PART TWO

FULL STORY

Unlike a lot of of my predators, Christine isn’t a demon or a godlike telepath or some other kind of supernatural being. She’s just a normal fox. Well, a normal six-legged, six-tonne mafia Don fox. This makes it a lot of fun to write her, because she can’t just use magic to get out of sticky situations. All she has is her brain, her body, her environment, and her enormous churning hellvat of a gut. Good odds.

This divine work of art is the work of RevaDiehard of FA , and was an utterly incredible gift by  Stalbon . Thank you so much you fatass, but we’ll have to work on increasing that girth. Thanks to  Kaoru , this picture is not the only thing we’ll see of the Don. Thank you too, adorato, but it won’t save you from her.

The temptation to call this story "Thinking Inside The Fox", was... incredible. Somehow I managed to resist. I'd also like to say that I spent about two hours trying to choose the exact shade of orange for Christine's fluffy pelt... and it was all worth it.

Don Christine Vorascini had a very good relationship with her own body. She cared for it, spending hours every day in intensive strength, cardiovascular, and combat training until the muscles beneath her pudgy pelt could batter down doors and heft cars. She conditioned it, swallowing multivitamin supplements daily to supplement her... "high protein" diet and avoiding drugs of any kind except for the occasional drink. And she loved it, indulging its gluttonous hungers and feeding its bestial desires multiple times a day, until no-one except her knew the true number of innocent lives who had slipped past her ravenous jaws or into one of her drooling orifices. And in return, Christine’s body did everything she wanted. Its strength and resilience kept her alive, which was not always easy when you were the most powerful criminal overlord on the planet. Its reflexes and hunting instincts, combined with her own enormous illegal resources, allowed her to move unseen through the modern world, existing as nothing more than a ghost, a wild theory on conspiracy forums and in classified government papers. And its sheer size and elasticity, the result of a childhood spent in surgeries and growth treatments designed to allow her mutated form to simply survive, now gave her the raw capacity to enjoy herself to the fullest possible extent.

Like now, for instance.

Her capacity wasn’t completely filled. But it was close. Her powerful lower legs strained, working against the enormous weight that hung between them. Even then, and even with her height of more than twelve feet, her belly pooled on the floor, dragging across it with a crescendo of gurgles and groans with every step she took. Her heavy thighs had been forced apart, first by the bulging, surging mass of her guts, then even further by the churning lagoons of her sac, as she indulged every kind of hunger she was capable of, stuffing her monolithic manhood until her balls dragged on the floor as well, slowly rippling around their living, squirming load. And a guess, she had devoured almost her own bodyweight in people. And since Christine was much, much larger and heavier than most, that was a lot of people.

It had been a very productive day.

The Don closed her eyes as she felt the last morsel slip down her slick gullet, his fingers scrabbling desperately at the back of her tongue before they too were pulled down by slow, rippling gulps. With a touch, she could feel the adorable parrot’s beak, open in a scream for help which could not be heard by anyone except her. His body was only a bulge now, a thick, rippling swell which chugged stickily down past her forebelly - she had no stomach in her upper half - and towards the thrashing, bubbling cauldron of hell below.

“And that’s all of you,” Christine said quietly, her voice lowered to a certain pitch which she had found was best for echoing through the gooey depths of her body. She spoke Spanish very well, but with the distinct accent of her Italian heritage. “Elian,adorato, I hope you’ll stop telling me that this “isn’t possible”.”

A bulge deep in her bowels flinched, squealing and crying. Christine could feel the bat who had been Head of Resources pressing his face into the hot walls of her gut, writhing in despair. She clenched her fat haunches together to squeeze him until he was choking for breath, then left him trembling, moving her attention to the frenzy of kicking and writhing in her bloated belly as the newest arrival - Diego Mantarrez, the parrot who had been Chief Financial Officer - was squeezed inside. There was not much room for him, as the thick lake of acidic slime was already crammed full of eight others, all still squirming, pleading, and trying not to drown. Christine’s gluttonous body did not care, and forced him down anyway, making her heavy paunch sag and spill out a few more inches to either side. Within moments, Diego had been dragged under the rest by half a dozen grasping limbs and wrestling bodies. The foxtaur shuddered with pleasure. As much as she loved all her prey, it was so delicious to feel them condemning each other to the boiling depths of her vat, just for the sake of a few gasps of humid air. Maybe three people could breathe freely in the rippling chamber of her guts, and the rest had to fight and squirm in the boiling mire below.

In a way, it was a fitting end to their careers. All nineteen of the board members of Sapphire Technologies had spent their lives struggling up the corporate ladder. They had fought, manouvred, and it a few cases killed to get to the top. And now, they were fighting again, not for a multimillion dollar salary and bonuses beyond counting but for a second or two where Christine’s bubbling guts weren’t quite as tight and hot. The same fight was playing out in her simmering womb, where the CEO, infamous nymphomaniac Lola Garcia, had been locked in a wrestling match with her Company Secretary, Head of Public Relations and Vice President for almost an hour now, squirming and screaming as they started to soften into a creamy load of pleasure-fluids. It was happening in each of her testicles, and even in her oozing bowels - though most of the six people in there were fighting against the clenching walls rather than each other, trying to stop the sticky peristalsis from dragging them deeper, further from the light her thick pucker had stolen from them as it sealed smugly around their faces. The principle was the same: all of their power, their money, their prestige, was nothing. All that mattered was trying to escape her, and they were clawing, writhing, screaming and begging for just a chance of it. She could feel every one of them. She could hear every plea and howl.

It made her legs shake and threaten to buckle from the sheer overload of deep, dark pleasure.

Her phone beeped quietly, reminding her that this was not only pleasure. The Don ran a hand up and down her fat, squishing flanks as she tapped out a few messages on it. Board members neutralised. Cerys, drain accounts. Passcodes included. Teams 1, 2 and 10 activate Protocol Mercury. Teams 6,7,9 and 12 move in to secure prototypes. Team 3, begin extraction.

Around the world, nearly a hundred of the most dangerous men and women in this universe obeyed her whims. In six minutes time, an unmarked helicopter with some of the most advanced stealth technology on the planet would arrive for her. In fifteen minutes time, Sapphire Technologies would be nothing but memories. Its research data wiped, it's financial assets stolen, its high ranking personnel in her clutches, waiting to be added to her own assets, and its board members well on their way already. Christine felt her hindquarters squelch, her fat pucker gaping greedily at the thought of it's feast to come. No matter that she had let it swallow six people in the last two hours. It was always hungry.

She let it drool, smirking indulgently, and wandered around the silent, stained boardroom which had been the last thing her victims would ever see. Her cleanup crew would have to pull an all-nighter to get rid of this. Pools of oozing cream flooded the floor, chairs were thrown everywhere, expensive suits and designer lingerie had been thrown about - some of them ripped to shreds - and the colossal mahogany table at the centre of the room was wobbling, dangerously askew. Christine smiled softly as she looked over it, able to remember every moment of the orgy of gluttony. That shirt was Lola’s, and the Don had peeled her delectable form out of it, then used it to tie Marco to the table so he could watch his boss and lover as she was slowly munched over by Christine’s enormous drooling nethers. That chair had been used by Jian to try and fend her off, and she had simply lifted it and him up, stuffing him into her yawning gullet. That dripping stain on the wall had gushed from her pulsing cock just as it had sealed around the whimpering face of Arabelle, who had been the first to break and had stroked, kissed, rubbed and worshipped the throbbing shaft for an hour, before discovering that everything she had done had only made it hungrier.

But now, they were hers. All of them. Christine stood for a moment, feeling the squirms inside her again, hands pressing against steaming flesh walls, limbs squirming, faces screaming and pleading under foot upon foot of thick rich vulpine fat. She had made sure to swallow plenty of air, so they would keep the squirming going for more than a day - such colossal meals slowed her digestion quite a bit. But eventually, the bulges would soften, and round out, and she would feel that orgasmic last twitch as her insides turned a living person with hopes and dreams into a two hundred pound mass of sloshing calories. And then… well, her ass was fat enough to make double doors an effort, but after this she might start crushing them as she went.

Four minutes. She amused herself, teasing her breasts and fantasising about the half-dozen sizes they’d gain from this binge. And then she simply... froze. Her large ears twitched, pinpointing the sounds. The click of a door opening. Paws walking down the corridor. A hundred feet away, approaching soon. Unexpected. Unplanned for. Dangerous.

If the foxtaur had left anyone outside her bubbling guts, an observer would be able to see her entire personality simply vanish like a candle being blown out. Her lazy smirk disappeared. Her head cocked very slightly to one side. Her stance widened. Her dark blue eyes narrowed, becoming as cold and dead as sapphires. For a few long seconds, the only things that moved were the Don’s ears, which swivelled in slow, mechanical arcs, and the rippling churn of her paunch and sac as they squished across the floor. She did not even breathe.

Light step, heavy step, heavy step. Three beings. Two bodyguards, from the clinks of concealed weapons, making the third the important one. A hundred and thirty pounds. Nervous. Muttering under their breath, too quiet for even her exceptional hearing. In the blink of an eye, the Don’s phone was in her hand, her fingers dancing across it, her gaze still fixed on the closed doors ahead. She never entered any location without bugging everywhere in advance. A few keys were input and the words were picked up and played in crystal clear quality.

“...understand that… it’s an investment. A huge investment But the potential is unimaginable. We are hitting roadblocks, y-yes, but the tests show...”

The Don recognised the voice immediately. Intelligence had told her he was on the other side of the planet. Clearly it was wrong. Her mind’s eye ran through news articles, intelligence briefings, surveillance shots, and simultaneously pored over tactical maps of the boardroom, the rooms outside, the whole building. Time was calculated - twenty three to twenty five seconds until they opened the door. A plan was formed, tested, found wanting, discarded. Another was created, examined, improved, tested, found adequate, given multiple fallbacks, approved. Carefully, the Don relaxed its iron grip on its own psyche. The danger could be dealt with. It was safe to come out.

Christine Vorascini resurfaced, but slowly. Her shoulders relaxed. She breathed in, and out. Her eyes refocused. Little by little, the smirk returned… only this time it was much less lazy, and much, much hungrier.

Nearly silent despite her bubbling, sloshing stomach, she leant forwards into a predatory crouch and began to prepare.

To be continued.

Contains: foxtaur, fox, multiple prey, gluttony, weight gain, oral vore, cock vore, anal vore, unbirth, fat, hermaphrodite, H/M, H/F unwilling, digestion, fatal

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