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.
That fucking bastard, Matt thought to himself. The guy had taken over Matt’s house in less than thirty-six hours, locking Matt out, leaving him unable to access any part of his house other than the laundry/mud room and spare bathroom. For a second, Matt contemplated going to the police for their help in getting his house back. But the thought of explaining to the police everything that had led Matt into this dilemma made him reconsider the idea. And as he thought of the events of the previous day, he realized that it wasn’t just his temper that was hard and throbbing – his cock ached in frustration from the weekend of bondage. Matt looked down at his poor swollen appendage, finally freed of the catheter that had been snaked through it for much of the weekend.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he swore to himself, realizing that his dick was getting ahead of his brain again. Play was one thing, but this asshole took things way too far. He’d changed Matt’s linen closet into some sick sort of bondage chamber and now he’d switched the doors to the house, effectively keeping Matt from entering his own home. No, Matt needed to do something about this guy and do it quickly.
At that moment, Matt’s glance fell on a clock on the wall above the laundry. It used to hang in his kitchen. But the thing that Mark noticed most was the time. He had less than one hour to get to work and he still had to wash the rubber gear, shave his head and face, shower, and – what the fuck was he thinking? Matt wanted to kick himself for letting himself consider even for a moment that he was going to shave his head for this fucker.
Matt picked himself off the floor, picked up the rubber hood and entered the bathroom. He looked at his face in the mirror, expecting the worst, but instead what stared back at him was a more masculine version of himself than he had ever seen before. Matt was lucky, he thought to himself. He had a head that looked damn good buzzed down to mere stubble – more manly than when it was covered with his usual blond locks. Matt ran a hand over the stubble as his other hand absentmindedly rinsed the rubber mask under the tap. Maybe a crew cut would be something worth keeping for awhile once this was all over. Even a shaved head might be nice for a change, but there was no way he was doing it to please the asshole who was now sitting inside the rest of his house. No fucking chance in hell, Matt thought, as he hung the rubber hood to dry on a towel rack.
Matt filled the sink with hot water and began to lather up his face, overcome with anger at the things his roommate had made him do, and even more anger at the things his roommate expected him to do. Shave his fucking head. Right.
Matt stopped. His hand had just spread shaving cream across one side of his head while his mind had been swearing at the fucker who was taking over his life. Matt stared at himself in the mirror, wondering what was happening to him, massaging the cream across the rest of his scalp – just to see how it looked – while his other hand reached down and rubbed his hard dick.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was his dick doing? What was it his roommate had said? A hard dick never lies? Or was it hard cock? Something like that. Matt tried to decide which version he preferred as he swept the disposable razor across his face and up his scalp, trying to pretend that he only did so because he wanted to see what his head looked like completely shaved, bare of all stubble.
Matt moved the razor faster and faster across his scalp, desperate to see his face and head clean of all hair. He swept the razor up the last patch of cream and then splashed water over his head. He hesitated a moment, then looked in the mirror, both hands already on his hard prick.
This time, devoid of stubble, it wasn’t a somewhat masculine stud that stared back, so much as a shaved, submissive slave boy. Matt stared, not sure if he liked what he saw or was horrified by the realization that it reflected the image of who he had always been on the inside. His hard cock told him which option was the truth as it erupted in his hands, sending cum shooting up to the mirror and into the soapy water in the sink. Matt shook and screamed as he came, grabbing the sink for support, desperately keeping his eyes on the mirror and the image of his new self.
By the time Matt emerged from the shower, the release of his orgasm had helped erase the perverted thoughts of sex and bondage that had been filling his mind. Now, he had a more important priority. He had to get to work in order to keep his job, and therefore keep his house, and now he had to do it with a shaved head. The sexiness of the idea had disappeared as fast as his cum dribbling down the mirror, and his anger towards his new roommate quickly returned.
Eighteen minutes to get to work and it was a twelve-minute drive. Matt struggled to dry himself and then hurried back into the laundry room to grab his clothes that had been laid out for him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Matt screamed inside his own mind as he saw what was waiting for him. No underwear. No socks. Just thin slacks that Matt didn’t wear much anymore because they were just a little too snug, and a particularly thin dress shirt. He looked around the room, hoping to see some pile of old dirty laundry that might include a pair of underwear, but there was nothing. He pondered stopping at a store on the way to work to buy some underwear, but as he pulled on the tight pants he noticed something even more frightening – sitting under the pants on the laundry was his drivers license, a ten-dollar bill and his car key. No wallet, no bank card, no extra cash. Ten dollars was barely enough for lunch. He had a choice – spend the money on a pair of underwear and show up late to work, or keep the money for lunch and go commando all day. His stomach grumbled at the thought of lunch, and the realization that he hadn’t had a solid meal since Saturday convinced him that he’d somehow make it through the day without underwear.
Matt pulled on the shirt and buttoned it up, only to discover that the bastard had removed the top two buttons, forcing Matt to leave the shirt hanging open farther than he normally wore it, making him feel like he belonged in a nightclub rather than an office. Then he realized that his roommate had removed the buttons on purpose to make sure that Matt would be showing off a clean-shaven chest as well as a clean-shaven scalp. He shivered in fear at the embarrassment that he knew awaited him and struggled to come up with a story to explain it all. But one more look at the clock banished all such thoughts from his head as he stuffed the drivers license and cash into his pocket and rushed out the door.
Matt made it without incident to his desk in the small trailer that passed as his temporary office, avoiding anything but the briefest greetings as he passed colleagues. One advantage to having been at the plant for only a few weeks was that few employees knew his name yet. Matt sat down in front of his computer feeling safe in his private office. He attempted to review the paperwork sitting on his desk awaiting his attention, but his mind could only deal with the swirling thoughts that tried to process everything done to him by his roommate.
On an impulse, Matt logged onto the Internet and pulled up the remote webpage for his personal email program, deciding that he would email an old rubber acquaintance in his old hometown to get some advice. But when Matt attempted to log on he was informed by the service that his password was incorrect. Matt stared at the screen for several minutes, trying to convince himself that the obvious reason for the message hadn’t really happened. Then it hit him – he quickly pulled up his bank’s webpage and attempted to sign in to his bank account, but again he was told that his password was incorrect.
Matt fell back against his chair. He hadn’t just lost control of his house and his wallet, he’d lost control of his entire personal finances and communications with friends. Matt’s stomach turned nervously at the thought, but when he reached down to rub his belly his hand brushed against his crotch, making him notice that his cock was throbbing under the thin material of his dress slacks. What did this man want from him? How far was he going to take this game? Matt was overwhelmed by the confusing contradiction in his thoughts – part of him terrified and searching for a way out, part of him turned on more than he had thought possible, fantasizing about what might lie ahead. Matt let go of his erection and tried to clear his head. The last thing he needed right now was to get fired for sitting at his desk all day fantasizing about rubber bondage. He tried to stop the stream of fantasies that churned in his head, let go of his fears and focus on the work that lay in front of him, but his mind couldn’t stop taking him to every deep, dark fantasy that suddenly had the potential to be realized. Matt couldn’t decide whether to be very turned on or very afraid.
Matt’s failed attempts to concentrate on work were broken a few hours later when Matt heard the horn of the lunch truck. Hunger and fear traded places in his stomach. He was starving, but going out to the lunch truck meant subjecting himself to the possible taunting and questioning of the rugged rubber and canvas-clad refinery workers who also opted for the lunch truck over the cafeteria used more by the well-dressed office workers. But all in all, things didn’t go nearly as badly as Matt feared, as the teasing he received from the muscular workers seemed more like an expression of camaraderie than ridicule. Matt realized that in a masculine environment like a refinery, a shaved head was hardly an object of ridicule, especially with current fashions. And only two guys seemed to notice the hairless chest as well, one commenting with a grin that Matt needed to remember to put the razor down once he hit the neckline.
The only truly awkward moments happened near the lunchwagon as Matt grabbed every ounce of food he could get for ten bucks. One well-built stud in line behind Matt made a comment to his buddy about how his boots had gotten wet in the men’s room because a urinal had overflowed. Without thinking Matt instantly dropped his jaw and tilted his head back. He caught himself a split second later and managed to feign a yawn, but it terrified him that his subconscious could react to a simple word thrown into conversation. The thought troubled him so much that he didn’t even realize he was sticking his tongue out as far as he could until he realized that the same guy had just explained how the water was pouring over the rim. Matt covered his mouth in horror, pleading with the universe to ensure that no one noticed, then waited for the inevitable comments. But no one said a word.
The rest of the day was spent alone in the trailer that served as Matt’s temporary office. Renovations to the accounting department meant a lack of desk space when Matt had arrived at the refinery, so they had stuck him out in the yard by himself in the small trailer for a couple months. Matt didn’t really mind. It allowed him to work in silence, it meant he had his own bathroom, and today it meant that there were no prying eyes to wonder what was up with his new look. Only when the mail guy dropped by to pick up and drop off mail did Matt have to pretend to be too lost in his work to be receptive to small talk.
It also meant that no one was around every time Matt’s mind wandered back to the events of the weekend, making his prick throb in his tight slacks and drip precum into the thin fabric. Matt tried to mop up all the precum, realizing that he may have to wear the same pants the next day, and finally decided that stuffing a few tissues down his pants was the best method of protecting his pants. But as he stuck his hand and the tissues into his pants, his fingers brushed against his hard prick. An intense tingling sensation ran from his crotch and down his legs as an image of his roommate crouching over his face flashed through his brain. Matt grabbed his hard cock and squeezed, hating himself for being turned on by the things this stranger was doing to his life, and loving every moment of it.
Horniness became too much for Matt. He quickly moved from his desk to the tiny restroom on the far side of the trailer and dropped his tight pants to his ankles. There was only a small mirror above the sink and it was stained and cracked, but it was enough for Matt to get off on the sight of himself. He reached up with his free hand and opened his shirt to leave his entire body revealed in the mirror as a hairless announcement of his servitude.
Matt stroked his hard cock, visualizing the closet that had been turned into a storage compartment for Matt’s bound body, imagining himself suspended in his tight rubber cocoon, remembering the bizarre sense of freedom that came from the sensory deprivation with every hold plugged and controlled. He felt the cum begin to churn inside his body, preparing to shoot all over the hairless image that stared back at him from the mirror. He pounded harder, hearing the litany of his roommate’s commands pouring over and over in his memory, fueling images that brought him closer to climax. Matt moaned far louder than he should have dared, shooting his cum onto the mirror, continuing to pound his hard cock as his orgasm went on and on, and leaning forward to lick his cum from the mirror – still turned on by the image of his new look as his cock continued to twitch and leak cum onto his shoes.
That night, Matt pulled into his garage, turned off the ignition and sat silently for a minute, wrestling with his feelings. He knew that his roommate would still be there. He knew that the door into the house would be locked. And he knew that a hood and perhaps some other bondage implements waited for him in the laundry room. Matt couldn’t help but feel that this moment was his last chance to put an end to this fiasco. He had had his freedom back for eight and a half hours. If he willingly returned now, followed his roommate’s commands and submitted to another night of bondage, how could he claim later that it had all happened against his will? Matt realized that his hands were no longer on the steering wheel, but were on his crotch, massaging his hard prick, spreading more precum into the thin material.
Matt snapped back to the present and tried to wipe his pants clean, then shivered at the thought that his roommate would know he had arrived home at least a minute ago but had not yet entered the house. Matt knew he’d pay a price for that if he didn’t get his ass in gear. He hesitated for a moment longer, wondering how he could possibly go through with this, then let his hard cock take over and lead him back into the laundry room.
Matt entered the house and looked around. His rubber hood sat on the laundry. Nothing more. Just the hood. Matt felt a moment of disappointment at the lack of other bondage gear, but it quickly passed. He knew the moment the door into the rest of the house opened he’d be quickly placed into long-term, heavy bondage.
Matt removed his work clothes and carefully put them back on hangers, not sure whether he might have to wear them again the next day – precum stains and all – and then entered the bathroom and completed his enema/shower requirements as quickly as he could carry them out. The whole time, Matt kept staring at the door into the rest of the house, wondering if it would open, trying to will it open. Matt knew it would open eventually, once he had his hood strapped in place, but he wanted it to open now. He wanted to see his roommate again. His handsome, masculine face. His taut, muscular body. Matt had spent so little time able to actually see his roommate that he wondered if the picture he had burned into his brain was even accurate. Maybe it was a mix of what his roommate looked like and what Matt wanted to believe he looked like. Matt didn’t know, but he realized it might not matter. If the past forty-eight hours were any indication, his roommate preferred keeping Matt blind to his surroundings, deaf to all sounds but those piped through the headphones, and mute to all intended expression. Matt thought for a moment that their connection was far baser than a typical human connection – lacking sight, communication – but then he realized that the communication that passed between them – between Matt’s tongue and his roommate’s body – was far more intense than a look or a sound. It was a connection that spoke of so much surrendered, so much taken, so much trusted and so much feared. If a picture said a thousand words, Matt’s actions with his roommate could fill a novel.
Matt realized that he was stroking his hard prick in the shower and quickly stopped. He had never been told to keep his hands off it, but somehow he knew that we was not supposed to be jacking off, especially now when his roommate was probably waiting for Matt to finish his duties and prepare to be let into the house.
But Matt was mistaken about one thing. His roommate wasn’t waiting at all. Waiting was Matt’s job. Matt strapped the hood back onto his face once he was cleaned out, cleaned up and dry, and then knelt in front of the locked door, waiting to be admitted to his house, his storage locker. Matt dropped his hands to his side expecting the door to open at any moment. But that moment was a long one. Matt wasn’t sure about the passage of time, but it seemed as though at least an hour passed before the door opened. In that hour, Matt spent a lot of time pondering his situation. Here he was naked, hooded, starving, shaved, gagged, and kneeling at the door to his own house, waiting to be admitted, abused, used, stored and subjected to more of the same again, most likely, tomorrow and the day after that. Matt realized that since being released that morning he hadn’t been in any kind of physical bondage for almost nine hours, yet he never went to the police, never called a friend for help (assuming he had any in this town), and never made any plan to challenge his roommate’s authority. Even right now, Matt had clothes, a drivers license and keys to his car all within his grasp. Yet he stayed right where he was, kneeling on the floor, gagged and hooded, waiting for his roommate to permit him into his own house. Any why? He was pretty sure the blame rested with his the hard piece of flesh that bounced between his legs, begging his hands to take a chance and give it relief.
But Matt knew better than to touch the hard cock that guided his subservience. For as disappointed as he was by the long wait for his roommate to open the door, he know with each lonely minute that ticked by that he was meant to wait, to show his subservience, to show that he understood that his roommate would only open the door when his roommate chose to open the door.
Finally, the moment arrived. Matt heard footsteps approach, then a click as a lock was opened, and finally the sound of the door opening. He strained his ears for a welcoming comment, a note of appreciation or pride. But he heard nothing. Instead, his roommate simply grabbed each hand and stuffed them into tight rubber bondage mitts, secured the mitts behind his back, then pulled the gag free from the hood and out of Matt’s mouth.
Matt opened, grateful to finally receive some show of welcoming, of possession, of humiliation, from his roommate. And it was quite a show. Six mouthfuls, each followed by a command to “flush” before his roommate strapped a tube gag into Matt’s mouth and pulled Matt into the house, into the spare room, and onto the treadmill. Once again, in what was to become a nightly ritual, Matt’s fist mitts were strapped to the crossbar of the treadmill, a tube dripping a sports drink was taped to the tube gag, and the treadmill was started off at a slow, but increasingly fast, pace.
An hour later Matt was an exhausted mess. He wanted to drop to the floor but his fist mitts forced him to stay standing. He wheezed through the tube gag for several minutes until his roommate released the mitts, pulled Matt from the treadmill, and led him into the large ensuite shower where Matt squirmed under the cold water, desperate for the cooling shower to end, anxious for the bondage that he knew awaited him once this was over.
He wasn’t disappointed. Once Matt had been dried off, his roommate led Matt to the master bedroom and began the process of plugging, stuffing and controlling every one of Matt’s holes for the night. First was a butt plug, larger than any he’d previously had stuffed into his ass, smooth and curved to fit against his prostate, shoved deep into his ass with no warning. Then came earplugs, pushed into his ears when the hood was loosened temporarily. Then came the covering – the sleepsack, as Matt’s roommate guided Matt’s feet into the familiar foot box, removed the mitts and slipped Matt’s arms into the binding sleeves, and then zipped the sack from Matt’s ankles to his neck.
Matt was then lowered onto his back on the floor where the zip was opened around his crotch to reveal his prick, allowing Matt’s roommate to plug his last remaining hole with an external Texas catheter and tube.
Matt barely heard the command through the earplugs and was almost surprised when he felt a wetness in his mouth and realized that his roommate was pouring a protein shake into the tube gag. Matt swallowed the shake as quickly as he could, grateful for the nutrition. Then, just as every hole was plugged and controlled, the roommate pulled the tube gag from Matt’s mouth and replaced it with his asshole — dessert.
Matt realized that he had been home almost two hours, and yet could count the words his roommate had spoken to him on his fingers – if his fingers could have moved at that moment. Matt’s tongue was already hard at work as these thoughts crossed Matt’s mind, so natural had the reaction to the command already become for him. The training continued to more than an hour, with a series of “cum dump,” “urinal,” “flush” and “rim” commands keeping Matt’s mouth fully occupied. But finally, after the second load of his roommate’s cum was deep in Matt’s stomach, the plug gag was stuffed back into Matt’s mouth and strapped securely to the hood, the catheter tube was connected to the hole in the plug gag, the headphones were placed over Matt’s already-plugged ears, and Matt was dragged across the floor to his storage for the night.
But it wasn’t the closet that awaited Matt. Matt felt his body dragged only a few feet across the carpet, then lifted, almost rolled, onto a soft, low platform. Matt then felt his roommate strapping the sleepsack down to the platform, binding Matt tightly to the soft padding, making all movement impossible. Matt’s senses were far too controlled to tell him much more about his location for the night, and it was weeks before a fleeting glance under his hood told him the nature of his storage site, but the glance he had those weeks later made his cock spring to attention. Only a week before his roommate arrived, Matt had received the most expensive new piece of furniture for his house – a large platform bed that had cost him a week’s salary. But Matt loved the high bed and the space underneath would be useful for storage – he just hadn’t anticipated that he’d be the one stored there.
While Matt had been at work his roommate had been busy with tools. If one were to look at the bed, it would look as though Matt’s roommate had turned the bed into a captain’s bed, with a row of drawers along each side of the bed under the mattress. But if one were to open those drawers, they would discover that the drawers were less than two feet deep, leaving a wide space down the middle of the bed. From that space, at the foot of the bed, emerged a low padded platform on wheels – a platform with tie-downs in the shape of Matt’s mummified form. Once Matt was strapped in place, the drawer would be closed under the bed, where padding on the top and sides awaited to completely enclose Matt’s body, leaving a flat panel of wood along the foot of the bed that allowed no clue of the bound body hidden beneath.
Matt had no idea that night that his roommate’s body sagged into the mattress inches above his own. He had no idea that he was now encased under what had days earlier been his favorite new piece of furniture. Had he known, it would have become his favorite piece of furniture for a whole new set of reasons.
As Matt felt the platform on which he was strapped moved into place for the night, with a solid thud and click leaking through his earplugs, he tried his best to imagine where he could be. But for all his bondage fantasies, all his Internet downloads, he never imagined such a storage location.
The recordings of commands started up in the background so quietly that Matt was hardly aware they were happening – so quietly that Matt wondered if he actually heard them or was just repeating them in his mind the way one repeats a new favorite song over and over again.
Matt lay completely still, trying to obtain any information at all from his plugged senses, not sure if he could relax or needed to expect more. After all, he was flat on his back, almost comfortable by the standards of the past few days. Surely his roommate was not going to let him enjoy such luxury for the night. Then again, he thought, as his bladder begged him to piss into the external catheter tube – and back down his own throat — comfort is a relative term. Matt squirmed against the bondage of the sleepsack, testing the ropes that held him firmly to the platform, trying to feel the limits of the padding that rested against his body on all sides, but the bondage held him firm and near-motionless. The tight rubber packing, bound firmly to the platform, held every limb secure, every muscle restrained, and kept every nerve ending on edge. For the first time in forty-eight hours, Matt relaxed and the exhaustion that had built up from the previous two days slowly overtook his mind and allowed him to sink into a deep sleep.
To be continued tomorrow …
Note: This story originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is reposted here with permission.