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“The couple over at table 5 invite you to join them”, said the bartender as he sat down my third whiskey sour in front of me. I turned in the direction he had nodded and saw a couple in their fifties raising their glasses towards me. This was weird, unexpected, and not really what I was after. It’s just my third day as single again, and my plan for the evening was really just to get drunk on whiskey sour. Not having to talk to anyone I knew about how everything would be just right, how I really was the lucky one, and how I deserved better. Not having to talk to strangers was kind of also in the plan. I wasn’t looking for a date for sure. I knew better than doing that inside of a month, perhaps a quarter of quarantine. Not looking for a fuck either, certainly not in this place. This was a place for business cocktails and middle-class date nights for couples like this.
I raised my sour in response and started to walk towards them. They looked very business-like. She in an impractical business smart dress, and he wearing black suit, white shirt and a crimson tie. He was in good shape, clean-shaven, and his salt and pepper in a short, upper management hairstyle. She looked a bit softer at a first glance, with shoulder-length brown hair and subtle makeup, but there was something about her look that made me feel she just pretended to be unimportant. They could just as easily be working together as being married. Or this was an office affair, though why would they want more witnesses? Why would they want to talk to me at all was really the question, and the reason why I was heading their way at all.
“Good evening” I attempted before reaching the table.
“Good evening! I’m Rick, this is Julia.” he said, offering up his hand, as did she.
“Hi, I’m Marc”, trying to not wince at his overly firm handshake. Hers was fine.
“Hi Marc. We thought you looked a bit lonely and down at the bar. We figured, it’s been an hour and a half, so if you waited for someone you’d been stood up.”
“No, I’m here solo, in all meanings of the word.”
It’s not like me to start blurting out personal information to strangers, but I figured they brought it onto themselves. It kind of felt good to give a summary to someone completely unrelated and unbiased. They were great listeners too, following up with questions, reflections, or encouraging words of support. There weren’t quite my parent’s age, but them being so much older put me in a talking-to-your-elders mode. I really enjoyed it, and time flew past.
My first thought was that I was swallowing my tongue, or that it was somehow damaged. It was hot, I was thirsty, and I had no idea where I was or what was going on. It felt like it took way too long to click that I was wearing football gear, and that it wasn’t my tongue but the mouth guard I was feeling in my mouth. I spat it out and could feel it bounce back against my chin, attached as it was to the face mask front rail. My heart was racing and my disoriented head was full of questions.
I appeared to be in a small motel room, laying on top of the bed. Morning light flooded the room from the window where no curtains had been drawn. Nothing hurt or felt way off, except for me being hot and parched. I tried to recall my last memory. I had followed them to their car for some reason. What did we do after I followed them to the car? Did I agree to this? I sat up in the bed and felt something weird shifting and applying pressure in my ass. I looked over myself. I was wearing generic football gear with no specific team affiliation. Cleats, socks, pants, pads, jersey, gloves, helmet, everything. I was fully covered. I couldn’t remember the last time I had stuff like this on. Must have been before graduation. I never liked team sports.
I took off my gloves and threw them on the bed, and proceeded to take off my helmet. It wasn’t going gracefully. The air-conditioned motel room air was a blessing on my steamed head. I stood up, again feeling some weird tugs both in my ass and my dick, and carefully walked to the bathroom, afraid to damage the hotel interior with my bulky, padded frame. Not that anything looked expensive.
Besides the sports outfit, I looked the same as always. No shaved head or freaky piercings in the face at least. Greedily I began to drink from the tap, but it was difficult wearing all the shit. I clumsily removed the jersey and the shoulder pads, wearing nothing but a long sleeve under armour top on my upper body, and again attacked the tap. Man, was I thirsty. I must have drunk half a gallon. Feeling a bit better I followed that by removing the cleats, the socks, and the padded pants, leaving only the under armour pants. There was a massive bulge as if I had a raging hard-on, more impressive than what I could actually produce. Weirder still, I didn’t feel any hard-on. Touching it I couldn’t feel my dick.
I lowered the tights and a large, semi-erect black rubber cock fell out. What’s more, it looked like the rest of the body that showed was also black rubber. What the fuck? I quickly lowered the leggings all the way and stepped out of them. My feet were bare, but the rest of my lower body was shining black rubber. I quickly yanked off the under armour top as well, and found more of the same. My hands were bare, as were my head, but the rest of me was shiny black. I tried to stick my finger in between the skin and the rubber sleeve where my hand came out, but it was like it was glued on. I couldn’t see or feel any zippers anywhere either. There were a few lines that showed different pieces coming together, as if it had been built in place, but they were almost completely smooth to the touch.
Again, and I can’t stress this enough, what the fuck? My mind was racing with questions. Was this dangerous? I wouldn’t be able to control my body temperature that well, since I can’t sweat, so I should stay as cool as possible. Or perhaps sweat would loosen the glue, and I should try to sweat as much as possible. If it was glued in place, how long until the shedding of skin would make it loose? What else can’t I do while in this thing?
My gaze shifted back down to the protruding dick. How well set up was I for number one and number two? That would be the first immediate problem if I couldn’t get this off. Hesitantly I felt my ass with my hand. Instead of an asshole I found a small, protruding nub. Just touching it I could feel the vibrations going up my ass, hitting my prostate. So that’s what that was. Some fucking prostate massaging butt plug. I gave it a tug. Nothing. I grabbed it between my fingers and began twisting, and without much resistance it started turning. With increased confidence I started to unscrew the plug, which was probably 10-15 twists until it came loose, and spilled out warm liquid on my fingers. Two seconds later I was hit by the smell and really regretted not standing in the shower. It was rank. Far worse than any normal dump. No floor mat, thank God, but I realized that I was leaking more ass fluid than I first thought. It was running down my legs, which I couldn’t feel for the rubber.
I quickly stepped into the shower and turned it on. It sounded like when you started to fill up a blow-up kiddy pool, as the water from the garden hose hits the plastic sitting on the grass. But now it was rubber on top of me instead of on a grassy back yard. I looked at the plug in my hand. It was quite narrow, but it was longer than I would have liked. Though it came straight out of me, so it wasn’t like I didn’t know what it felt like. With my other hand I started to feel my ass. There was a pretty rigid tapped hole where my asshole should be, and I could feel nothing but threads with my finger. Whatever had been done went up deep. If I didn’t want to cosplay as a leaking septic tank I would have to keep the plug in for now. Perhaps I could shorten the length of the plug, but I also didn’t want any sharp edges inserted into my colon, and I didn’t want to damage the plug beyond use.
While in the shower I slowly reinserted and felt a shiver of pleasure as I pressed the plug in place. It was even worse once I began to screw it back in. I didn’t want it to feel as good as it did, and the rubber slowly rotating further and further in made me even hornier. Not that it would show, as the oversized rubber dick protruding from my front was in a constant erect state. With my leaky bottom fully plugged I decided to give the dick a try as well, and relieved my bladder. Holding it gave me almost no sensory feedback. I could feel a tug at the base of my dick if I really moved it around, but otherwise nothing. Slowly a trickle of piss dribbled out of a small opening at the end of my cojoined dildo. What would normally have been a 10-second affair took minutes, but at least it worked.
I used the showerhead to hose the disgusting fluids off the floor and down the floor drain. My reflex stepping out of the shower was to grab the hotel towel off the rack, but immediately realized that I was more or less dry already. The head was wet of course, but nothing much stuck to the slick surface of my rubber body. One positive at least.
I looked at all the athletic gear again. I have no idea where this hotel room is, but no matter where I can’t go out without putting something back on. I need shoes, so cleats are in, as are the socks. I need to hide the dick somehow, so the padded pants are in. It would be enough to just have the under armour top, leaving the helmet, shoulder pads and jersey. That would look weird as hell though.
I walked to the desk and opened the room folder. This was the Marriott Courtyard near the south highway off-ramp. It would be at least a 30 minute walk from here back home. There was so much I didn’t know. What happened to me? Where are my other clothes, phone, keys, and wallet? Is this room under my name? Did I check in myself? Suddenly I felt overwhelmed and sat down on the desk chair, only to have the but plug press in ever so slightly more, causing me to let out an “Ah” in surprise. A small drop of shining precum squeezed out of the opening of the rubber dick, that now protruded at an obscene and aggressive angle.
Fuck all this. I need to act. Check out, walk home, and get as much shit off of me as possible. I did a quick search of the room, but didn’t find anything of mine, or anyone else. I could always ditch anything later, I reasoned, and began to put everything back on again. If taking off was clumsy, putting it back on was even more time-consuming. More than I expected. As I was about to pull the room key card out of the holder I saw my keys resting on top of the holder. At least I would be able to open my home door.
I carried the helmet in one hand and held the keys and key card in the other, as I walked the corridor to the elevator and took it down into the lobby. It was still early morning, but a few people were in the lobby as I exited, looking my way. I guess full football gear early on a Saturday morning wasn’t that strange. Less than a rubber man with massive rubber cock if nothing else.
Checkout was fast. The room was already pre-paid. When she asked if I wanted a taxi I said no without thinking about it, but as I walked out the front door I was wondering if that wouldn’t have been best. I could feel the small butt plug shifting with every step. I don’t know where my wallet is though, so I didn’t dare change my mind. After what possibly had been 10 minutes, but felt much longer, I was pretty sure I had made the wrong decision. I was fucking myself with every step. It wasn’t much, but the plug must have been expertly designed to maximize the amount of stimulation it made. I tried to change my gait, I put on the helmet and tried jogging. Every change felt different, but very quickly turned out to just be a different way of fucking with myself. I was rubbing the outside of my padded pants, knowing full well that it made no difference to my entombed dick.
I was so horny I was crying by the time I could see my house, and chewing on the mouth guard. No doubt the compression pants were wet as well, though I had no way of knowing without stripping. I had no idea what I would do once inside, but I had turned very near term goal oriented. Perhaps a cold shower would settle things. I hastily unlocked and opened the door, and froze.
There, on the floor just inside the door was a neatly folded pile of yesterday’s clothes, with a small, white business card on top. Someone had written neatly in blue ink “For further modifications, call:” followed by just a phone number printed in black. I was equal parts excited, horny, and scared as I reached for the phone from the pile.
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