The Hapless Bartender part 3

Even as he swam back to consciousness, and before he opened his eyes, Wayne knew that something felt wrong. His positioning felt awkward and he realised that he could feel air movement against his skin. He experienced a form of nebulous dread and struggled awake, fearful of what he might find.

Opening his eyes and taking in his surroundings confirmed every single fear. He was in a cell and strapped, face down, to a bench of some description. A quick self-check confirmed that he was missing his clothing. While he couldn’t move to see himself, the sensation of his dick against the leather of the bench made it quite clear that he was on display in all his stark-naked glory; butt exposed to anyone who wanted a look.

Other things became slowly apparent. The taste of rubber in his mouth led to him testing and discovering that an enormous ball of rubber was effectively gagging him, stretching his jaw uncomfortably. His face was very close to the wall and he had seen enough of the cells to know that this meant his arse would be the first thing anyone would see when they walked in and that there was sufficient room for people to gather behind his prone form. Were they here now?!?

He tried to flex his tired muscles but he was truly pinned down at wrist, neck, chest, waist, thigh, and ankle. As he pushed against the restraints he grunted in effort and discovered that the gag had a hole in it that caused a comical whistle in direct counterpoint to the red-faced terror; expressive on the face of this hunky young man.

Wayne knew that he was in terrible trouble. He’d seen the way in which the slaves had been manhandled by the staff in the club and he reasoned that, if the poor guys in the diapers were the entertainment, then the guy who’d stupidly tried to set them free wouldn’t get even half as nice treatment from the staff here. He knew he was stuck, vulnerable, and that there were people here who would want to punish him for his transgression. A cold sweat broke out on Wayne’s burly form, in spite of the warmth of the cell, and he yanked fruitlessly at the heavy leather holding him down.

All efforts to break free froze and the young bartender’s heart stopped as he heard the sound of the bolts being drawn back and the cell door opening with a creak. Multiple footsteps indicated that a number of people were entering the room and Wayne felt his balls shrink with fright. Someone unseen spoke,

“Boys, turn him around for me, would you? I’d like to see this naughty boy face to face rather than just on camera.”

Goons, dressed in the livery of the bouncers of the nightclub just feet about the luckless man’s head, moved into his, limited, line-of-sight. Wayne shuddered as he realised that his eye level was their crotch level and he cried out as visions of him being gang-raped in this dungeon flashed through his mind. Strong hands grabbed the bench, on which he was restrained, and lifted it and trundled it around so he was facing the cell door and the man who had spoken the command.

The man was older. To the helpless 24-year-old he seemed ancient. He was wearing a grey coat, sunglasses, and looked wealthy. Wayne felt the old man’s gaze along the length of his exposed frame. His tired muscles clenched anew as he pointlessly fought the straps that held him down.

“You’ve been a dreadful nuisance” his captor chided.

The Manager gestured and was immediately handed a tablet. He pressed a button or two and then moved beside Wayne’s trussed, and now dribbling, head so that both could view the screen. Wayne could smell expensive cologne as the older man knelt next to the pinioned stud. Focusing on the screen, he was mortified to find himself watching footage of his attempted breakout. He watched as he barrelled down the darkened corridor and noted the wretched shuffling of the unfortunate captives as they tried to keep up; hampered by their leather bondage and their very full, and terribly stained, diapers. The Manager paused the video and zoomed in on the face of one of the slaves,

“What do you see here? What do you think we’re looking at here, on this strapping young specimen’s face? Shall I tell you?” The frozen picture showed one of the older captives; his face contorted with effort, drool caught mid drip, sweat coursing down his brow.

“What we see here, young man, is hope. This one’s been with us for about a month now and, in the space of one night, you’ve given him hope that he might just be able to get away and go back to his pedestrian life rather than serving the greater good as entertainment for my clients. This will not do.”

“Gentlemen, if you please?”

The Manager backed away and the goons, unceremoniously, picked up the struggling lad; bench and all, and turned him back around so that his most vulnerable areas were again exposed to the room. One of the thugs wheeled an IV stand into view that held a very large bag of fluid to which was attached a length of tubing. In spite of Wayne’s ministrations, the tubing was attached to the despicable gag and, almost immediately, Wayne’s mouth started to fill with some sort of paste. The taste wasn’t unpleasant but the sensation was. The hunky bartender realised that the glop had nowhere to go and that, if he wanted to breathe, he was forced to swallow the mush. As he gulped down the first of what would be many mouthfuls the proprietor continued calmly speaking,

“You see, I can’t have my entertainment experiencing hope. They might get ideas. They might become more resistant. We can’t have that now can we?” Wayne swallowed more of the paste and shuddered. “So, you see, we need to send a message. This sort of thing won’t be tolerated and anyone who is thinking of rebellious activity will be punished quite severely. I’m going to make an example of you my dear boy and I’m afraid it’s quite unlikely that you’ll enjoy it.”

“You’ll get centre-stage in a while young man. Won’t that be fun?”

Overwhelmed at the horror of what was likely going to happen to him Wayne started screaming from behind the gag. With the paste filling his mouth this came out as a gurgling groan, punctuated by the need to swallow, which seemed to delight the old man enormously. With a lazy gesture to the club goons, the Manager and his coterie left the cell.

Time passed. The only sound from the cell was the regular gulping of the ill-fated young captive and the occasional creak of leather, as he sought to gain comfort, as his belly inexorably filled and pressed him harder against the bench to which he was restrained. Eventually, the bag emptied and the poor lad slumped into a fragile sleep; his mind haunted by images of sweaty, naked men soiling themselves in diapers to the roar of applause.

Wayne was startled awake by the sound of the cell door clanging open. He jerked against the straps in shock and realised that he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. The Manager’s voice drifted across from behind the frightened lad,

“Well, it’s show-time for you, my young friend.” A goon approached and removed the rubber gag. The stud worked the muscles of his tired and aching jaw and tried to solicit mercy from his captors,

“Please! You don’t have to do this to me. I’m very sorry. Please don’t put me in a diaper! Let me go and I’ll never tell anyone what happens here – I promise!” A couple of the thugs laughed out loud at Wayne’s plaintive begging and the Manager moved into view and smiled evilly,

“Whoever said I was going to put you in a diaper? Oh no, that’d be far too good for you and my other detainees wouldn’t get the message that rebellion will be punished. For you, I’ve got something much more unsavoury in mind!”

Wayne felt his ankles and thighs being released and then a strange sensation as he was clothed in some form of underwear. The garment, as it was dragged up his legs, felt like soft plastic and the holes for his limbs were elasticated so that it fit very snugly around his thighs once in place. Other than this sensation of tightness, however, the garment was voluminous and he could still feel his dick swinging relatively freely in the new pants. He breathed an inward sigh of relief that at least he was no longer on display, cock and arse exposed, even as he registered that whatever material it was made of wasn’t breathable and he felt his butt start to perspire. Whatever he was now sporting came with a sturdy belt that was fastened tightly around his waist.

Two further belts were then strapped around his thighs and secured, equally firmly, by the goons. Next, the bartender’s wrists were unlocked from the bench, one at a time, and his hands were placed in thick white leather mittens that had no give in them whatsoever. These effectively curtailed any movement or dexterity in the muscular lad’s hands. Once attached his wrists were then secured to the thigh-belts via leather cuffs.

Finally, his ankles were also strapped into cuffs and he could feel his feet being pushed apart as a length of wood or metal was attached between them; leaving his legs spread apart.

Throughout this process, Wayne pleaded with the Manager and his goons for forgiveness; promising them anything that he could think of in a fevered attempt to reason with them and avoid whatever dreadful fate they had in mind for him next. All his attempts were met with snorts of derision as the thugs impassively carried out their task and soon the final straps of the bench were removed and he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet in front of his captors.

As Wayne finally got a chance to look down at himself he realised that this was truly going to be an ordeal far more humiliating than just being imprisoned in a diaper. The underwear were puffy, transparent, plastic pants and left his manhood clearly on display. To make matters worse he couldn’t move his hands to cover his embarrassment due to the thigh straps that held his wrists firmly at the sides of his body. These straps also served to keep him from standing upright and he was forced into a squat, that presented his butt all too easily, by a combination of the straps and the bar spreading his ankles wide.

“Please don’t do this to me!? Please!!” His entreaties were then effectively silenced by the application of a new ballgag that was embarrassingly recognisable. The gag was a ball of rubber but the outer part was shaped like a giant, white, pacifier that babies might wear, complete with a large ring. This was forced into his mouth and locked into place. With the pacifier and mitts on display, Wayne knew he looked cartoonishly ridiculous. His exposed penis and butt, and the knowledge of what was to come as his bowels started to complain, completed the utter degradation that he felt. He started to cry helplessly in front of the impassive men who were taking in his shameful appearance.

The final addition of a leather collar; similar to those Wayne had seen used to manipulate the other slaves, made his outfit, and predicament, complete. The Manager took in the poor lad’s exposed and awkward frame and smiled.

“Let’s go meet our public shall we?” He gestured and the miserable bartender was dragged out of the cell and forced to waddle down the corridor towards the scene of his next vile humiliation.

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