell if it is a grin of vulpine mischief, or of defiant human rage, but your mask pulses along your temples, and eases your indecision. You answer easily, as if it had massaged your moment of resistance away.
"There are a few guards," you tell her, "Kept untouched by your plague, through virtue of steel and baptism. It would take greater effort to turn them, for they do not sojourn into the wild places, as did I."
"No. Nor did they have a hidden longing for release, as did you." she whispers, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Deny it if you will, you carried our bite long in your body, without burning or baptism, til you bore the tail of a fine, sleek stud, and were rotting to the inside with Fox. No true hero of Man does such a thing."
"Leave it be, please?" You beg pitifully.
She smiles, nodding.
"I do not judge you for your eccentric tastes, Hunter. In fact, it's not odd, to see the common hunter captivated by his prey: How they move, how they look and act--and they regret the taking of such a fine life, to sustain their own. You are no different in this sense, and should not be ashamed--for you only took the additional step, to walk in our gait, to see and smell the world as we do. And for that, you have my affection."
She leans into an embrace, pressing her pert, demi-human breasts against you. Beneath, you feel her six foxy teats squish and settle coolly against your warm, furry abdomen. Holding Shanon, a creature with a just-human frame, and animal stink and sillouhette, you know her words are true. Had you truly wished to win, you would have sliced through the illusion. You would not have stumbled ungainly in her kind's filth, or played in it for hours after your shameful defeat, or launched into loud and frequent orgasms with wild foxes. You would not be dominated by her animal mask, or her beautiful form, shared now by you.
"It was the will of my people, and care for their fate, that drove me to hunt you. But I..."
"Wanted to be free of that. Being a human has become a regret, entrenched in empty symbolism, and broken promises. Your old 'life'--if it can be called such a thing--was nothing but a useless promissory note, and thirty-two years of struggling, for the values of your elderly. When you found them as valueless as the world around you, you gave in to the yearning for warmth, and came to me."
You nod, silently. This time, it is a nod without the encouragement of magic masks, or guidance from the wild.
"I have a plan for that village then. I want to change each and every one of yours, into a brother, sister, and lover--every man, woman, and child, should embrace our gait, our stench, our pleasures, our life. Will you help?" She asks, bridging the words tersely, with a sense of inquisition you remember from your human days.
"Yes."