Echoen thought the date was going pretty well. Pretty vixen, lots in common, smelled great - though you were oddly hungry and ordered a lot of food. You felt like you were eating for two - and to refuel the fluids you were losing from your new girlherm sheath and balls. You'd been fully female when he picked you up, and the date's been going too well for you to really pay attention to your increasingly productive, increasingly virile new set of equipement - or the bellybulge of a plumping tum. Most of it all hidden by the dinnertable. "So! What do you do for a living?" He asks, forking a bit of pasta past his buckteeth. His throat would feel so good wrapped around your cock. Foxaholic The food was marvelous in addition to everything else, and ordering the all-you-can-eat portion proved to be the right call. The vixen was far more ravnenous that her lithe form would have suggested, though she managed to maintain her manners well and carry on conversation without skipping a beat. The only visual clue anything might be amiss was the occasional shift of her hips, which given the following blush in her cheeks, may be a good thing. In any case, it was distracting enough for her to take a pause before answering. "Well, I work form home most of the time, but every so often I get an account that demands an appearance" The rich scent of vixen musk pools under the table as her cock gradually emerges from her sheathe, easily long enough to reach passed the bottom of her tight dress Echoen breathes deep, getting mostly foodscent, but a healthy helping of unheathfully fertile vixtodd fuckscent. Your swelling erection feels like the most natural thing in the world, as does your advancing weight. An itch stirs beneath your sac as your pussy swells heavy and rich, hips popping wider to pull taut the strands of your dress. With a soft thump, your clit bulges forward several inches, then a full foot, throbbing thicker as it swells until it's a pretty, juicy pink clittycock, thrust out beneath your balls. Both of them throb in lust. "You must have a very nice home!" He compliments, politely wiping his mouth and ordering dessert for you. If he's noticed your plumping, filling body, he hasn't given any indication of it. The waiter has, though, and he can't stop sweating and staring as he writes down the dessert order. Foxaholic The growing and throbbing beneath the table becomes harder to miss as Vic starts down a shameless path, more than willing to welcome what comes naturally. Her chest noticeably rises and falls as her arousal compounds, chipping away at her restraint in the process. Your question registers, but in the same moment, the waiter's attention takes precedence. She orders more and more dessert with a sultry and seductive tone, hoping she can get the needy waiter to pile a little extra on for the privilege of watching her eat it. Once they start to scurry off, she turns her attention back to her date. "It is, but I worry it's a little small. I've been thinking about trying to find a new place soon." Though her clit and cock aren't yet long enough to reach her date's side of the table, she still has the length to paint the carpet around your feet with her need, and her tip subtly bumps the bottom of the table with every shot. Echoen is caught enthralled by the way you speak to the waiter, enticed by your delectable descriptions of the desserts you're ordering, and the enhanced view of your cleavage as your breasts... -push- forward, visibly plumping cup size after cup size. THe fabric of your dress growing snug around the fat swells of your areolae and nipples. "Would you... like to see mine?" He finds himself asking, blinking at his sudden forthrightness and fluffing his tail as he takes notice of the tapping, the musky warmth pooling around his feet. Your ass has grown so much that your balls and pussy both are unburdened by the chair seat. The volume of pussyjuice from your folds like a small river. A needy itch fills your ass as your tailhole plumps into a juicy donut and your prostate bloats big and squishy. Dessert arrives, and the waiter - a bunny guy - is made to stand there and watch you, along with Balros, consume everything. The squirrel blushes as the bunny jizzes himself several times. It's a good enough distraction for Balros that by the time he turns his full attention back to you, your upper body nearly matches the vast fullness of your lower body, and yet despite your massive belly that sits atop the table, you're -blatantly- pregnant. Foxaholic Vic's chair creaks and groans as she resettles herself atop its soaked cushion, filling the air with subtle squelches and potent breedmusk. The restaurant's other patrons begin to feel its effects as it spreads, feasting and plumping with softly rounded maternal figures. Almost everyone in our section creeps up a cup size, and belts and threads softly pop against the pressure of widening hips. "I would be delighted to," Vic coos. "But we might have to stop for ice cream or something on the way over." When the overflowing platter of dessert arrives, the plumping vixen wastes no time digging in. Against expectation and trapped between greed and gluttony, she eats rather neatly. Her knife and fork cut across her plates in a blur, popping mouthful after mouthful into her softening muzzle, all without spilling so much as a crumb. She even catches the bunny waiter's streamers of cum on her food, savoring and devouring his lust. Rips begin to open and widen in Vic's top as her breasts fill and round with pudge and milk, exposing thin streamers of ivory nectar as they flow over her plump areola. The firm curve of her stomach starts to push the table away as she nears the end of her feast, exposing her firm pregnant swell amidst her soft curves. The vixen's plush thighs still somehow manage to conceal her throbbing spire and hanging balls, despite the constant spurts of cum launching from its pointed tip Echoen Balros stands up in a rush, the huge bulge of his boyjunk thumping the underside of the table as he does. He opens his mouth to protest, but he's drowned out by the sound of gushing fluids. His lower body is drenched in cum, and the restaurant floor is flooding with your estrus. Perfect streamers of heavenly foxmilk pour past his lips. Whatever complaints he has are gargled away, replaced with abashed, horny obedience. He doesn't transform - but the waiter does, clothes ripping as his ass bursts free, thighs thicken, and a pussy with pretty clitcock pops open behind his balls. Bunny muzzle streetching forward into a sultry, zaftig vulpine visage, voice becoming like your own. Balros looks between the two of you, from the massive, mildly macro mound of vixen gluttony, to the plump-preg slut of a fox-former-bunny who wants him to take her home. He takes her... you, by the paw, as your former waiter attire falls off your new body. The rest of the restaurant devolves into feeding and worshipping the original you, while Balros shyly walks home in the night with an increasingly sexual fat-preg herm vixen. It's a bit of a long walk, so when you give birth to a nearly-as-large clone of your corrupted self, he walks home with her instead, leaving a massive fuckvixen behind to grow in the road and spawn more and more mutated, fuckbreedy foxes. By the time he and you -actually- get home, your body is a curvy vixen-taur of an extremely heavy weight that you carry with healthy ease, with a beautiful vixen head on your tauric join. From when that wild fox ran up to you and shoved its head into your rump to merge with you. Foxaholic Almost immediately, the plump, gravid vixentaur squeezes her bulk through the houses front door, splintering and shattering the frame and cracking the surrounding wall. She wiggles her plush rear and giggles at her feat, then pads deeper into the house. Despite her strength, hauling around a vast pregnancy and soft figure remains exhausting, and she flops down onto the living room's couch. Or at least, that was her intent. A loud boom echoes through the house when her seat collapses beneath her, making her the most comfortable seat in the in the room. Her fluffy tail sways and beckons Balros closer and spreads her breedscent through the room, rendering her call absolutely irresistible. She guides the squirrel to her sinfully soft side and guides his muzzle to her breast, where she invites him to drink while her lower head wraps its tongue around his cock and tugs it into its muzzle. The vixen lets out a resonating moan as her body-length cock throbs between them, mixing a masculine edge into her overpowering heat. The sounds of muffled moaning and fucking filter through the walls as her corrupting siblings catch up to the neighborhood, spreading their gifts and swelling their rounded ranks