Ingersoll and Beemo thought they had it made.

Dress up in some cheap masks and go trick-or treating for some free candy - what a steal! Never mind the fact that they were around a few years too old to be participating in this childhood activity - it was free candy for a month!

Despite their lack of a costume other than the cheap face masks, the two had scored in a pretty decent haul, their bags nearly stuffed with tasty gold. All the two had left to hit was the large, isolated house at the very end of the street they were walking on - their neighborhood’s closest resemblance to a real haunted house.

And quite the impressive resemblance it was - the house radiated an almost supernatural sense of unease as you got closer and closer. The owner had seamlessly integrated the dilapidated, deteriorating exterior of the home into her elaborate Halloween display, creating a truly chilling Halloween setup that deterred the more cowardly of trick-or-treaters.

Though, what made the home really stand out as a bastion of creepiness was the owner - the current one.

A mysterious, older lady had lived in the neighborhood in that house longer than the both of them. Seeped in mystery and local gossip, she was the rumored guilty suspect of dozens of missing person cases around the area - though most claims had little evidence or weight backing them up. Even when she was charming and friendly, she carried an unnerving aurora wherever she went that managed to send shivers down your spine. And when she wasn’t - …

Some neighbors said she may even be a witch, but the duo chalked it up to paranoid fantasy or harmless fiction. It did make the neighborhood more interesting, after all!

The only rumor the two cared about was that she gave out humongous candy bars to whoever was brave enough to knock on her door.

And knock the two did! Her spooky sculptures and decorations did nothing to deter the determined duo - in fact, some of them were even laughable. One example, a large inflatable black cat, stared at both of them as they rang the front doorbell. Despite the cartoony, cheery look, something about it seemed … off, and it sent shivers down Inger’s spine. The Doggocorn could almost, barely swear the inflatable MOVED … not from the wind, but on its own. Like it was alive … and trying to speak …

But before Inger could ponder it farther, the door swung open to reveal the owner. She was holding a bowl full of the rumored giant bars, wielding a gentle grin.

“Why hello! Are you looking for a …”

Her voice trailed off as she eyed the two’s flimsy masks. Beemo flinched as, for a split second, her eyes bored into his, as if she was searching his very soul. He shivered and stepped back, but couldn’t bring himself to do much else. Half his senses were telling him to flee, but the other half really wanted those candy bars!

“If you want some candy, feel free to take one!”

Her voice was soothing, but something about it didn’t feel right - as if the pleasant tone was a thin layer of verbal ice over a vast pool of complete disgust.

Inger was already grabbing for one - a giant bar wrapped in a shiny orange and silver coating with a logo Beemo didn’t recognize. This felt more and more suspicious by the second … but the chocolate's aroma . . . he could already feel the sweet, tasty scent of the candy filling his nose, both delighting and concerning him. The candy hadn't even left its wrapper - how could it smell so . . . so . . . good?

He took another step back as Inger began to peel back the candy's wrapper, almost entranced by the luscious smell of the chocolate - only to find it wet and gooey. Somehow, it must have melted or something ...

But dissappointment quickly rose to concern as the sticky, milk-white chocolate seemed to stick to Inger's hand, rendering the doggocorn's fingers a sticky, gooey mess - and somehow, the chocolate seemed to be thickening and multiplying, fingers dissappearing entirely into what looked almost like . . . stubby, rounded digits. Dark patterns in the chocolate swirled to the ends of where the tips of the fingers were stuck, dragging outwards into what looked like . . . claws?

Wh-what was going on??

Inger let out a yelp and stumbled back, drops of gooey chocolate flying through the air and landing on the chest, arm, and legs - though at this point, it hardly resembled chocolate or candy anymore, but more like some kind of thick, shiny rubbery material!

Tendrils eagerly followed the drops, stretching out and ensnaring various portions of Inger's body and dragging the flailing doggocorn downwards. With another cry of shock, Inger was forced down onto the hands and knees, watching as the rubbery liquid wrapped and tightened itself around feet and hands, preventing them from moving even an inch.

Beemo was transfixed by the entire scene. W-what was happening?!? His senses told him to run, to flee - but both his compassion and his curiousity anchored him to the ground. He wanted to watch the scene unfold - or help Inger somehow escape her rubbery constraints.

Just as he was about to make a move, however, he was suddenly aware of a collar being snapped around his neck. He turned around, trying to stop the motion - but it was too late. The old woman stood giggling, a wide grin plastered on her face and arms around his neck.

The woman stepped back as the collar suddenly constricted, dark blue rubber beginning to trickle down Beemo's neck and up towards his face. In a panic, the dragon tried yanking the collar off with his right hand - which turned out to be a huge mistake.

Somehow, the collar now seemed to hold a semi-liquid state, his fingers grabbing onto nothing but liquid latex. The rubber jumped onto his clasping fingers and began slithering upwards, and Beemo could feel the rubber massaging and squeezing his fingers closer together from within - making him lose his grip on the collar.

The dragon had a bigger problem to worry about, though - the rubber was rapidly racing up his face, ballooning out over his back and trying to squeeze inside his mouth!

With a silent scream, Beemo tried his very best to clamp his jaws shut as the rubber seemed to actively pull and tug at his lips trying to get inside.

Of course, his efforts were rendered completely moot when a second later the rubber decided to enter his nose instead, coating his entire muzzle with slimy, thickening rubber. The dragon wheezed and gagged as his lungs rapidly depleted of oxygen - he was gonna die!!!

His right hand was in no shape to grab anything - his fingers were padded and squeezed together, forced into a permanent fist as impossibly heavy layers of rubber encased every square inch. In a final, desperate move, Beemo risked his left hand to try and open an airway, pressing it against the rubber puddling around his mouth and pulling with all his might.

But to his complete horror, the rubber instead grabbed his hand, using his own fleshy fingers to pry open his mouth slightly - enough for the rubbery liquid to surge inside. It coated every square inch inside his mouth with sticky, rubbery fluid. rubber continued to fill Beemo's mouth, threatening to descend farther into his body. The dragon resisted as long as he could, but already dizzy from lack of oxygen, he was forced to swallow, sending buckets of goo trailing down his airpipe and his esphogaus.

Suprisingly though, instead of blacking out and imminent death, Beemo felt . . . revived. As the rubber coursed through his bloodstream in a matter of minutes, it seemed to perfectly substitute oxygen somehow . . . in fact it felt even better than before, as if his cells were being blasted by steroids.

It felt . . . wonderful . . .

Oddly, though, the dizzy haze he had recieved from a lack of air hadn't faded at all. However, he didn't seem to care either . . . The rubber was supporting his body. If anything, being unable to think clearly made the sensations burning through his body that much better. He could just leave his bodily functions to the rubber . . . no more caring about damaging his own body!

Feels good, doesn't it?

"Huh?"

Beemo heard a voice ringing in his muddled mind. It sounded foreign and bad ... but with his head in this state he can't think clearly!

It must be this rubber . . . it's . . . doing something to me!

Beemo weakly pawed at the rubber over his face, unaware that his entire head was almost completely gone, vanished underneath several layers of thick rubbery latex. His dragon-esque shape was even barely visible as more canine features became more and more prominent - his ears, smeared in blue and black latex, lengthened, thinned, and flopped over, resembling a floppy dog's. A thick, inky black mane was billowing outwards over his head, streaking down his back. As his mane continued to build and lengthen, the dragon couldn't recall not having one. It was so comforting, adding a thick layer of perfect rubbery protection against his vulnerable backside!

All the better to serve your master with ...

Beemo's mind barely waved off the notion. Master? Don't be silly, he didn't have a master . . .

Nonsense! All lycanrocs have masters.

N . . . no! I'm a . . . a dragon, right? Not a lycanroc!

If you're a dragon, where are your wings?

They're right he-- . . .

Beemo's wings were pinned against his back by the thick, shaggy mane of rubber, being massaged and wiped away. They grew numb before the feeling faded entirely - then the memory of ever possessing wings to begin with was eaten away bit by bit until there was nothing left.

Silly Azrael! This is why you don't think, just obey the master ...

Azrael? . . . was that . . . my name??

Something clicked in the transforming lycanroc's mind. Azrael. He was Azrael, the owner's loyal pet and 'assistant'.

No . . . he was . . . he was . . . ?

Every time he tried to remember his real name, he only got Azrael. Azrael the lycanroc. Azrael the pet.

And it felt right. Every time he thought Azrael, he felt a jolt of happiness. Every time he connected it with himself, another jolt. He was a pet. Jolt. Pets obey masters. Jolt. Obey the master. Jolt.

On the outside, his expression became blank as he slumped forwards, silently rubbing the goo on his still unconverted belly. Some parts of him felt off - non-gooey - it needed fixing!

With sheer horror, Inger watched Beemo's silent submission into his new persona. The transformation had slowed, seemingly satisfied with watching Beemo's mind corruption. But with the fun part supposedly finished, the doggocorn suddenly felt the rubber resume with a loud squeak.

The rubber poured over the arms and legs, tightly forcing the fingers together and squeezing them into numb fists. thick, carmel brown latex surged over the backside and over the thighs, crushing them into a more permanent quadrupedal position. A thick, white fluffy mane grew from the back, sending a wave of warm pleasure rippling over Inger's thighs. It felt like having a giant cozy, warm protective blanket of rubber over the back, so heavy that the doggocorn couldn't get back up off all fours but that didn't matter. It just felt too nice . . .

The rubber dripped down from the mane and onto the face, rapidly spreading out into a pristine shiny white muzzle. Inger gagged and choked as the rubber forced its way down the throat, rapidly pumping its way through the insides.

Mind swimming, Inger tried stumbling on the new paws as the face was completely smothered in latex. The tail met the same fate, colors dissappearing underneath a beautiful, shimmering white.

"Wonderful!"

The woman spoke.

"Look what beautiful costumes you two are wearing!"

Both of them looked up at the speaker. Azrael was grinning at his master. Inger felt confused as mudding thoughts swam through the brain. This . . . was bad, right??

Azrael . . . isn't Azrael! He was . . . Azrael???

Inger couldn't imagine Azrael as anyone other than the owner's personal pet, no matter how much the doggocorn tried. There was another name but it kept slipping the mind . . . slipping . . .

Inger was distracted as a hand brushed against the rubbery skin, sending a round of pure pleasure rippling through the entire body. Any thoughts on a companion simply fizzled into a hazy, lazy happiness, a thick fog of contentment shrouding and eating away any intelligent thought.

"Good work bringing a new victim to me, Azrael! I'm sure we can find a wonderful, RICH new owner to take care of this cute doggo!"

The woman rubbed Azrael's belly and mane, leaving the lycanroc in a state of utter euphoria. He simply giggled in response, shivering with delight as gentle hands caressed his sensitive, rubbery skin.

Yes, he must have tricked this victim into coming here . . . why else would the woman reward him? He's such a loyal lycanroc! A good lycanroc! Good boy!!!!!!

"No go fetch me some more trick-or-treaters, I have plenty more "candy" to offer!" The old woman laughed, grabbing the bowl still packed with various candied goodies.

Azrael nodded before bounding off into the night. As much as it pained him to leave his master's side, it was what she wanted. And he was going to be the best lycanroc ever!!!

Watching the rubbery pokemon fade into the night, the owner turned back towards Inger, who was looking up at her expectedly.

"Come on inside, Let's get you nice and comfy!"

The gooey lycanroc barked excitedly, trotting inside like the obedient puppy Inger was. Inger was a good boy too!

The woman confirmed Inger's thoughts as she patted the lycanroc on the mane. "Good boy!"

Happily, Inger's tongue rolled out stupidly, panting out of joy as the pokemon sat next to the couch. With another pat, the woman took out a phone and began talking into it.

"Hello! Yes, I have the lycanroc right here, a beautiful specimen ..."

After what seemed like forever, her phone conversation was interrupted by a doorbell ringing and muffled voices. Inger began barking furiously at the noise as the woman stood up with a grin.

Azrael was faster than expected.

Halloween was far from over!



Halloween ych, featuring  dragontouch and  balloonpup, with a guest appearance from :azraelkio: as the owner's loyal pet!

Posted using PostyBirb