As I swept my tongue across the shiny steel surface and cleaned the last of my breakfast from my bowl, I found myself dreading the day that lay ahead of me. I really shouldn’t have. After all, it was a holiday and I’d be spending it with my partner, Tom. But it was also one of those holidays when there are never-ending football games on T.V., back to back to back. Tom was a football fan. I wasn’t. It was one of the few things we didn’t have in common.
I should probably mention that sex was the most important thing that we did share in common. And as I polished my bowl clean with my tongue, I realized that part of the dread I felt was the realization that the sexual scene we had played out since I arrived home from work the night before would certainly end before the first kick-off, since Tom always gave football his complete attention, and I would have to dutifully watch the games at Tom’s side and cheer for his teams. Thankfully, I was mistaken.
Continue reading Holiday Football
Note: This story originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is reposted here with permission.
The door shut firmly behind Matt as he knelt on the cold tile floor. Matt quickly pulled the rubber hood from his head and glanced over at the laundry for an indication of the day that lay in store for him. No rubber suit sat waiting for him to squeeze into and fill with piss today. No massive cock-shaped butt plug sat waiting to invade his hungry ass. Instead, a new pair of slacks and a nice shirt hung on hangers. No rubber. Nothing out of the ordinary for Matt to wear today – except for the cock cage that already bound his genitals in plastic. And while the car key sat in its usual place on the laundry, no lunch money sat next to it. Matt wondered how he would eat lunch that day, then noticed the clock on the wall. It was a half hour earlier than the usual time he was commanded to “work” each morning, but he quickly deduced that it was to give him time to add the enemas to his morning routine.
As Matt carried out his preparations for a day at the office his mind was startlingly calm compared to each prior morning that week. For while Matt’s mind was still filled with unanswered questions, he seemed calmed by the knowledge that everything that was happening to him was according to plan – whose plan, he wasn’t sure, but somebody’s plan. The fear of someone noticing the cock cage beneath his dress slacks was gone, since anyone likely to notice it probably already knew that it was there. The fear that colleagues would realize that the shaved head was matched by a hairless body was similarly gone. And the lust that Matt had wrestled with each time his hunky colleagues would pass by his trailer over the previous two months, looking hot in their industrial rubber clothing – well, that wasn’t gone, but it was at least being addressed.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 9
This story originally appeared on RubberZone. It is reposted here with permission.
Less than an hour later, Matt was again sweating in rubber, but this time for the added reason that he was running on his treadmill. Tonight he had returned home to find the rubber hood he had worn the night before waiting for him once again on the laundry, along with a wide tube gag, a rubber wrestling suit, running shoes and a pair of fist mitts. It was an outfit that told Matt that he was in for an evening of exercise.
The tube gag was not for piss, but to ensure that Matt could take the deep breaths that his body would crave while he worked out. But tonight it also served to effectively prevent Matt from questioning his roommate about the events of the day. Matt no longer had any doubt that the way in which his roommate had taken over Matt’s life was connected directly with the refinery. But he still had so many questions – questions he knew that he would probably never get to ask.
The workout was followed by the standard cold shower and the standard dinner – a protein shake poured down Matt’s throat – before the plug gag was secured once again around the rubber hood. And though Matt was then desperately ready to be put to bed and catch up on his desperately needed sleep, it became apparent that his evening with his roommate was far from over. One by one, Matt’s roommate took Matt’s hands, pushed them into a fist, then inserted each inside a rubber fist mitt. Then, carefully, and with a hand firmly on Matt’s shoulders, Matt’s roommate guided him down the old rickety stairs into the cellar.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 8
This story originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is re-posted here with permission.
Matt fell to his knees, confused, slow to remove the rubber hood that had tightly surrounded his head for the previous thirteen hours. Matt knew exactly what he was supposed to do – remove the hood, shave, shower, dress and get to the office – but this morning, his body seemed incapable to carrying out those simple tasks.
Since the arrival of his roommate barely five days earlier, Matt had yet to experience a regular night of good sleep. Instead, Matt had spent each night tightly bound in heavy rubber bondage, secured in a compartment under his former bed or suspended in a padded closet that once held his linens, listening to the endless repetition of commands through headphones placed over his rubberbound head. Each night Matt had hovered in a zone of semi-consciousness; never quite asleep but never fully awake.
And then there was last night. The commands that were planted deep in Matt’s subconsciousness had been identical to most of the commands he had heard all week, but unlike the prior commands, these seemed to have been spoken by the voices of Matt’s coworkers. Masculine, rubberclad studs who worked alongside Matt at the refinery – if being their payroll clerk could be deemed “working alongside” – seemed to command Matt through the endless recording to respond to words like “rim” and “suck” and “urinal” in ways that would force Matt to act as no sane man would voluntarily act.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 7
Note: This story originally appeared on the gay fetish RubberZone site. It is reposted here with permission.
It was Wednesday. Matt counted to ten in frustration, anxious to pull off the hood he had worn for the previous fourteen hours, but already frustrated at the discomfort he felt from the chastity cage that his roommate had left locked onto his crotch. As soon as the hood was off Matt looked down at the cage. It was tiny, black plastic and locked in place with a small brass lock. Matt recognized it from his websurfing fantasies as a CB-2000. Matt cursed that prick of a roommate of his for buying the smallest of the CB chastity devices. Matt couldn’t decide if it was a slight to his male ego to have had the smallest size purchased for him or a testament to his willpower that his roommate believed Matt could handle having his dick constrained in the tightest space. Either way, he wasn’t too pleased – particularly because having it locked onto his crotch turned him on so damn much, forcing his dick to constantly fight the tight plastic until the pain finally drained it back to a comfortable size, leaking out a considerable stream of pre-cum each time it ran through its escape attempts.
Matt turned towards the small bathroom to get ready for work, then stopped, noticing something different on the laundry. A different shirt, similar in style and fabric with the top buttons removed, was draped on a hanger next to a different pair of slacks – same size as the snug pair he’d been wearing all week and just as thin a material, but a lighter color. No doubt about it, a pre-cum stain would be highly obvious on these tan slacks. Matt wondered what purpose was behind the change of pants.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 6
Note: ‘The Roommate’ originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is re-posted here with permission.
The command sounded so familiar. It was only Tuesday, Matt’s second day at work since the arrival of his roommate the previous Saturday, and yet it seemed as though he’d heard the command a thousand times before. Of course, he had, but recorded on all prior occasions but one, burned into his subconscious by repetitive recordings instructing Matt on the proper response to each of the many commands he could expect to hear from now on. Hour after hour had been spent by Matt, strapped down or suspended, stuffed into tight rubber bondage, his holes plugged and controlled, aware of little else but the tight rubber bondage and the voice of his new roommate, and not quite understanding the gradual impact that the repeated commands were having on his willpower.
Twenty-four hours earlier, the command had struck fear and anger in Matt’s heart and mind as he wrestled with the related instructions to shave his head, go to work and then return for more bondage abuse and storage at the end of the day. But today, the command exploded in Matt’s mind like a starter’s pistol announcing a race. Matt had already learned the previous day that his shaved head was no big deal at the refinery, and no one had even seemed bothered by the open collared shirt showing off his shaved chest, or, if anyone noticed, even the lack of underwear under his thin slacks. Matt had learned, to his great relief, that even with a shaved body and tight fitting clothing he was still as invisible as ever – a wallflower who could go about his day without attracting attention, without attracting scorn.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 5
This story originally appeared on the RubberZone. It is re-posted here with permission.
Seconds later, Matt heard a heavy door close and a lock bolted into place. He reached up to the hood, then paused, remembering to count to ten. He had only been awake less than an hour and had spent that entire hour flat on his back, still tightly encased in the double sleepsacks, servicing his roommate’s ass, drinking his piss and swallowing his cum. Apparently that qualified as breakfast in this new world order.
Matt reached “ten” and frantically tugged at the hood until he figured out the combination of straps and zippers that had to be released before it could come off. The relief he felt was immense as fresh air hit his face and scalp for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Matt just stared at the hood for a few moments, as if trying to figure out how something so inanimate could have such an effect on him.
Then Matt looked around at his laundry room. Something was different. Several things were different. The first thing Matt noticed was the door into the kitchen. It had been switched with the door to the garage. The kitchen door used to be a light, interior door with no locks, while the door to the garage had been a heavy, exterior-type door with two deadbolts. Now they’d been reversed, and those were clearly two new deadbolts on the door that now closed off the kitchen – closed off the rest of the house to Matt.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 4
Note: This story originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is reposted here with permission.
Matt had no idea how much time had passed when he felt his roommate unwrapping the rubber strips that held him mummified to the weight bench. His muscles ached and his head swam in confusion only made worse by the sensory deprivation caused by having every hole plugged and controlled. Matt was pulled off the bench and stripped of the rubber bondage surf suit, then led across the room and onto a platform that felt rubbery and spongy. It only took Matt a moment to realize that he was standing on his treadmill, but by then the rubber fist mitts on his wrists had been secured to the crossbar. Matt felt his roommate unstrap the gag stuffed in Matt’s mouth and pull it free, only to quickly replace it with a wide rubber tube gag through which Matt would be able to draw all the oxygen an exercising body could need. His roommate then inserted some kind of narrow tube deep into the gag and taped it in place, leaving the wide tube otherwise open. Moments later a drip of sweet liquid started through the tube. Matt recognized it as his favorite sports drink.
Suddenly the world shifted under his feet and Matt nearly fell to the floor, only to be steadied by his roommate as he clued into the situation. Matt started walking in time to the treadmill, slowly clearing the fogginess from his head. Over the next hour, his roommate slowly increased the speed of the treadmill until, soon, Matt was jogging at a good speed, breathing heavily through the wide piss gag while the sports drink trickled down his throat. Finally, after what seeming like hours, his roommate slowed the treadmill and eventually brought the exercise session to an end. Matt wheezed through the gag, relieved that the exercise was over, and then particularly relieved when he felt his catheter drained somewhere other than his mouth.
Continue reading The Roommate – Part 3