So, we continue our history of Anne’s Harbor later in the evening. Wendy Carmichael, who would one day become instrumental in making the town a haven for magical and non-magical beings who pursued a sex positive, body positive, all-inclusive lifestyle, was a bit confused. To be fair, she’d become an anthropomorphic vixen with a heightened sex drive earlier that day. Of course, such a thing was impossible. After all, magic wasn’t real...Right?
I shivered as I parked my car in front of my parent’s house. After graduating from UNC-Wilmington with a double major in Marketing and Political Science, I had moved back home. Of course I had. It wasn’t like you could immediately find work anywhere outside of The Beltway with those degrees, at least not without the right parents or the right connections.
My father was the police chief in a town with fewer than 5,000 people. My mother worked with the City Manager’s Office to promote the community and various local events. Connections weren’t really something I had, outside of a 30-mile slice of coastal North Carolina.
I turned the car off and sat for a moment. I stared at my reflection in the rear-view mirror, trying to collect myself. Had I just masturbated in a dressing room? Was that really something I’d done? I’d had wild friends in college who bragged about that sort of thing. I’d never done it myself, though. I couldn’t imagine it. If my mother ever found out, she’d die of embarrassment.
Jill Carmichael (nee Brandt, if anyone cares) had been raised a proper Protestant lady. Preacher’s daughter, Chastity Club president, only ever been with one man, the works. She’d instilled the same values in my sister Candy (short for ‘Cynthia’. Don’t ask.) and me. I’d kissed a boy once. Well, maybe twice.
But beyond that, my only sexual exploits were personal and private. I’d explored my body, once I discovered just how good it could feel. But those explorations always took place behind a closed and locked door, in the dead of night, when everyone near me was deeply asleep.
Thinking back on what happened in the dressing room, I flushed. Part of it was embarrassment, yes. But part of it was also just how sexy things had been. I’d never worn anything so blatantly sexy as that vixen costume. The skirt was more than twice as short as my most daring article of clothing. And if my mother saw me in a halter top like that...
The flush in my cheeks crept downward, and I felt the exact moment when it reached my nipples. My peaks were usually at least a little stiff, since they were fuckin huge, but this was full on high beams.
Wait, ‘fuckin huge’? I never used language like that, not even in my mind. My mother would lose her shit if she found out I’d been thinking such thoughts. My reflection’s eyes bulged a bit when I realized I’d thought the word ‘shit’ too. I snapped my eyes shut, taking a deep breath and trying to get myself under control. This was nuts.
But it had been incredibly sexy, in that dressing room. I had an amazing body, there was no denying it. That skirt had made my thighs look amazing. Not at all like the thick, unpleasant pieces of flesh I was used to thinking of them as. Who the hell needed a thigh gap, when there was so much sultry muscle and soft flesh to caress?
And my tits! That halter had made them look huge. I’d found my tits truly sexy for the first time in my life, staring at them in that top...
“Wen? You okay in there?”
I jumped, my eyes jumping open. Candy, my little sister, was standing outside my driver’s door. She just pulled up next to me, and I hadn’t even heard the crunch of the gravel. She was giving me an extremely odd look. The reason why became clear in the next instant.
“I’m all for feminine health awareness, but maybe save the self-breast exams for your room, or at least the bathroom with the door closed?”
I blinked in confusion, then looked down. A soft gasp escaped me. My hands were cupping my tits, squeezing them gently. I’d been groping myself while reliving the dressing room. I dropped my hands instantly, even as I felt my cheeks heating up again.
“Sorry Candy. Marsha McGill had a scare with a lump that turned out to be a benign cyst. I’m just freaked out, is all.”
Even as I got the words out, I felt like an idiot. If Candy bothered to ask Marsha about her ‘scare’, she’d find out I was full of shit in two shakes. But she wouldn’t ask. Probably. I mean, a lady didn’t ask another lady about her tits. That’s how our mother raised us Carmichael girls, after all.
Candy nodded, turning towards the house with a slightly confused, slightly concerned look on her face. That was when it hit me: I’d been thinking the word ‘tits’ in relation to breasts. And if the sticky feeling between my thick, sexy thighs was anything to go by...Wait, ‘thick, sexy thighs’? What was wrong with me?
I got out of my car, locking the door with a shaking hand. What in the world was happening to me? I’d never thought of my tits as tits. That was demeaning as fuck. And I never thought the word fuck, either. I took a deep, steadying breath, and walked toward the house.
A cool breeze wafted down the street and across the driveway, fluttering my top and causing my capris to brush my legs. I had to clench my jaw as the breath of air sent my body into overdrive. It was like the most wonderful hands and mouths were caressing and kissing me all over. My thighs, in particular, almost seemed to ache for the touch of another’s hand.
I leaned against one of the two short columns that flanked the steps up to the porch. After a few moments, I’d managed to get the flare of heat back under control. Where the fuck had that come from? And why were my hands itching to explore my tits again? I shook my head, pushing the front door open and stepping into my home.
The Carmichael house was comfortable. We weren’t rich by any means, but the spacious 3,500 square foot home had plenty of room for four people. I walked through the garage and the mud room, kicking off my shoes before stepping into the kitchen. My mother’s rules about footwear in the house were iron clad: socks or slippers only. Anything else got left at the door.
The smell of delicious food filled the kitchen. My mother, Jill, was standing in front of the stove, several pots steaming and bubbling. She turned to me with a smile, holding her arms wide.
“There’s my oldest girl! Give me a hug and tell me about your day!”
Our normal tight embrace wasn’t the wonderful thing I spent the day looking forward to. My mother gave the best hugs: warm, affectionate, welcoming. This time, though, all I could think about was how my full, heavy tits got squished, and the way my thick, stiff nipples scraped against the cups of my bra. I suppressed a shiver, letting go much faster than I normally would and stepping back.
My mother looked at me quizzically.
“Wen? You okay?”
I nodded, not having to work to inject a note of embarrassment into my voice.
“A friend had a breast cancer scare and Candy caught me checking myself in the driveway. I was freaked out and not really thinking about where I was.”
My mother managed to look concerned and disapproving at the same time. That was one of her superpowers. She could mix disapproval with any other expression, even joy or delight. It was freaky.
“Well, keeping up with your health is important, Wendy. I have to say that doing so in the driveway is hardly appropriate, though. Please confine such examinations to private places.”
I nodded meekly. Despite the amazing smells wafting from the stove, I held my stomach, scrunching my nose up.
“I’m not feeling great. I think I might be getting a stomach bug. I’m going to skip supper tonight.”
My mother stepped forward, pressing the flat of her hand to my forehead. She shook her head after a moment.
“No fever. Take of Pepto and lie down. I’ll fix you a plate and leave it in the fridge. If you feel better, you can heat it up later.”
I thanked God that Candy and I lied to our mother so rarely that my little fib went by with no questions. Neither of us had ever tried to skip school because we were ‘sick’. It came in handy now.
I said, “Yes ma’am”, and retreated to the second floor. My room was at the end of the short hallway. It was the second largest of the five bedrooms in the house, with only the master that my mom and dad shared being bigger. I locked the door and took a deep breath.
My tits were burning and itching in my sensible blouse and beige bra. I’d never felt the need for them to be free like this before. In a frenzy, I yanked the buttons on my blouse open, wriggling my arms to get the top off. My bra was shrugged off in the next instant, and I sighed in relief.
I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door. A flash of heat that was familiar, if not something I felt frequently, burned through me. I had such sexy tits.
And they’d looked fucking incredible with their coat of orange and white fur...
I blinked, shaking my head. Where had that thought come from? Sure, I’d looked hot in the halter top, but it hadn’t had fake fur on it or anything. It was just a cotton top, lined in something silky for some weird reason. It had felt incredible against my skin.
I stared at my strawberry blonde hair, which frame my face in the cutest little cut ever. I felt a phantom twitching on the top of my head and reached up to scratch my scalp.
You’re missing your other ears, that’s all...
Stupid fucking voice. I didn’t even like hair bands. If I ever put my hair up, it was either braided or in a ponytail. I’d only pulled on the ridiculous hair band with the fake fox ears because it was part of the costume. It had felt really nice up there, though...
The sudden rush of wet heat between my legs at the thought left me panting softly. I needed to get rid of my slacks and panties immediately. I wriggled and hopped and tugged frantically. In seconds, I stood before my mirror completely naked. I sighed in relief again. This was much better.
Your pussy looked better when the bush was deep, burnt orange...
What the fuck? I’d never thought of my sex as a pussy. Or a ‘sex’ for that matter. It was firmly a ‘vagina’. Clinical, concise, cold. After all, there was no point in getting all gushy about it. I wouldn’t have a need for it until I was married.
Except I was definitely ‘gushy’ right now. I’d been this wet before, but only on nights when I’d lost myself in exploring for hours. It had taken multiple orgasms over an extended period to make my labia and thighs this sticky. Now, I was slick and hot, and I hadn’t even touched myself. What the fuck was going on with me?
I collapsed back onto my bed, grabbing two pillows and shoving them under my head. Perfect. Now I could stare at my pussy, just like I had in the dressing room. The thought of what I’d done in the dressing room sent another flash of wet heat through my body. Fuck, I was so hot.
One thing I had learned about myself in college is that I could get vocal when I lost control. Before I’d moved back home, that wasn’t a huge problem. I had a single occupancy room, and the walls were thick. When I’d gotten really loud, no one had noticed. But now, my mom and sister were downstairs, and dad would be home soon.
I looked around for something to muffle the moans that were sure to come out. Not another pillow. I couldn’t watch if I used a pillow, and I had to watch. My eyes stopped on my panties. The thought was disgusting. I could still see the wet spot on the crotch. But then I was grabbing them up and stuffing them in my mouth.
The first taste was sweat. It hadn’t exactly been a cool day, but that was summer in North Carolina. Salty and sharp, my sweat was followed by a second taste. Similar, but different. There was the same salty undertone, but it was...Different. I couldn’t think clearly enough to determine what the differences were. I looked at my mirror again.
Look at that sexy vixen bitch. She’s tasting her pussy and now she’s touching that pussy and she’s So. Fucking. Hot.
My thoughts burned away as my fingers plunged inside myself. It felt so goddamn good. I didn’t even care I’d just thought the single worst word in the world, at least as far as mom was concerned. ‘Goddamn’ felt so good think. So goddamn wet. So goddamn sexy. Bouncing, bountiful boobies. Slick, squishy sex. Vacant, blissed out hazel eyes. And then I was cumming.
I moaned into my panty gag, tasting my wetness as I did. This was ridiculously fucking hot.
It would be hotter with your fur and ears...
It had been hotter, I decided. My fur had felt fucking incredible everywhere I’d touched it. My thick orange bush between my thick sexy thighs had matted in the best possible way with my wetness. My twitching ears had picked up every slick sound from between those thighs. I’d been a sexy as fuck vixen in that dressing room.
As I was hit by a second orgasm, I had two distant thoughts. First, I never came back to back like that. Second, I needed to be that sexy fucking vixen again as soon as possible.
Hours later, with the stars twinkling outside my window, I collapsed back. I weakly spit out my panties. I’d had to remove them several times throughout my extended self-play. After all, when the taste of sweat and pussy went away, they weren’t nearly as fun. So, of course, I had to rub them in my wet to freshen them up.
As I started to drift off to sleep, I had one final thought. I would be spending every single penny of the price Viv had quoted me for that vixen costume. Anything else would be insane. Not as insane as thinking I’d actually had fur and fox ears...but while I’d been finger fucking myself, it had seemed pretty goddamn real.
Wendy was the first convert Viveanne made in the town of Southport. While her vixen form would hardly be the last new shape young Ms. Carmichael would take on, it was the first step. As the months passed and more changes came, Wendy would play a pivotal role in shaping the future of our town. That first night alone was a turning point for our town. It is still celebrated every year with a festival of mutual masturbation.
It’s actually coming up in a few weeks. If you’ve completed your new resident orientation, you’re more than welcome to join the rest of the community. It’s always a good time for everyone. But then, in Anne’s Harbor, things usually are.