Gromet's PlazaTrashcan Stories

Cuckold Conspiracy to Trash

by Jothesmo

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2010 - Jothesmo - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; FM/m; cast; encase; cbt; zipties; drug; bodymod; cuckold; dumpster; trash; truck; landfill; buried; stuck; mast; reluct/nc; XX

“This is an odd way to make a sculpture, Amy.” I wiggled my toes and fingers while she dipped another twenty-four inch length of two inch wide cloth through the vat of liquefied cornstarch.

“It’s totally normal. You cast a body, and once you take it off, you fill. Then you make a second cast for the bronze-work. I know what I’m doing.” She wrapped the layer around my thigh, adding to the nearly inch thickness that already had me thinking of the tin-man.

“Still, I can’t move much but my head, hands, feet and dick.”

“You just stay still until the last of that solidifies. Then I’ll finish off the joints, let that dry and cut it off down the middle. Tomorrow I might be greasing it up for the pouring. We’ll have a perfect cast of you when we make the new mold and pour the bronze, Joe. I’m immortalizing you, honey. Besides, you like bondage.”

“Well, a little.”

She smiled contentedly and came up to the front of the table.

“Oh no, not that. This is as silly as when you tied my hands to the rafters for half the night, when I only asked for an hour,” I said when I saw her readying the two hoist chains that married up to the eyehooks she’d conveniently embedded into my cast, one above each shoulder.

“I have to do the rest of it, and I can’t get at everything while you’re lying on the table, Joe; unless you want the statue to have flat butt cheeks. Take this seriously. You’re always were such a pain when –-“

“Alright, alright. Sorry.” In the back of my mind I wanted to add, “If I wasn’t married to you, and had a normal relationship with someone who wasn’t such a dominating control freak, I’d not be here at the school sculpture shop, late Sunday when not even the janitor is around. Instead, we’d be making up from my having forgiven you for your infidelity, like we’d spent the month arguing over and coming to sort-of a resolution.” I didn’t say that. It was behind us, I hoped. I was being optimistic and really did love her, though I wasn’t too sure what she wanted. Forgiveness was maybe too easy for me, given how lovely she was, in spite of her domineering ways.

“You’ll be all done in no time,” she said.

It was one thing that I was paying for her second college education, but I also apparently had to be bronzed so everyone in her class could see me naked into perpetuity. I did hope that she’d taken my suggestion to lengthen the cock a good four inches. If I was to be gawked at, I didn’t want people laughing at my three and a half inches (assuming I even stayed hard). I diddled my dick a little, given my hands were still free down there and she was busy behind me.

She finished hooking me up. After she grabbed the hoist control, and punched a button, I felt my top half being lifted. Geerrrr gerrrrr, sent the motor as I came up at an angle, and then a few inches of my ass came up off of the table. The hoist stopped.

This angle felt a little weird. She’d not wrapped my ass and groin yet, so that felt pretty exposed.

She came around and shoved the heavy work-table in bursts of force. I said, “Oh, shit,” as it finally moved from under me and I swung free. My whole body swayed violently under the two chains. I reached with my naked toes, knowing that the ground must have been only three or four inches out of reach. So weird, swinging in increasingly smaller arcs.

“Perfect,” declared Amy.

“Ha,” I laughed nervously. Then I said, “Shouldn’t you have used plaster instead of this sticky cornstarch? What if it cracks? Will it hold the new core after you cut me out?”

“Shut-up, Joe. I’m the artist,” Amy said. “Besides, it’s biodegradable and I’m throwing the cast out as soon as I’m done with you. Once we toss it away, it will melt after one or two rains in the landfill. We must think of the environment.”

“Uh-huh.” But still? I had to wonder. “I don’t want to attract bugs while up here.” Not that that was likely, three inches from the floor. I just felt like a fool, and thus the complaints. So I did more of it: “I don’t get this pose. I mean, you know, for the sculpture. The way you wrapped my arms in front, so my hand are just over my crotch. There’s no aesthetic arm projection. People might think I’m whacking off. You know, with my hands and dick all exposed. What if someone comes in? Worse, should they come in now before you cover my middling parts.”

“Nobody’s coming in until morning. Ten hours. I’ll only need half an hour more to make sure this next part dries nice and solid. Then you’re out of here.”

“I’ll have to pee before that.”

She searched in her box of supplies that was still attached to the dolly. “Got a solution.” Her hands came out bearing a little clear tube of flexible plastic and a big garden hose in her hand. “I’ll hook you up, so we won’t have to worry about that.”

I gasped. “Oh, no … you’re not. No, tell me you’re not. Just hold a cup. Oh no, no, Amy!”

“Oh, come on, Joe. You like it. I know you’re kinky. It’s not like we haven’t done weird things before. I’ve tied you up lots of times; beat you little ass. Dressed you up and hey, even dildoed your ass.” She grabbed my dick, and started slowly stroking.

“Oh, fuck!” I moaned, and didn’t even realize what she was doing until she had me nice and hard, and quickly dipped the end of the clear tube in some Vaseline. “Oh, fuck. No, no, no. Oh, shit.” I felt it nearly all the way up my shaft, and then the dull ache of the tube entering my bladder. Urine peed out without me even feeling it. She quickly grabbed a cup and held it under.

“Now that’s what I call cooperative, Joe.” She held up the cup then went to the sink to empty it. When she came back, she went behind me and shoved about a foot of lubricated garden hose up my ass. “I’m fucking your ass, bitch. Who’s your daddy now?”

“Oh, come on. Stop. Please. Oh, my prostate. That hard-on’s not from liking it, you cunt!”

“Who’s the cunt?”

“Oh, shit. Quit. Alright! I’m the cunt.”


“I’m the cunt. I’m a cunt.”

“Yes you are. But is being a cunt a bad thing?”

“No, of course not. It’s just bad if I’m a man.”

Amy laughed, pulling it in and out an inch at a time until she got tired of playing. “Are you sure?” She duct taped the loose end of it to the plaster covering my right thigh and them smacked me on the ass. “Don’t look like much of a man now.”

“Oh, fuck. Just hurry up. I’m not having any fun anymore. Look, this is silly. It doesn’t even feel like a bondage and discipline session. You’re just being mean.” I had to strain past the dried collar of cornstarch around the lower half of my neck to see, but my stomach had twenty pounds of bulge and it was all plastered over. I was free at the wrists, so I held up a few fingers and reassured myself that the lower half of me was still there. Not that it would be anywhere else, given she’d just raped my ass, but the cast was leaving me feel sort of overly constrained.

She went back to the cornstarch vat, and started layering on more and more strips, this time to my ass, overlapping the body cast and the thigh casts. “Stay still and let that set,” she said over and over again. I felt the air still on my dick and balls, even as she worked the front. The corn cast chilled wet around the base of my cock and balls.

Amy pulled a mirror up in front of me, and I realized that I was in one huge body cast, ankles to wrists to neck. My head, feet and hands were little pink things hanging out of a whitish grey mummy of something reminiscent of plaster. Oh, and of course, my dick, which I could feel with my hands. My love-stick felt mighty cold, and another look in the mirror showed it a bit purple.

“I think you got the last strip of cornstarch wrap a little too tight, Amy.”

“Nonsense. Besides, I need to get a cast of it from this new plaster kit I bought, just for making casts of dicks. A novelty item. It sets up in only five minutes. And, for that, I need you stiff and unable to shrink.”

“Well, hurry. It’s not safe.”

She did, and soon I had a covered dick, though it felt weird. Looking in the mirror, I couldn’t believe how silly I looked with my dick covered up and a catheter sticking out of the middle.

“Let me measure,” said Amy a bit late. She stuck it up to the plaster and said, “Four inches, plus or minus some plaster -– which is nearly dry, incidentally. That’s a new record for you, asshole.”

“It’s not the size that matters, it’s the –-“

“Fuck that. Besides, you’re as big as you’re ever going to get, just like this. I want to keep a memory.”

“Keep a memory?”

She bit her lip, like she’d said more than she intended. “Sure, of how big you got at your biggest.”

“Alright, this is enough. Isn’t all of this dry yet?”

“Oh no, have to fix your feet,” she said. Amy got out a rope, and tied my feet together, like that was necessary to keep me from moving and messing up her cast. Then she got out some big, black tie-wraps and cinched one around each ankle.

“Hey, that’s too tight.”

“Oh really?” She looked at each real closely, and then stuck a finger under the place where the tie-wrap connected. “You know, if I put my finger in there while I pull, it won’t pinch so much, and I can get it even tighter.” She yanked. I heard it snip, snip, snip, seven more tugs. When she pulled her finger out and stepped back, I got a better look in the mirror, and realized that I could hardly see the black wrap where it embedded into my skin, just above the ankle.

“Jesus! What are you doing?”

She didn’t even respond, doing the other leg just as tightly.

“Stop it.”

“Oh, come on. Look, here’s the deal. I’ve been mad at you ever since you made a scene about me cuckolding you with a boyfriend. I need a pound of flesh, or I’ll never forgive you.” Amy smirked, coming up to pat my plaster penis.

“Forgive me?”

“Let’s get this free, what ya’ say?” She picked up a small pen saw, the inch diameter blade already attached, and flicked the button.

“Oh, no. Be careful.” She started in right at the base, where my nuts and cock attached to my body. The grinding sound of plaster being cut had my complete an undivided attention. “Ouch! Careful. Shit, you nicked me.”

In seconds, she pulled and brought the cast of my nuts and dick up. She put her finger in. “Shoot, I can feel the end with my index finger.”

“Be nice. Now, undo my ankles. And my cock and balls are still tight from the cornstarch cast.”

“You’re not learning. You need to pay attention, Joe. What did I say about needing restitution? How am I ever going to get even with you for how you made me feel? Did you forget that you packed your bags and wrote me a note. Then you left for a day, to that motel. I was home alone, and worried. We’re going to get through this, whenever you want to start!”

She picked up another black tie-wrap, and situated it lengthwise under my nuts.

“Oh, come-on!”

“Not a good start. But I think you’ll want to hasten your apology in just a second.” She connected the wrap and pulled until it cinched tight around my testicles. Then she put her finger in near the connection and pulled until there couldn’t have been more than half an inch diameter to the thing. My nuts didn’t feel constricted. They felt pinched nearly off. I had to gawk as hard as possible to even imagine that they hadn’t been pinched entirely off. They looked like one big baseball, resting on my crotch.

“Cut it off.”

“Ah, first I want an apology.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”


“Tell me what you want?”

“Alright, repeat after me: I’m sorry for telling you that you couldn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Come on, Amy.”

“Oh, look at this. Rick made this for me. You remember Rick.”

“That bastard.”

“You’ll have to take that back. You’re definitely running out of time. How do those feet feel?” She cupped my nuts. I felt that, but it also felt really cold.

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll get to that, but only after I put this on your bottom lip.” She held up the mystery contraption. It was couple of thin pieces of metal, about two inches long, attached at both ends by simple nuts and bolts. Altogether, the thing maybe weighed an ounce.


“Oh, so you want to wait?” She sat in a chair and watched me while I begged and moaned and decreasingly complained.

I felt seriously and suddenly desperate. “Alright. Go ahead. Just get over with what you have in mind, and then let’s talk without any more of this.” What had it been, four, five minutes since my feet had been effectively tourniquetted? Three minutes for the balls? How long until damage, I wondered?

“If you’re sure you want to?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you want.”

“Good. Hold your lower lip out like you’re pouting. That’s what you’re being punished for, after all.”

I did, God help me. What else could I do? I stuck it out as far as I could, and held it there instead of bite her as she slid the lip between the two metal rods and then tightened each of the nuts. At first it felt snug, but then she took out a quarter inch box wrench, and pinched my lip until I thought it’d slice off. “There we go,” she said, stepping back to I could see myself in the mirror.

It was unbelievable. I was in a cast, neck to feet. My feet were blue. My balls nearly purple. An inch of lip stuck out from the new device, such that I could only see the ends where then end of the bolt and a little bit of the ends of the rods showed. I watched that turn blue in seconds.

“I’m sorry,” I said, though the words fell a bit muffled.

“For what? And you’d better make this good.”

I thought for only a second, and decided to layer it on: “For not being happy about you cuckolding me with Rick.”

“Oh, that’s a very good start, Joe. Now, about making me feel like I needed to apologize and get back together? About the letter that threatened to divorce me and take all of the money.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left for that night. I should have worked it out.”

“And, how much money was that, that you intended to take and not even share?”

“It was my money, from before we even met.”

“Do you think we need to discuss that, or should we be generous and just open up and let this happen? How much money, exactly, and in what accounts, Joe? I mean, time, tick, tick, tick….” She sat back, flipped up the cover on my laptop, and pushed the on button.

“$350, 000, in our funds account. We’ll split it,” I said. The words sounded like I’m mumbled.

“No other accounts then?”


She smiled and waited.

“Alright. I have an offshore.”

“I knew that, because of when you bought that boat. Now, how do I get to it on this desktop?”

“Please, my nuts, I can’t feel,” I said, fingering as far as my hands could reach.

“Well all the more reason to open up, Joe. Is this hidden money from the government’s eyes?”

“Yes. It only makes –-“

“You’re stalling. Which, is fine with me, if you want, I can go take a potty br --”

“Open up the icon of the book. From there, pick the Basset folder. Then open the money icon.”

“There, see. That was easy. Oops, password.”


“Oh, how romantic. There we go. My account. My thoughts exactly. Oh goodness. Really? You have over two million dollars? When did you intend to tell me? We’ve been married, what, three years now?”

“I’m just being conservative. I’m sorry.”

“I should get half, don’t you think? After all, I’m now helping you keep it secret from the government. Now, how do I withdraw, and where do I put it when I do?”

I told her. Put it in money funds. Have it mailed, so much at a time, but no more than ten thousand each time. “Everybody does it that way.”

“So far so good. Now we’re almost done. Aren’t you excited, Joe?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I said, trying for anything to move us along.

“I’m calling Rick. He said he might stop by to hear your views on our relationship.”

“Rick. Our dentist?”

“Don’t interrupt.” She dialed her cell phone. “Oh hi, Rick. Where are you at. Really? Well come right over. Tap on the north door. Here’s Joe. He wants to tell you something.”

She put the phone up against my ear. Was it even too late to save my feet and testicles? I had to beg up, and fast. “Rick. Nice to hear you’re coming. I’m so sorry about the way I acted.”

“Good to hear it. What brings us to this revelation, boy?”

“Amy has needs. I’m sure that something can be worked out.”

“What do you have in your mouth? Sounds like you’re sucking a dick.”

“Just a misunderstanding between myself and my wife.”

“Don’t you mean between your wife and my girlfriend, bitch?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, give it back,” Amy had the phone already, and stepped away, finishing her conversation. One more minute down the bloodless appendage tube. She hung up. I sweated bullets. I tried to shuffle and shrug my shoulders to feel the cornstarch break, but no give at all.

“He has to see you like this before we can go to the next thing. Just hang in there, Joe.

Next thing? Fuck, I hope that meant undoing my certainly-damaged limbs. My feet looked terrible. My nuts had actually gotten fatter. Everything tied and showing was black, except my lip, which was deep blue. Time passed, seconds seemingly like minutes, and then the tap on the door. Amy took her sweet-assed time answering it, and then Rick didn’t come in right away. Finally, Rick walked up to me with a shit-eating grin on his face. He said, “Oh, perfect. Who’s your daddy now, Joe boy? Cat got your tongue?”

“Please, untie my nuts. I can’t feel them anymore, other than a burning.”

“Let me help,” said Rick. He had a big, black bag, and opened it on the table I’d vacated before being hoisted.

“Here we go.” A tank of sleeping gas came out with a mask. He put the mask over my face. I shook my head from side to side, but it didn’t do any good once the mask was secured. Hiss! I held my breath.

“We just need to make some adjustments, cuckey boy. Only take a minute. Everything is minor,” said Rick as he dropped to a slightly more professional voice.

I watched Amy help him with the bag, setting out instruments. A hypodermic needle, and scalpel. More tie-wraps, and what looked like limb cutters.

“What do you …” Oh hell, that took up almost all of my air. I found myself sipping a little intake of the nitrous oxide.

“That’s it, honey. Breathe in. It’ll be over before you wake up. Did you remember the burner for his finger prints?”

I panicked, looking from side to side. Deathly afraid to breathe in what might be my last few breaths.

“I think he’s turning blue. He’ll start breathing in a few seconds. Be out in half a minute. Then we’ll start.” The dentist looked in my mouth and then felt around my neck. “We’ll cut right here first. Then pull the teeth.” He grabbed a few lengths of hose and a length of pre-threaded thread. His tooth extractor was added to the items closest on the table by Amy.

Amy hit me on the chest, though it thumped because of the casing. “Look, Joe, tell me that you love me and I’ll reconsider. After all, this is mostly your own fantasy. Didn’t you say, several times, that you enjoyed being dominated and that your biggest thrill was losing control and being treated like an object? Well, here you are. Just imagine I’m doing this just for you, and not getting a little bit of what I want in the bargain.”

Reconsider? What I want? I had to breathe in order to beg them to stop and think. I swallowed a lung full of the sleeping gas. “Please. It was only a fantasy.”

“That’s it, Joe,” said Rick. He’d pulled up a stool and sat waiting with his pliars. “One more big one like that, and we’ll be on our way. I’m very quick, particularly when I don’t have to worry about the molars around the ones I’m after.”

“What. What … what … wha … whhh.” Oh shit, the room spun and faded, faded, faded … nothing.

* * * * *

“Turn on the nitrous a few seconds, I think he’s coming around. I’ll tape up the hose so he can breathe it.”

“Uhh,” I tried to scream. My neck hurt and the noise sounded like only air hissing from somewhere lower than my mouth. My gums bled. I swallowed. It went down, but something wasn’t right, like the blood and spit didn’t get to my stomach. The mask slapped onto my face a second time, and I fought for breath. Rick worked near my neck. All of a sudden, I managed an audible moan.

My mouth felt odd. My tongue pushed against my gums, slipping into the air without feeling teeth.

“We’ll have to get that morphine time capsule in before he wakes again, Rick. I know his fantasy is to be treated like he isn’t human, but no need –“

“It, honey. You don’t want to spoil his experience,” said Rick, as if he were looking after my interests.

“Yes dear.” She sounded so patronizing to him, like she cared what he thought about her attitude.

The room was blurry.

I sensed Rick leaning close.

“Here it comes. It’s all ready.” Amy’s voice. “Take the tape off of his breathing hose so he can’t yell.

I felt sort of floating. My eyes blinked. Someone wiped my eyes with a rag, and shined a flashlight into my eyes.

“Oh, there it comes. Don’t want it to miss the good parts.” Rick’s voice.

“It’s going to freak.”

“It’s just trash now. We should have sawed it in half. Make it easier to get rid of it.”

“Oh, Rick. That would spoil everything. Just imagine it in the dumpster, wondering how things came to be the way they are. It’ll love it.”

“Aha. Right.”

“Alright. I’ll love thinking about it thinking about me loving thinking about it.”

Rick laughed heartily. “Well, it’s just trash now, so don’t get too horny thinking about it, otherwise I’ll think you’re weird, love.”

Amy laughed. I think I heard kissing.

In the meantime, senses other than just hearing returned. I was still heavily sedated, but after rocking my head around the case of the cornstarch collar of my body cast, the room came into focus. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but couldn’t move my jaws more than an eighth of an inch. I tried again, this time while screaming, but no air came out of my mouth. I breathed in and out, but nothing entered or left my lips. My tongue pressed against where my teeth used to be, finding only top and bottom gums pressed tight. Right in the middle, I felt some kind of thick string, one little loop of it from the feel.

Amy slapped my cheek. I saw her lean in, looking up into my eyes as I still dangled off of the chains by the two hooks holding my casting in the air by the shoulders.

“How is it doing, Trash?” she asked in a cold voice.

I tried to speak. Air came out, but not out of my mouth. I breathed in, confused.

“Tracheotomy, Trash,” said Rick from several feet away where he finished bundling up his tools. “Trash can breathe fine, but nothing rolls over those vocal chords. We like our trash nice and quiet.” He leaned in beside Amy and smiled, seeing the terror in my eyes, no doubt.

“Come-on, Rick. It’s five-thirty. The pickup is at six-fifteen. We have to get a move on or we’ll miss it. What if they come early?”

“Alright. I’ll get the van.”

He left, and seemingly in only seconds the shop garage door opened. In backed the van. Amy and Rick unfastened the chains, and leaned me into the van. One shove on my exposed feet, and I slid in head first. The last of Amy’s stuff piled in beside me. Lights went out. The van pulled into the lot. I heard the shop door close behind us. The van doors closed near my feet, and the van shifted as the two conspirators started me on some kind of horrible trip.

I could see some of the city slip by through the window. I realized we were nearing the railroad district. The van stopped after ten minutes. I kept record, guessing us four miles from the school. Then the doors opened, and Rick pulled me out and strapped me to a dolly. I watched as we approached a long trash container; the kind that yanked up onto the back of a truck and looked nearly as big as a train car.

“I’ll loop the ropes and get up and pull. You push from the bottom. We only have to get it over the lip, then I’ll wedge it into the best spot, Amy.”

“Twenty minutes. Let’s hurry.”

It took no time at all because Rick was prepared. I tried to hit his hand with my head as he fastened the ropes to the eyebolts in at shoulders, but he only laughed at me. I couldn’t even bite him, and my head only bashed against the cornstarch prison. In only a minute, I felt myself being lifted.

Amy grunted. Rich said, “Almost there. Get under it and push with everything, honey.”

I watched the lot, under the freeway, vacant lots, back city roads, a couple of run-down apartment buildings, all lowering around me as I moved up the ten feet. Then I tilted.

“I got it,” said Rick. He balanced me on the edge, and then slid me around to almost aligned with the edge, and pushed. I spun once, all the way around, and landed in something soft. A few boards or unknowable items smashed. Due to my weight, I noticed some bags of trash actually coming up higher than me on the side.

I was in the trash.

Rick jumped in, and hovered over me. “Now Trash, I want you to enjoy this as much as Amy and I are going to enjoy your money.”

I felt him touching my dick, and then remembered that my balls had been tied, how long ago? An hour? Two? He put my dick into my hand, brushing against the catheter that Amy had put into me a while back. Pee came out in little drips. I couldn’t even make noise with a stream of pee. I tried grabbing my dick because I was afraid he’d cut it off or something if I didn’t.

“Put it between your fingers, Trash. It’ll have to find a new way to masturbate, considering it’s no longer a human. I don’t care if trash masturbates. I’m going to put my dick way up inside of the trash’s wife though. I’m going to fuck her until she screams tonight. Did it see how horny she was, doing this to Trash? It might as well have the fun of enjoying its fantasy too, though. While it lasts among its kind out at the landfill.”

And, I did. Why not? I held it between my two biggest fingers, awkward as all get out.

“There we go. Now, we’ll just adjust a few of these bags in case one of the men picking it up glances in. They never do, but just in case. It’s dark, so it probably doesn’t even matter. Those trucks are loud as hell. You’re near the back, so when they dump it, half this trash is going to fall right down on top of you. I did test runs. Nobody’s going to know.”

I tried to tell him to go to hell, but only air hissed out of my tube.

He laughed, knowingly. “Yell. Go on, yell.”

I tried. Not even a decent hiss. I moved my head and feet, but only managed to wiggle plastic bags of trash a little.

“Oh, and I also checked the dump. What they do is they dig this long trench about twenty-five feet wide and several hundred long. Trucks start at one end, and fill about halfway up the twenty foot deep trench. Once the level gets to ten feet, they move on down. They do that on both sides of the twenty-five foot wide trench. Once they have a fairly level ten feet of trash in, they start at the end they finished at and fill it to the top. So, the bottom ten feet get filled, and then they put ten more feet of trash over that.”

My eyes went wide, pleading. It was so dark, I’m not sure he saw me, but his eyes were adjusting, and he smiled as if he had.

“Then again, a day or two of good rain, and it might dissolve the joints on that cornstarch casket. If it doesn’t drown Mister Trash, that is. I hear they forecast rain tomorrow night. So, who knows? Maybe it can crawl out, three or four days from now? It’s only supposed to be showers, but they’ve been wrong before, and the long range forecast is for three days of thundershowers, end of next week.”

I yelled, “Please don’t do this!” Of course, nothing came out.

“Once it’s all topped off the second ten feet of depth, they let it settle a few weeks. Then the bulldozers lay in some dirt. Dirt is heavy, so it smashed the trash down. That twenty feet of trash moves down, compresses into twelve or so. They have to layer it on over the next year or two as it settles in all the little cracks and pockets. A few rains help. Someone comes around and pounds in methane pipes. If it’s lucky, it’ll get a pipe right up its ass. Next thing you know, a golf course. Why knows, you might end up right under the eighteenth hole. I’m going to get a membership, with your money, the day it opens.”

“Rick, hurry up. The truck is scheduled in only ten minutes.”

“Well, I’m sure it heard her. Now it needs to stay nice and still if it wants to ensure it gets to experience its big fantasy. No wiggling. No talking.”

Rick walked to pick up a bag to lay on me, then halted. “Oh wait. I almost forgot. The ties. Here, let me cut them for you.” I saw him lean over with the knife. He cut the ties around my balls and as the blood rushed back the pain was excruciating. I tried to scream, but couldn’t.

“There now. All set. Now, I checked the rate they fill in that big dump hole, and they’re almost to the end of the first fill, ten to twenty feet. If Trash is lucky, he’ll dump you closer to ten feet down than twenty. On the other hand, all of this trash up to the head of this dump bin is likely to end up a layer or two over top of this part of the load, so maybe it’s better if it ends up twenty feet and land wrong, breaking its neck. Not that it matters much, because my math says they’ll be heading right back down the row for that top ten feet either late today or tomorrow. Ten more feet of trash will pretty much do it. Nobody’s going to dig down in that, even if they know it’s there.” Rick chuckled.

“Rick! I think I hear the truck coming down the ramp. It only has one light.”

“Time to go.” He picked up a trash bag and tossed it over my feet. I saw another one sail over my mid section. “I’ll just set these two nicely so it can see a little night. So long, cuckey. Think of us.”

I heard scraping, and then the sound of someone hitting the ground with his feet. Silence. Car doors opening and shutting. An engine turning over. A little squeal of tires. A car engine fading, and maybe stopping at a stop sign. The engine took off again, and then only the sound of cars on the overpass.

They’d left me here. In the dumpster. I was trash. I looked left and right as the black plastic of the bags. I was one of them. Just another piece of trash. This was crazy. I diddled myself to ease the pain. I was terrified, but it was all I had to do.

Suddenly, the growl of a truck engine met the night. It got progressively closer. I tied to yell, but the groan of the engine was a million times louder than the hiss of my air hose.

Air brakes hissed. I head the engine shifting and wrestling for position to do the backwards pickup of the big bin.


The bin jolted. I felt the trash bag on top of me shift.

There was silence for a minute, and the sound of someone banging on the bin. The footsteps receded.

I had to get the man’s attention. They’d only dump this at the dump, not get out again to hook up. I yelled as hard as I could, believing it my last chance.

The bag over top of me shifted when the big rails of the truck slid under and tilted the whole trash bin at an increasing angle.

The bag above shifted again. I screamed, and noise came out of my sewn shut mouth. It was a, “Mummmmm!” But almost loud as a spoken word. I realized that the plastic of the bag had temporarily blocked up the air hose, letting air through my windpipe and over my vocal chords.

I, “Mummmmmmmed” again. The engine screamed, pulling the bin up onto the back rails. The bag shifted off of me entirely as the tilt increased, and I watched the city from my tilted position near the back of the bin. Down the street a couple blocks, I saw Rick’s van, idling, aimed so they could watch me being lifted onto the back of the truck. Did they intend to intervene at the last moment? Were they only trying to scare me? But then again, all of this trouble. They’d never get out of jail if I got loose.

I was dropped slowly back into the resting position, once again only seeing dark sky. The engine returned to a normal diesel noise.

I yelled, but nothing came out. The air hose was open again. I was breathing through my neck. My cast had sunk even further into the sacks so that I had a foot high wall of plastic and boxes and goop all around me, two bags wedged into my gap, hiding most of me from any view that wasn’t someone inside the bin and looking right down on me while holding a flashlight.

The truck took off, ran through gears, and made the light as if speeding to make the day’s run in record time. We hit the south freeway toward the dump, twenty miles away, and at this speed, exactly as many minutes.

I was in a trance. In spite of the slow effect of the morphine that kept me from feeling much of the pain of my yanked teeth and horrid situation, my heart pounded. This was crazy. I was on my way to the dump at sixty miles an hour; as fast as the truck could carry. I had all sorts of thoughts and unlikely hopes. Maybe a cop would pull him over? It was late, or early, depending upon how one defined it. He had to be speeding five miles or so. Maybe the load wasn’t on good?

Time went by though, and we came down the country ramp. I tried to yell at a red light, to no avail. We just turned and went slower towards the dump. Some of the roads winded. Very business-like. He did this run twenty times a day. And it was still dark. Dark for another two hours, maybe. How many loads might they lean into that dump before the sun even came up? Where would I be by then? Who would look in before they did what they did over and over again, like clockwork, like it was nothing, even if the sun came out?

I realized that the dump was the end of me. Even Amy couldn’t jump in there while all the trucks were pushing product into it. Yes, I reasoned. Amy would have a change of heart. She didn’t want this to happen.

We stopped at some checkpoint. Someone was going to look in. I felt elated.

“Got your weight, Bill. Go on in.”

Shit! We bumped on into the uneven ground of the dump proper. I heard more than our engine then. Another truck was in front of us, I sensed. A third hissed his breaks when we paused, not ten feet from where I laid. I tried to see up towards our back as much as I could, and sure enough, his cab was up high. I saw the top of his head through the lit windshield.

I kicked my foot, moving one of the bags a little. Surely he could see that. Even in the dark. His headlights formed a halo around the truck, but maybe he had good eyes in the dark? He had to see that. I kicked, and kicked.

The truck ahead of us moved off after banging and ample sounds of hydraulics. I realized he’d dumped his load. Bill jammed his gears. We moved forward, and rounded. Then we moved back. The truck behind us didn’t follow, but instead, awaited his turn, kept clear, nice and politely.

The truck stopped. I felt the bed lift near my feet as I slowly shifted head increasingly downward, aimed toward the back of the bin, toward whatever part of the dump the dump-master had designated for our load.

As we became more vertical, bags of trash flew by from the front of the bin, and flew into the night. I was a good fifty degrees when I could see my destination. Off to my left, as far as I could see in the dark, the hole was black and hard to see into, but I noticed lumps and realized it had been filled to the ten foot mark.

A skid bounced by, nearly hitting my head when I turned it to see to the right. Rick hadn’t lied. The cliff marking the end of the ditch loomed only thirty or forty yards to our left.

I was going to end up a day or less from the place where the trucks stopped filling to the ten foot mark, and started in on the final ten feet of trash. The only question at the moment was, would I fall twenty feet or ten, plus the distance out of this bin to the edge of the hole. Would that fall kill me?

Everything shifted, as if all at once, and I was spinning amidst an avalanche of trash bags and debris.

I hit feet first, and stuck. More bags hit me. They caused me to tumble. I landed on my back, head up a few degrees, and tilted to my left about twenty degrees. Something hard bashed into the cast, cracking the mold near my thigh. Then ten more bags hit.

Up above, the bin banged as the truck jostled it. Then hydraulics lowered the bin. I heard the truck change to gears, and move off, leaving the inconsequential trash behind and forgotten.

Where the hell am I?

I’d been spun around, facing the other way, but still mainly on my back. The trucks were above me, up toward my forehead. I saw a mound of trash to my right, maybe three or four feet of it, progressively higher as it went along. Over to my left, I was in danger of dropping another seven or eight feet to the bottom, of which there was little bottom left because the mound toppled all the way to within twenty yards of the end wall of the row.

Oh shit, here comes another truck. I looked up, way up, and saw the back of a city trash hauler, right above me, opening up its mighty maw as if aiming for me. Looking up, I had good vision, given the relative lightness of the sky, but there was no way anyone was going to see me until it got light, that much was certain. By then, a hundred trucks might have a chance at burying me alive.

Gears raced. Bags started falling like rain, clouding out the sky. As they fell, I found myself realizing that I was trash. I wasn’t human. I wasn’t alive. I was just trash. Nothing could be more obvious. I’d been thrown away. I’d been replaced by something new. I was here. If someone insane unburied me years from now, I’d be nothing more than the rest of this soon to be heated mound of fertilizer.

Bags and boxes hit me until the thumps only shifted me a little, never actually striking me because I was two feet under it all when the truck finished, whined, and left, making space for the very next truck.

I found that I could breathe. The cast actually helped. I was in a pocket, made by some heavy boxes and what looked like an old rake. I tried to scream, but the hose wasn’t blocked, and I realized it had been a fluke before that things had lined up to close it before.

Even though I was under a couple feet, I saw night sky through some seams. I decided that I had to escape. I had to break the cast somehow. I fought it with my elbows and knees. Christ, nothing. Then there came a little bit of give on the one leg. One leg free, and I could kick up, I reasoned, so I worked it harder, and it came even more free.

I heard another truck, and while collecting my strength after losing breath, I felt the load hit on top and to the side. They were moving down some. Maybe only four feet of trash was on top of me. Maybe -- But while thinking that, another load fell, this on top of the last. I was in that pocket, but I could tell that I was a good five feet of solid trash under now. I had to get the whole cast off, or there was no way one half-free leg could push me anywhere.

I worked myself raw. The leg moved, but the cast remained around it. I could only barely bend my knee to get leverage. Nothing above me moved much, and when it did, it threatened to block off my airway. I felt air, but it stunk of five feet of overlaid trash.

The trucks moved on, filling the trench’s last twenty of so yards of space. When they came back, I’d be over.

It might rain. It might rain sooner than Rick said. I could melt it off. Maybe something above will spill and help melt the cast? I waited, collecting my strength, trying to come up with an idea that would save me. I wanted to open my mouth and spit out the congealed blood. One loop of string, like a mortician’s knot, kept my palates smashed up each other. Without teeth to hold the mouth partially gapped, there wasn’t much usual space in there, making me feel even weirder.

Hours passed. I played with my dick and wondered if I could even cum. Probably, at least for as long as I lived. This realization brought even more dread, but it didn’t keep me from playing with myself. Maybe I needed to indulge the fantasy? Maybe that would make this bearable? I stroked my meat with the awkward alignment of my fingers. I stopped several times, worried that if I came I’d lose the tiny bit of excitement that came with dying in a grave of waste. Of being trash. Of being nothing but trash. I orgasmed. My balls felt like they were being ripped off when I did. That sent me into a new depression, and the only thing I could do about it was start beating my dick again.

It was light outside by then, and in a couple places I could see almost to the top, a good five feet up. Amazing. I was buried beyond repair, and trickles of light found a way into hell.

Agonizing by agonizing second, the day passed. At night, the sounds of trucks passing close and dumping to the one side ended. I wondered if they’d finished the row and were working back to my certain end.

Night wasn’t any better. I was thirsty, I choked, but it didn’t mean anything because my stomach didn’t reach that far up my esophagus and my airway remained clear. I felt thirsty, but even swallowing my saliva didn’t do anything but wet my neck when it came out the tube. Breathing had long reduced to an involuntary movement of this trash’s lungs as it drew air in and out. I actually fell asleep in spurts through the night. The morphine helped. It was so quiet. All I heard was the hiss of air through my tube.

Day was signaled by the return of the pre-dawn trucks. They made their distinctive sounds of dumping. The sound of trucks stopped their runs closer and closer. Finally, the sacks above me shifted a little. They were coming back, getting close. And yet, it seemed all at once that one truck dumped, and my little bit of space shrunk. Trash pressed against my head and bent one of my feet downward at an odd angle. Then another load fell and breathing became difficult.

One after the other, loads added to the weight until I couldn’t breathe at all. I felt the cornstarch casket cracking. Another load fell, completing the breaking of the corn startch moulding, I could break free of the cocoon that held me, but the trash held me prisoner in it's grasp and my fate was sealed as I would be under all of the trash.

You can also leave feedback & comments for this story on the Plaza Forum


If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
trashcan stories