Bio:30-year-old white guy from Eastern Europe, 185 cm tall, brown eyes, short brown hair with that classic round bald spot on top that makes me look like I gave up on hair a couple years too early. Life’s been the same boring loop—office, couch, repeat—and I’m fucking tired of it. Looking for something completely different, even if it’s ridiculous. Open to whatever shakes me out of this rut.
Profile picture description:Just a quick selfie I took last month: me in a plain black t-shirt, half-smiling at the camera in my dim living room, bags under my eyes but still that “yeah whatever, let’s see” look. Nothing fancy, no filters.
Selected item (under “Other, specify”):A living pair of swim briefs — tight speedo-style garment, the kind that hugs everything and leaves nothing to the imagination. I want to BE the swim briefs for the renter.
Duration:2 full days (a weekend — Friday night through Sunday night)
Special requests field:Surprise me. I don’t care who rents me or what they do as long as they treat me exactly like an object — no talking to me like a person, no mercy, full immersion. Use me for swimming, lounging, whatever the hell you want. I’m just fabric and elastic once the contract starts. Let’s make this the weirdest, hottest weekend of my boring life
Sent.
This one deserves a bit of a content warning, because, as the prompt might have given away, it's a bit dub-con.
Rent-A-Thing — Just a speedo
You understand the purpose of the website perfectly when you fill out the profile, even though it's just a joke. When you finally shut down your computer, you sigh and look around the now dark room. You really, really wish something like that could be real. The thought of being reduced to nothing but fabric and elastics wrapped around the junk of... well, anyone, really... is oddly intriguing. Worse, it'd probably be more interesting than your life is now.
You have grown half-hard thinking about the fantasy, but when you fall into bed, you're much too tired to do anything about it. You drift to sleep peacefully. Your phone is set to silent, so you don't even hear the chime of the app a few moments after you closed your eyes.
When you wake up, it's still dark, and for a moment, you are disoriented. Why are you awake? Then, you hear it again: a rustling sound at your apartment door, as if someone is fumbling with a key.
You can feel your pulse in your throat as you get out of bed, wearing only boxer shorts, and sneak to the door. There's someone outside fiddling with the lock. But you didn't give your key to anyone. Someone's trying to break in!
Your phone is still in your bedroom. You just need to go back and call the police, and then, perhaps, barricade in your bedroom until they arrive. Suddenly, you hear muffled voices from outside.
"What's taking so long?"
The voice is male and impatient, and another man answers, the scratching noise stopping momentarily as he whispers.
"Shut the fuck up, Sascha. If you hadn't lost your stuff in some guy's apartment, neither of us would need to be here in the middle of the night. What did you lose, anyway?"
There's a moment of silence with only your heartbeat in your ears.
"I didn't say I lost anything. I said I need you to help me get my stuff. It's a speedo." Sascha says.
"A fucking speedo? Really? That's why you woke me up?"
The other man's voice is getting agitated.
"Just open the fucking door and you'll see. It's worth it, I promise."
Only when the lock clicks do you unfreeze. Wait. What? Speedo? Memories from the evening bubble up when the door flies open and the light switch is flipped. Your eyes take a moment to adjust when you see the man, Sascha, presumably. Eastern European, bulky build, a next-to-cruel sneer on his face.
"There it is!" he says, pointing right at you.
The other man, behind him and shorter, looks at you.
"Sascha, what the fuck are you talking about? That's a guy!"
"Not for long," Sascha says and presses a button on his phone before sauntering over. "The way I see it, this is a speedo. My speedo. Isn't that right?"
The last question might have been addressed to you, but you can't move and can't answer. You're standing with your back to the wall, wearing only your boxer shorts, and despite all, getting hard right in front of the two men who just broke into your apartment.
"Is that some kind of sick role-play?" the shorter one asks, having apparently noticed your predicament, but Sascha doesn't answer. Without hesitation or shame, he unbuckles his belt and pushes down his dark jeans, exposing an untrimmed groin with a sizable dick. He walks up to you and presses your face to his privates without so much as acknowledging you. With the other hand, he shoves down your boxers with so much force that he might as well have ripped them off.
"There's this website where weirdos beg for people to use them as property," Sascha explains to his friend, while holding you in place without mercy. The smell of his groin is intoxicating, and somehow, the way he totally ignores you makes you even more horny.
"Me and my girl are going on some wellness spa weekend shit, and I don't have any swimwear."
"But that's a guy! What are you doing with him?" the other man protests. Sascha shrugs.
"It. Those weirdos aren't really human, anyway. That? That's just a speedo, almost making a mess because it's about to look like one."
With casual force, he pries open your mouth and puts his dick into it. Your head feels hollow and stretchy, as it snaps to the organ's contours. Next, he grabs your legs, pulling them together and tunneling them between his own ones until your entire shrinking body is snug against his groin. Even if you wanted to, you can't do anything as your legs fuse together and turn into the same smooth elastic material as your upper body.
"Shit, that's kind of hot," the other man comments, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see him working on his crotch. Sascha turns toward him.
"You think so? Didn't take you for one of those perverts. Rent a thing. That's the website. Fucking thing."
Meanwhile, your entire body has flattened to one single layer of blue elastic fabric, permeated by the essence of Sascha's groin. He secures your arms around his waist, where they merge instantly and slap against Sascha's muscular sides. A white logo forms on the front, like a branding on your elastic skin. He presses your head again, and any excess volume deflates as if he is letting the air out.
Your hair folds into the waistband at the front, and that's that. You're a speedo. Nothing more. Sascha pulls his pants up without having acknowledged you as a person even once.
You can hear muffled conversations outside, and finally, feel the movements of Sascha's powerful ass. The vibrations of the loud rap music in his car. Then, a momentary glimpse of light as he strips, discarding you in a heap next to his bed without a second thought. As you lie there, you can't wait for the weekend, and imagine all the things Sascha will do with you wrapped around him. Not acknowledging you, just wearing you. One thing is certain: all this is going to feed your spank bank for years.
This has been a fun write, thanks for the ask! Now, speedo is gone, and I encourage everyone who wants to participate to look beyond the clothing section! :) Here's the first part with the explanation.
