Aura Shock
Night after night flashing lights in the abandoned gym’s basement beckoned, resonating with your aura. Tonight, you finally answered. Zeraora’s been waiting…
>> MATURE because you wanna be the very best. Good boy.
Night after night flashing lights in the abandoned gym's basement beckoned, resonating with your aura. Tonight, you finally answer. Zeraora's been waiting…
>> Author's Notes
It was January 2024 when I first received a message from Jacksucks233 (a name I always hope implies something … spicy … rather than self-depreciating). His words were heartfelt and moving, expressing how much he appreciated my earliest works under former handles, and how I'd inspired him to write his own stories. The timing was uncanny; I was feeling particularly down on myself, and feeling the pangs of self-doubt. It really brought me around, and I've been looking for just the right story idea to really express my gratitude ever since. I've been dabbling in 2nd person recently, so my gift is a more immersive transformation experience involving his two favorite Pokémon. I hope you all will enjoy as well. Cheers!
>> >> <> << <<
>> Aura Shock <<
Written by SynthW4V3
Written for Jacksucks233
>> >> <> << <<
The basement lights drew you here again. Night after night, that strange yellow glow beckoning through broken windows. Electric. Familiar.
Tonight, you finally answered its call.
Your sleeveless beige top and blue shorts offer little protection against the night air, the thin fabric fluttering as you duck through tall grass. Synthetic material catches moonlight — almost rubbery, almost waiting. Each step brings you closer to the abandoned gym, its silhouette a monument to battles long past.
You approach a warped window, frame twisted just enough to create a gap. Rough concrete bites into your palms as you hoist yourself up. The scent hits you first — sharp and metallic, like the air before a storm, yet stale with dust and old memories. Your feet find purchase on the sill, and you drop silently into darkness, landing soft on worn carpet.
The hallway stretches before you, a gauntlet of shadows. Your fingers brush the wall, finding peeling paint and... something else. A lingering charge that makes your skin tingle. Old battle energy, seared into the very walls. Your heart quickens. How many trainers walked this path? How many dreams were made and broken here?
The arena floor stretches before you when you emerge, boundary lines etched deep by countless matches. Moonlight streams through fractured windows, painting silver paths across battle-scarred wood. Your steps echo — too loud — as you approach the center. Here, the floor tells stories. Scorch marks from Thunder. Gouges from Metal Claw. Each scar a memory of power unleashed.
You kneel, fingers tracing a particularly deep burn. The residual energy makes your fingertips buzz. This place... it's not as abandoned as it seems. Something still lives here. Something still hunts here.
Click.
Pale yellow lights flicker to life.
Your heart stops. A figure emerges from darkness. Yellow fur glints — the color of caution, of electricity, of danger. You spin toward the entrance, but you already know.
Too late.
Zeraora.
His electric fur crackles with each step. Pop-snap. Tiny arcs of blue-white dance between strands like living lightning. The fur at his back extends like a tail, whip-like and pulsing with contained energy. Those eyes — predator's eyes, twin moons gleaming with otherworldly hunger. His muzzle curls into a smile that sends ice through your veins. The kind of smile that speaks of power. Of knowing. Of inevitability.
You've seen this scene before. In battles. In matches. The moment before a devastating move lands. The heartbeat between command and impact. But you're not watching from the safety of the sidelines. You're not calling the shots. You're the target. The prey.
A breath. A heartbeat. A choice.
You bolt.
Bad move.
The world blurs. Air crackles past, taking you with it. Your back slams against cold floorboards, impact erupting air from fragile lungs. His rubber form bears down, crushing, claiming, controlling. Those paws — strong, alien, inevitable — pin your arms with terrifying ease. The scent of ozone floods your senses, sharp and wild and electric.
He looms above you, every inch the mythical Pokémon of legend. His form catches light. Smooth. Glossy. Perfect. Living latex, but warm. Alive. Waiting. Your own scent rises between you — adrenaline and sweat, fear _— but his power overwhelms it, consuming, transforming, _dominating. Your head spins. Every breath draws his primal musk deeper into your lungs. Into your mind. Into your soul.
"Perfect timing." His voice is thunder given form, forceful mischief dancing in each syllable. "I was wondering when curiosity would finally get the better of you."
Electric blue intensity pierces your soul. Your heart thunders against fragile ribs, each beat a desperate drum. Muscles strain under his weight, under the electric field rippling through your body. Fighting. Failing. Always drawn back to those eyes. They hold you in their inevitability. Hypnotic. Terrifying. Beautiful.
You know what he is. Every trainer does. Zeraora — the Thunderclap Pokémon. Mythical. Powerful. Dangerous. Stories whispered of his speed, his strength, his ability to channel electricity through his entire body. But the stories never mentioned this. This... hunger.
Hot breath sparks across your skin, each exhale effervescent. Cold terror floods your veins, freezing you from within even as his heat warms you from without. You shake. Tremble. You are nothing more than prey. His prey.
His tongue — rough, electric, crackling with power — drags across your cheek, sparks dancing where it touches. Down. Down your neck, leaving trails of tingling sensation in its wake. Marking. Claiming. Making you his.
"Such a curious little wannabe." His claws trace your beige top, following black trim with deliberate intent. "Think you're a trainer? Come to catch me?" A knowing smirk plays across his muzzle, rubber glinting in moonlight. "I've been watching you. Watching you come back night after night. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" His eyes flash, predatory satisfaction gleaming as they trail down to your blue shorts. "The way you move... the way you yearn... I know you ache for release." His voice drops lower, more intimate. "You want this, don't you?"
That paw hovers over your chest. Claws extend. Electricity arcs between them, casting shadows across his face. Your breath catches. This is it. This is how it ends. One move. One Plasma Fist. Finished.
His grin widens. "I choose you."
Flash.
Your gasp echoes as electricity overtakes you. Your clothes — those favorite colors, that synthetic sheen — shred. Beige and blue fragments, singed and sparking, drift away into moonlight as cool night air caresses newly exposed flesh. You shiver. Skin prickling. Electricity charging every nerve ending. Utterly defenseless beneath that hungry gaze. Vulnerable. Exposed.
His purr deepens. Resonates through your flesh, down into your bones. That grin — powerful, appreciative, hungry — as his gaze trails down. Down. Down. Mapping. Claiming. Making you his.
"So pretty, and yet..." he murmurs, a thrum of velvet thunder against your throat. His nose presses close. Inhaling your essence. Your fear. Your... desire. Tail crack-snaps with contained power. "Only human."
Those words sink into you. Into your bones. Into your soul. Only human. Not for long. You can feel it in the way his power courses through you. In the way your skin tingles beneath his touch. In the way your heart races with something beyond fear.
"Let's fix that."
Rubber paws pin you. Inexorable. Unyielding. You squirm beneath him — what little he allows. There was never a choice. Only inevitability. Electricity dances through muscle and bone, keeping you prone. Controlled. Your heart performs its frantic ballet as his power courses through you. Muscles spasm. Twitch. Dancing to his electric symphony. Each wave stronger. Numbing. Weakening.
Surrendering.
Then...
Jolt.
Ice-fire in veins. Liquid warmth.
Your mouth gapes open as quicksilver cascades through your core. His paws work with artistic precision as he kneads you, every stroke deliberate. Purposeful. Delicate. Tingles radiating from each point of contact. Down your neck. Across your chest. Nipples harden under his touch, electric shivers cascading through your core. Stomach muscles clench in… fear? Anticipation? _Both _?
His paw trails lower. Lower. Trailing electric claws past that dip where hips become groin, under and below, teasing your taint as if it were his. You freeze. Heart stopping. Starting. Racing. Rubber touches against your balls, his paws exploring that sensitive flesh, almost playing with it. Teasing it. Claiming it.
And then…
Cobalt blue rubber blossoms under his touch. You arc your back slightly, the alien sensation unnerving. Different. Your breath catches as your balls grow heavy, transform, become his. Unexpected. Inevitable. Perfect.
Your body betrays you. Heat pools. Electric sensations amplified beyond bearing. The cool air. Rough wood beneath. His electric touch. Everywhere. A gasp tears from your throat — fear and something else warring inside. No control. No choice. Your form responding to his will.
"Don't worry." That rumbling purr, both a comfort and a threat. "You're going to love this."
Zeraora's touch becomes deliberate, precise, as he gropes your cock, his paws wrapping around it, squeezing it just so. The sensation is overwhelming, enveloping you in a gentle, rhythmic friction. Building tension.
Building pressure.
Fuck…
Your body responds instantly, betrayingly eager, your cock filling out in his paw. Pearls of pre-cum glint in the moonlight, dribbling onto his flesh. The chill of rubber against you feels so good, so welcoming. You feel your body accepting his touch, your hips moving involuntarily, seeking more, leaning into the electricity. Shudders wrack your frame as he licks you, your eyes drifting to his own hungry stare.
That teasing grin.
"You know you wanna be a good boy for me."
Your chest tightens as the transformation surges, your body succumbing to his desire. Shudders wrack your frame as your cock pulses with electricity. Your breath catches in your throat as the chill of blue rubber glides over your shaft, slickening, claiming what used to be your own, becoming something more primal. More wolfen. More feral.
"There's my good boy," Zeraora thrums gently.
Another shudder.
Energy surges.
Your world becomes electricity.
Your body arcs off the ground, muscles seizing in electric ecstasy. Blue fur erupts from your arms, each follicle a tiny supernova of sensation. Smooth. Rubbery. Perfect. Like thousands of electric fingers massaging deep into muscle and bone. Wrong becomes right. Human becomes more.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Zeraora's purr vibrates through your changing form. Those claws. Those claws. They trail along transforming flesh, each touch sending new waves of change rippling outward. Your hands stretch. Grow. Fingers and thumbs morph into powerful paws, each digit swelling with newfound strength.
Pop! Crack!
Wrist spikes emerge like breaking dawn, glinting in the moonlight. No pain. Only perfection. You flex your new paws. Alien sensation floods your nerves. Satisfying. Correct. Your mind struggles to process — but why struggle? This feels... natural.
His fur-tail — electric, powerful, controlling — coils around your torso. Another surge. Your body shifts. Cream-colored fur blooms across your chest, each rubbery strand a perfect conductor of his power. Muscles define themselves, reshape beneath new flesh. The chest spike emerges, completing you. Perfecting you. A piece of yourself you never knew was missing.
Lower now. His tail traces patterns of electricity across your stomach. Dips into your navel. You squirm. Gasp. Whine. Something primal stirring deep inside.
Zeraora chuckles. Those eyes — those devastating eyes — gleam with satisfaction. With hunger. With ownership. "Sensitive, aren't we?" His tail flicks against your hip. Jolt. Sparks dance across new fur. Your mind buzzes. Human thoughts becoming... something else. Something more.
Each touch ignites.
Each pulse transforms.
Each second another satisfaction.
Your breath comes in short pants now. Heart pounds a new rhythm — fear? Arousal? Both? But deeper still, something else awakens. Something primal. The urge to submit. To yield. To become. Your human mind fights, struggles... then surrenders. This is right. This is perfect.
You're changing. You're becoming. You're his.
The transformation ripples through muscle and bone. Power builds within you — different from Zeraora's electricity, but just as potent. Aura. It pulses beneath your new skin, reaching out, connecting you to everything. To him. Your consciousness expands, shifts, evolves.
Lucario's instincts rise. Human thoughts fade.
Perfect fusion.
Zeraora looms closer. Closer. Electric anticipation crackles between you. His muzzle hovers inches away. Your mouth parts. Breaths mingle. Ozone. Wild musk. Power. Your heart thunders against transforming ribs. Each beat pushing you further from human. Closer to perfect.
Closer to his.
Your eyes flutter shut as his muzzle brushes against yours, a needy, greedy touch that sends a jolt of electricity through you. Lightning arcs between your lips, through your skull, down your spine. A low growl resonates in his chest, vibrating through you. Your body melts into his, every nerve ending alight with sensation, as the kiss deepens, sealing your fate. Your changed cock pulses in time with each electric heartbeat. Each spark of connection. Something inside you opens. Yields. Transforms.
He breaks away. That smirk. Knowing. Dominant. Claiming. "You're so responsive." His tail snaps with satisfaction, each word dripping with electric promise.
You try to speak — emotions swelling, begging for credence— but your face flows. Bones become liquid mercury beneath skin, stretching, reshaping, becoming. Your muzzle pushes forward, blue fur racing across cheeks like electric fire. Your nose darkens. Moistens. New scents flood in — dust, wood, Zeraora. Everything sharper. Clearer. Better.
Your ears stretch upward. Reaching. Changing. Sounds cascade in. Every whisper. Every creak. The hum of distant electricity. Your own thundering pulse. Zeraora's pleased rumble. The world becomes a symphony of sensation.
"Yes, just like that." His voice shivers through you. His paw traces your new muzzle. Each touch sends sparks through sensitive nerves. You lean into his touch. Need his touch.
Your eyes transform. Human sight fades. Lucario vision awakens.
Colors explode. Shadows deepen. The world crystallizes into perfect clarity. Human eyes yield to fierce red orbs. Large. Expressive. Perfect. Black latex masks your face, sleek and glossy. Your scalp tingles as hair is overtaken by an obsidian stripe, subsumed by smooth perfection.
With a pop and release, aura sensors emerge, cascading down your head. Each one a new connection to the world. To power. To him. They sway against your nape, hypersensitive, alert. Every movement sends shivers down your spine. The gym pulses with new energy — aura flowing like water, electricity dancing like fire.
Zeraora's form... transcends. You see him truly now. Electric power courses through his body like living lightning. Every movement a dance of energy. Every touch a symphony of power. His dominance radiates like a sun, and you bask in it.
His nose touches yours. Intimate. Claiming. "You're becoming one of us." His growl resonates through your changing form. Through your transforming mind. Through your very soul. "You're becoming mine."
Yes.
Yes.
YOURS.
Your mind embraces Lucario's instincts. Loyalty. Power. Purpose. Human thoughts dissolve like morning mist. Everything becomes clearer. Simpler. Perfect. You are his creation. His teammate. His possession.
Zeraora's paws glide down your new form. Electric touch mapping changed terrain. Claws trace patterns through latex flesh and fur. Each stroke perfect. Each touch claiming. He pauses at your crotch, that predatory smirk widening. "So needy." His paw explores, cupping your rubbery, wolfen dick, electricity dancing between you. Your hips betray you, bucking into his touch. Pleasure courses through changing nerves like lightning.
"Tsk, tsk." His voice playful. Dangerous. Commanding. More sparks dance across sensitive flesh. Your eyes roll back. Ecstasy builds. Builds. Builds. The edge approaches…
His grip tightens…
Yes, please…
He smirks. A pulse of electricity.
No, wait, no… fuck!
Your breath hitches. Your eyes grow wide. You feel… caught.
Thick rubber swirls around your cock and balls, encasing them, nullifying into a squishy bulge. Pleasure and frustration flash over you in swift succession. Every caress is bliss, and he knows it. Your nulge throbs with each heartbeat, each spark of his touch. You try to speak — to plead, to beg — but your mind shifts further. Human speech dissolves into growls. Into barks. Into submission.
His chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "Win enough matches." His tail snaps with electricity. "Then we'll see about letting you have that back."
Your mind reels. Fragments. Breaks. The last threads of humanity strain against his power, against this new reality. Against what you're becoming. But it's too much. Too perfect. Your thoughts spiral into electric chaos, into rubber-wrapped submission, into need.
Yes, Master.
Primal urges surge through reformed synapses. Submit. Serve. Belong. You're not you anymore. You're Lucario. His teammate. His to command. His to own.
The transformation accelerates. Racing through bone and muscle. You feel yourself becoming shorter as everything compacts, becomes denser, stronger. Shoulders broaden even as your waist narrows. Chest swells with new power, that perfect spike prominent and proud. Your spine curves, realigning your posture. Each vertebra shifts, clicks, settles. Your center of gravity changes, becomes more balanced, more perfect. Muscles reshape themselves beneath new rubber skin — lean, powerful, built for speed and combat. Every inch of you becoming exactly what Zeraora desires.
Blue rubber cascades down your legs like electric water. Flowing. Claiming. Changing. Your hips widen and thighs swell, powerful muscle wrapped in sleek rubber. The rubber is consuming, its form reshaping, becoming reminiscent of those shorts you… wore? No, that was someone else.
Anticipation. Need. Patience.
Your sealed bulge throbs beneath fresh folds of flesh-fur, a fresh reminder of who you are, of your submission, of your purpose.
Your feet begin their change. Crack. Bones liquify, reform. Shift. Toes elongate, merge, become something new. Transform. Pain and pleasure surge through reforming nerves as your paws take shape. Three powerful digits emerge, perfectly balanced. Rubber pads form on your soles, sensitive yet durable. Each new paw flexes, tests its strength. Perfect for running. Perfect for fighting. Perfect for serving.
Zeraora's eyes flash with satisfaction. His paws explore your new form — appreciative, possessive, hungry. Each touch sends electricity dancing through your rubber flesh. He circles you slowly, drinking in every changed curve, every transformed muscle. His tail snaps with growing intensity, crackling with barely contained power.
"Beautiful," he purrs, voice thick with desire. "But not quite..." His paws grasp your shoulders, claws pressing just enough to make you gasp. "...the right position."
In one fluid motion, he spins you down. Your face meets the arena floor, your rubbery flesh barely registering it, your mouth parted slightly in need. Aura sensors cascade around your face, each one singing with sensitivity.
His growl — low, playful, dominant — sends tremors through you. Electric touch trails your spine. Over new curves. Through fresh rubber-fur. His paw finds the small of your back. Circles. Teases. Prepares. The rubber of your legs yields to his will. Pleasure sparks through every nerve. He grips. Squeezes. Pulls.
Claims.
Your tail emerges in one swift motion. Pleasure-pain arcs through your body. You arch, gasping, as the thick appendage manifests. Aura crackles along its length. Another piece of you. Another part perfect.
Complete. Changed.
His.
Zeraora looms over you, his presence commanding. "Look at you," he purrs, his voice a low rumble. "My perfect, sex-crazed Lucario, desperate for me to take you." His paw trails down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the muscle of your thigh. You feel his gaze burning into you. Intense. Hungry. Ownership. Your body responds, aching, eager, every sensation amplified by your new rubbery body. You're his, ready, waiting, desperate for whatever comes next.
Zeraora's paws grip your hips, claws digging into synthetic flesh. You can feel the electricity humming through his touch, sparking against your body, igniting your nerves. His breath is hot on your neck, his muzzle brushing your ear. "Ready to truly become mine?" he growls, a low rumble that vibrates through you.
You try to respond, but your voice fails. All that escapes is a soft whine. Your body is beyond your control. It responds to his touch, to his command. You arch your back, presenting yourself, a silent plea for more.
His tail wraps around your thigh, pulling your leg out, exposing your hole amidst your soft, squishy ass. Vulnerability and thrill mix. His paw trails down, over your hip, tracing the curve. He teases your entrance. You shudder, feeling your hole already slick with anticipation.
"So eager." His claw circles, electric. "So needy."
A jolt of electricity surges through you as he pushes in, filling you with his length. It's a slow, deliberate invasion, as if he's savoring the moment, savoring you. Your body tenses, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel such incredible fulfillment, your aura being overtaken by such a shock of intensity. You don't fight it. Instead, you push back, urging him deeper, needing to feel him at your very core. You want more.
He chuckles, a low, throaty sound. "Greedy, my little Lucario?"
His movements begin, a steady rhythm. Thrusts that send pleasure coursing. You feel his electricity, pulsing with his movements, amplifying sensation. Your body responds automatically to meet his thrusts. Your breath reduced to sharp, ragged gasps.
His paws roam with deliberate intent. Exploring. Claiming. He grips your chest, and pulls you to kneel back against him. You cry out at the surge of electricity dancing between you. You press against him, your body splayed, completely exposed, completely Lucario. Your rubbery bulge presents outward, displayed, locked away.
Zeraora leans in, his breath warm against your sensitive ear. "Your mine now, little one. Forever." He clings to you possessively, stroking over your rubbery chest, arcs of lighting flaring between his claws and your chest spike. "Say it."
You hesitate. A memory flickers, faint, forgotten. Why were you here… the lights in the basement… the window… the…
Finality looms.
"I'm..."
His tail flicks. Jolt.
Throb.
Fuck…
You sigh out in blissful surrender.
"I'm yours."
Electricity crackles, filling the air as Zeraora thrusts into you, his rhythm relentless, demanding. Your body responds, matching his pace, driving back against him. The lines between you and Lucario blur. Between then and now. Between resistance and submission.
Zeraora's control absolute.
Your howl echoes through the abandoned gym. Primal. Accepting. Changed. His electricity dances through every nerve, every muscle, every thought. Your aura pulses in response, reaching out, connecting, joining.
His roar shakes the arena. Thunder and lightning made flesh. Power surges between you. Through you. Within you. Electricity and aura intertwining. Becoming more. Becoming one.
Perfect. Complete. His.
Every thrust sends jolts through you. Electric pulses dance beneath rubber skin. His paws roam, claiming, possessing. They find your nulge. Desperate, aching, sealed. He fondles. Teases. Sparks of frustration and desire ignite. Your mind whirls under sensation. Under intensity. Under need.
His grip tightens on your tail. Pulls you back. Deeper. Harder. Latex slaps against latex, the sound arching through the arena. Your mind numbs with pleasure.
"Take it." Hot breath against your ear. "Take it all."
His cock throbs inside you. Electricity intensifies. A storm building, building, building...
You whine. Overwhelmed. Caught. Your nulge pulses within its prison. Desperate. Denied. Perfect. Your mind melts. Thoughts scatter into static. Into electricity. Into submission. Pleasure hovers just beyond reach, your body shuddering at the peak, unable to fall.
His roar shatters the arena. Primal sound resonates through bone. Through soul.
The air grows heavy, rich with musk and the sharp tang of ozone. Electricity crackles as his cock pulses into you, claims you, fills you, owns you. Your body convulses in response, every nerve blazing with surrender. His power, his heat, his dominance surge through you in electric waves. Each throb marks you. Changes you. Completes you.
Your body quivers with anticipation, each muscle taut with longing. And yet, you're trapped at the precipice, desire a teasing, torturous, tantalizing presence within you. Your sealed bulge throbs in time with your heartbeat, a denied need that only intensifies with every passing moment. Your mind vibrates with acceptance. You are his. You are perfect. You are complete.
His paws soothe your back. Possessive caresses trace each new curve, each transformed muscle. You collapse against him, breath ragged, body tingling with aftershocks. With aura shocks. Electric pleasure still dances beneath rubber skin. Still claims. Still owns.
"Good boy," he murmurs. Voice low. Rumbling. Proud. "My good boy."
His tail coils around your waist. Protective. Possessive. Perfect. Sparks still dance between you, little arcs of claiming energy. Your aura reaches out, mingles with his electricity. Two powers. Two beings. One connection.
Moonlight streams through broken windows, catching on your rubber flesh, on his electric fur. Everything feels right. The gym's shadows embrace you both. Silent witness to your transformation. Your claiming. Your completion.
"Let's rest now," he purrs. Claws trace patterns through your fur. "Tomorrow we train. Tomorrow you earn."
Your rubbery form arches into his touch, new sensations cascading through changed flesh. Through transformed mind. Through claimed soul.
Zeraora's electricity dances beneath your fur, writing his ownership in lightning across every nerve. Your aura pulses response — no longer resistance, no longer uncertainty. Only truth.
His claws card through your fur. Possessive. Permanent. "Sleep now, my Lucario." His voice rumbles through you, settling into bone. Into destiny.
You drift in his embrace, the gym's shadows wrapping close. No more human doubts whisper. No more old identity calls. Your aura sensors sway against his chest, each pulse confirming what you've become.
What you were always meant to be.
His.