The next morning, the fox stretched out his body, feeling his heavier underside quivering with new fox fat. The big vulpine was a bit thicker now, hips and thighs and furry rump more rounded, stomach heavy and sloshy, the human woman having been stripped of her identity entirely, reduced to literal fat: just jiggly adipose tissue, nothing but chub on her vulpine predator. And, of course, a stinking, foul mass of ex-human mushed in his rectum, straining for release. The fox didn't even bother to get off the bed, just squatting and lifting his bushy tail, his little pucker expanding as the woman officially became shit. The first thick, lumpy turd plopped onto the bed, dark brown and lodged with flecks of chipped bone. Another log followed quickly, and then another, the pile of fox poop piling up into a gross, grisly memorial to your permanent new status as fox scat. Log after log slid out from that sphincter, just a reeking, gag-inducing mound of dung, lumpen and disgusting, capped with a cracked, corroded, shit-smeared skull. The fox soon finished up, wiping his ass with the ragged blanket, then pissed into the pile of wet shit. He trotted off, gut swaying. You were never seen again.
