Their pervasive aura of sex flooded into the lobby together with the Eversons' rubbery musk. Even as Henry and Linda would have blushed at the hunger they felt as the strapping male rose and came out from behind his desk -- if they could have blushed -- so too did the owner reciprocate. His surprise at their blatant display quickly faded, replaced by something else -- betokened by the growing bulge in his slacks.
Henry opened his mouth, but he could not say anything, his eyes riveted on the coyote's crotch. Instead it was the owner who addressed them, his muzzle twisted in a leering smirk.
"Hey there fuck toy."
"E-excuse me!?" gasped Henry, flinching as if he'd been struck, eyes wide -- almost as horrified by the girly shriek of his voice as the insulting words. His reaction was echoed by Linda. Even Debra was momentarily taken aback; but then a thoughtful look settled over her muzzle, and the lust in her eyes burned brighter.
The man blinked, his leer fading into a bemused look, as if he could not fathom what he had just said. He put a hand to his muzzle and coughed. Then he gestured at Henry's neck.
"Well that's what's written on your collar." His tone was half-apologetic, half-accusatory.
"Collar!?" Henry's hand flew to his throat. "Oh my God...!" His fingers traced over the raised lettering. "Oh my God..." It was true. He felt the shape of the letters. He felt them in his soul.
Fuck toy...
Linda too had become aware of the presence of the plastic band clasping her neck. And likewise, as she fingered it, she knew what it said, and she silently mouthed the words "cum slut." Her cheeks were burning with latex blood, though it made little difference to the colour of her molded flesh.
Deny it as they might wish, however... the appellations struck a chord deep within, and the scent of their heat spiked.
"Ah... ahhh..." Henry panted, trying to clear his mind. At the moment all he could think about was presenting himself to the male, whose expression was once again being overtaken by lust. He could not even remember why else he had come in here.
"And you are putting on quite a show." The coyote's voice was tinged with disapproval, but also a predatory threat -- echoing from some deep part of him, set free by the Eversons' presence, that wished to take what was being flaunted. To disregard his own feelings and the Eversons' obvious discomfiture, and make them adhere to their new designations.
"We can't exactly help it," cut in Debra, relieving some of her parents' stress as the coyote's yellow eyes turned to her. "We just got transformed! Isn't this place supposed to be a haven?"
"Yes..." He shook his head. "Yes. Sorry... I don't know what exactly came over me..." Clearing his throat, he continued, "I know it can be hard... very hard..." The bugle in his pants twitched, and he grunted. "...To adjust. I mean -- ahem -- welcome to my hotel. I'm Orson Alvarez, the owner. I assume you want a room for you to f- er, while you come to terms with yourself?"
"Y-yes," answered Henry in his soft feminine voice. "I-I mean, three rooms. If they're available."
"Oh sure... not a lot of business, as you can imagine. Care to give me your names? You'll probably be here a while, and I like to know my guests.:
"Oh, right... I'm H-Henry Everson; this is my wife Linda; and our children; Rick, Sam and Debra."
"Mmhm." Orson eyed them, obviously having trouble imagining the big-breasted Henry as husband and the cock-displaying Linda as wife. How will you be paying?" He eyed them suggestively.
Henry, however, did not catch the innuendo; for the question brought up a new concern. For when he reached to his shirt pocket for his wallet, his fingers brushed only smooth rubber breast and he realised, in a flash of panic, that his shirt had disappeared. Had his wallet gone with it? All his credit cards, his IDs...
As a matter of fact, it had simply fallen unnoticed to the seat, and was now locked in the car. But Henry did not know this, and had to fight against increasing fear of losing yet another trace of his humanity. But he managed to choke it back enough to turn to his wife and stutter:
"Dear, I-I seem to have... l-lost my wallet. Could you pay for it?"
Linda's purse had been unaffected. But she had barely brought it up to fish for her own wallet when Orson held up a hand.
"Just a minute. We don't accept modern currency."
The family stared. As Henry was about to demand why the fuck not, the coyote continued.
"Nobody in the magical community does. Too much inflation. You have to use gold and silver; or notes or cards issues by the Dwarfheim Bank. The local branch does offer currency exchange, but they're closed now. So you'll have to find an alternative."
The two adults stared at each other in despair.
"What are we going to do?" asked Linda.
"Well, you're presenting a very obvious alternative." Orson's leer was back in force as he made his suggestion explicit. "Let me and my brother fuck you and your wife, and in exchange the lot of you spend the night. That seems reasonable."
"F-fuck --!?" Henry couldn't finish, the shock of this final audacity too much to bear.
"You -- you can't be serious!" protested Linda.
But the lure of their bodies and the magic washing off of them was too much. Orson was far from a bad man, but these toys were meant to be fucked. Within the coyote lurked a dominant beast; the foxes' enchantment was close to breaking the last shackles holding it back. And no matter what they thought they wanted at the moment, Henry and Linda's bodies very clearly wanted to be used.
Still, Orson made a valiant effort at sympathy. "Well, if you really don't want this..." he patted the bulge in his pants, unable to resist the animal pride in his masculinity; "there are other options. If you've got something else to barter, like your car. Or you could always check with the brothel. I'm sure they'd love to to take you in."
"As if that's any different," commented Debra with an eye roll. Unlike her parents, though, she didn't mind so much. The coyote's increasingly cocky attitude didn't quite appeal to her, but she had no objections to fucking in exchange for a room. Sounded like a win-win to the horny teenage vixen. But the decision was not hers to make.
"I-I meant..." Orson shrugged, his inhibitions almost wholly lost. "Fuck it, I meant the brothel across town. But the church might also be willing to put you up."
Debra glanced between her parents. Linda looked to her husband; Henry bit his lip. As head of the household -- despite a welling desire to submit to another's will -- the decision was his.