The Hapless Bartender

The scene was all too familiar to the hunky young bartender as he was led back into the main body of the club; various staff were going about their business setting up for the evening’s trade. Wayne couldn’t help but notice the new bartender ensconced in his old spot; cleaning glasses, and he watched the new man tracking him, open-mouthed, as Wayne’s shambling form was steered onto the main stage.

Once there, a chain from above was secured to his collar so that the muscular 24-year-old was held under the main spotlight. The chain had sufficient give that he could still move somewhat but not enough that he could slump to the floor as was his ardent wish. A further chain, from the stage floor to the centre of the rod that spread his legs wide, prevented any lateral movement and so he was left, uncomfortably, on display for all to observe. And observe they did, each and every one of them; commenting on his ‘mickey mouse’ hands, the oversized baby’s pacifier, his fear-shrivelled dick, and his ungainly, froglike squat. Some laughed as he tried to seek help; grunting unintelligibly from behind the ridiculous gag. Others commented as he tried in vain to move his oversized mitts to cover his semi-nudity. One of the crew had the bright idea to start a wager, mirroring Wayne’s own fears, on how long the hapless lad would last before filling the transparent pants with his piss and crap. The bet was quickly taken up by other workers in the club and soon the poor lad had to stand, in his degrading get-up, and watch as a crowd of staff gathered in front of him and took bets on his ability to hold his own shit.

This was deplorable; however, it wasn’t the worst of the attention he received. Various members of the club crew joined him on stage and Wayne was forced to submit to their physical teasing as they goosed him, playfully tweaked his cock and nipples, and had fun slapping his now-sweaty, plastic-clad rump while he staggered on the spot trying to avoid their touches. As a former line-backer, Wayne was used to locker-room physicality between guys but this demeaning onslaught was too much to bear as his muscular body was manhandled by the perverted group of club thugs. The ultimate indignity then occurred as one of the crew hauled back and smacked him in the gut; winding him and causing him not only to bend low, to the length of the chain holding him upright, but also to let out an enormous fart into the confines of his plastic pants that reverberated across the stage. Because of the sweat building up in the impermeable underwear and up his arse crack, the noise of his flatulence was a loud and lengthy raspberry that caused absolute hilarity amongst his abusers and he hung his head in shame as they laughed at his embarrassment.

The strapping lad became aware that the noise around him had suddenly ceased and he looked up to discover that the mob had quickly and quietly dispersed. The reason for this swiftly became apparent as the Manager rounded the corner, from the edge of the stage, and moved to stand in front of Wayne’s shaking form. He was followed by a number of goons who were dragging the five diapered slaves out into the light of the club. Wayne couldn’t meet their eyes as they took in his disgraced condition; centre-stage with his body on full display, while tied up in big white mitts and a baby’s dummy.

The slaves were led in front of the young stud and the Manager then gave a short but menacing speech about the consequences of escape attempts and the likely punishment, while gesturing at the immobilised lad, for any such infractions. He invited the five diapered men to enjoy their evening in the cages but advised that they watch the stage closely so that they could learn for themselves the outcome of any foolish endeavours for freedom. With one of his trademark gestures, the slaves were led away and secured into their cages for the night; ready to befoul their diapers for the entertainment of the baying crowd yet again.

With another, economical, gesture the old man summoned a couple of tech goons and Wayne suddenly became aware that the part of the stage on which he was secured was comprised of a large circle cut into the flooring of the overall stage itself. The tech goons set to work placing cameras and microphones around the circumference of the circle so that soon every angle of the poor man’s body was open to invasive scrutiny. Wayne knew from the previous night (with the captured police officers) that this tech would be used to beam every detail of his torment onto massive screens behind him and to fill the club with any sound he might make while undertaking his, involuntary, star-turn. He struggled pointlessly against the thick leather straps that held him even as drool escaped the dummy and dripped onto his chest. This had an unfortunately comical effect as every time he strained against his bonds he let out further trumpets of loud, moist flatulence from his, uncomfortably full, bowels. One of the goons then approached Wayne from behind and unceremoniously reached around him, undid the belt, and dragged down his plastic underwear. The goon then attached some form of rubber ring around the root of the embarrassed lad’s dick and balls and then dragged the pants back up and refastened the belt. The ring didn’t feel uncomfortable but Wayne was aware that it pushed his manhood forward a little and drew attention to his unit in a way that made him feel awkward and vulnerable.

The Manager smiled at the burly lad and sauntered off backstage. The lights of the club went down and the music started playing. It was opening time. Wayne was acutely aware that, under the bright spotlight, he was the focal point of the large room for anyone walking into the club. Sure enough, patrons started to enter the space and immediately noticed the apparently naked man chained up on the stage. Many ignored the bar and the cages to come straight over and inspect the enslaved man, commenting loudly on his dick, the shiny see-through pants, and his squatting; frog-like position in front of them. Wayne tried to communicate his terror and discomfort but, if they understood, their responses only indicated excitement at the stranded hunk’s humiliating plight.

Soon the bar was full and it was business as usual. Wayne’s legs were shaky from holding his uncomfortable position and sweat, from the spotlighting, ran freely into his eyes. He saw, across the dancefloor, the blonde man high up in his cage. He then heard the sound of the crowd intensify and watched as a swathe of men suddenly moved to position themselves underneath the blonde guy’s exposed diaper in time to watch and cheer as the slave, yet again, shat himself and filled the vile garment to capacity. Wayne shuddered, transferring his weight from foot to foot, as he envisaged how he too would be forced to crap himself – even more obviously than the unfortunate blonde guy across the room, and then stand around in his filth while the patrons whacked off at his debasement.

A further hour passed and the hapless bartender became aware that he needed a piss really badly. His posture changed somewhat as he tried to bring his legs together to ease his need. This left him visibly squirming. Additionally, his bowels were now feeling horribly heavy and the intervals between episodes of noisy flatulence were shortening. He was just thanking his stars that the music was loud enough to hide the noise when, suddenly, he let out a massive fart and heard it resound, embarrassingly, around the club, drowning out even the loud music. The microphones had been turned on.

A goon approached him with a syringe filled with a golden liquid and Wayne’s blood froze. He’d seen this before, the previous night, and so knew what this could do to him and he began wrenching at his bondage, not caring about the associated flatulence his endeavours were broadcasting around the club. It was to no avail though and the goon methodically injected the sweaty lad and exited the stage.

The crowd had moved, in its entirety, to the front of the stage and were ecstatically watching Wayne to see what happened next. The besieged bartender locked eyes with any number of the patrons, screaming through the absurd gag for help and bucking against the leather than held him tight, causing fart after fart to ripple through the plastic pants and echo across the dancefloor. His brawny body writhed and squirmed as he struggled; both to get free from his inevitable torment but also to resist the urge to let go and flood his pants with what felt like gallons of hot, stinking piss.

He no longer cared that these men were looking at his nearly naked body. He just wanted to get away and avoid wetting himself while they watched. Sweat from his exertions flew from his skin and his grunts of effort and muffled moans for help were broadcast around the club. Because of his position, he couldn’t bring his legs together sufficiently to clamp down on his need to piss. Instead, he only achieved a cowering, fidgeting dance that seemed to encourage his other end to release longer and louder eruptions of humiliating gas.

Then the floor started moving. Wayne’s eyes widened as, with a slight lurch, the platform on which he was held began to revolve slowly. The crowd cheered as the lad was inexorably rotated on a slow spin so that his body was presented from every angle to those closest to the front. Wayne stared in revulsion as his rotation spun him around to face the back of the stage and he saw the enormous screens, four of them, transmitting every angle of his helpless form for the entire world to see. Two of the screens focused on his crotch and butt and came from the cameras on the floor that rotated as he did. Another camera elsewhere tracked his sweating, red face; puffing over the pacifier. The final screen was a full-length view of his body in its ungainly squat.

Wayne was just realising that his fear about presenting his butt to the crowd if he pooped, was founded – there would be no missing it, when he suddenly felt a not-unpleasant sensation suffuse his frame. Slow, rolling warmth started at his nipples and worked down his chest and abdominals, settling unnervingly in his cock and balls. He looked down in horrified fascination as his dick twitched and, against every mental command he could give, started to harden. His predicament was immediately obvious to the crowd of men around him and, the next time he passed the screens, sure enough, his manhood was tenting the clear plastic with every vein and pulse clearly visible as it began jerking in the plastic confines of the pants. Soon he was at full, throbbing stiffness.

Wayne’s mental state also changed and he could barely hold onto any train of thought other than the pleasurable sensations coursing through his dick. He squirmed to try and get his mitted hands near to his priapic cock, desperate to stroke himself and bring himself to release. Pre-cum soon dripped down the inside of the plastic and Wayne’s thrashing took on a more rhythmic, humping, emphasis which was mirrored by the club patrons as they cheered his every grunting thrust.

Because the pants were so loose, it was hard for the hunk to get friction but he bucked and prodded himself again and again against the slippery plastic until, with a wail that was deafening in the packed club, wave after wave of hot spunk belched forth into the confines of the shiny material and coated his prick and pubes. Sweat flowed freely down the lad’s torso as he shuddered to the last of his ejaculation and the clubbers cheered wildly. Wayne briefly slumped into his bonds but the neck collar took his weight long enough that he was able to resume his awkward position without harm.

His skin developed a rash of gooseflesh as the full realisation of what he’d just done sank in and he hung his head low as tears of shame coated his cheeks. He remained this way for only about thirty seconds however before a more pressing urge brought him alert. His need to pee returned with ferocious intensity and, in spite of his dick still standing at half mast, he was suddenly wracked in agony as hot piss forced its way down and out into the, now unbearably warm, plastic pants. Screaming against the pacifier Wayne released his bladder helplessly and long yellow spurts of piss flooded the front of his pants to pool, trapped by the elasticated legs, under his taint and slowly fill the lower third of the garment.

He could no more stop himself from urinating at this point than walk on the moon and the relief he felt as his distended bladder emptied was almost too intense for him to bear. Needless to say, the crowd displayed their fervid enjoyment of this current explosion and, as he passed the screens, he watched in appalled fascination as the plastic pants hung low and sloshing between his spread and trembling thighs, the dark-yellow liquid securely, and noticeably, sealed around his exposed butt and balls.

The mood in the room suddenly changed and Wayne was aware of a change in the light from behind him as he looked out into the crowd. He had to wait until the stage turned him again to see the screens and, by this time, a chant had gone up around the space,

“Let him try! Let him try! Let him try!”

One of the screens; the one that had previously been showing the crowd his face during the last two ordeals, had changed. Now a legend ran across it that stated,

“Should we give him a chance to get free before he shits himself?”

The cries of ‘Let him try’ seemed universal among the club’s denizens and Wayne’s heart filled with hope as one of the goons approached his slopping, sweat-drenched form with a key to the locks on the cuffs that held him. The goon made a big show, for the entertainment of the crowd, of flourishing the key and holding it up to several of the locks that secured the leather straps to the broad lad’s frame; seeking cheering feedback from the assembled throng. This took a while and Wayne could feel the weight of a really heavy crap filling his lower bowel, testing his muscle control as intense cramps began wracking his exhausted body. He tried imploring the goon to hurry,

“Bleeeaf! I gan old id! Bleeeaf uheee! Ih gubin!”

Wayne groaned in effort as he struggled to hold the enormous volume of poop inside, bobbing up and down within his bondage as he sought to gain relief from the now endless cramps wracking his guts. He could feel the relentless bulk trying to push its way out against his scrunched arsehole and flexed buttocks, and it took every fibre of his strength to clench to drive it back up, deeper inside; every squeeze followed by a necessary relax which allowed the awful mass to resume its inexorable mission to void.

Eventually, with Wayne going out of his mind with the combination of effort versus need, the goon chose the thigh cuffs to unlock and allowed the bartender’s still comically mitted hands, free movement. Still secured at the neck and ankles Wayne immediately brought his white-clad mitts up and started frantically groping at the top of the plastic pants, desperately trying to get purchase so that he could pull them down before he lost control and started filling the wallowing garment with his own excrement. He could feel the heavy coil insistently pushing its way towards freedom as he flailed and flapped at the slippery plastic of his pants. He suddenly jerked upright and slapped a mitted hand against his butthole as his arse muscles tightened violently and he felt the dreadful bulk of poop start to crown. Gritting his teeth against the gag, he fought to pull it back in but it was clear, both from the crowd’s reaction and from his own view as he revolved past the screens, that he hadn’t succeeded fully and Wayne could see the brown knob protruding from beneath his fiercely tightened butt cheeks as he resumed his desperate efforts to grip the belt securing the pants.

Reason was beyond the 24-year-old at this point. He hadn’t even stopped to consider what would happen were he able to get the pants down he just knew that he didn’t want to shit in them while everyone watched. The slow revolution of the stage took his view front and centre again and he caught the disgusted gaze of the blonde guy in the cage who was watching Wayne’s struggle with pity etched across his features.

Wayne pawed at the front of the pants, tried applying pressure to drag them down at the hips, and generally thrashed at the offending garment to try and get the damn thing off; all the while groaning and grunting as he laboured to keep his load from escape. The goon reappeared and Wayne’s eyes followed him as he approached the beleaguered lad, hopeful that he might assist and wrench the pants down before disaster struck. The goon simply unlocked the pacifier gag and Wayne immediately spat the hated rubber out and started begging all who would listen for help,

“Please help me!! I don’t want to do this huunnnngh!” Another involuntary unclenching allowed a large, hefty turd to push its way out and drop, with an audible splash, into the rear of the pants. Laughter echoed around the room even as Wayne fought to regain control. As he had witnessed previously, a number of the patrons were openly wanking themselves off as he revolved past them in his soiled state and he moved a mitt to try and cover his manhood.

“Don’t make me do this!! Please! On no!! huunnnngh!” In spite of his best efforts, nature took its course and Wayne pushed another, seemingly endless, log into the confines of the pants. His attempts to remove the garment were now over and his wretched focus was on obstructing the view of his butt as he, at decreasing intervals, crapped himself.

“Someone help me! Ohhhh…” The leather mitts were as ineffectual at hiding his ordeal as they had been at freeing him from it and soon the defeated lad gave up and stood, slumped, as wave after wave of shit poured out of him and loaded up the back of the garment which distended and drooped under the steady accumulation. Another turn past the screens showed Wayne the full extent of the damage even as he added more excrement, the ability to cease the flow now long gone. The plastic pants, once loose and accommodating, were now bloated and sagging disgustingly. Wayne’s effluent had mixed and his nether regions were now obscured by a shiny brown balloon of filth.

Wayne was shattered from his exertions and simply hunkered; bow-legged, as the rotations of the floor took him repeatedly past images of his own ruin and the jubilant mob who had cheered him on to this sorry state. He was so lost in his own revolted trance that he only noticed the Manager when the old man was standing next to the befouled lad. The old guy had a microphone with him and Wayne watched as his unwanted host addressed the room,

“Good evening everyone! The young man rotating in a sewer of his own filth next to me made a fateful mistake recently and so you’ve just been entertained by what happens when I’m disobeyed. Did you enjoy it?” The club went wild with appreciation as Wayne, the shock starting to set in, began shaking in his bonds.

“Do we think he’s learned his lesson everyone?” Raucous calls of ‘No!’, ‘Give him more!’ flooded the stage and the Manager turned to Wayne’s distressed and stinking bulk and smiled.

“That’s what I thought too – onward, ever onward!” The Manager reached over to the squelchy hunk beside him and unclipped the chain from the neck collar. Wayne nearly collapsed to the floor but managed to hold himself upright. The Manager then performed an elaborate bow to the patrons and walked, jauntily, to the side of the stage as Wayne’s mind spun, trying to understand what he had meant and what new cruelty there could be after such a revolting ordeal. His shit-packed plastic pants squished and gurgled between his thighs and he waited, immobilised with fear, for what was to come next.

He didn’t wait long. The revolving floor stopped moving with a jerk and Wayne was left facing out into the club. He saw men looking up at a space above him and he directed his gaze that way in time to see a large rectangular frame descending from the ceiling over his head on wires. It continued to lower around the bewildered lad until it settled on the stage and he found himself standing in what could only be described as a massive Perspex crib. It was big enough for him to lie down at his full length of six feet easily but with a top rail that ended a foot above his head. The bars were tightly spaced but the thick Perspex ensured that the bartender, and the cumbersome bulk of his plastic underwear, remained visible to everyone watching. The mob in the club had gone very quiet as if waiting with baited breath for the next excitement to begin. Wayne, swaying on his still tethered feet, tried again to appeal for help and, still trying to cover his humiliation with the mitts, he opened his mouth to croak out a plea.

The force of the blow stopped him cold. Something heavy had hit him square between his shoulders and he nearly went to his knees, stopped only by the fullness of the pants around his waist and thighs. At the same time a cheer went up from the onlookers and Wayne looked around the crib to see what had hit him, his eyes noticing the sodden, balled up diaper just as an unfurled, but clearly used, diaper hit the floor to his left. The Manager spoke into the microphone again as Wayne struggled to understand what was happening,

“Shall we do this all at once, or bit-by-bit? We do want to get to the auction sooner rather than later don’t we gentlemen?” At the mention of an auction the befuddled bartender’s heart began yammering in fear. What did they have in mind?

The patrons weren’t slow in their responses and a massive cheer of ‘All at once, all at once!!’ went up from the assembled horde in front of the poor lad.

“Very well, my esteemed guests have spoken.” The Manager met Wayne’s eyes “I’d advise you to breathe through your nose dear boy.”

And then it rained diapers.

Wayne staggered as a ton of used diapers fell from above him into the crib. Some were rolled up neatly and therefore hit like cannonballs. Far worse though were the unrolled ones, their fetid contents hitting the man’s naked flesh and sticking and sliding down his hapless form. The smell was ferocious; old piss and shit filled Wayne’s nostrils and he gagged in disgust even as a couple of heavy blows from above pushed him to his knees. Still the diapers kept coming and it was a struggle to try and get back up. The lad was briefly submerged in the filthy shower and, panicking, had to struggle to get to his feet, all the while feeling the slick coating of excrement as the diapers hugged his body and boxed him in. The mitts on his hands made any movement in the crushing weight incredibly difficult and he felt that he was swimming in damp and messy padding just to maintain his balance and avoid sinking below the rising tide of bile-inducting effluent.

Several of the diapers hit him in the head and he was aware of the sight he presented to the mob; his face and hair slicked with the shit and piss even as he struggled to remain upright. Wayne attempted to wade through the muck to the side of the crib nearest to him, unfortunately also the side nearest to the audience, but went under a couple of times; hampered by the spreader at his ankles, the difficulties in wading while wearing the balloon of his own waste, and the lack of purchase offered by the mitts. He wanted to scream but kept his mouth very firmly closed less he ingest some of the abhorrent muck.

For their part, the crowd were going crazy with glee as the crib filled and the boy flailed. In front of him, men were, yet again, openly jacking off as others shrieked with laughter for every soiled item that smacked into Wayne’s head.

Soon he realised that his feet were no longer touching the stage and he was slipping and sliding on several layers of diaper beneath him. The diapers kept falling into the crib and Wayne had to continue to move around to attempt to maintain his depth in the gathering pile. By this point, the diapers in the crib had a height of about 6 feet and movement was becoming more difficult as the accumulated pressure of all of the diapers compacted around the wretched bartender. Finally, a yank on the chain at his feet made Wayne realise that he couldn’t climb any further and so he ended up, as the last diaper fell, with just his head above the surface of the revolting mass. He was breathing hoarsely; partly from his exertions and partly from the crushing weight around him. The sticky layers of human excrement covered his entire, exhausted, body and he flicked his head violently to try and dislodge a particularly heavy turd that had become trapped in his hair.

The Manager stepped back into Wayne’s eye line. He smiled approvingly at the young hunk’s desperate state and clicked his fingers towards the wings of the stage. Wayne could feel a dull thud and then the grind of heavy machinery as the entire crib began to lower into the floor. This continued for a minute and then stopped, leaving the humiliated 24-year-old with his head at about two feet from the stage floor.

“The auction will begin in ten minutes gentlemen. While you’re waiting do, please, feel free to make use of our newest urinal” he gestured at the pit of padding and the beleaguered victim therein.

Wayne recoiled as there was an immediate rush to the stage by the club’s denizens. He wanted to shout for them to stop but was still fearful of opening his mouth and swallowing some of the shit that caked him. Suddenly, the young man was surrounded by men with their dicks out and piss started flowing freely into the crib. Most targeted Wayne’s head and, in spite of the warmth and the smell, he was grateful as it helped to wash away some of the crap from his face. Soon this gratitude died as the volume of piss being sprayed at him not only made it hard to catch a clean breath but also further compacted the absorbent wadding around him. He tried again to move within the weighty mass and was able to manoeuvre to the side of the crib where the rails allowed some relief from the all-encompassing burden. This meant that his plastic pants, and their contents, were again on full display and they bulged through the bars obscenely. Wayne didn’t care anymore. He needed to gain relief from the sticky, reeking mess and any thought for his own dignity had long departed.

Urine dripped from his hair and eyelashes as the stream of clubbers finally dwindled and soon he was left to his own thoughts as the crowd continued their enjoyment of the evening. Machinery somewhere whirred as the crib reascended to its previous height, leaving Wayne's filthy body on full display yet again. He was only bothered, at this point, by men wanting to take a selfie with him in the cribful of diapers.

Wayne was brought out of his reverie by the sudden illumination of a spotlight in front of him that bathed his dirty body in light as it pressed up against the clear Perspex of the crib.

“Gentlemen!! It is time for the auction to begin!” shouted the Manager from beside the stage. “You’ve all got your bidding buttons and the highest bid, in each round, will be displayed on the screen at the back of the stage when the clock stops. So, without further ado, let’s start with round one. Who’s going to place the first bid?”