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|© Copyright 2011 - Vanessa - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/m; FFF/m; D/s; insert; fem; maid; diapers; hum; latex; messy; bagged; trashcan; mast; climax; cons; X||
|Her Punishment Vanessa F/m; FFF/m; D/s; insert; fem; maid; diapers; hum; latex; messy; bagged; trashcan; mast; climax; cons; X|
I was going to be punished.
It doesn't matter now what I did, or why. What matters is that I lay on my back on a padded table, naked, blindfolded, and slightly shaky from the thorough enema she'd just given me. For some infractions, that would have been penance enough, but I know this one would be far more complex.
She spread my knees apart and gently began lubing my rear passage. I felt the tip of something cool touch me and begin sliding inside: something long, cylindrical, and slightly textured.
"Don't clench," she warned. "It'll only make this procedure more difficult if we have to do it in pieces." I realized then what invaded me: a peeled, slightly under-ripe banana. She got it all the way inside of me, and I felt it settle in my rectum; then the tip of another poked me. She slid the second lubed fruit in, and I began to feel full. A third followed, and I moaned, feeling the mass packed within.
"Noisy, noisy," she cited me. "Just for that..." and a fourth banana made its way, somehow, into me. I felt stuffed, bloated, and my body had already started suggesting I open up and release the obstruction. I knew better. To do so without specific orders would lead to even worse repercussions.
"Now, then, we'll get you dressed," she lilted. I heard plastic crackle, and she gently lifted my buttocks from the table with a palm. After a swishing sound, she had me relax again, and my rear landed on the soft interior padding of a disposable diaper, and I knew exactly how I'd be humiliating myself when I was finally allowed to release the bananas. She taped the diaper tightly and firmly over my crotch: a thick, wide diaper of the kind especially sold for fetish players. And damned if my dick wasn't betraying me already by getting in her way, hard and trying to reach full attention under the padding. She laughed and stroked me briefly through the rustling softness.
"We'd best make sure nothing gets through - you look like you might have eruptions both front and back if we're not careful!" And with that, she taped a second diaper tightly around my waist, and then a third. I could barely feel her teasing hand on me now; assuming I would be standing up at some point, walking was going to be a little awkward. I then recognized the soft and slick coolness of a pair of plastic pants being worked down my legs, and I raised my butt one more time. I felt her tug at me, and a pinch at my waist, followed by the click of a small lock, and knew I was going to be in these diapers for a while.
"Stand up now. I'll help you," and she did just that. "Arms up," and more soft plastic slipped down my raised arms and body. She closed the back zipper, and fussed about my waist for a moment, then I felt her hands on my blindfold. "Take a look, sweetie," she said.
I saw myself in the mirror. My pink plastic maid's dress enclosed my body, sleeves and skirt puffing out from the sleek slick torso. The skirt could hardly help puffing out over the triple diaper and locking pants. I felt silly, but I knew from plenty of experience that she liked seeing me like this. Both my fetish girly clothes and my blushing turned her on so much, and I found hope that maybe this punishment would end nicely, and soon.
I needed that hope, because already I wanted to fill my diaper with my bananas so badly: I didn't know how much longer I could hold out.
At least she was a lovely distraction, I had to admit. Her dress shone, high-necked long-sleeved short-skirted black latex. She spun slowly before me, and as the light played over her gorgeous rear, my hard-on tried desperately again to assert itself in its padded prison and I moaned once more. Something bothered me, but I was far too busy with all the sensations assaulting me to thing about it much.
"Shhh. Come now... serve lunch," and I followed, her obedient maid. We entered the kitchen, and then I realized what I'd been wondering: how'd she get the dress polished so well? The answer practically preceded the question, because seated at the table were two of her best friends from our kink group, one in a white vinyl catsuit and the other in a transparent latex dress. Their outfits gleamed as they grinned at me. They'd seen me like this once or twice before, but that didn't stop the blush from intensifying, and it certainly did nothing to suppress my other natural physical reactions to all this shiny loveliness before me.
"Lunch is on the counter," she said as she sat at the table with them. "Will you find out what they will have?"
To this day, I have no idea what I served them. I probably assembled sandwiches from deli sliced meats, cheese, and bread, and filled their glasses with tea or lemonade, but the distractions or front and back pressure and glossy beauty are all I remember. What subtle, devilish punishment! Sure, I was having fun, enormous fun, but I wanted to touch, to taste, to play, and I wanted not to have to think about keeping myself clenched tight! Incredible torture!
She dropped something, a fork or a napkin. I don't remember that, either. But I bent to pick it up, at the knees, not at the waist, just as I'd learned is done in a short skirt, and right then, nature's demands could no longer be resisted. I had to grab the table edge with both hands to keep from falling over, and I grunted loudly as four bananas were finally set free.
"What did you just do?" she demanded. I didn't want to look at any of them, I must have been red as a fire truck just then.
"Stand up. Close your eyes." I complied gratefully. She moved around behind me, and put her hand on my bottom. She couldn't possibly have felt what I'd done through all the padding, but she pressed her hand against me, manipulating the mess in my triple-thick diaper, and I thanked my stars for that enema, and her blessed lack of interest in playing with real bodily waste.
"Dirty girl! Dirty, dirty, dirty," she said as she pressed.
"Can't keep her diapers clean!" one of her friends said.
"What do we do with a dirty girl like this?" the other asked. Frankly, right then I wanted to melt into any convenient crack in the floor.
"I was going to have my clean maid make us some dessert," my lady said. Oh, no. Oh, oh no. "But since I've just got a dirty girl instead..." and I smelled chocolate just before she yanked hard on the chained and triple-elasticed waistband of my plastic panty and diapers. Something thick, heavy, and slightly lumpy yet smooth slid down my backside, pooling slowly in my crotch and starting to fill the rear of my diapers. I knew instinctively that it was a large bowl of chocolate brownie batter that had been mixed ahead of time in the unlikely event that she couldn't get me to lose control.
Yes, I knew what she'd been thinking, and I could make a guess or two what would be coming next.
"Open your eyes, dirty girl," she ordered, and I did so just in time to see a tin full of whipped cream in the hand of our catsuited friend coming straight for my nose. With a thick splat, the vanilla cream pie coated my face, blinding me and spattering on my pink dress. I opened my mouth to breathe, and got a second pie in the face for my trouble: chocolate cream this time.
For a moment, I wondered where the pretty lady in transparent latex had gotten to, but the answer came immediately as what must have been a bucket full of yellow cake batter cascaded down over my head. Only slightly thinner than the brownie batter, the sweet slime covered and coated my hair, ran behind my ears and down the back of my neck, and added another color to the mess on my face before it glopped down the front of my shiny maid's dress, slipping down the little white plastic apron and spattering on the floor.
"Dirty girl!" she said again. "You can't keep any part of yourself clean, and now you're making a mess of the kitchen. I guess it's up to us to clean up again!"
Oh, yes. I'd been afraid of that.
She untied my apron and unzipped my dress, stripping me of both while Miss Catsuit emptied two spray cans of whipped cream down the front of my diapers. The spray cream melted immediately of course, but made things quite slippery and sticky in there, which my tortured dick didn't mind a single bit. She set the cans aside, and grabbed me behind the knees, while my lady lifted me by the arms. I'm average-sized, but I watch my weight, and it's not too hard for two fit ladies to pick me up, which is just what they did. Only a step or two away, the beauty in clear latex held open a contractor-sized black plastic garbage bag, and I understood just what 'cleaning up' meant.
They had little trouble getting me in there, and I quickly confirmed that there was a lot more 'trash' to throw away than any sane tea party would need. I have trouble keeping track of who did what; someone clamped a pair of cream pies on either side of my head, forming a nice pie sandwich; what must have been an entire catering can of vanilla pudding was upended over me to join the batter and cream in my hair, ears, and eyes; and I'm pretty sure that no fewer than three large layer cakes got smashed in my face to fall in my lap, adding to the accumulating lair of goo in the trash bag with me. Someone scooped up much of what had hit the floor during my first pie and batter messing, and flung it in there with me.
"Well, that's what can happen to dirty girls," she said, looking down at me with a smile as her friends tied the bag shut around my neck (gently, thank goodness. I'm still fond of breathing). "Dirty girls can get thrown in the trash. I guess that's what happened: you're trash now, aren't you?"
"Yes, ma'am, I sure am," and I wiggled around a bit in the bag so it would rustle. I figured she'd like that. Goodness knows I was still hard as a rock, and no one could tell by now if I was blushing or not.
"Has the trash learned a lesson or two today?"
"Yes ma'am, it sure has."
"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I hate even to waste a dirty girl like you were. But you're not a dirty girl anymore; you're dirty trash now, just garbage. And garbage has to be thrown out."
Something rumbled behind me, I couldn't twist around enough to see what. The three ladies came back into my sight; they bent down, which was certainly a joy to watch, and grabbed the handles of a canvas sling I'd been sitting on without noticing. Together, they counted to three and lifted me up - not easy with the weight of the goo in the bag with me now - and lowered the sling into the mouth of a large wheeled plastic trash bin which had been rolled up behind me. Two of them let go, and my trash bag and I fell the last few inches, onto a soft layer of trash bags already in the bottom.
I looked up. I couldn't quite see over the lip of the can: the top of my head came up only to the rim, already sheathed on all sides of me with the extra-large black plastic bin liner in the bottom of which the other bags and I nestled.
The other trash bags, and mine... myself and the rest of the trash.
Damn my kinky hindbrain - why in the hell was I still so hard!
"Come on, ladies, let's finish cleaning up so we can have some fun!" And with that, they started tossing in more filled trash bags into the can with me. When they dropped me in, I'd rattled around a bit, but as they packed more bags in, I soon found myself held tight, able only to wiggle around a bit and make rustling noises in the plastic. All the bags around me were thankfully soft, and I suspected pillows or foam in most of them, but it certainly didn't change how tightly pinned I was. I could at least have moved my arms enough to soothe my erection had it not been for those plastic pants and those infernal diapers! The mess of bananas and batter slid stickily against my rear as I wiggled, as if to remind me even more of what I'd gotten into.
She appeared, and leaned over the mouth of the can. "Well, garbage, we're mostly done, but it's time for a break. Cleanup is a lot of work, especially in these outfits. So, we're going to have a little fun. She held up several lovely toys, including a dildo, a Hitachi wand, a butt plug and a strap on. "Just think - if you were something besides garbage, you might get to see what's about to happen - maybe someone clean would even join in! But we're about to get a different kind of dirty, so..."
And with that, she flipped the lid closed, and it got quite dark. For a moment, all I could hear was laughter and my bags rustling, but then I heard a fan come on and felt air move in the bin. There must have been holes in the plastic liner - at least I wouldn't suffocate or get heat stroke.
Voices were hard to hear through the lid and all the goop in my ears, but there was a lot of laughter, and not a little moaning and screaming. I suppose it could have been faked for the benefit of the garbage, but why bother? We'd played with them before, and I had no doubt that the toys, fingers, and tongues were all being put to proper use. And here I sat in the dark, covered in goo and trapped in plastic, able only to listen.
If I've ever been more aroused in my life, I couldn't tell you where or when.
I don't know how long it went on. It had to have been at least an hour, perhaps two or three; they didn't rush, and it's hard to tell time when you're in the trash. But, finally, the lid opened again, and there she stood.
"How's the garbage doing? As it it mattered a great deal."
"The garbage is feeling completely chastised, ma'am."
"It knows not to make a mess of whipped cream all over my nice floor? It knows not to fill its diapers in polite company?"
As if I'd done either willingly. "Yes ma'am, the garbage understands that perfectly."
"Very well, then. Here's a reward." She stepped up on something and reached down, past the stuffed bags packing me in, then making a hole in my trash bag and using her key to unlock the chain on my plastic panties. She pulled the waistband down and away, tearing holes in the three diapers just big enough for my desperate hard-on; and with the goop still in my bag, began to masturbate me.
I almost came in seconds, but was startled out of it, for it seems the cleaning wasn't done. A final barrage of sweet, sticky, and slippery descended on me from the other two ladies: a bucket of chocolate batter, another pie to the face, and two sheet cakes dropped on my head. As tight as I was still packed, the debris from those cakes came up almost to my nose.
I completely lost it, this scenario was completely insane, and every fetish button I knew I'd had and some I didn't had been pushed. A final chocolate pie hit me right between the eyes, and I came in great shudders and cries. I'm sure I spurted out enormous amounts of come, though I'm not sure that would have been obvious given what I was sitting in in my trash bag.
It took me a few minutes to catch my breath and focus my eyes again, though it wasn't especially easy to see her smile through all the whipped cream.
"How are you? You okay?" she asked tenderly.
"Oh yes. Oh, God, yes. I'm just fine. I have never even imagined something like this."
"Learned a thing or two about earning my major punishments, hmmmmm?"
"I have learned a whole lot today - for sure!"
"Lovely!" She stepped back. "If only you'd learned your lesson earlier. But, the only thing in a garbage can is garbage - and now the garbage has to go out."
I was too shocked to reply. One of the other two ladies gathered the large bin liner, twisted it closed over my head, and slid a zip tie tight over the twist. The lid slammed shut again, and this time I could swear I heard the click of a lock on the lid. My can tipped back, I heard the patio door slide open, and with a grunt, someone started wheeling me outside.
They set the can down out here and left me. I'm pretty sure it's been at least two hours. I can hear bird noises and cars going by, so for all I know the garbage is sitting patiently at the curb. Thank goodness for this fan.
They'll let me out eventually, I'm sure. Heck, it's my turn to mow the lawn tomorrow, and I seriously doubt she wants to do that herself. Until then, the garbage will sit patiently in its trash bag full of sticky tasty goop, locked in its trash can, and relax a little. It's been a long afternoon. Once the trash has been released, I wonder how long it should wait before making sure it needs to be shown again just how dirty it is.
Hey... she forgot to lock the waistband tight again on the garbage's plastic panties. Ahhh... let's get dirty...
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