#rentathing

Bio: I'm in my early 30s and currently in grad school. Average build- I like going to the gym, but definitely have a sweet tooth. Dark hair, pale skin.

Item: I selected clothing. I have a whole lot of clothing I'd be happy to rent out. I have some compression shirts/shorts that I don't use too much. I also wouldn't mind getting rid of my ex-boyfriend's old jockstrap that he left here.

Duration: Honestly, they can keep them, so I set it for about 6 months. I don't think I'll miss any of those things for that long and if they wanted to buy them outright at the end of the 6-months, I'd let them.

Special Requests: Whoever rents these should probably be athletic- hockey players are always cool. But I can't help but wonder if my ex is on the app lol. He can have his stupid jockstrap back I guess. Besides, for all his faults, he was quite a gym bunny.

Rent-A-Thing — Your ex-boyfriend's jockstrap

You wake up to an unfamiliar chime. Reaching for your phone, you see an unfamiliar notification from an unfamiliar app. “Contract accepted. Pickup at 9 AM.”

Slowly, your memory returns. The late-night browsing, the website you signed up for... You remember putting up your ex-boyfriend’s old jockstrap for rent. You would have selected more, but since you’re a first-time user, it would only let you list one item. Truth be told, you don’t even know why you haven’t thrown it away yet, but now some weirdo wants to have it and will come pick it up in... fifteen minutes?

You groan and fall out of bed. You remember something about the wording on the website being off, but you also remember the part about getting paid by the hour. Holy shit! Who would have thought that your asshole-ex’s old underwear would actually earn you some money?

There’s just one problem: you have to find it first. Putting your phone away, you get to work, tearing your tiny studio apartment apart until you find the dirty, yellowed jock. It was hidden away under the bed, together with a box of porn and some socks. No time to wash it now, but you reckon that whoever pays money to lend a used jockstrap doesn’t want it washed, anyway.

You have just put it into a plastic bag when the doorbell rings. Shit! You throw on a pair of sweatpants, fail to find a shirt on short notice and open the door, only to take two steps back when you see an awfully familiar smug grin.

“Oz?!”

Your ex, in the flesh, takes a step into your apartment, looking around.

“Well, well, well. Imagine my surprise when I browsed RaT this morning and found you with your stupid bathroom selfie. And ‘jockstrap’? Really? I didn’t know you were into that, you kinky fucker.”

He shrugs. “But I recently noticed I’m one short.”

You have recovered enough for your surprise to turn into annoyed anger, and throw him the plastic bag. “Choke on it!”

Out of reflex, Oz catches the bag and briefly examines its contents before dropping it to the floor.

“Cute, but I don’t want mine back. I want a new one. And I’ve got a contract here that says I’m going to get one.”

He gestures with his phone, with a familiar white app open, and a big, green button saying “Claim”, that he taps with his thumb.

“Well, I don’t have a new one. Piss off!” you say, but your mouth feels dry all of a sudden.

“Oh, don’t worry. That won’t be a problem for much longer,” he says and crowds your space. You back away from the admittedly fit guy until you feel the wall at your back. Oz has put his phone away and plants his hands left and right to your head, caging you in.

He must have come straight from the gym, you realize, at least judging by his smell. You blink. You can’t remember him smelling that intensely before. Is something wrong with your nose?

“On your knees,” he says. His voice has a predatory edge to it.

“What? No! Fuck you! Get out!” you protest.

“Too bad you don’t get a say in that — or anything else — anymore for the next, what? Six months? You really are a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

With these words, he puts both of his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down with surprising force. Or rather, with normal force, and your resistance is surprisingly weak. In a fluid motion, he pushes down his gym shorts. No underwear, but a hard cock you’re unfortunately familiar with.

“Missed it? I’ve got good news for you. You’re about to get really close for a really long time now.”

His hand — has it always been that big? — pushes from the back of your head until your lips touch his glistening cock head. The smell is much stronger here, and you find yourself wanting nothing more than to put it in your mouth. It’s big. Definitely bigger than you remember. It’s so big it fills your entire vision, making you unable to focus on anything else. You barely hear his chuckle as you take his leaking cock into your dry mouth, all the way in, until it collides with the skin on the back of your head.

Wait. That’s not how heads work. What is going on?! You look up and see Oz towering over you, a giant in a giant place.

No! He hasn’t gotten bigger. You have gotten smaller! Fuck! What is going on?

Your entire head stretches over his pulsing dick now, and you can feel his hand massaging the back of it. No, he is not massaging your head. He is massaging himself through your head!

Your body is too weak to kneel upright anymore, and your entire weight hangs on his cock. That shouldn’t be possible. You swing your arms around his waist for stabilization, watching in horror as they turn into a wide elastic band, fusing at the back where just a moment ago your hands had been.

All on their own, your shrinking legs swing between his massive thighs, connecting to your arm-waistband at the side and back. They, too, turn into straps, framing his ass cheeks perfectly.

Only then, you realize: You are turning into a jockstrap! You try to wiggle, say something, but all that comes out is a very weak rustling sound as your head turns into cotton, with all your senses, touch, smell, and taste focused solely on the price inside of it: your ex-boyfriend’s cock!

“Fuuuck, that’s hot,” he says, and the length in you throbs one more time before your insides are filled with hot, sticky liquid. When you were together, you never swallowed, but now you have no choice. His cum permeates your being, and everything smells and tastes like Oz.

You feel a pat on your pouch-body.

“Good jockstrap. Just so you know, I don’t plan on washing you. Or taking you off for long. Enjoy your six months, looser.”

When he pulls up his gym shorts over your changed form, you feel conflicted. The thought of serving as a piece of underwear for six months should be close to horrifying. But it doesn’t feel that way when you are enclosed in the warm, damp prison of his shorts. It fills you with a strange serendipity. Perhaps that will wear off at some point, but you can always look forward to the third of a million dollars your ex-boyfriend-now-owner will have paid you afterwards.

Oookay, this one's gonna get a content warning, too, as per the asker's request. Dubcon, light violence, homophobic slurs... that sort of thing. Enjoy!

Rent-A-Thing — A dick is a dick

You don't think about the strange website much anymore, and it's already afternoon when you get a notification on your phone as you're out for a walk.

"Contract accepted. Meetup public men's room Echo Park, 5 PM. Contract owner is: Zack."

You only skim over the notification, having already forgotten about Rent-A-Thing and thinking it's from Grindr. Weird message, but then again, who isn't weird on Grindr?

The men's room in Echo Park is a well-known — albeit dangerous — cruising spot, and, apparently, 'Zack' is looking for a good time.

You're not one to judge, and you're horny enough to go. After all, a dick is a dick, right? You check if you got condoms and head to Echo Park.

It's 5 PM sharp when you arrive at the spot, and a tall, muscular guy is leaning against the wall, playing with his phone. He's wearing running shorts and seems to have jogged here. Despite the chilly March air, he's shirtless, and a bit of dampness clings to his furry chest. Subconsciously, you lick your lips. He's hot.

"Zack?" you ask, and the guy looks up from his phone.

"Huh? Yeah, man. That's me. Are you..."

He looks around, and when you nod, he breaks into a grin. You have to admit, it's not a very friendly grin. More of a throw-you-in-a-van-with-chloroform-grin, and you briefly wonder if you made a mistake.

He pushes a button on his phone before letting it slide into his pocket and rolls his neck.

"So, you're here for the contract, huh?"

Again with the 'contract'. Was that some weird kinky talk? You decide to play.

"Yeah, sure, 'contract'. What did you have in mind?"

You reach out to touch his exposed pecs, but his hand grabs your wrist and yanks you forward.

"How about you shut up and strip, faggot?"

Oookay! That Zack likes it a bit rougher? Jokes on him, you like being treated rough. Still, you're pretty much out in public.

"Don't you want to go inside first?"

"Fuck no," he spits back. "Strip. Now. Or I'll make you."

Wow, that's intense. You hesitate, but the guy is smoking hot. A little role-play might be fun, even though his performance leaves something to be desired.

"Okay, okay, I'll do it."

You unbutton your shirt. It's harder than usual, since your fingers are oddly uncoordinated.

"Oh, you fucking will, you piece of shit," Zack sneers, and before you know it, he is behind you, and with one hand, he holds your arms together behind your back, while the other one grabs the waistband of your jeans.

You try to protest, but the man is so strong it hurts, and with one swift motion, he tears down your pants. He licks his lips as he spins you around.

"Fuck yeah. No more embarrassing cruising season this year."

"What are you talking about?" you protest. Your mouth tastes strange. The taste is familiar, but you don't immediately recognize it.

"Shut the fuck up," Zack snarls. "You're not supposed to talk, you're supposed to hang between my legs."

"Hang... between your legs?"

Zack doesn't bother to answer. Instead, he shoves a knee between your thighs, forcing them apart. Involuntarily, you stumble, and the taste in your mouth finally comes into focus. It's pre-cum. Your mouth tastes like pre. You've tasted enough cocks to know the taste, and you also recognize it's not yours. But how...

You fall to your knees. Zack's grip on your arms is surprisingly strong.

"What the fuck?!" you call out. Your words are slurred, and your tongue is heavy.

"Up," Zack commands, and spits at your exposed asshole. When you turn around, you see his own shorts pooling around his feet now. And on his crotch...

Despite the uncomfortable situation, you can't help but burst out laughing. Zack's cock, even though it's fully erect, is, there is no other word, tiny. Maybe a bit bigger than your thumb, and it's covered in the same coarse black hair his chest and crotch are.

"What's so funny, asshole?" he spits, and with a surprising amount of force, pulls on your arms again. "Think I'm too small? Well, lucky for me, you're gonna change that."

He's got to be joking. But despite the absurd situation, your laughter is cut short when your body goes stiff. Stiffer than you've ever been. He spins you around again, and you feel his cock at your asshole.

"You've got five seconds to relax, or this is going to be hell for you. Five."

He starts counting down, and somehow, your ass obeys. His cock slips in. You barely feel it, but the instant his groin connects to your ass, something changes in you. You feel incredibly horny all of a sudden, and your own dick twitches with need. Zack is still holding your arms, so you can't reach it, but when you look down, you realize in horror that your rod is shrinking!

"What's happening?"

Your question is only half-articulated. You're scared and horny, and your body is changing in the most disturbing ways. Zack lets go of your arms, and when you look up, the guy has grown a foot in size since you last saw him!

No, actually, that's not right. He's the same size. You have gotten smaller! Not only your cock is shrinking, but the rest of you as well!

"Fuck yes, this is amazing!"

You've never seen a more satisfied grin on anyone's face.

"Look at you, faggot, you're gonna be a really nice, fat..."

"No!" you say, not letting him finish his sentence. You don't want to hear it! Meanwhile, your cock has shriveled away to nothing, and your arms and legs are next. They grow weaker with every heartbeat and disappear into your body.

"No! No, no, no!"

Zack laughs as you try to run, but your ass is firmly fused to his groin now. It's getting harder to look down, as your neck stiffens and your face changes. Your mouth dominates it now, and it turns sideways, as all your teeth disappear.

"Come on, cock meat. Try to enjoy the ride. You're gonna be in my pants for the next six months!"

You want to say something, to protest, but your voice is weak, and only a spurt of pre-cum spills out, as Zack runs one of his large hands over your stiff body.

"Yeah, that's right. You be a good little cock. And believe me, you're gonna see a lot of action."

Both of his hands are now running up and down your length, and you throb. This is more intense than anything you've ever felt before!

"Yeah... I'm gonna get you sucked, and I'm gonna fuck a different ass with you every day. You'd like that, huh? Look at you throbbing. And I'm gonna piss out of you and jerk you all summer. Oh, I'm gonna have so much fun with you, cock."

The words are a mix of horrible and hot, and you feel your body react, turning flushed and warm. Your head is completely gone now, replaced by a cock's head spurting pre-cum with every stroke. The rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, and you see a jogger turning around blushing as Zack continues to rub one out right next to the path. Rub one out of you!

Another rush of excitement courses through you, and you can feel that you... no, Zack, no... both of you are getting close. He huffs and doubles down on you, beating you mercilessly until you finally explode, spewing copious amounts of thick, ropey cum from your mouth. Zack's cum.

He needs a moment to catch his breath before he pulls up his shorts, and the world goes dark.

"Gonna take a few new profile pics before you go all soft, cock meat," he says, and despite being spent, you twitch at the casual degradation. Fuck, the next few months are going to be hot in a way you never expected.

Profile: I’m a little confused why they need a pic of me but I send a pic of myself anyways (A skinny twink in his early 20s)

Object: I scroll down to sex objects and select fleshlight

Duration: Its pretty worn out and might break if its used too hard. Immediately I think of a big cock breaking my fleshlight open. I select custom and put in, until it breaks.

Special request: I type in a jock with a big cock.

Before I submit my request I give the website another quick scan. Wait did that say I’d be turned into the object? I shake my head, that doesn’t even make sense, I must be really sleep deprived. I click send on my request. Still as I try to go to sleep I can’t get the thought of actually turning into a fleshlight out of my head.

Rent-A-Thing — Fleshlight

The next morning, you get up early. It's a busy Saturday, as usual. First gym, treadmill to maintain your skinny physique. Then, hair stylist. You greet Pearl, your platonic BFFFFF with a kiss on the cheek. She's not the only reason you visit the hair stylist twice a week, but it helps.

As Pearl begins to work on your rainbow-colored hair, you begin to yap about everything new that happened to you during the last three days of your exciting life. Of course, having neither shame nor secrets from Pearl, you also mention the website you found yesterday, Rent-A-Thing.

"No way!" she gasps and her scissors clack. "Honey, you're impossible. You want to lend someone your fleshlight?! And you put up a profile, with a picture of your face? Gurl, I would die!"

"Yep!" you grin. "Used the same pic I've got on my Grindr. Imagine the guy's face when he comes to collect his fleshlight."

You don't mention your fantasy of actually becoming the sex toy. You don't have secrets from Pearl, but you don't need the entire salon to know your kinky fantasies. That's where you draw the line. They'd have to buy you a cocktail first.

You have a good laugh with Pearl before you proceed to the tanning salon.

You have just arrived back home in the afternoon when your phone rings. It's Pearl.

"Oh. My. God. You won't believe it!" she exclaims the moment you accept. In the background, you hear an unfamiliar chime coming from your phone.

"I just had a customer who was a total hunk. I'm talking beefcake here, gurl!"

You snort and get comfortable. "Okay? Tell me everything!"

Pearl leaves nothing out.

"Oh my gawd. So, he's a total hunk. Huge, tall, muscular. He's like, I swear, I think he could crush me with his hands! And these tattoos! So, anyway. We chatted a bit, and I told him about this website, and he was all, 'No way!' and I said, 'Yes way! And my gay best friend is on it, too,' and I gave him your name..."

"Hold on. You gave Mr. Hunk my name?! And he's hot?"

You subconsciously lick your lips. This is hardly the first time Pearl has set you up with someone, and she has really good taste.

"So, what did he say?"

"He's coming to get your fleshlight," she chirps, and you can't help but giggle. "His name is Sean, by the way."

"Oh, honey, he's gonna get so much more than an old fleshlight."

Just then, the doorbell rings.

"Oh my gawd! I think this is him," you swoon.

"You have to tell me everything, gurl!" Pearl says. Feeling a bit naughty, you mute the speaker but leave the call and the mic open, putting your phone face down on the table. You'll end it before it gets too personal. Probably. The doorbell rings again.

"I'm coming!" you call, and open the door. Wow. A-wow. Pearl was not wrong. You lick your lips again.

"Hello, sir, how can I help you?"

The tall man standing in the doorway smiles and looks down at you.

"Hey, I'm here to collect."

He's got a deep voice, and there's a hint of playfulness in his smile. His eyes scan you from head to toe. Without waiting for you, he enters.

"Collect what, sir?"

"Don't play dumb," he says. Your eye falls on his pants.

"Huh. Is that a gun, or are you happy to see me?"

You didn't plan on saying that, but the man just chuckles darkly.

"You don't get an offer like that every day," he says and readjusts himself. "So, you wanna be my fleshlight until you break apart? Is that it?"

Your eyes widen, and you think back to the phone on the table. You don't have secrets from Pearl. She knows all about your kinks. Even so, you can't help but blush a bit.

"That's what the website said," you nod.

"Hm. I liked it better when you called me sir."

You bite your lower lip. This is hot.

"So, uh, sir. Would you like to, um, test me out, or what?"

His grin is wolfish.

"Yeah. Get on your knees."

He pulls out a phone and presses a green "Claim" button. You drop to your knees, and before you know it, he's opened his belt and let his pants slide down his hips. You're greeted by the largest, most delicious dick you've ever seen, and it's right in front of your face.

"What are you waiting for? Open your mouth, fleshlight!"

"Yes, sir!" you grin and open your mouth. The fleshlight fantasy is doing a lot for you, and you are rock hard in your tight and stylish pants as well. Your head feels dizzy, and you wonder what Pearl thinks. So much for ending the call before it gets too personal.

The man doesn't hesitate and grabs the back of your head, shoving it onto his cock with surprising strength. You're an expert at deep-throating and let him slip all the way in as he presses your face to his groin. This is how a real fleshlight must feel.

Almost immediately, you feel him pulling on your hair, pulling you almost off his dick again, before reversing again.

"Yeah, that's a good little fucktoy," he growls.

The words are like fuel on the fire. You're not sure if you're feeling particularly lightheaded from the lack of air, but your head feels strange. All sensation concentrates on your mouth and your throat. Your jaw starts to feel strange, and not the kind of strange that comes from a deep-throating workout. Something is happening.

With every thrust, your body gets lighter and smaller, disappearing entirely into your head. It's a good thing Sean is holding your head, because after a few more thrusts, there is nothing else left to hold you. His grip changes, and from the corner of your eye, you can see all rainbow-colored hair falling out, leaving you smooth and... hard? At the same time, your lips puff out in silicone, and your throat straightens. The silicone grows inward, coating the tight space inside you.

It's a weird feeling, being a fleshlight. But it's not an unpleasant feeling. Actually, quite the opposite. You feel useful, and the thought of having a huge, throbbing dick in you is the only thing on your mind. Sean is moaning loudly now as he pounds you like a jackhammer, without any mercy. His grip on your outer shell is strong and manly, and you can feel the material dent under his hands.

"Fuck yes. Such a good fucktoy. I'm gonna use the hell out of you," Sean says. His voice is hoarse and thick with lust.

Finally, with a last big thrust, his grip becomes even tighter. You can feel a hair fissure forming just as he cums inside you. Or, not inside you. Inside the silicone cavity.

"Oh yeah. Fuck. That was nice," he pants, and you can feel his dick growing softer. Then, suddenly, it disappears. You feel empty.

"I'm gonna use you every fucking day until you break, little fucktoy. You like that, don't you?"

You wish you could tell him, but there's no way. You are a fleshlight now, and nothing else.

Your owner does as he told you. Mercilessly, he uses your silicone form every day. It's all you have to live for. It's your purpose in life, and you love it. He's brutal and doesn't care for you. Every time you break a bit more, become more of your owner's property. You'll give it a few months, tops, until you break. And you doubt that when you turn back after that, you'll want to do anything but pleasure your owner ever again.

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.

From what I gather this is like an Amazon thing right? You send me the magic whatever and it solves my problems? Well! I was thinking maybe some kind of sex toy could help fix our little bedroom dilemma!

And duration, huh? Kinda weird question right? I wasn’t planning on sending it back obvi? But, I guess I’ll leave it up to my babe. Whenever he’s done with it!

Rent-A-Thing — Cock Ring

"Babe?"

You wake up the next morning to your boyfriend calling from the living room. Yawning and stretching, you make your way there, just to see Nick on the laptop, with the strange website and your profile still open. Shit. You just closed the lid.

"What's that?" Nick asks, his voice amused.

"It's nothing. Just some kind of AI-powered online shop," you mutter.

"'I've been trying to get my boyfriend to be a little more dominant in bed' — really? You put that on some website?"

His expression is amused, but not unkind. Still, a hint of embarrassment flashes through your stomach.

"It's nothing, Nick. Forget about it."

"We'll see," he grins. "So you don't need the website anymore?"

You shake your head, and he closes the browser, getting back to his online banking.

"You really think I'd be a good top?" he asks after a while, staring at the screen in front of him.

"Of course," you say immediately. Normally, he bottoms, and since you're vers, you end up as a top most of the time. There's nothing wrong with that; it's just... You bite your lip. "But it's not just about that. Sometimes I would just... you know... have you take charge a bit in the bedroom."

Nick is silent for a short while and checks his phone absentmindedly. He furrows his brow and taps a few times on the screen.

"I don't know. Talk me through it. What do you want me to do?"

You groan. Nick is sweet and cute, and the best boyfriend you could wish for. But that, he just doesn't get.

"That's... the point. I want you to..."

You gesture helplessly. "If I told you what to do, that'd not exactly be you taking charge, right?"

"Huh. That's weird. The website you were on has sent me a message to confirm or claim, or whatever. Did you put in the wrong phone number?"

You see how he dodged the topic and sigh. "Yeah, perhaps. Just confirm."

Nick taps at his screen.

"Now there's a warning. Bla bla special request requires contract owner modification... yeah, whatever. Accept."

He taps again and puts away his phone. He blinks.

"What were we talking about?"

"Nothing. Let's forget about it," you sigh.

A few minutes pass in silence until Nick turns to you again. "You know what? No. Let's not forget about it."

He's got a strange glint in his eyes, and it makes your stomach flutter.

"What do you mean?"

"We're not forgetting about it. You're missing something, and I'm going to give it to you. You want me to take some charge? You want me to top? Fine."

There's a hint of a strange edge in his voice, and his demeanor is less shy than usual. You can't help but notice his pants seem tight in the groin.

"You don't have to do that," you try to backtrack. "We're fine."

"I know we're fine. I want to do this."

His voice is firm.

"I'm going to take charge," he says, and a tingle runs down your spine. "Because that's what you want. And that's what I want."

He rearranges his legs, taking up more space in his chair. You're not sure it was a conscious movement, but it's hot, nevertheless.

"Come here," he says. His tone is not commanding, but his voice is deeper than usual. It makes you shiver.

"What?"

"You heard me. Come here."

You get to your feet and walk over until you stand in front of him. He looks at you. Has he worked out lately? His presence seems larger somehow.

"Strip," he says.

"Nick, are you —"

"Stop talking," he says, and raises a hand. You fall silent immediately. His command has the effect of a physical slap. "You don't talk unless I tell you to."

He's so different. It's sexy, and it's making your own cock twitch.

"Now strip. I want to see you naked. All of you."

You pull your t-shirt over your head, followed by your socks, your pants and finally your boxers, until you stand entirely exposed. Your own dick is hard and already leaking pre-cum.

"Turn around," Nick says, and his eyes scan your body as you turn. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're desperate, aren't you? Wanting nothing more than to be my toy. Isn't that right? Answer."

"Yes," you breathe, and a shiver runs down your spine. You're not sure how, but Nick got it exactly right.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, master," you say, and your face flushes.

"Master? Is that what you're supposed to call me? You're a toy. I prefer 'owner' or 'sir'."

"Yes, owner," you moan, and a drop of pre-cum trickles down your shaft.

"Much better."

He slaps your ass.

"Bend over the couch."

You turn and do as he says, resting your chest on the soft fabric, and spreading your legs. A second later, Nick has gotten up from his seat and is behind you, running his firm hands up and down your legs. They feel larger than usual.

"You're gonna be a tight fit around my cock," he says, grabbing your ass cheeks. Tight fit? Granted, you rarely bottom, but in the few instances until now that hasn't been a problem.

You feel something cold and wet at your ass, followed by something big and throbbing that pushes into you mercilessly. You gasp from pain and arousal.

"Fuck, yeah. Much tighter than I imagined," Nick groans and begins to move, fucking you with slow and deliberate strokes. It's not gentle, but it's also not unkind. If anything, it's mechanical, treating you as nothing more than a hole.

Your hand finds your own cock, and you stroke slowly. If you touched yourself any firmer, you'd explode instantly.

With every push, your perspective shifts a bit more. Nick becomes bigger, more imposing somehow, and you take a moment to understand that you are shrinking. Impossibly, his cock fills you out more and more, reaching your belly, then your chest, then your neck.

You gag as the tip of his rod comes out of your throat and pushes out of your mouth. Somehow, you've been completely impaled by your boyfriend's owner's organ!

Your own tiny cock spurts its load, a few drops of watery cum, as it recedes into your body, quickly followed by your arms and legs. All that remains of you is a sleeve around the magnificent cock inside of you. And even that is changing. You are getting even shorter, not covering the entire length anymore. Then, not even half of it.

Nick has grabbed the front end of his dick and is jerking himself now, moaning as he gets closer to release.

Your skin hardens as your entire being compresses into one insignificant item, round, metallic, and light. Almost like jewelry worn around the most magnificent part of your owner. You're a cock ring.

With a stifled groan, your owner erupts through you. You can feel his cum passing inside before it splashes out from the far tip of his cock. The feeling is orgasmic.

"Fuck, that was good. You're a good cock ring, babe. Looks like I've got to get Grindr now to find some twinks to dominate with you on, huh?"

Rent-A-Thing — Compression Boxer Briefs

"Have you seen my phone?"

You quickly hide what you were doing and swipe away the "contract accepted" message on your husband's phone before handing it back to him.

"Yeah, you forgot it on my desk," you lie. Out of the corner of your eye, you can already see the green "Claim" button on your own device. You still hesitate.

"So, you've got any plans for today? What about tomorrow?"

The question is innocent enough. It's Easter weekend, and there's nothing in the calendar to suggest otherwise. As expected, your husband just shrugs.

"Nah. Probably just gonna play some video games. Why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, you blink into the spring sun beaming in. You press the button and stand up, not caring that your erection tents your sweatpants obscenely, and walk to the window.

"The weather is nice," you say, trying to sound as calm as possible while your heart races and pumps blood into your cock with every heartbeat. "I was considering going for a run."

"Sounds nice," your husband says, but he sounds distracted. "Are you sure you want to go out like this, though?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, your eyes glinting playfully. You still don't turn around toward him.

"I was talking about the color of your shirt, obviously!"

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes. He steps up behind you, reaching around your waist and cups your bulge. You can feel his own hard-on poking you from behind.

You feel his fingers running down your length, hidden behind the soft fabric of your sweatpants, and it takes all your self-control not to buck your hips into the touch. Instead, you brush off his hands and turn around, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you think that would look indecent? Me, tenting my running shorts like that?"

Your husband momentarily looks down at his hands in confusion. You notice his skin has taken on a slight, unnatural gloss.

"Are you suggesting I should wear some tight underwear?" You continue and stare him dead in the eye.

"Are you... volunteering?"

You can't stop your mouth twitching into a slight smile.

"What do you — fuck, I feel strange..."

"I take that as a yes."

You notice you are looking down at your husband now. Before, you were at about eye-level, but he is shrinking right in front of your eyes. His clothes look baggy on him.

"Okay, this is how this will go. Strip."

You put a mild bit of force into your voice. You know he likes you a bit on the commanding side, and the quick nod shows you're right. Immediately, he starts discarding his clothing, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his eye-level is now at your shoulder height. You nod when he stands naked in front of you. His skin looks decidedly unnatural now, having taken on a bluish-black hue.

"Good. Now pull down my pants."

It's really hard to maintain the expression of jaded lack of emotion, and you bite your lip when the soft fabric slides past your dick. You're not wearing underwear... yet.

"Fuck, you're huge!"

Your husband looks at your — admittedly generous — cock with the expression of a starving man. For him, it must look even bigger. His head barely reaches your chest level now. The perspective gives you a strange rush of power. You can't believe how much you're into that.

"Less staring, more sucking!"

With these words, you grab his head and push him into your groin. It feels softer than you're used to, and you don't lessen the pressure as he takes your length into his mouth. Your grip is firm and unrelenting as he caresses the tip of your dick with his tongue. Slowly, you can feel his mouth stretching to accommodate all of it, and then even swallow your balls. He doesn't seem to mind the stretch, though. If anything, the noises he's making are full of lust and arousal.

His body is shrinking rapidly now; his arms and legs disappear, as does his own neglected cock, retracting first into his torso and then into his head. Or what's left of it. Guided by the pressure of your hand, his face flows around your entire crotch, and for a moment, you feel his tongue everywhere: your cock, your balls, and that sensitive stretch of skin between your balls and your asshole.

Then, it stops feeling like a mouth altogether, as the dark fabric embraces your thighs and ass. Pre-cum leaks into the snug-fitting elastic fabric of your new pair of compression boxer briefs.

It takes all you have not to rub yourself to climax right now.

"Now, I'm going to go for a really long run, boxer-boy. And I'm gonna soak you with my sweat. You like that, don't you? And when I come back, I'm gonna jerk myself off really slowly through your fabric, until I fill you with my cum. And you know what?"

It's probably your imagination, but it almost feels like your new underwear contracts in a shudder.

"I will not take you off or shower after that. I'll just let you marinate in my juices until I'm ready to go again. And again. We've got 24 hours, and I'm gonna make sure we both get the most out of them."

You grin when you put on your running shorts over your husband. You're already planning on what to turn him into next!

Bio: I’m a gay guy in my 30s and a beginner bodybuilder so I’ve got some good muscle but not huge yet and stage ready yet. I’m not really hairy either and have pretty pasty white skin from living so far north. Hehe

Item: I really need to go through my clothes cause I have to many and as I have gotten bigger I’m starting to out grow stuff. My bathing suit is definitely to tight for me now so I wouldn’t mind renting that out to someone for the summer.

Duration: Probably like 4 months or so you know? Just in time for the weather to warm up and get enjoyed.

Special requests: The bathing suit is pretty short so the guy who rents it might have to be gay as well or just another bodybuilder who wants to show off his legs.

Rent-A-Thing — Seasonal Exchange

You have to work on Saturdays, so you force yourself out of bed early. It's cold for April, but at least you still have a job. In a few weeks, seasonal workers like you will be laid off until fall. Nobody needs a ski lift operator in the summer.

The deluge of tourists has already slowed down to a trickle. It's too warm and the slopes are 50% slush. Only a few die-hard tourists and a few locals still go up the mountain.

Your job is neither especially interesting nor particularly difficult. All you have to do is stand at the entrance to the gondola lift and sell tickets, and give instructions to the tourists.

At least there's eye-candy. Wrapped up in thick winter clothing, it's hard to tell often enough, but during the prime season, you usually see a handful of ridiculously attractive male tourists, often scandalously ill-equipped for the weather. Now, during the off-season, most are older or more appropriately dressed. Still, there are exceptions, and today, one of them approaches the lift.

He's not a local, or at least not one you've seen before. He's tall and muscular, even more so than yourself, and his tight-fitting shirt does little to hide his rich chocolate skin.

"Morning," you greet him. He's the only one here this early.

"Hey. Just the one ticket," he says. He has a deep voice and an unfamiliar accent. Probably not Canadian. You give him the ticket and open the gondola, and you can't help but watch his sculpted ass move as he enters it.

"Thanks," he says. "Name's Mateo, by the way."

He holds your gaze, and you tell him your name. He repeats it, almost savoring the sound. Then, the lift departs, and he breaks eye contact. Wild.

You shake your head and are ready to continue your exciting day of waiting when suddenly your phone chimes.

"Contract accepted. Pick up in 30 minutes. Contract owner: Mateo."

Wait. What?! You glance up, but the gondola is already out of sight. There's no way it's that Mateo, right? Still, the timing would check out. The lift needs 15 minutes, 5-10 minutes for the descent, then a few minutes to walk back to the lift.

Fuck. Your cock stirs in your pants. Imagining Mateo in your old swim trunks is hot. There's just one problem: there is absolutely no way you'll be able to get the thing from your home in the next half hour. Not even if you didn't care about getting fired. But perhaps — if it's this Mateo — you can exchange numbers, and he could pick it up later. That'd be a smooth way to get his number, too.

Thirty minutes pass slowly as hell. There are two more customers, a couple, but you barely pay attention to them. Finally, a single figure approaches, with a pearly grin on his dark face. Mateo.

"Hey again," he says. The grin is even wider than before. And perhaps a bit predatory?

"Got any interesting messages?"

He nods at the phone, which is still in your hand. Oh, it's him, alright.

"Depends. Did you send any?"

"What if I did?"

Mateo knows exactly what he's doing to you, and you're just glad he can't see how your dick responds through the layers of warm clothes.

"So, you want to rent my swim trunks?" you ask bluntly.

An amused glint you can't quite place crosses his eyes. They're dark and rich.

"In a way."

"Well, I don't have them here," you say. "But we could meet up after work at my apartment."

"Na. My flight leaves in a few hours. Just enjoying the last few hours until work starts again."

"What do you do?" you ask, and try not to show your disappointment.

"Same as you. Tourism. Seasonal. I'm a beach barkeeper back at the DR."

"Beach... barkeeper. Yeah, I can see that."

He grins again.

"Want to come?"

"Huh? Where?" you ask, confused.

Mateo rolls his eyes and shows his phone. There's a big green button that says "Claim".

"Cute. Right now? Into the next gondola to give me a blowjob on the way up. After that, to the beach. Wrapped around my dick. You're not giving me some of your swim trunks; you signed up to become a pair. For me. You're game?"

You freeze and try to remember what you put on the website. A few months if you remember correctly. Basically, an extended summer vacation. Where you don't have to eat, and earn money and... fuck. Mateo.

"I'm game," you say with enthusiasm. You didn't think something like that would be possible, but fuck, the thought of yourself wrapped around that guy's junk is intoxicating.

"Good."

He presses the button. "I think that's our gondola."

You follow him into the gondola and wait for it to start its ascend. Without waiting longer, Mateo wiggles out of his thermal pants and gives his huge, erect cock a few lazy strokes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

Your gaze is fixed on the organ in front of you. Even more so than it'd be normally. Everything else fades into the background. You drop to your knees and approach, but Mateo nuzzles you away.

"Hey. Strip first. I don't want to sort out your clothes when you're done."

Right. Strip. You quickly shed your clothes, shivering badly from the cold.

"Wallet, phone, and valuables," Mateo demands, and you hand them to him without hesitation. He carefully pockets the stuff before taking your clothes and throwing them overboard. You look at him wide-eyed, but he just shrugs.

"Just making it easier for you to explain in a few months. Now, why aren't you sucking?"

It's cold. But somehow, Mateo's voice is enough to drown out the chill. Actually, no. It's not cold anymore. Strange. It's as if you've lost the ability to feel the cold. You lean forward and wrap your lips around the tip of the magnificent cock in front of you.

"Oh, damn. You're already so much softer than my usual trunks."

His words are like a drug. You want to make him happy, so you can hear more. More about being his. Absentmindedly, you realize he's right. Your skin feels soft and almost silky. It's an incredible feeling, and it gets better by the second.

Your mouth sinks down further and further. You can't stop, and both his hands on the back of your head guide you deeper. Normally, you're notoriously bad at deep-throating, but somehow, despite the rod's size, it's not a problem. You notice only from your lips touching the skin at the base that you have taken his entire length. Suddenly, he pulls you back by your hair.

"Hey. You're changing too fast. Give me a blowjob first. I don't want to do all the work myself."

Right. You nod and take him back into your mouth. This time, you use your tongue and bob on his cock up and down, which he acknowledges with a soft moan.

"That's right... Come on, faster. You're already shrinking."

He's right. It's like a reflex you have no control over. It's getting harder to concentrate, but you focus all your willpower on the task.

"Oh, man, that's hot," Mateo moans and pulls his phone out of his pocket, taking a picture of you, no doubt in mid-change from human man to fabric swimming trunks.

"I can't wait to have you wrapped around my cock."

He doesn't have to. Your face is already flushed with his crotch, and your legs have melted away into a shapeless, blob-like mass. Your entire body is colorful in a stitched-together pattern. With every ounce of willpower you have, you keep sucking him off, even as your arms wrap around his waist and merge into elastic rubber. You've got a job to do.

"Damn. Look at you. Just a little more," Mateo encourages. He sounds horny, and a wave of pride goes through you. He likes the blowjob, even though your lips have changed into the same soft, stretchy material as the rest of you. You're really light now, and the rest of your body has melted in-between his legs, looking scandalously short on his massive thighs. You double down once more as you feel your tongue dissolve.

"Fuck yeah," he grunts. "Fuck!"

With another throb, his cock spasms and shoots his load into your mouth pouch. Just in time. There's nothing left of you. You are his swim trunks now, and nothing more.

You can feel his cock go soft slowly in the dampness he has created in you, before pulling his pants back on and shouldering his skis. Fuck, this is going to be the best summer of your life, on a Dominican beach, wrapped around the junk of a sexy barkeeper. Who knows, perhaps Mateo wants to spend the next winter as your thermal underwear?

It is already way past your bedtime when you stumble upon the website. You've been scrolling the internet for hours, and the only reason you're still online is that standing up and going to bed takes more drive than you have. That, and well, it's Friday night and you've got nowhere else to be. Originally, you were set to go out with a few friends, but as it usually goes, one fell sick, one had a date, and the whole thing was cancelled.

The website's design is sleek and white, with a fancy logo showing a couple of items and the service's name: "Rent-A-Thing", by a company called "AT Industries". A typical rental company as far as you are concerned, and you're about to close the tab as you see the subtitle.

"Rent out yourself and earn money!"

"Yourself"? That's either very poor grammar or a joke website. You scroll through the description and soon arrive at the conclusion that it has to be the latter.

The premise is, apparently, that people rent themselves out to other people as a "thing" and get paid for it. Your eyes grow wide as you see how much they pay. Up to $70 per hour. That's a lot. You know it's a prank website, but you're still curious and want to see what people are looking for.

There are no public listings, but two sign-up buttons. One for renters and one for rentees. You shrug, click the "rentee" one and type in your spam-mail-address. There's a ton of digital paperwork you have to agree to, and as usually, you read nothing of it. Still, when you click "I agree" for the fourth time, you roll your eyes. That's a lot of effort for a joke website.

Finally, you get to a screen prompting you to fill out a profile. It's non-skippable, of course, and you almost close the website right there with a groan. But sunk cost fallacy sets in, and you fill in your data quickly. Profile picture, okay, why not, short bio of yourself, gender, the usual.

Then comes a "listing" section. There's a long list of... items, and the website says that as a newly registered user, you can select only one.

You scroll through the long list of categories: Vehicles, Clothing, Body Parts, Sanitary Equipment, Sex-Related Items,...

There's an expander next to each category, and when you click the one next to body parts, you see why. "Pecs, muscles, beard, penis,..." you read aloud. The other categories are just as specific. At the end, there's a text box saying "Other, specify".

At the end, there's a section where you can put in special requests regarding the renter or the item selected.

You fill out the form as quickly as possible, your eyes almost falling shut from the sudden wave of tiredness. When you're finished, the website disappoints yet again. Instead of a list of funny requirements from would-be-renters, you only see a screen saying, "Thank you for choosing AT Industries! You'll be contacted shortly when a contract has been found!"

Frustrated, you shut down your PC. On the way to your bed, you realize you've forgotten to delete the account. Oh, well. You'll just do it tomorrow. Your eyes are already shut when your phone's screen lights up, silently installing the RaT-app.

TO BE CONTINUED (see below)

---

What a curious website! I wonder what you filled in. Send me an ask with

A description of your Bio and Profile picture (no picture, please)

The selected item or what you entered under "Other, specify"

A duration

What you entered in the special requests field

Perhaps we'll see how your story will continue! No guarantees, but feel free to try!