Gromet's Plaza Trashcan Stories
Go Green
by Office
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© Copyright 2012 - Office - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; captive; bagged; bond; breast; frogtie; gag; force; forniphilia; objectify; messy; public; hum; wam; nc/reluct; XX
WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.
Go Green Office M/f; captive; bagged; bond; breast; frogtie; gag; force; forniphilia; objectify; messy; public; hum; wam; nc/reluct; XX
 

Part One: Arrival

Her eyes open, but nothing changes. It’s just as dark. She breathes in.

When plants are caught in absolute darkness, a substance in them called auxin stretches their stems out, until they die. That’s why when you leave a plant in a closet it turns a ghostly pale, warped and disfigured.

Our plant is stretching; she’s been in the dark for hours unknown. She slowly, progressively becomes more aware of her situation. She first realizes that it is dark; then she notices the cool feel of plastic against her exposed skin (that’s when she deduces her nudity); she then realizes that her hands are tied together behind her back. It is hard to breathe.

She panics. She screams, trying to fight what she realizes can only be a gag in her mouth. A perfect alarm – unintelligible but effective. She stops when she hears a door unlock, followed by calculated footsteps, increasing in volume. Finally, she lets out another scream, attempting to say ‘let me out of here!’ (It ended up more like “LEH MEE OW UH HEE!”) Light soon punctures the woman’s world. Dim, fluorescent light.

The man has untied something. Methodically, he widens a hole and births her hair in the great vaginal procession of the Trash Bag. That is, after all, what she soon understands it to be. It is a large, thick, industrial grade trash bag. Inescapable. She takes note of the bizarre scene, before choosing to scream or question. She notes the masked man in the suit, tall-ish and fairly fit. She notes the blank, mid-sized room, sculpted out of cinderblock, with a large pole running through it that she’s leaned up against, furnished with nothing but a chair, the table she’s perched on, and a small trash can next to the locked door.

There. Now she can scream. And, of course, as obvious and necessary as every other action in this story is, the man slaps her across her face.

Part Two: The First Lesson

The man lets the woman breathe – heaving, pacified. He pulls a carton out of his back pocket, and lights a cigarette through the thin mouth-hole in his spotless white mask. She breathes out, he breathes in; he exhales in her face. He is calm, she’s too scared to say anything much. He draws in again, and again again. Then, he silently taps his cigarette against the side of her neck as the warm ash slips down her shoulder. She starts to shout but stops herself.

“Common household trash cans.” The man says, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Our society doesn’t care enough about them. They’re what caused this whole global warming, you know. Not the cars, not the paper… People don’t think about where their trash goes. They must think the garbage truck is the gateway to another dimension.” He breathes, once more into her face. She coughs into her black ball gag. “It doesn’t go away, you know. And now they have this recycling bullshit – separate the bottles from the cans, whatnot. Do you know how much energy it takes to recycle all that plastic that never should have been used in the first place?”

The man puffs out one last time. He slides the cigarette down the front of her trash bag. “I bet you’re wondering where you are and how you got here. I took care of all those logistics. But why, you may ask, did I go through all this trouble? Part of it is to give me a little amusement, a little light in these dark hours. But, for the most part, I take trash like you in to educate. I consider myself one of the greatest ecologists of our time. I teach people, one by one, the value of reducing and reusing. None of this easy-fix recycling eco-nonsense. By the end of our little seminar, I think you’ll have a good idea why you shouldn’t waste, or litter, as I’ve seen you do three times.”

He looks over her fairly pretty face, with its short eyelashes, hazel eyes, and reddened lips. He pulls her straight chestnut hair out of the trash bag, letting the ends of it fall three or four inches past the edge of the bag. She shakes her head, trying to get him to stop, but he steadies it with strong hands.

He continues to widen the hole at the top of the bag, working it down fairly quickly until it reaches her bare breasts. He squeezes them once before she squeals. He laughs and says, “You’re right, best save them for later.” (She only now notices his white rubber gloves.)

The man pauses, and produces two large ropes from underneath the table. He peels more of the plastic coating off her shivering body, until both her arms are free. He unlocks the handcuffs, pulls her arms back and relocks them around the central pole. He then peels the rest of the bag off her skin, pulling the husk off her corn-legs, leaving the woman utterly naked. She flails her legs a bit – attempting feebly to kick him. It doesn’t work. He takes the rope and frogties her, tightly touching her feet to her butt cheeks.

He succeeds in making her feel completely vulnerable. Gagged, tied to a pole, utterly immobile, tits and cunt exposed. He steps back, almost as if to admire his creation. He sighs, and steps forward.

“First, I want you to get to know the trash.” He tells her.

The man goes over to the door and picks up the trash can. It’s just a typical trash can – the kind you might keep in an office. It’s small, black, and filled to the top with various different items. He places it on the table next to her.

“Do you recognize this? It’s yours. Trash I collected from your home. Let’s see what we have here, now.” He rummages through it, still wearing the gloves.

The first thing he comes across is an old apple core. “You let so much of this core go to waste!” He says, as he rubs it pensively on her cheek.

Second, he comes across a yogurt container, which still contained a good amount of yogurt in it. He sighs, shakes his head, and gladly holds the container over her head as the yogurt meandered down in clumps onto her hair. He rubs it in thick into her hair, shampooing it with the stuff.

The next thing he discovers is a mostly empty can of soda, which he first drips on her arm, then crushes against her head.

The man now pulls some food wrappers, which he separates into two distinct piles. He tells her that one pile is ‘excusable’ and, another larger pile is ‘inexcusable’. The excusable wrappers he stuffs into a bag he has under the table. The inexcusable wrappers he keeps on the table. He then pulls out all of the used Kleenex, and adds them to the pile. He compresses the tissue and wrappers into two balls. He takes the first, and places it near the woman’s cunt. He spreads her ass cheeks as she attempts to make noise. He shoves the ball between her cheeks.

“I suppose I’ll have to prevent you from making so much noise!” He takes off her gag, as she curses at him, and stuffs the woman’s mouth full with the wrappers and tissues she’d only thrown away days ago. The man then replaces and reties the gag on her mouth, effectively silencing her.

“Don’t swallow any, now.” He says, as he pulls out a tube of toothpaste from the trash can. “You are so careless. You could have used this tube twice, maybe three more times.” He expertly, exactingly rolls the tube up, pushing a huge glob onto the tip of his index finger. The man seems content with his job, and proceeds to finger her pussy with the stuff. For a few brief seconds, it just feels cool and sticky. Then, very quickly, she acts as though she’s in excruciating pain. The young woman makes noise, but it’s almost undetectable through her stuffed mouth.

The man next pulls out some junk mail, and says, “Now, unfortunately, even I have to forgive you for having this stuff. This, however, is one of the few instances in which you need to recycle. So for that,” he says, taking each of the three pieces of mail, “you must be punished.” Each letter he swiftly and decisively swings across her body. He hits each one of her breasts, aiming for the nipple, three times with each article of mail.

He takes out two used tea bags, still moist, and jauntily places each one on her eyes for a bit, just letting them sit. While they are in, he takes out an old, mostly black banana and sets it next to her. Then, the man removes her tea bags.

He takes a can of cat food out, and places the few remaining scraps of chicken on her stomach. He throws the can into the plastic bag beneath the table. He takes out some coffee grinds next and smears them all over her face, then dumps the remainders on her stomach.

He crumbles egg shells on her face.

He wipes orange peels on her tits.

He smiles, seemingly satisfied, and then says, “Almost empty. But you left something else in your trash didn’t you?” He holds up the old banana, black with yellow spots. He puts the banana close to her vagina, still sensitive from the toothpaste. He says to her, “You might enjoy this.” He slides it into her pussy, slowly letting it slip within her. When it’s about a third of the way in, he thrusts it in and out a bit. Her body is indeed enjoying it, but she won’t let him find that out. She is silent – mortified, dignified.

He pushes it in more. It’s as if he is attempting to push it in so it will stay. But he takes it all the way at the last minute. He begins fucking her with the banana, like normal, but with extreme intensity. This lasts about fifteen minutes. She is about ready to cum. He just keeps digging in deeper and deeper with it. Until. He squeezes it, from both sides. The fleshy interior begins poking its way out. The fruit is now doing the penetrating. He pulls off the peel and lets the nasty, squishy rotten fruit do all the work. She finds it disgusting; he finds it hilarious.

He pulls out just before she can cum. He slaps her cunt, takes a bite out of the banana. He squashes the rest of the mushy fruit in her face. She is put in a new trash bag and told to sleep in it, she’ll need some rest – she’ll need it.

Part Three: A Quiet Meal

It has been two days. The lights are off when he comes in. She has been stirring in the most humiliating position of her life – yet – for two days. Two days and two nights, what felt like four nights in the dark. She is still frogtied, still naked, still in a trash bag. The residue of the trash – her trash – is caked on her skin.

When the lights turn on, she is scared. She screams a little. The man approaches her, calmly, and says, “I didn’t tell you these walls were soundproof? Probably wouldn’t make a difference if I had told you – a cunt like you would scream anyways. That’s what I don’t like about you, you scream and scream, and think just because you scream someone will help you. Meanwhile, our planet screams, cries out to us and what do we do?” He loudly slaps her. “We slap her in the face.”

He spits in her eye.

“You’ve completed the first step – you’ve gotten to know your trash and your own wastefulness. You’ve completed the second step too, realizing that you yourself are nothing but trash. Soon, it will be time for you to complete the third step – to help others realize their wrongdoing. But, for now, you must be hungry?” She nods enthusiastically. “When I ask you a question,” he responds, angrily approaching her, “I expect an answer.”

“Yes, I am hungry,” she says, fearfully. She is hungry, though – after two and a half days, she was dying for some sustenance.

He grabs her breasts and twists them. “Yes, master.” He corrects. “I am your teacher, the one putting you on the path to salvation and I demand your respect.”

She howls in pain and answers, “Yes, master!”

“Good.” He brings forward a plate, which he has covered with a white cloth napkin. He begins to untie her, one leg at a time. Once she moves around, she feels awkward (anyone would, after two days of restricting bondage). She starts to get up. He lays a hand on her ass, and says in a low voice, “Stay on your hands and knees.” He begins guiding her over to the plate, gently pushing her ass in its direction. He stops her when she gets in front of it, and takes the indulgence of sticking a finger in her cunt. Then, he moves in front of the plate and pulls off the white cover.

Underneath, on the plate, are the following foods, all mixed together: week-old Lo Mein, some mushy peas, half of a bottle of Thousand Island salad dressing, and a slice of moldy bread. The man takes a small carton of milk, and empties it on the plate.

“You… you want me to eat this?”

“Bon Appétit,” he says jovially. She stares into the face of the plate, miserably, and wonders how she can eat it without throwing up in her mouth. She is, after all, hungry. She tries to pick out the peas, first, from the rest, and plops each one into her mouth.

After about half a minute of this slow, meticulous process, the man grows tired watching her grapple through his ‘meal’. “That is completely rude!” He says, “Out of the kindness of my heart, I bring you a meal I made for you. And this is how you treat it!”

He comes up to the plate, and steps on it. He grinds his shoe back and forth, about twenty times maybe, and then steps off. The whole thing is all mixed together. He lifts up his shoe, and puts it to her face. “Clean it off!”

She does nothing at first, and he pushes it towards her face, nearly kicking it. “Clean off my fucking shoe, bitch!” She takes her tongue and starts gently licking the disgusting mess off his soles. The soles were already pretty dirty to begin with – slurping noodles and picking milk-soaked peas off it only made matters worse. He takes off his shoe, and moves it back and forth over her face. “Open wider!” He tells her.

Not yet content when she’s done, hungry for more, he takes her plate and empties it on the concrete floor. He goes behind the woman, her body still kneeling on the floor, and begins repetitively pushing her face into the mess. “EAT IT ALL!” He tells her, angrily.

She begins eating it. It is, as one might expect, disgusting.

Part Four: The Beginning of Her Employment

She is once again in the trunk of his car. Now that he fed her, the man decides it’s time to begin the third phase of her rehabilitation. She is in his trunk, locked in (yes, he’s the kind of man who can lock his trunk). He is listening to a Billy Joel CD.

They must have driven for two and a half hours. The car ride is long. She hears a muffled rendition of “We Didn’t Start the Fire” four times.

He put her in a large trash bag before they left his torture chamber. The trash bag has two holes cut into it, one for each of her legs. He has wrapped black duct tape around the holes, which ends up a little above her knees. She is wearing each one of the loop-ties (the things that close the bag) as a strap, tied tight around her shoulder. This bag is white, not black. It is covering everything from her knees to well above her breasts.

When the car stops, when she is once again brought into the light, she finds that he has taken her to some mall, somewhere she’s never been. He pulls her out of the trunk, and she finds that she is in the somewhat sketchy back parking lot of the mall.

“If you breathe a word to anyone about me,” he warns her, looking her in the eye, “if you try to tell anyone about our little situation, if you try to escape, I’ll come to you one day and murder you in cold blood.”

He walks toward a back door, her following him, feeling the slight wind flap around the plastic she’s wearing. He pushes on the metal bar, and they walk through a hallway until they reach the mall’s operational manager’s office. The man knocks, and a resounding “come in” is heard.

The man steps into the office, politely beckoning for the woman to follow. She does. The man explains to the manager that the two of them are members of a local environmental activist organization, and that they had planned a performance art piece to get people to think about how much they waste. The manager remembers; he’s gotten plenty of e-mails from the man before.

“What about you, sweetheart?” The manager asks, chuckling, “How’d a girl like you end up in the trash bag?”

“We drew lots,” the man explains, “and our Anna just happened to be the one who got stuck with it.”

“All right,” the manager says. “I’m all for being environmentally friendly. Sure, why not, you can use the food court. Just be safe – don’t let anyone put any glass or sharp objects in that thing.”

“Thank you,” the man says.

“Thank you,” the woman near-whispers.

The two leave his office, and make their way out of the back of the mall into the main shopping area. The woman, whose name was never Anna, is humiliated. She is walking through a mall, passing Forever 21 and Aeropostale, wearing not Hollister but Glad. Every action, which might be considered normal, garners embarrassment from her and stares from the mallsters. Riding the escalator is the worst.

They take two escalators up to the third floor, and head to the center, where the food court is. The two settle in front, near one of the hundreds of small plastic tables. The man takes out a marker from the bag he has been carrying. He holds her head still, and writes two words on her face, one on each cheek, each one in bold red capitals. On her left cheek, “TRASH”; on her right, “CAN”. He takes out a collapsible sign from his bag, opens it up and sets it upright to her right. He slips a piece of paper into it, one that reads in large, friendly letters:

“HELLO! I’m Anna, the first human trash can! Please give me your trash – place it down the front or back of my bag. But please think about how much trash you give me – think about throwing something away before you become wasteful. DON’T give me glass, other breakables, or anything else hazardous to human health. Thank you!”

The woman reads this sign in horror, realizing fully for the first time her fate. He stands in front of her, for a little, smiles, admiring his handiwork, and snaps a few photos of her. He then proceeds to sneak off to the back, to lurk and watch from the corners.

Part Five: Mall Trash

The majority of the people in that food court don't use her. Many don’t even notice her. Most, however, do notice her, and cast her odd glances. A brave half or so approach her, and read her sign. But all in all, only about 30 people use her in the 4 hours that she spends standing there, being the mall’s human waste service.

Most of those people are not interesting. About ten of them only throw away a napkin, a plate, a cup or something… One woman throws away four used forks, spoons and knives though. About ten brave souls really empty their lunch trays down her bag though. She winds up with tons of paper plates, napkins, people’s used tissues, and plasticware.

She does walk away with a few really humiliating experiences though, ones that made her feel like a trash can – used, that is.

The first is at the hands of a ten year old. This cute, young ten-year-old boy comes up to her with his lunch tray. He tells her, in that assertively high voice only a ten-year-old boy can muster on occasion, to bend down so he could empty out his tray in her bag. He wipes his sauce-stained face on a napkin, and puts it in. Then he takes his family’s Sbarro pizza crusts and dumps them in her bag. He takes the cup, sucks out the last of the soda from the paper cup, removes the lid and dumps the whole thing of ice cubes down the front of her bag. The ice cubes run slippery down her legs, settling near her cunt. She jumps up from the surprise sensation. The boy laughs, throws the paper cup at her, and runs back to mommy. She’s left to pick up the boy’s cup, and sadly throw it into her own bag.

A bunch of guys, college age, about five, six years younger than her, come up to her. They’re hitting on her. They think that it’s hilarious that she’s dressed the way she is, and they ask her what she’s wearing under it. “An old one-piece, if you must know.” She answers, lying completely. (She’s naked under the trash bag.) They are douches. Three of them go off to the food court and purchase items. One brings back a hotdog, all done up with ketchup and relish, and seductively slips it into her bag, making sure it passes her breasts. The next phallic food brought to her is a grape Popsicle. It is cold. It lands near her right thigh, dripping sticky purple juice on her. The third guy brings her a frozen banana, dipped in chocolate and nuts. He doesn’t drop it in; he reaches into her bag, and drops it near her stomach. “What kind of one-piece is that?” He smiles, as his hand comes up, feeling her bare breast ever so slightly. They laugh, and walk away.

Sometime after they walk away, a group of three girls - they look to be seniors in high school - come up to her. Each one of them is younger than the woman, hotter than the woman, and, to be honest, bitchier than the woman. Each one of them is bored, as most bitchy high school girls are at the mall. (Lord only knows why they flock there.) The three of them seem to decide to have some fun with her. So they walk away, and waste money on food. They return to her, one is still laughing, the other two try to silence her.

The queen bee, if you will, says to her, "So you're supposed to be a trash can?"

The woman says, "Yep. Can't you read the sign?"

"You want to save the world, collecting our trash?" Another bitch says. "Well, we'd love to contribute."

The second bitch takes the food from behind her back. She is holding a four pack of yogurt. She takes out a plastic spoon and opens up the first one. She licks the spoon clean and says, "Now I'm full! But a fatty like you wouldn't know what that feels like, would you?" She takes the spoon, approaches the woman, and starts spooning blueberry yogurt into her bag, making sure it splatters. She takes one of the yogurts, puts it in her purse, and says, "In case I get hungry later." Then, she peels off the lid of the third yogurt, goes to the back of the woman's bag, and dumps it. It feels sticky all over the woman's butt. She takes the last yogurt, peels off the top, and lifts it up high. She starts to dump it into the trash bag. It ends up falling - half of it - all over the woman's hair, going into her face. All three of the bitches have been laughing their asses off this entire time. "Oops!"

The third one, the one who hasn't said anything yet, now steps forward with her own "garbage". It's a salad, in a plastic box. "I could never eat all this!" She says, as she starts to fork the greens into the front of the bag. (Her bag is starting to get full at this point - she's covered in filth up to about her belly button.) She shovels the entire thing out and then cries, "Oh! I forgot the salad dressing! What's salad without dressing, even if you throw it away?" She takes the three containers of ranch dressing that the restaurant gave her and dumps each one of them down the trash-dress too.

The queen bee takes her food out too. She takes one lick of the soft-serve ice cream cone she's been holding, and in one fell swoop, she plops it right between the woman's tits. As the three walk away, laughing about their game, her 'teacher' comes out of the shadows and tells her that he's proud of her, and that he plans on finding out who those three were so he can do the same to her. She smiles a bit at that, and then instantly hates herself.

Others come and pass, and she starts watching the people. She watches the way they watch her, the way they stare, the things they notice in her. She sees some laughter, some confusion, even a few mothers leading their young children in a different direction. She notices that some people seem to support her, respect her for her environmentalism - about five or six people come over to her and thank her. She also notices a couple of men, there's always a couple, who stare at her a little aroused. She can tell in their eyes, and in one man's pants.

She starts thinking about the people who pass. Wanting to move her mind away from the humiliation she's enduring, she thinks about the men that pass her by, about which ones of them she likes.

She likes one - with brown hair, hazel eyes hidden beneath wiry glasses. He has a kind face, a slim but nice build. He is eating a banana. He walks up to her and clears his throat. She expects him to say something. Instead, he wordlessly finishes his fruit and deposits the peel in the bag. Not with any environmental interests, and not with any intention to humiliate her - he puts the banana peel into her bag exactly as one would put any trash in any trash can. She isn't a sex toy, now. She isn't a statement. She is a trash can.

Part Six: The Final Lesson

The man leads the woman outside, through the front of the mall, and then the two of them walk around to the back. She still gets stares all the way. She feels all the disgusting trash jiggle around with every step.

He says to her, "You've done everything I needed you to do. In fact, you are one of the most successful trash cans I've ever had. Not the most successful, mind you, but one of them. Don't get cocky; after all, you still are trash. That's what I sought to teach you. I sought to teach you that you are trash. And why do you think you're trash?"

She thinks for a bit, and answers, "Because I make trash?"

"Ex-act-ly." He says, "Pre-cise-ly. But here's what I wanted to teach you even more. By hating trash, by working to clean the world, you can rise above your inner trash spirit. That's what I did. I used to be dirty, but now I'm clean". He looks at her, and says, "Take off the bag. Get rid of your baggage of filth. Emerge from it, pure."

"But I'm not wearing anything under it!"

"You'll be Aphrodite emerging from a sea of trash. Come on, do it, or I'll punish you. Believe me, you can't imagine the punishments I can come up with."

That makes her do it. She starts loosening the duct tape around her knees, rolling each long piece into a little ball, which, out of habit, she sticks into her own trash bag. When both of them are off, she slowly inches the bag, one side at a time, down her legs. Soon her tits are exposed, and she lifts her right leg out then her first. There she is - naked. The man smiles at her naked body, still with yogurt and other mess running down it. He takes the trash bag, and ties it, double knotting it. He puts another bag over it, so the stuff doesn’t fall out of the leg holes.

The man smiles at the woman, his newest success. He looks her humiliated face over, right before he hits her over the head with the trash bag and she falls unconscious to the pavement.

* * * *

The man kisses her as he leaves her there, as he drives away. When she wakes up, she notices the extreme bright. She notices the smell of absolute trash. She notices the flies above her, the feeling of the trash people poured on her still caked into her skin. She can feel the wind ripping through her naked body. She gradually becomes aware that she is lying down, naked, alone, using her trash bag as a pillow, in the city dump.

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24.08.12

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