By lthr_jock
As we walk into the club, it is empty except for the two barmen still setting up. The music is on but at a lower level than it will be later. Bob has clearly arranged this last night, because the small stage is empty except for a heavy chain locked to a ring protruding from the centre of the stage. Bob unclips the leash from my collar and padlocks the chain to the front. The weight of it pulls my head down. The chain is about 6 ft long so allows me to stand (just) but if I stay on all fours, I can get to near the edge of the stage. That is I can until Bob padlocks my ankle shackles to the ring. Now I have no choice but to remain here in full view of everyone who comes into the club.
Bob crouches down in front of me. The rubber suit is making me sweat and I can feel it pooling inside the suit. My muscles are already aching from the stress position that my arms are in. “OK, slave, so here you are nicely on display for everyone coming in to see. I think they need to see the man who has Topped so many of them reduced to being a rubber slave, don’t you?” I shake my head in the negative, grunting into the gag and begging him to put the hood back on. All I succeed in doing is making myself drool even more. Bob wipes up the drool with one gloved hand and then smears it in my already messy hair. He tuts, “What a mucky slave. I might have to shave that head later – slaves don’t need hair.” My eyes widen at the thought and I continue to try and beg him not to.
Bob stands up “what a loud slave. I might have to find some way to quieten you down.”
