"What... what the hell is going on here!?"
Farrell sounded not just bewildered, but almost as horrified as Henry felt. Yet the vixen's nose clearly picked up the scent of a second aroused canine male, and her sharp eyes saw the growing bulge in his jeans. Unconsciously Henry licked his lips. But before he could say anything to entice the coyote over, Orson grunted in annoyance and looked up from where he'd been licking at Linda's exposed throat.
"What's your problem, brother? Told you -- we had -- vixens to fuck."
Farrell opened his mouth. This was so unlike Orson -- maybe his brother had snuck down to the Sweetwater once or twice, but discreetly. He'd never brought hookers into their motel -- under the same roof as their wives! -- much less expected his brother to join in. And... were they even hookers...? He'd certainly never seen them before -- and he would definitely remember a luscious, needy, well-oiled, triple-breasted sex toy like that...
What are these thoughts...?
And the room! -- it looked like something out of the Playboy Mansion! Lushly carpeted, richly appointed, the odd erotic carving in furniture panel or lampstand. The slightly red tint of the light filtering through the lampshades. The plain, slightly faded landscape photo of a lake was now a vivid masterpiece and featured a busty vixen, her distant gaze on the lake but her fingers slipping into her bikini bottom.
"Are -- are they customers?" wavered Farrell, concerned that someone was being exploited. But, without noticing, he undid his fly and the head of his penis pushed out through the opening, morphing from a human mushroom to pointed canine dickhead.
"Yes!" snarled Orson, patience lost at the continued interruption of his pleasure. He shot his brother a look from his narrowed eyes. "So get in here and fuck the slut;" he jerked his head at Henry, who flinched as he groped himself; "this is how they're paying!"
"Uhh..." Farrell wanted to object that this was a motel, not a brothel. But he found himself walking in, shoes popping and sliding away from feet reforming into paws, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. "R-right..." His head was swimming. The air was already saturated with the scent of heat, and sex. His balls felt fuller than they had in decades, his cock long and thick and hard, a strange swelling at the base pushing against his boxers.
He paused at the foot of Henry's bed. The vixen rolled onto his back, regarding the coyote with mixed emotions. His arousal was obvious in his stiff cock and the way he toyed with his breasts. But fear lingered in his eyes, even as they fixated on the growing red canine shaft, knot and balls threatening to tear his underwear apart.
"H-hi there," Henry stuttered softly, spreading his legs. He closed his eyes at the unwanted display, a tear squeezing out. "I-I..." He could not keep them closed however, drawn by the growing canine erection, and the sculpting of Farrell's body to masculine perfection as the coyote stripped.
Farrell's claws did the work for his cock, shredding the thin fabric and snapping the band of his boxers, letting them and his jeans fall around his ankles. He shook his head, bemused at how little he was protesting the situation; but he shrugged off his shirt. Now effectively naked, he set his dark-furred hands on his red shaft, framing it tantalisingly against his pale belly fur. His expression remained mostly one of concern, though lust lurked behind his pale yellow eyes.
"Did you... is this what you want?" he asked, voice soft but firming with decision. His worry over the changes in the room and the strange behaviour of his brother -- they were fading. As Orson said, here was a vixen in need of fucking, good and hard. And he was ready -- moreso than he had ever been.
"Oh yes," Henry gasped. He swallowed. "I..." God, why does he look so... AMAZING!? Henry spread his legs further, and thrust his hand past his ballsack to his hot, wet slit. He wasn't even trying to draw the coyote's attention -- he just felt so... needy... as the male figure maddened his instincts.
Farrell's cock, of course, now large and animalistic, was the vixen's main focus; but the rest of the coyote also captivated him. Farrell's lanky, somewhat flabby coyote frame had been chiselled and filled out by the vixen's desires into a muscular beastman: still lean, but slightly taller and broader of shoulder, rock-hard abs and powerful chest flanked by arms that looked like they could lift Henry's soft, yielding body one-handed -- a thought that fluttered his heart. Below his loins were thick, corded legs and mighty paws fit for superhuman feats of speed and agility.
"Please." His feminine voice had grown even breathier, panting with desire. "I -- need you!" God... His fingers found the edges of his labia and pushed them open. I can't stand this... "T-take..."
For a moment he couldn't go on. Desperately he tried to regain control, fighting against the helpless feeling of submitting to his urges. He could still say "no!" After all, he didn't want this. Any of it -- and yet, he did. She did. Her -- his free hand traced over the lettering on his collar. Fuck toy. Somehow he had transformed into this lewd, living sex doll shaped like an anthro vixen. And the vixen had a burning need that trampled down his weak humanity. A purpose that would not be denied.
"T-take me..." His voice fell to a whisper, just loud enough to be heard by the coyote's attentive heard.
Use me...
"Use me... like a good fuck toy." He whimpered, clutching at his collar. More tears slid from his eyes -- just as more lube oozed from his tits and his nethers. "That's... all I am now..." He took a deep breath as he admitted it. Although, there was still one last hope...
"J-just... be gentle," he pleaded as the coyote moved onto the bed, looming over his wanton rubber form. "I... I've never had... a male before..."
"Of course." Although his mind had slowly succumbed to the lust exuded by the vixens, Farrell remained a more considerate man than his brother. He knew that this vixen was reluctant, though he could no longer fathom why. Crawling over the vixen, he ran his hand over her breasts, feeling them shudder and jump with her moans and sobs of need. "Shhh, don't worry," he said, increasingly lost in the moment, but needing to comfort the frightened creature beneath him. "It'll be okay..."
"Ahhhh..." Henry could no longer form words to urge the coyote to skip the foreplay. The reassurance was... wonderful... but yet it was also as emasculating as the rest of this. Just get it over with...! All the vixen could do to express her -- his desires was to clasp the furry male close, squishing her boobs into his chest and grinding their cocks together.
"Ahhhgh..." Farrell groaned in turn. "Ahh... so eager..." And he pushed the vixen down. Henry whimpered, then felt the coyote's strong hands on his hips. With a cry of shock Henry found himself flipped over, his protest becoming another wanton moan as his tits and cock pressed into the bed and his face was buried in the perfumed pillows. But even as he tried to rub himself the bedspread, the hands on his hips pulled him up.
"That's right," Farrell murmured. "Just relax, babe... you'll enjoy it..." He rubbed his cock over her lips, his hazy mind finally registered that his maleness was a different shape than what it had been, but only to approve of the change. He felt so powerful, so in control. He was going to enjoy teaching this fox how to be a vixen.
"Hurry..." Henry managed to gasp. That was his one hope -- get this over with as soon as possible. That once it was over, the vixen's lust for sex and being dominated sated, he could go back to normal. At least normal enough to remain himself inside and find a cure. That was the hope his mind clung to --
Farrell's spear stretched her lips and thrust into her depths.
Henry's mind dissolved. All that remained was a latex vixen toy, bracing herself back and curling her tail around the male covering her. Hopes, dreams, ambitions... all gone. The lust to be used for a person's pleasure; the pleasure she felt as her petals were spread and a hard rod pumped in and out of her hole... these were all the mind she needed.
Her pussy gripped tight around that rod, conforming itself to be the perfect fit. Fat nipples ground against the bedspread, heavy breasts rubbing over the creases her soft-clawed fingers made as they clenched for purchase. Cock throbbing with more excitement than either wife or self-service had elicited.
All the while Farrell and Henry had been trying to reconcile their desires, Orson had grown increasingly rough in his fucking of the compliant toy beneath him. His conscious mind was completed consumed in primitive fire as he drove his knot against Linda's rubbery lips. She could feel the feral force in him, and eagerly she urged it on. Let it all out! She wasn't rational enough to talk herself, but her submissive squirming and panting was all the communication the alpha mounting her needed.
Sex with Henry had never felt this good! She almost wanted to check if her husband was still watching, if he saw just how outclassed he was by this... coyote stud, but that would have been too much of a distraction. Thinking was becoming too much of a distraction, she had other things to focus on -- the tongue laving over her smooth rubber bosom, the little pricks as coyote teeth pinched her tender skin, the squeeze of well-lubed sex hole being pounded, pounded by hot, swollen canine flesh...
Not long after Farrell began Henry's education in female pleasure, Orson howled in his first orgasm of the night, drowning out Linda's own groan of release. The vixen had in fact cum several times, but now with that fat knot held firmly by her folds... "Gaaaaawd..." drippled out of her gaping jaws, her words slurred as her tongue flopped out. "Sszzzhoooo goooood..."
She squeezed herself around the member trapped in her hot tunnel, coaxing out every bit of coyote seed to fertilise her latex womb. As some semblance of rationality returned to her she clasped arms and legs around the recovering male. "Cum in me..." she whispered, nuzzling up to his ear with her seductive whisper. "Again... Again, master..."
Master? Why had she called him that? He wasn't her owner -- was he? For a few seconds her rubbery instincts wrestled with her mind. Was she on loan? No, wait, she didn't have any owner. Was that right? Wasn't she a toy?
The concern was banished as Orson crushed her to him. "Fuck," he growled, feeling his balls swelling afresh. The magic of the foxes cut his recovery time to almost nothing, allowing him to grant his plaything's wish. Her flexible cunt slurped as it let him draw out, to begin the process of battering his way in all over again. Linda purred and panted as the feral pounding resumed.