Chapter Four

When Lin Jingxuan opened his eyes, sunlight was filtering through the leaves, dappling his face. The morning forest was filled with the damp scent of earth and the fresh aroma of wild grass. Birds chirped in the distance, and the sunlight was warm but not glaring, like a thin golden veil covering him.

He lay on a blue stone by a stream, a thick layer of fox tail fur beneath him—the tails of a nine-tailed fox, naturally spread out in his sleep, the nine fluffy, soft tails like a giant blanket enveloping him. One tail draped over his waist, its furry tip trembling slightly with his breath, the fur brushing against his lower abdomen, bringing a delicate tickle; another tail nestled under the back of his head, like a warm hand cradling it. His head rested on the tails, his cheeks pressed against the soft fur, and an indescribable fragrance lingered around his nose—a blend of the sweet, rich scent of peach blossoms and the warm, musky aroma of fox fur after it had sun-dried, the two scents intertwined, sweet enough to induce drowsiness.

His first reaction was—no.

No, where am I? No, why can I open my eyes? No, my body—

His consciousness, like a dry sponge thrown into water, instantly absorbed moisture, rapidly expanding and bringing him back to his senses. He abruptly opened his eyes, his gaze falling upon the dense, verdant bamboo forest on the opposite bank of the stream, and above it, the sky tinged pale gold by the morning light. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, to rub his eyes, to stretch his stiff neck, to regain control of his body.

He did it.

He actually sat up.

He braced his hands on the bluestone, using his waist and abdomen to straighten his upper body from the fox-tail blanket. A morning breeze brushed his cheeks, bringing a cool sensation. He looked down at his hands—long, slender, white, and delicate hands, with rounded nails and pale pink fingertips; the skin was so thin that the blue veins beneath were almost visible. These hands were not his. His hands should have been covered in calluses and sword marks, with a thick layer of calluses on the base of his thumb and forefinger, and calluses worn down the inside of his index and middle fingers from years of wielding a sword. But these hands could move; he made them clench into fists, and they clenched; he made them open, and they opened.

He can control this body now?

Lin Jingxuan's heart began to pound. A powerful surge of excitement welled up from the depths of his consciousness, accompanied by an unbelievable, ecstatic joy. He held his breath, afraid it was just his imagination. He looked down at his body—his bare shoulders, collarbone, the soft curve of his chest, his slender waist, his flat stomach, and below that, a place he still dared not look directly at. Sunlight shone on her smooth skin, where the faint pink hue of last night's climax lingered, like the morning glow settling into her skin. It seemed as if an extremely thin, fine film of powder enveloped her entire body, smooth to the touch, with a subtle, dark golden sheen.

He wiggled his toes. His ten delicate, white toes curled and unfurled slightly in the morning light, their toenails shimmering with a natural pearly pink. His ankles were slender and supple, his calves gracefully curved, his knees small and rounded, his thighs full yet toned. Every inch of his body was so perfect that it was impossible to look away, but at this moment he didn't care about beauty. He only knew—he could move.

The nine-tailed fox is asleep. She hasn't woken up yet. This is his chance.

He tried to stand up, his movements clumsy and stiff, like a child just learning to walk. The center of gravity and balance of this body were completely different from his original, over-6 feet tall swordsman body. He staggered a couple of steps, almost falling off the bluestone. In his panic, he instinctively reached out and grabbed a nearby tree branch, barely managing to steady himself. His feet touched the cold bluestone, the remaining night dew wetting his soles, the sensation real and clear.

While she was still asleep, while he still held control, he had to find a way to peel off this human skin. His gaze fell on his left hand—the fair and slender woman's hand, beneath which a pinker inner membrane was faintly visible, shimmering slightly under the human skin. He placed his right hand on his left wrist, strained his fingers so hard that his nails dug into the skin, and then ripped it off forcefully.

The skin remained completely still.

There was no tearing, no curling, not even a white mark. The human skin adhered too tightly to his body, so tightly that it felt like it was his own skin—no, even more tightly adhered than his original skin. Normal skin has a layer of fat and muscle fascia beneath it; skin can be pinched and stretched. But this thin membrane had seeped into the subcutaneous layer, completely integrated with his capillaries, nerve endings, and muscle fibers. When he pinched hard with his fingers, he wasn't pinching skin, but his own warm and elastic flesh. To be precise, the texture of the skin he touched was his own, only covered by a thin membrane he couldn't see but could feel, a membrane that couldn't be lifted.

He refused to believe it and tried another spot. His right arm, abdomen, thigh, calf, even the instep—he pinched with his fingernails, scraped with stones, poked with branches, each time using all his strength, but every place yielded the same result. That human skin seemed to have become a part of his body, like a second skin, smooth, elastic, warm, and tactile, inseparable. He pinched his forearm, feeling the pain the instant his fingernails left red marks—a pain not transmitted by the human skin, but felt by his own nerve endings. He could no longer distinguish where the human skin ended and where he himself began.

"Impossible...impossible..."

His breathing grew more rapid, his heart pounding violently in his chest. He looked down at his chest—two soft, rounded mounds rising and falling with his breath. The morning light fell on his skin, the thin pink membrane faintly reflecting tiny golden rays, seemingly pulsating slightly with his breath. He dared not look too long, yet could not look away. He forced himself to reach out and touch—not to feel, but to find the seams of human skin. His fingers traced below his collarbone, pressing from the center of his sternum outwards; the skin was smooth and warm, without seams. He lightly touched the two pink, protruding tips on his chest; the moment his fingertips touched them, his breath trembled slightly. Then he gritted his teeth, looking down carefully at the edge of the areola, hoping to find the opening of some kind of membrane.

There was no opening. Nothing at all. The human skin seemed to be formed from a single piece from head to toe, without seams, without openings, without any edges that could be torn. When his fingers lightly touched that tip, a strange tingling sensation shot up from the base of his spine, like a weak electric current running through his lower abdomen, causing him to instinctively pull his hand away.

His breathing became deeper, his chest heaving more dramatically than before. The pink film on his skin appeared to have suddenly darkened in the changing light, but he didn't notice. His gaze involuntarily drifted downwards, past his flat stomach, and settled between his legs.

It was completely empty.

Something seemed to explode in his mind, a buzzing sound, and he froze on the spot. He slowly reached out, his fingers trembling, and probed that spot. His fingertips touched a soft, smooth skin—a sensation he had never felt on his own body before, warm, moist, with a thin layer of secretions that carried a faint yet sweet scent. He gently pressed down with his fingertips, feeling the soft tissue beneath the skin slightly indent, revealing deeper layers, and even feeling the warmth of his fingertips travel through the extremely thin layers of soft flesh.

But the next second, he felt a completely different sensation from the same spot—a sensation he should have felt, but transmitted back in a different way. As his fingertips touched the outside, it seemed as if he were being wrapped in something from the inside, as if his fingers were not directly touching his skin, but separated by an indescribable membrane. That membrane distorted the sensation into two superimposed senses—one was that his own genitals were wrapped in a soft, moist membrane, sliding gently against a more warm and soft place; the other was that moist and soft membrane itself, clinging tightly to his organs, contracting with each light touch.

These two sensations flooded his consciousness simultaneously, causing him to tremble violently as if struck by lightning. His knees nearly buckled, and an extremely intense stimulation shot from his lower body up his spine to his brain, followed by a burst of white light before his eyes.

He quickly removed his fingers from that spot, panting heavily, fine beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. A thin layer of moisture seeped from his skin, making it appear even more translucent and radiant in the morning sun.

This is the skin of a nine-tailed fox. Not his body. He is merely a prisoner trapped inside. It's as if he's wearing a bodysuit he can't take off, and every part of this bodysuit corresponds to his own organs and nerves—his pectoral muscles have become someone else's breasts, his genitals have been stuffed into someone else's vagina, and all his male characteristics have been swallowed, transformed, and reshaped into another person by this pink membrane.

But strangely, he hadn't completely lost sensation in his genitals. He could feel them still there, within that warm, soft embrace, separated only by a thin membrane. The sensation was like a dislocation—his genitals were encased in a passage perfectly conforming to his shape, a passage with its own independent temperature and humidity, even secreting fluids when stimulated, which then enveloped him along the passage, leaving him slippery and with nowhere to escape.

To verify this sense of dislocation, he reached down and touched his lower abdomen, his fingers tracing down his navel. His fingertips lightly touched the sensitive external protrusion again, and an extremely sharp pleasure exploded from the point of contact. At the same time, his genitals felt the inner walls of that passage contracting violently. The two sensations were like two mirrors reflecting and overlapping each other, amplifying the stimulation amplified time and again. His knees finally gave way, and he collapsed onto the bluestone, his hands supporting him behind him, his chest heaving violently.

Just then, he felt something move behind him.

He whirled around and saw a fluffy pink tail extending from his tailbone, swaying gently from side to side with a light and fluid motion, like a tentacle with its own consciousness. He stared at the tail for two seconds, then tentatively issued the command "stop" in his mind.

The tail stopped.

His eyes widened, and his heart pounded even harder. He tried to make it flick to the left, and the tail immediately flicked to the left. He tried to make it curl to the right, and the tail immediately curled into a fluffy circle obediently. Swinging up and down, circling, tying a knot... every command was executed precisely. The tail was incredibly flexible, its fur dense and soft, reflecting a faint pinkish sheen in the sunlight.

He turned his head to look behind him—all nine tails were there, neatly extending from his tailbone and spreading out on the bluestone. He tried to control all nine tails at the same time, making them all rise together, and they really did rise together, like nine flags rising simultaneously. He made them swing in sequence, from the first one on the left to the first one on the right, and the nine tails swayed in turn, forming a smooth wave.

This was very strange. His attention was drawn to his tail, and his initial panic and excitement subsided somewhat. After regaining control of his tail, he noticed something itchy on his head. He instinctively reached out to touch it, his fingertips brushing against two furry, pointed things—ears. On his head stood two upright fox ears, the inner lining of which was covered with a layer of extremely fine white down, soft and sensitive to the touch. The moment his fingertips touched the ear tips, the sensation between his ears and fingers felt like an electric current coursing through his scalp and down to the back of his neck, causing him to reflexively shrink back. He touched it again, this time more lightly, but the tingling sensation remained.

He was trapped in this body by a pair of ears that didn't belong to him and nine tails that didn't belong to him, yet they all obeyed him.

Before he could recover from this complex emotion, a low, languid laugh suddenly echoed from the depths of his mind.

"Is it fun?"

Lin Jingxuan froze completely. His blood seemed to freeze instantly, and his scalp and toes went numb. His body remained in the position of half-kneeling on the bluestone, one hand touching his ear and the other supporting him on the ground, completely frozen in place. His nine tails, which were still raised, were all frozen in mid-air, forgotten to be lowered.

The nine-tailed fox has awakened.

"I was exhausted after all that last night, and I wanted to sleep a little longer, but you started touching me all over first thing this morning." The voice grew increasingly awake, with a lazy, husky quality to it, the last syllable drawn out like a feather brushing against his eardrum. "First you pinched yourself with your nails, then you touched my breasts, then you played with my genitals, you touched every inch of my body. How was it? Did you like it?"

Lin Jingxuan reacted as if burned, abruptly releasing his hand from his ear and simultaneously giving a mental command to retract all the tails. But this time, the tails didn't obey. The nine tails ignored his command, swaying leisurely behind him with unhurried and composed movements, exuding a calm certainty.

Control has been taken back.

“Just say you like it,” the nine-tailed fox said lazily. She didn’t immediately take full control of her body, but only withdrew control of her mouth, neck, and one right arm. Lin Jingxuan felt the right hand he was holding suddenly move on its own, its fingers opening and closing nimbly, its wrist gracefully rotating, as if doing morning finger stretches. Under his gaze, the hand slowly rose, gently brushing his cheek, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes behind his ear, the movement incredibly gentle. “I’m not a stingy person. If you want to see, I’ll let you see properly.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Lin Jingxuan felt an extremely strange change in his control over his body—she hadn't completely taken away his control, but had only reclaimed control over his lips, throat, and right hand. His left side of his body could still move, his eyes could still see, and his ears and tail could still sense touch, but his mouth and right hand now belonged to her.

"you……"

"What do you mean, 'you'?" she said through his mouth, but her voice was entirely her own—a soft, delicate tone, each word seemingly soaked in syrup, completely different from Lin Jingxuan's usual cold and concise way of speaking. Driven by her will, his lips curled up slightly, and his tongue lightly licked his upper lip. This action gave Lin Jingxuan a strange sensation—his tongue slid across his upper lip, warm and moist, with a softness he couldn't control.

Then, under her control, his right hand slowly rose, his long, slender fingers unfurling, descending gently from mid-air to land on his smooth, rounded thigh. She could feel the nerves below his abdomen instantly tighten. Then the hand began to move upward, the fingertips tracing a winding path along the inside of his thigh, the force extremely gentle, like a feather brushing the surface of water. The muscles in his left side involuntarily contracted with this movement, but Lin Jingxuan's right hand continued to move under her command, ignoring his will.

His left hand tried to stop her, but found it no longer belonged to him. As the sensation of her touch spreading across his inner thigh spread, his left hand, which belonged only to him, seemed nailed to the spot, only able to tremble slightly. He felt like a person whose body had been split in two—the left side was still in his hand, but the right side was already acting on its own; his lips and tongue belonged to her, and the sounds coming from his throat also seemed to be hers.

“Look here,” she said through his lips, her voice filled with satisfied laughter, “so white, so smooth, so tender, isn’t it? Your thigh muscles are particularly firm, but your skin has become especially soft after being covered by my fox fur, it feels even more comfortable to touch than my own body before. Have you ever touched this yourself? You probably haven’t. You only dared to touch your chest and genitals just now, you left your legs out.”

"You—stop—!" Lin Jingxuan used all his willpower to regain control of his throat and roared out in a hoarse voice.

But the moment he uttered the word "Stop," she effortlessly took control of his throat again. She chuckled softly through his lips, a soft laugh filled with a condescending mockery.

"Stop what? You were having a good time touching me just now." She said this, but her right hand slid from the inside of his thigh down to his lower abdomen. His own body, the parts he had just touched, seemed to have some kind of switch activated. Every place she touched again became unusually sensitive, as if it had developed muscle memory in a short period of time.

"Since you like to play, I'll play with you. It's normal for a little sword cultivator like you who has never tasted the pleasures of a woman to be curious about your current body. However, you might easily get hurt if you touch yourself randomly, so let me serve you instead."

Her right hand moved away from his lower abdomen, her fingers spreading out to gently cover one side of his chest, giving it a slight lift. The sensation exploded within him, as if someone had enveloped every inch of his chest skin in their palm. His brain instantly amplified each contraction and kneading he felt into an irresistible sensory impact. She didn't squeeze hard, but simply held it gently, letting that softness tremble slightly in his own hand.

At the same time, her other hand covered the other side and gently stroked the tip.

"How does it feel?" she asked softly, pinching the pink tip between two fingers with a touch as light as if she were squeezing a dandelion. But even that gentle pinch sent a jolt through Lin Jingxuan's body, as if he'd been electrocuted, almost making him jump off the bluestone. Her fingertips rubbed it a few times, circling it, slowly and deliberately grinding it. His mind exploded with more than one burst of white light—more intense and more irresistible than before.

Stop!

"Have you forgotten what I told you?" She continued to knead his chest without stopping. "When you say no, it doesn't mean you really don't want it."

Then, she suddenly stopped. Her right hand moved away from his chest, falling to her side. Lin Jingxuan gasped for breath, the sensation of her touch still burning on his skin. He was momentarily bewildered—she had just let him go like that?

But the next second, he knew it was just halftime. Because she spoke a sentence using his mouth; the voice was his, but the tone was hers.

“Just touching isn’t interesting enough.” She spoke with her breath very close to his throat, as if whispering on her own lips, “I’ve just thought of a new way to play—you should taste yourself now.”

Before Lin Jingxuan could even grasp the meaning of those words, he felt an extremely strange change occurring inside his mouth. The protective layer around his tongue—one of the only organs he still retained a sense of touch—suddenly loosened. The human skin had previously covered every inch of the mucous membrane inside his mouth, from the palate to the gums, from the root of his tongue to the tip, all tightly wrapped in that pink membrane—which was why his voice had always been female. But now, the membrane on the tip of his tongue suddenly split open with a tiny crack, like a flower bud blooming, layer upon layer, revealing his tongue tip from within the human skin's covering.

The feeling was extremely strange—most of his tongue was still covered by human skin, but the tip was exposed, able to directly feel the coolness of the outside air. Before he could react, his mouth was closed under her control.

His tongue touched something soft, slippery, and warm—the other side of the human skin's mouth. To be precise, it was the inside of his own lips, wrapped in the nine-tailed fox's skin, warm and soft. Driven by her consciousness, his tongue slowly slid along his own palate, from the hard palate to the soft palate, with very light pressure, as if tracing some kind of topographical map. This action produced a tactile sensation he had never experienced before—he could feel his tongue licking some soft, slightly undulating tissue, while simultaneously receiving the sensation of being licked from that licking location. It was a split in consciousness and an overlap of senses, plunging his entire brain into chaos.

"Do you know why I'm never bored?" Her words seeped from the narrow gap between him and the human skin. "Because every time you struggle, it brings me new pleasure."

Then, she opened his lips.

His tongue peeked out from between his lips, the bare tip touching the cool morning air, making him shiver involuntarily. But the next second, his tongue changed position—it met her own tongue, completely covered by human skin, through his half-open mouth, as if kissing an unseen person. She manipulated both tongues to begin moving simultaneously—his covered tongue slowly extended, colliding with his own exposed, bare tongue, and then intertwining.

A pleasure he had never experienced before struck his consciousness directly, causing his mind to go blank for a moment. His tongue was being licked by his own tongue, sometimes lightly touching, sometimes curling and teasing, sometimes covering it entirely with his own tongue and slowly grinding it. He was simultaneously experiencing the dual sensations of licking and being licked, the two senses intertwining and overlapping to create an incredible tactile explosion. He could feel the shape of every taste bud on his own tongue, the temperature changes as the other person's tongue touched his, and the stickiness and smoothness of the saliva exchanged between their tongues—all of this was happening in his own mouth.

Meanwhile, his genitals—his male organ trapped inside the human skin vagina—began to swell uncontrollably with blood, stretching the already tight passage even wider. The inner walls of the human skin immediately sensed this change; the fine folds, as if possessing their own memory, began to automatically secrete warm fluid without the nine-tailed fox's conscious control, completely enveloping him. The fluid increased, forming a slippery film on the surface of his organ, and with each slight twitch caused by the French kiss, his organ would rub against the inner walls of the human skin passage.

"Ugh—!"

Lin Jingxuan let out a muffled groan. He desperately tried to stop it all, but his tongue was no longer his own—he could only expose whichever part of his tongue she told him to expose; he could only lick whichever part of the mucous membrane she told him to lick. The two tongues intertwined more and more tightly, more and more brazenly, like two serpents mating.

Even more terrifying was that, in his passive perception, the two tongues each had their own temperature. The tip of his exposed tongue carried his usual high body temperature, while the wrapped tongue had a gentle coolness. The two temperatures created a temperature difference at the point of contact, which was then amplified and filtered by the nervous system—this sensation completely exceeded the sensory boundaries of a normal person.

At the same time, the contractions of the inner walls of his body began simultaneously. It was a slow but powerful peristalsis, starting around the tip of the organ, a ring of soft flesh tightly gripping the most sensitive area, then slowly pushing upwards, relaxing after passing the tip, and then the next ring of soft flesh took its place, repeating endlessly, like a mouth that never tires rhythmically sucking on the same straw. This peristalsis was perfectly synchronized with the rhythm of the French kiss—as the two tongues intertwined, the soft flesh below contracted; a light touch of the tongue tip caused something to caress the tip; as the tongue pressed down, the entire passage spasmed in waves. His whole body seemed to become a single entity, the pleasure from above and below like two mirrors reflecting each other, making it increasingly difficult for him to distinguish cause from effect.

"You...don't...stop..." He couldn't even hear himself clearly whether he wanted to say "don't" or "stop." The sound was already diluted into a blur by the saliva and panting when it was squeezed out from deep in his throat.

The nine-tailed fox, of course, wouldn't stop. She was thoroughly enjoying this moment. Through the senses of human skin, she could clearly read Lin Jingxuan's every thought, every emotional fluctuation, and every remnant of rationality overwhelmed by pleasure. She could taste the bitterness secreted from the tip of his tongue due to intense tension, and also the peach-sweetness secreted from human skin—two completely different flavors mingling on his own tongue, which was her favorite taste.

She began to suck on his tongue more forcefully, holding the tip between her lips, her tongue gently grazing the taste buds like a kitten licking a candy that would never melt. At the same time, the soft flesh around his genitals tightened, its grip growing stronger, as if trying to extract every last drop of his essence. He had nowhere to retreat, trapped in a closed system—above, he was kissing his own tongue; below, he was engaging in intercourse with his own human-skinned vagina. Each wave of pleasure was divided in two, one transmitted to him, the other to her, and she transmitted her share back through her skin, maintaining the pleasure at an unending intensity.

“You know what,” she whispered in his mind in his own voice, her tone still languid, but her breathing becoming long and heavy with pleasure, “your expression right now is especially beautiful.”

She loosened her control over his eyes, allowing him to look down—the stream wasn't perfectly still, but it was enough to reflect his image. He saw himself sitting on a blue stone, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling with desire, his lips swollen and red from her kisses, a thin trickle of saliva sliding from the corner of his mouth, his expression one of complete ecstasy. And his body was still rising and falling slightly—his chest, abdomen, legs, even his tail, were trembling unconsciously in rhythm with the pleasure.

This face was the same one he had seen in the water after his climax last night—alluring, intoxicated, satiated, greedy. Only this time it was more complete, because even his tongue had merged with this face. He tried to make an angry expression, but his facial muscles were already out of his control; any tense expression was softened by pleasure into a twisted enjoyment.

“Look, isn’t this just you?” she said gently, her tone full of affection and the mockery of a subordinate. “You kiss yourself, you fuck yourself, what do you think it should feel like to be fucked? The feeling of a woman being filled, the feeling of a man entering—you’ve experienced it all. Tell me, which one feels better?”

"You—shut up—" He almost cried, but when the words came out, they became a soft, tearful voice that he couldn't believe was coming from himself.

"Be good, don't hold back." She gently licked his upper lip with the tip of her tongue, her movements as tender as a true lover's. "Just like yesterday, have an orgasm with me."

As soon as she finished speaking, she suddenly tightened her sucking on his lower body—the passage inside him suddenly contracted, and a suction force pierced through him from the root to the tip. At the same time, her tongue probed deep into the deepest part of his mouth, pressing the tip of his bare tongue tightly against the soft palate inside his mouth.

Lin Jingxuan's vision went blank.

The pleasure was like a celestial tribulation crashing down on him, piercing his spine, his chest, and his lower abdomen, tearing him to pieces. He felt himself ejaculate, his semen gushing from his body, seeping through the gaps in the thin membrane, and being completely absorbed by the inner walls of his skin; at the same time, his lower body felt the all-encompassing, intense spasms of a female orgasm—from the inside out, layer upon layer, each inner wall contracting, convulsing, and sucking wildly, as if desperately squeezing out the last drop of juice. The two orgasms overlapped, sensing, circulating, and resonating with each other, bringing this orgasm to a peak he had never experienced before, several times more intense than the night before.

In the reflection on the water, the stunningly beautiful woman lay supine on the blue stone, her body arched in an arc, her lips parted, her tongue still protruding from her lips, glistening with saliva, reflecting the morning light like a string of shattered silver. Her legs trembled, her toes curled together, and her hands gripped her long, disheveled hair tightly. The whole scene was so erotic that it was almost unbearable to look at.

After an unknown amount of time, Lin Jingxuan's consciousness finally reassembled from its fragmented state. His ears were ringing, the warm, wet sensation of a French kiss lingered on his lips, and his tongue was numb, as if it had been crushed by something. His genitals were still contained within the warm, moist space of the human skin, feeling the slow, scattered, lingering contractions after the orgasm. His consciousness was like a crumpled and unfolded piece of paper, wrinkled and full of creases.

The nine-tailed fox sighed contentedly, the sigh emanating from his own throat, passing through his vocal cords and lips, and drifting towards the bamboo forest sky above.

"Breakfast is finished." Her tone returned to its usual languid ease, and she seemed to lick her lips with lingering satisfaction—using his tongue to lick his lips. "We still have to get going."