"Oh, you love women? You respect women? Name all of them."

"Fuck you."

"Not until you name every woman. I mean, put yourself in my shoes. If you were a woman, would you fuck some guy who doesn't respect you or your gender?"

"You don't fuck dudes in the first place."

"Maybe I would if any of them even tried to respect women. Look at you, you just immediately decided it was impossible. You haven't even named one woman."

"Fine. You."

"One down, four billion, thirty nine million, six hundred and seventy one thousand, one hundred and eighty—" A long look at the clock. "—six to go."

"Would it be respectful if I named a normal number of women?"

"How many women do you think is normal?"

"…a hundred?"

"It's a start. Ninety–nine left to go."

"And if I do?"

"I'm sure we can figure something out."

"Diamantha Plonk. Actress."

"Ninety–eight. Deep breaths."

"Fragrance Phillips. Actress."

"Ninety–seven. Good boy."

"Stacy Flasmore. Just came out."

"Good. Ninety–six."

"Vectrex Exodia. Musician."

"Ninety–five."

"Freza Winters. Musician."

"Ninety–four. There you go. Deep breaths."

"Jessie Summers."

"Ninety–three."

"Tanya Autumns. Musician."

"Ninety–two. I'll give you a kiss if you can complete the season quadrifecta."

"Fuck. Uh–"

"Ssssh. Relax. Let it come to you. Don't think too hard."

"Sss– July Spring. That was it."

"There you go. Ninety–one." A kiss on the nose. Eyelids flutter and breath catches.

"Brooke Floss."

"Ninety. Good rhythm. Keep going."

"Brenja Garfield. Actress."

"Eighty–nine."

"Scryb. Musician."

"Eighty–eight."

"Raya Raleigh. Baseball player."

"Eighty–seven."

"Cara Van Zayne. Athlete."

"Eighty–six. Only women."

"Frieda Lagrange. Ice hockey."

"Eighty–five. Nice and focused."

"Winga Wife. Athlete."

"Eighty–four."

"Fjort Wife. Winga's wife."

"Eighty–three and a wife bonus. Good girls."

Ears perk up. "Joy Foss."

"Eighty–two. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Jeanette Breeze."

"Eighty–one. Do you like when I say 'good girl'?"

"I don't know why I would. Maya Wood."

"Eighty. Shame. You'd make a good girl."

Ears perk up again. "Marianne Mochi. Would it help if I was?"

"Seventy–nine. Couldn't hurt. Do your hair, get you some tits, maybe some makeup."

"Is that all it takes? Lana Lamp."

"Seventy–eight. Well, it's the girl within that really counts. We'd have to do something about your boy brain."

"Like what? Bunny Beaumont."

"Seventy–seven. Oh, just empty it out and fill it with something a little more fun."

"What could be more fun than taking your weird woman test? Solitaire, by the way. The musician."

"Seventy–six. Taking my weird woman test with plenty of nice, deep breaths."

Deep inhale. "Stabitha Lorentz." Deep exhale.

"Seventy–five. Every breath making it just a little easier to focus on women."

A nod. Deep breath in. "Slashley Lorentz." And out.

"Seventy–four. Let those stray thoughts slip away."

In. "Dana Peace." Out.

"Seventy–three. Nothing but women."

In. "Debora Linus." Out.

"Seventy–two. Such a good woman."

"Experia Von Proton."

"Seventy–one. Such a good girl."

A happy little shiver. "Shelley Eggitha Jones."

"Seventy. Very good."

"Banko Stalk."

"Sixty–nine. Nice."

"Nice."

"I'll count that, she's been in movies. Sixty–eight."

"Francesca Wigg."

"Sixty–seven. Don't mind if I do." A curly red wig is fetched and affixed.

An excited little moan. "Foxx Brassica."

"Sixty–six. If you insist."

A pair of pointy orange ears poke up through the hair. "Portabella Paws."

"Sixty–five. I believe I have a loaner pair."

A giggle and some happy ear flicks. "Priscilla Bappers."

"Sixty–four." A pair of paw gloves are fetched and slid on. "Until your real ones grow in."

"Bianca Twinpeaks."

"Sixty–three. Cutting to the chase, are we?"

A loose nod. The kind you do when your muscles are too limp to move properly. "Titania Bounce."

"Sixty–two. Since you asked so nicely."

"Brooke Bosomsworth~"

"Sixty–one. They're coming, good girls don't worry."

"Baps Tittums!"

"Sixty. You're lucky I'm familiar with her work." The fist–sized breast forms are carefully lifted and weighed.

"Friz Nips."

"Fifty–nine. Might not be a woman today but was last I checked." They're loaded into a bra.

"Dahlia Patrice."

"Fifty–eight. Good girls strip. Shirt first."

Clumsy plush paws struggle with the shirt. "Fiddle Malone."

"Fifty–seven." A little tear with a claw sends the shirt falling to the floor.

A relieved sigh. "Bliss Franklin."

"Fifty–six." The breasts go on.

"Jiggle McCoy."

"Fifty–five." The back is clasped.

A happy little bounce ensues. Gotta make sure they work. "Jessica Sharpe."

"Fifty–four. You're gonna have to wait for your claws, dear."

Pawed arms cross. A pout. "Taila Bishop."

"Fifty–three. You would wear one well."

"Vi Floof."

"Fifty–two. Let's get you something to shake."

"Sara Soft!"

"Fifty–one."

"Uhhhh… Brianna Maribeth Swishy?"

"It's 'Swïshe', but I'll give it to you. Halfway there."

A needy little butt wiggle. "Victoria de Please?"

"Forty–nine. Since you asked so nicely." A big, plush orange tail dangles from a claw.

Vigorous nodding that gets those breasts bouncing. "Praline Buttz!"

"Forty–eight. How did you guess?" The telltale flared base of a butt plug comes into view. "I have one that clips to a belt, but good girls strip."

"Eleanor Pants!" Big, bappy paws squish uselessly at the zipper. A little help sends them falling into a pile on the floor.

"Forty–seven."

"Constance D. Rearend?" Someone didn't wear underwear today.

"Forty–six." A nod. The tail plugs perfectly into place. "You can give it back when the real one grows in."

"Aaaaah~" A moan. "Aaaahlice Beaumarche?"

"Good save. Forty–five."

"Mmmmmorgan Snoute?"

"Forty–four. Someone's been studying classic literature." A dextrous claw finds its way to a needy, quivering chin.

"Snoot Zant?"

"Forty–three. You'll have to earn another kiss for that."

"Florence Hough?"

"Forty–two. Lightning round. Ten in a row, three–second pause at most. Go."

"Solstice."

"Forty–one."

"Equinox Jones."

"Forty."

"Candi Apple."

"Thirty–nine."

"Brass Taxxon."

"Thirty–eight."

"Xenessa Xelene."

"Thirty–seven."

"Molly Bdenum."

"Thirty–six."

"Shelium."

"Thirty–five."

"Beryl Lium.

"Thirty–four."

"Ma'am Gnesium."

"Thirty–three."

"Womanganese."

"Thirty–two. Very good, you've earned your kiss. I'll make it a double if you can name the last member."

A two second pause barely comes in under the wire. "Sulfher."

"Thirty–one. I also would have accepted Gallium¹." Claws dig into cheeks.

"Jezebel Smooch?"

"Thirty." A nod. A peck on the nose gets the snout started and a long kiss on the lips pulls it out to a more respectable vulpine length.

Deep, heavy breaths send a tongue rolling out the side of the snout. "Mmm, Beverly Snooches."

"Twenty–nine. We really should get you some fur."

Another excited nod, amplified by those nice, limp muscles. "Gilda Sofftt?"

"Twenty–eight. Fan of her movies, are we?"

"Sunny Horne!"

"Twenty–seven. I can't blame you. Who Jazzed My Protons? is a classic."

"Selene Coatswell?"

"Twenty–six. I suppose we could hold you over until the real stuff grows in."

An excited gasp. "Riley Really?"

"Twenty–five." Claws start at the chin and drag down the neck. Soft orange fur spreads in its wake.

A paw glove traces the spreading fur wave. Eyes roll back in bliss. "Mmm, warm. Warmm Winslow."

"Twenty–four. We'll have to get you on foxtrogen vulpawonate if you wanna keep it."

"Doctor S?"

"Twenty–three. Someone already knows where to get foxgirl hormones."

The embarrassed nod of someone who's experimented with a blister pack of One Night Gender Demos. "Maybea Sough."

"Cute. Twenty–two."

A blush burns underneath the cheek fur. "Hedwig Startt."

"Twenty–one. I thought you were suspiciously easy."

A failed attempt to break eye contact. "Th–thanks? Uh– Kara "Thanks" Thanklinburg?"

"Twenty. Close one."

"Raya Relief."

"Nineteen. You know what happens when you run out of women, right?"

A shake of the head. "Natalie Knott?"

"Eighteen. Well, that's all that's in your head, right?"

A nod. "Patience Yes."

"Seventeen. So when you run out, you'll be all empty."

Another nod. "Temperance Yes."

"Sixteen. So you're going to be an empty little fox slut."

A vague glimmer of understanding shines in those eyes. "Indulgence Yes."

"Fifteen. Good pull. I forgot there was a third Yes sister."

"A. Pleasure."

"Fourteen. Cute move with Annabelle Pleasure."

"Gloria Goode."

"Thirteen. You know, you can stop if you want."

"Charlotte Stahp?"

"Twelve. You could walk away. Take the tits off. Let the ears and fur fade."

"Violette No."

"Eleven. So you'd rather keep the tail in, my hypnotized little fox?"

A nod that really gets those ears up. "Serena Fluff–Goode!"

"Ten. Good pull with Gloria's wife. That was just a few months back."

"Gala Pullman."

"Nine. Welcome to the home stretch, dear."

"Helena Stretch."

"Eight. Anything else, dear?"

"…Miss Krystal Excitement?"

"Seven. I'm excited too, dear. You'll be a lot more fun soon."

"Babs Funicular?"

"Six."

"Eva Galois."

"Five."

"Jasmine St. Beverage."

"Making me thirsty. Four."

"Cedra Rapids."

"Three."

"Trixie Velasquez."

"Two."

"Raychel Gunn."

"One more."

"Me~!"

"Good girl. Still wanna fuck?"

Everything bounces when she nods.