The Roommate – Part 7

By RbbrStorage

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.

But at this point Matt was no longer sure he was sane.  He knew that it was simply not possible that he could have been listening to the voices of the manly refinery workers.  The sheer concept that his roommate would have gotten them to record such phrases was too much to comprehend.  And yet, only a day before, Hutch, the burly Scandinavian god with the wicked smile, had seemed to know exactly what commands to use to turn Matt into his personal urinal.  The possibilities and implications swirled in Matt’s brain and left him barely capable of functioning.

So troubled was Matt that he had barely even noticed the incredible care that his roommate had taken earlier that morning to remove Matt from his solid encasement.  Each prior night, Matt at least had been able to wiggle or squirm within his tight rubber cocoon.  But last night, Matt had spent the entire night on the floor of his cellar, painted from his neck to his feet with liquid latex, and then coated with two solid layers of fiberglass cast material, completely covering Matt from his hooded head to his feet, forcing Matt to remain in a loose standing position like an obscene mannequin, until he was lowered to his back and left for the night inside his solid enclosure.

And then, that morning, Matt’s roommate had slowly and carefully cut a smooth, straight line up Matt’s right side and down his left, taking at least an hour to avoid making any mistakes, until the front half of the enclosure could be peeled from Matt’s body like the lid of a box being opened to reveal its contents.

Under any other circumstances, spending a night inside a solid enclosure like a department store mannequin would have been an ultimate fantasy coming true for poor Matt.  But last night he had barely had the energy to enjoy the experience, lost as he was in the meaning of the voices he heard coming through the headphones.  At least, he was pretty sure he had been wearing headphones.  The alternative was too frightening to ponder, but it would make much more sense if he had simply imagined the entire incident.

Matt finally pulled the rubber hood from his damp head and dragged himself into the bathroom.  The pale, frightened face that stared back at him in the mirror shocked Matt even more.  It was one thing to wonder if he was losing his sanity, but it was something else entirely to see the image of a man barely in touch with reality staring back into his own eyes.

Somehow, Matt dragged himself through his morning routine of shaving and showering, only to discover more than he felt he could handle waiting for him on top of the laundry – new pants, a new shirt, and even a new tie.  The pants were a little looser than the slacks he had been made to wear all week.  The shirt was dark blue, and the tie was conservative.  Matt only had a moment to wonder why he had been given these clothes to wear when he saw what else sat waiting on the laundry – a full-body rubber catsuit.

Matt picked up the suit.  It was thin rubber, form-fitting, had attached feet, shoulder-entry zips, and no holes below the neck other than where the sleeves ended at each wrist.  Next to the catsuit sat the butt plug – Matt was sure it was the same one – that had been removed from Matt’s ass only minutes before he received the command to “work.”  It took Matt several more minutes to adjust to this news before he could begin to get dressed.  But, as with all previous mornings, a glance at the clock forced Matt to make a quick decision – that is, assuming he had any power to decide anything about how he would dress for work.

Matt started with the butt plug, easing it back into the ass that had already spent an entire night clutching the massive cock-shaped dildo.  Yet even with an entire night to get used to its size, Matt still groaned involuntarily as the plug sank to its final depths.

Matt paused to consider the feel of the plug and wonder for a moment how he would possibly be able to walk to the lunch truck without looking like he had a fire hydrant stuffed into his ass.  But there was no time to ponder that fear for long.  Matt then turned his attention to the catsuit, which turned out to be pre-lubed, allowing Matt to squeeze his body inside without too much struggle.  Matt smoothed the rubber over his skin, trying to ignore the pain of his cock pushing against the chastity device that was still locked in place, then pulled the shoulder zips up to his neck.  At the top of each zipper was a small metal post.  Matt realized that they were locking posts for the zippers and looked down to the laundry to notice two small padlocks sitting next to his lunch money.  Matt hesitated, not wanting to lock this suit in place, terrified of how he would look that day, waddling across the refinery campus with a massive plug up his ass while his clothes clung unnaturally to his rubber-covered body.

But Matt also knew he had no choice.  The clicks of the locks beat down the last fight that was left inside Matt.  Without any further hesitation he pulled on his pants, shirt and tie, then slipped on his shoes, grabbed his lunch money and car key, and exited the house without so much as a glance in the mirror.

A short time later Matt was hurrying across the refinery campus to his trailer office, waddling more than running thanks to the massive dildo buried in his ass, and certain that anyone within fifty feet could hear the squishing and squeaking sounds of the rubber suit beneath his clothing or see how his shirt and pants were sticking to the rubber.  Matt practically ran the last few feet to the trailer, flung the door open, hurried inside, slammed it shut, and sighed in relief.

“There you are.”

Matt froze.  Paul Denton, the head of the accounting department, sat across from his desk, sipping coffee from a travel mug.  Matt saw his job flash before his eyes as he tried to figure out how to make it across the office to his desk chair without letting a single squish or squeak come from the rubber suit under his clothes.  He settled on slow movements and took his time moving towards his chair while trying to make quick excuses for why he was a minute or two late.

But Denton wasn’t interested in apologies.

“Matt, I want you to know that we all think you’ve been doing a good job since you got here – a great job …”  Matt couldn’t breathe, knowing that a “but” was going to follow the brief compliment.

“But there’s going to be a few changes around here.  Essentially, we’ve decided to cut costs by outsourcing our payroll services.”

Images flashed across Matt’s mind of foreclosure notices being stapled to his door while he hung suspended in the closet of his house, bound tightly in rubber and leather sleepsacks.  He wondered if the custom bondage work that his roommate had done on the closet would help sell the house in this market.

“But don’t you worry.  We have every intention of keeping you around.”

Relief and confusion worked in tandem as Matt slowly settled into his desk chair, trying to understand the meaning of Denton’s words.  Denton went on to explain to Matt that he would no longer be deemed a payroll clerk, but would instead be known by the label “special projects”.  Matt would stay in the trailer office, at least for now, and would be sent projects related to finance and accounting whenever they arose.  But Matt was barely listening to Denton’s insistence that the new position would challenge Matt more than his former administrative job.  Instead, Matt found himself wondering if any of the hot studs who passed by his door every day on their way in and out of the refinery would have any reason to ever stop in and visit since payroll advances would no longer be part of Matt’s job.

But somehow Matt found it in himself to thank Denton for the new challenge and shake hands before Denton turned to exit.

“I promise I won’t let you down, Mr. Denton.”

“I know you won’t let any of us down, Matt.”

For a brief moment, Matt thought he saw something in the smile that crept across Denton’s face as he made the comment – something that made him shiver just a little – as if Denton had more than just workplace superiority over Matt.  But before Matt could make much more of the look, Denton was gone.

Matt spent the next few hours cleaning up the last of his payroll files and sorting them into boxes for shipment to the payroll agency, spending enough of his mental energy on work that he hardly once gave any thought to the troubling night he had experienced only hours before.  The distance of a few hours and the certainty of work to clear his head convinced Matt that he had hallucinated the voices of his colleagues during the night.  And though the massive plug stuffed in his ass made it awkward to move around his office with his usual ease, the possibility of new challenges at work kept his mood elevated.  There was almost a slight spring in his step as he got up and headed to his small bathroom to take a piss – suddenly stopping at the door when he realized that the rubber suit didn’t have any hole to piss through.

Matt felt through his clothing to the suit underneath, remembering that the suit had only had three holes to the entire suit – one at each wrist and a wider hole, zipped-up and locked, around his neck.  His feet were already swimming in sweat and Matt realized that very soon they’d be swimming in piss, too.  Matt tried to calculate how often he would need to piss during the day, afraid of the possibility that he’d fill up the suit until piss would come out the sleeves by his wrists.  He cursed himself for drinking so much water over the past hour – convinced that he had needed water to counteract the sweating under the suit – and promised himself that he would cut back on fluids for the rest of the day.

Then Matt realized that there wasn’t even any need to walk the last few steps to the bathroom, as it didn’t matter where he was when he released his bladder.  It seemed wrong to just piss himself while standing in the middle of his office, but somehow that made it seem erotic and rebellious.  Matt concentrated on relaxing his muscles, and a few moments later he could feel his piss stream into the rubber suit and down his legs to his feet.

Matt reached down and felt the liquid pooling between the rubber of the suit and the skin on his lower legs, finding the sensation more than a little erotic, until the horn of the lunch truck brought Matt back to his senses.  He cursed himself for not thinking more clearly just a few moments earlier – for not just holding his piss another half hour.  Now if he wanted lunch he would have to venture out among the refinery workers, not just hiding a rubber suit under his clothing and walking bow-legged from the giant cock-shaped plug buried in his ass, but now with a load of piss sloshing around each ankle.

As he had done so many times, it seemed, Matt waited by his window for a half hour, peering through his blinds until very few workers were left milling around the lunch truck, then made his exit.  Matt struggled to walk as normally as the dildo in his ass and the piss around his ankles would allow, but he knew that his gait would look a little strange.  He just hoped that, as seemed typical, no one would really take notice of the quiet accounting clerk.

Matt made it to the truck without incident, picked out a sandwich, chips and iced tea and headed for the register.  As he waited to pay he looked around at the refinery grounds.  Workers in rubber gear went about their business paying no attention to Matt.  He wondered, if they only knew what he hid under his clothes, what they would think, say, or do.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

“There’s the little office boy.”

It was Hutch, passing by the lunch truck.  The sound of his voice made Matt spin around and he must have shown a measure of surprise or fear on his face.

“Relax, dude.  Don’t piss yourself over a simple hello.”  The statement came with a wide grin and an emphasis on the word “piss.” Matt panicked momentarily until he realized that the piss now flowing out of his caged cock would pool, unnoticed, inside his rubber suit.  Matt almost smiled, realizing this his rubber suit gave him the advantage.  He wished he could say something about it to the blond hunk, but Hutch was already long gone.  So instead, Matt just enjoyed the quiet satisfaction of pissing in public, with no one the wiser, while he paid for his lunch and then carefully waddled back to his trailer to eat.

By early afternoon, Matt had cleared his desk of his payroll files and found himself with nothing to do.  By now, the piss reached mid-thigh and pooled around his balls when he sat in his desk chair.  But Matt only had three more hours of work, so he was starting to feel confident that the piss would not be leaking down his sleeves before he could get home at the end of the day.  Just in case, though, Matt reached down and felt the liquid through the rubber suit, trying to figure out if there was some way he could increase the holding capacity of the suit by stretching it or adjusting it, but everything he did to try to adjust the suit under his clothes only seemed to make the liquid reach higher up his body.


Matt looked up, terrified for a brief moment that whoever had just entered would be able to tell that he had just been feeling his piss through the rubber suit he had on underneath his business clothing.  But it was just the guy from the mailroom – Matt didn’t even know his name – staying just long enough to toss an envelope into Matt’s in-basket and grab a box of outgoing files.  The door slammed behind him as he left.

Matt reached over to his in-basket.  The envelope was an inter-office envelope addressed to “Special Projects” but with no indication who had sent it.  Matt tore open the envelope and pulled out a short memo consisting of nothing more than three numbered sentences in the middle of the page, and a fourth sentence at the very bottom of the page:

“1. Remove your shirt, tie, pants and shoes.”

Matt reread the sentence again – and again – as his mind tried to understand whether the memo was a joke, a mistake, or a product of his mind playing tricks again.  But each time he read the line it said the same thing.

“2. Take the rubber wrist cuffs from the bottom left desk drawer, secure them to your wrists with the attached locks, and use the third lock to secure your wrists behind your back.”

Matt started to shake as he continued to read.

“3. Kneel in the middle of the trailer.”

And then, at the bottom of the page, centered and in a fancy font as if it had been pre-printed letterhead, was the slogan Matt had heard spoken outside by some of the muscular rubberclad refinery workers – “Empty balls means less accidents and falls.”

The memo said nothing more.  It wasn’t signed.  There wasn’t even anything on the memo to confirm that it was meant for Matt.  But a quick look into his bottom left desk drawer told Matt that he truly was the intended recipient, as two rubber wrist cuffs and three locks sat in the drawer waiting to bind Matt’s wrists in bondage.

Matt hesitated.  This wasn’t like the one-word commands that had been buried deep in his subconscious with endless repetition each night.  Those commands garnered instant unconscious responses.  This was different – this memo required a conscious decision from Matt to accept the commands and carry them out.

Matt’s mind whirled as he struggled to understand the connections and meanings of events over the past few days.  What if his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him the night before?  What if he actually had been listening to the voices of the hunky refinery workers repeating commands like “cum dump” and “suck” and “urinal” over and over?  What if “special projects” had nothing to do with accounting?  And … what if his roommate had intentionally planned all of this?

The events of the past three months passed before Matt’s eyes as he made connections that had eluded him all this time.  The “Sir” from the rubber site who had chatted online with Matt – Matt never knew his name, and didn’t even know for sure if the man was from Texas, as his profile had claimed.  The headhunter that had approached him – Matt never actually met the man – the recruiting had been done entirely by phone and email.  The real estate agent who had been referred to him by the headhunter and who helped Matt find a small house with a cellar near the refinery, the mortgage agent who had secured for Matt a mortgage with incredible terms, and then the roommate who waltzed into Matt’s life in a way that seemed, in hindsight, completely choreographed.  Was it all really connected?

A noise at the door startled Matt back to his senses.  It appeared to be just the wind, but it made Matt realize that he had sat motionless, not responding to the commands in the memo, for several minutes.  Matt knew that failure to follow the commands would be something he’d regret.  So as his mind continued to wrestle with the events that had led to this moment, Matt’s body carried out the commands, pulling off his clothing until he stood behind his desk wearing only the tight rubber suit, bulging out around his legs and feet with his loads of piss and nearly as much sweat.

Matt pulled the rubber wrist cuffs from the desk drawer and secured them on his wrists, snapping the locks into place, and then without hesitation placed his wrists behind his back and connected the restraints with the third lock.  Matt kicked the desk drawer closed, then knelt down in the middle of the trailer, waiting.

A few minutes later Matt heard footsteps approach the trailer.  The door was wrenched open and two masculine studs dressed in industrial rubber stepped into the trailer.  They were A.J. and Kurt – both tall and well built, both with jet-black hair and blue eyes, and both with wicked grins.  They could have been brothers, but Matt knew from his access to the payroll files that their similar look was a mere coincidence.

A.J. strode up to Matt while Kurt shut and locked the door.  He fondled his rubber-clad crotch while grinning down at Matt, then unzipped his rubberized coveralls and hauled out a large growing cock and two low-hanging balls.


In that moment, Matt knew that he had truly heard the voices of the refinery workers the night before.  A.J. said the word as if it had two syllables, as he had done over and over again the night before through the headphones secured to Matt’s head.

Matt’s jaw had unconsciously dropped to open his mouth wide, and his lips had unconsciously pressed outward to welcome A.J.’s hardening prick, even as Matt’s conscious thoughts were preoccupied with trying to make sense of his predicament.  A.J. shoved his dick in deep, but Matt’s lessons with his roommate had taught him to be prepared with a relaxed throat.  A.J. settled quickly into regular thrusts, pushing deep into Matt’s throat and holding his hard-on in place, feeling Matt’s throat muscles massage the cum from his balls.  Kurt, meanwhile, reached down to Matt’s ass and felt the base of the massive dildo pushing out against Matt’s rubber suit.  Kurt pushed the dildo deeper inside Matt’s ass, causing Matt to groan loudly around A.J.’s prick.

But A.J. wasn’t there for a long, leisurely session.  He needed relief and he needed it fast.  His regular thrusts increased in speed as he built towards an orgasm.  Matt sensed A.J.’s change of pace and tried to amplify the actions of his tongue to help things along and pull as much cum from A.J.’s body as he could get.

He wasn’t disappointed.  A.J. impaled Matt’s head to the base of his dick and held it in place as he shot stream after stream of hot cum into Matt’s waiting stomach, finally pulling back just as Matt thought he would suffocate and leaving his dick on Matt’s tongue to drain out the final drops of cum.

But Kurt was in no mood for such a languid finish.  He pushed his friend out of the way, grabbed Matt’s head and shoved his dick deep into Matt’s throat, tossing out “suck” more as an afterthought than a command.  Whereas A.J.’s dick had been long and smooth, Kurt’s dick was fat and heavily veined.  Matt struggled to keep his teeth out of the way but he could tell that every bump and bulge on the heavy dick was scraping against them as the big man thrust in and out.  It was probably for that reason that Kurt seemed to suppress his urge to thrust, and instead buried his dick deep in Matt’s throat, letting Matt’s tongue and throat muscles do the work for him.  But the size of Kurt’s fat dick also meant that Matt didn’t have a chance at getting any breath into his lungs.  The fear of suffocation made Matt work harder to bring Kurt to an orgasm, frantically clenching his throat muscles and tensing his tongue against the underside of the hard cock.  Kurt pulled out just long enough for Matt to get a breath, then thrust back inside, until finally the urge to thrust began to overtake Kurt as he approached his orgasm, making his pelvis shake uncontrollably against Matt’s face and his balls slap against Matt’s chin.

Kurt yelled a string of obscenities as he unleashed his ropes of cum down Matt’s throat.  Matt continued to tense his throat muscles and massage his tongue against the pulsing cock both to milk every drop from the shaft and to hurry along the orgasm so that he could breathe once again.

Kurt pulled out in one swift move and stuffed his still-hard prick back into his rubber coveralls while A.J. moved in as if for seconds.


Matt promptly tilted his head back and dropped his jaw as A.J. hefted his semi-hard cock into position over Matt’s tongue.  His piss started in a trickle but quickly built into a strong spray bubbling up into Matt’s mouth.


Matt gulped down the first mouthful of piss and quickly resumed position for what turned out to be a five-mouthful bladder of piss from the hunky refinery worker.  As Matt swallowed the last drops of the man’s piss, A.J. tucked his cock back into his coveralls and zipped up.  He turned towards the door, where Kurt was already waiting, then stopped and turned back to Matt and grinned.


Matt’s bladder instinctively opened up and flooded his rubber suit with another bladder of piss, pooling around his crotch as A.J. and Kurt left the trailer, slamming the door behind them.

Matt stayed kneeling on the floor of the trailer, too stunned to even consider moving.  His head continued to swirl with questions about the past few months of his life, the connections that had to exist between his roommate and the refinery, and what, if anything, these revelations meant to Matt’s future.  Matt was so lost in his confused thoughts that the rest of the afternoon sped by in a blur.  At least seven other workers entered the trailer that afternoon, most of them in search of a blowjob, a few also emptying their piss into Matt’s waiting mouth, and one simply hauling out a condom covered dick from inside his rubber suit, pulling off the condom and dumping its load of cum into Matt’s cum dump throat.

It was five minutes to five when the door opened for the last time that day.  This time it was Hutch.  Unlike the encounters at the lunch truck, Hutch didn’t grin broadly at the predicament he had helped bring about.  Instead he had a very serious expression on his face.  He locked the trailer door, then kicked off his unlaced boots and slowly slipped out of the rubber and canvas coveralls that he was wearing, revealing that he was naked underneath.  Matt drank in the beauty of the sight.  Hutch was built like a football player, but one of the athletic ones – big, muscular, well-proportioned.  But what set him apart from most football players, Matt thought to himself, was that Hutch’s body didn’t have a single hair below the neck.  Matt wanted to ask the Scandinavian hunk about it, but knew that he wasn’t meant to be asking questions.

Hutch approached Matt with his large dick swinging in the direction of Matt’s mouth.  But instead of commanding “suck”, Hutch continued to approach, moving forward against Matt’s body, pushing Matt’s head backwards until Hutch’s balls were brushing over Matt’s lips, then stepping forward again until his balls rested over Matt’s eyes like a blindfold and his ass rested above Matt’s waiting mouth.


Matt’s head was stretched back to the limit, and the position didn’t give him the best access to Hutch’s sweaty hole, but Matt made every effort to push his tongue as deep as he could get.  For several minutes he made love to the stud’s puckered hole, prodding and licking in search of a moan of approval or a shudder that would tell him he was doing well.

After several minutes, Hutch pulled back and pointed his now-hard cock at Matt’s mouth.


Matt sucked as if his life depended on it.  And for all he knew, perhaps it did.  But even though this was Hutch, one of his favorites, this was at least his ninth or tenth blowjob of the past three hours, and the details of it became lost on Matt.  All he cared about was the end-result – the taste of the masculine hunk’s cream as it filled Matt’s mouth.

Matt hoped that Hutch would cum with just the head of his cock inside Matt’s mouth, allowing Matt to taste every drop.  But Matt was disappointed again, as Hutch thrust his cock deep into Matt’s throat before shooting his load.  As with most of the workers that afternoon, the only fluid Matt really got to taste was the piss that was soon filling his mouth with each “Urinal” and “Flush” command that followed the blowjob.

And then, far too quickly, it was over.  Hutch barely even acknowledged Matt’s presence as he pulled on his coveralls and boots, then grabbed a key from a filing cabinet drawer that he used to unfasten the locks around Matt’s wrists.

“Go home.”  That was all he said, and then he was gone.

Matt stayed kneeling on the floor for several minutes, trying to make sense of the afternoon, before accepting that he probably never would make sense of it all, and that the only sense he really needed was the sense to follow Hutch’s last command.  Matt pulled the wrist restraints from his wrists and returned them to the desk drawer, then pulled on his clothes over the rubber suit.  By now, the piss pooled just under his nipples – thanks to all the piss loads he had been forced to swallow all afternoon – and he knew he would have some difficulty driving home without leaking piss onto the upholstery.  To make matters worse, his bladder was already begging for more relief.  It was then, Matt discovered, that even under such bizarre circumstances, his mind had not completely lost its ability to function.  For a moment of inspiration hit.  Matt removed the shirt he had not yet buttoned up and shuffled to the bathroom, realizing that if he leaned sideways with one arm pointed down into the toilet, almost like a teapot, he could squeeze out enough piss to make room for the piss that was sure to be produced between the office and home.  It was rudimentary, but it worked, as Matt managed to reduce the level of piss from just under his nipples to below his belly button.

It wasn’t much, but the ability to think of such a solution brought a sense of euphoria to the poor guy.  His life seemed to be collapsing around him, yet at the same time falling into line with someone else’s plan, just as his deepest fantasies and most perverted nightmares were all coming true.  That he somehow kept the ability to think through it all gave Matt just what he needed to pull his shirt back on, shut off his computer, and head out of the office with a smile on his face.


To be continued tomorrow …


Note: This entire story (and many more!) originally appeared on the RubberZone site. It is reposted here with permission.


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