You can't believe you're picking this up.
The rubber suits on the ground all call to a deep and primal part of you that now exists, much as you hate to admit it, reminding you how good that cocoon earlier felt. The cocoon that changed you into this rubber freak. And before you are suits that you know will change you into more of a rubber freak, suits that you know that if you put on you won't ever go back. That you'll have rejected humanity and decided to become a denizen of this cursed place.
So, why are you cradling the shiny red demoness suit in your hands? Why are you holding it like a long lost lover? Why are you luxuriating in it like you've been dosed with catnip?
You know why, obviously. That drunken bliss you felt earlier, an eternity of that joy, is what the suit promises you. This weakness and sickness you feel now, you can't go on like this. You're tired. You're tired of fighting. Today has sucked. You just want something to be nice for once today. You're disgusted with yourself with how you've fallen but also resigned to the fact that you're too weak to resist. And of the suits here, this one looks the best.
Taking a moment to collect yourself, you gather up the remaining parts of the suit you've picked and march towards an empty corner of the room you're in. It's there that you take in the full measure of what you've obtained.
The outfit is a multi-piece get up in two parts, designed to, if you were human, make you look like a sleek sexy succubus and with a serious kinky side. So, you're going to put it on as if you were a human. Which you're not. It's not a fun realization to accept, but given how you've accepted that you're going to be a mannequin, you probably should get used to it. Still, while you were never one for retail therapy in the past, you can't deny that what's seeming like the best idea at this point is to get into the outfit, stop feeling a bit sick, and dwell on things later.
Your eyes lock onto the largest piece, the one you picked up first and were nuzzling, a shiny crimson bodysuit, hooves and a long whip tail attached, open zippers over each breast and between the legs. The suit runs up along your head as well, covering the scalp and leaving only the face exposed, a pair of molded pointy ears and sexy looking horns driving the demonic image home. That exposed face is also where you'd enter the suit.
Sitting on your shapely rear, your nail-less shiny ebon fingers delicately open up the face of the suit for you to begin to get into. Raising a leg to enter the suit, you notice that unlike your fingers, your toes haven't survived the change, your feet now rounded off and strangely small. You have just long enough to wonder what other parts of you have changed when you feel your leg encased in the suit's torso. If what you felt earlier was catnip, this is a cool oasis after weeks in the desert. Your leg, barely even touching, and certainly not tightly against this slick and faintly wet surface is enough to almost blow your mind, again.
Almost.
You're not human. And you're not so easily distracted. While this feeling is insane, you've got so much of yourself you need to get in. You can enjoy it after. Gritting your non-existent teeth, you slip your other leg into the suit's face-hole, feeling both legs, up to the knees, encased in this bliss. Gathering up the suit's pelvis with your hands, you *sloooooowly* begin settling your legs into the suit's legs.
It's like moving through molasses despite it only taking a few moments to *HIKE* the durable rubber up to your waist, your mind working through the growing pleasure as best it can. You feel your legs socket into the hooves perfectly, the suit's molded rubber ideally shaped for you. Or you're ideally shaped for it, which is a thought which should disturb you but instead you can't help but internally giggle at. Maybe it's because of how good you feel that you can't even think about being in a bad mood.
Hopping up to your feet, you're shocked to find how easy hooves are, the dainty black things leading up to shapely legs clad in too shiny and perfect crimson rubber. Behind you, atop a perfectly grabbable rear, a tail wiggles as you move and best of all is between your legs is the burning cold pleasure of the zipper. It's a different pleasure than the half drunk state you're in from the tightness, spikes of so cold it's hot contrasting with steady and warm. It doesn't wake you, but instead changes the edge of your pleasure, more active, looking for the spikes of ecstasy rather than the constant purr of bliss.
You're prepared for the pleasure a bit better when you slip your left arm in, wiggling your shoulder as that bliss spreads through more of you. Fingers finding fingers, you're pleased to see claws that look as delightfully devilish as your tail. The suit, lifted up by your arm, moves up to cover your chest and shoulder. Your molded chest once again fits perfectly into the shaped rubber of the suit, zipper mounted right where nipples would be. And what a feeling that is! That hellishly icy spike! You can't get enough! Racing to get your other arm on, you slip the fingers in, finding your motions perfectly guided. Where before you were slow, now you can't be quick enough, and your speed is rewarded with all three of your zippers going off at once.
You're sent to your hands and knees at that, head-covering hanging limply over a shoulder. Finding a reserve of strength you didn't know you possessed, you reach up with both hands and take hold of the head piece. Stretching it over your head, you snap it on, feeling ears matching where the little nubs that are your 'ears' are and horns settling nicely onto your forehead. This prompts another reward from the zippers, this time sending you flat onto your face as you spasm a few times.
You're in front of the gas mask. It's right there with its big wide dark eyes, strangely cute and sleek shape, the way that the respirator is in the shape of a pentagram. You take it and the 'cap' its attached to, meant to go over your head, around the horns, and act as a place to put a wig. You slip the mask on first, obvious satisfaction coming from your face as you feel the seal of the cheeks press against the suit you're wearing, eyes following as the world turns red. A pleasing feeling of suction follows, the mask pressing up against your face and binding in. There's an even more satisfying feeling as you let the cap part slip down over your already sealed head. And then you're done.
You have a second to reflect on this before every nerve in your body fires. The icy hot spikes of bliss come fast and even more intensely and the rest of your body feels a tightness that makes every nerve sing with joy. The pressure builds and grows, your body writhing on the ground as you're held in the best hug you've ever felt, each movement building to a perfect crescendo. And then, as the mask pushes so hard against your face that you see stars, it breaks and you're rammed headfirst into an electric tsunami that shorts your brain out once again, sending you into a catatonic daze much like your first change.
When your mind is able to work again, you slowly get to your hooves and take stock. You are, much to your obvious delight, the sexiest thing you've ever seen. Sinful crimson all over your body, tiny hints of black showing where your zippers are open, the outfit looking like something you might be able to get off, even if you know that it's as much a part of you as the rest of you. And your gasmask! It shows a hint of your 'mannequin' self, deep inside. The thought of all of that being shown off makes your tail wiggle in joy.
Of course, you have to thank the Blue Bun for all of that. You are well aware you've been irrevocably changed, that you won't ever be able to go back to your old life. But, really, after that, would you ever want to? You feel literally perfect now. Better than you ever did as a human. No aches, no pains, no hurts, just bliss. You don't think you'll ever age, you'll always be sexy, and even when you try to, at this point, it's hard to get angry or sad about anything.
Which, as you dwell on it, you kind of feel bad about, weirdly enough. The one thing you find you do feel bad about really. You're not an asshole. You're the nicest rubber demon you know! You want to give other people the chance to feel this good. And you're sort of drunk enough right now to think that yeah, you know what, if you came across a human you'd totally try and get them into a situation like yours, to give them this chance. Even if they run and scream they'd totally thank you later. It's not like you're really a scary monster, they just need to see things your way.
You giggle a little more internally at that. You'd think you were a scary monster an hour ago! That's hilarious! You ran scared as can be from Blue! She's super nice! You know that now.
Speaking of Blue you notice that she's cleared the bodysuits from the room and dragged in a selection of rubbery outfits instead. Your lenses boggle at the array of fetishwear, as you mentally amend your earlier thought. You don't feel perfect yet, you need to wear something else, your hand moving towards...