© Copyright 2012 - Doctor Vader - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f+; bond; bagged; trash; messy; compactor; dumpster; landfill; transported; dumped; cons/nc; XX
I was on my way to my first group session, one of those places where you all sit around in a circle and talk about your problems. I was going to the ‘I treat women like trash’ group, I had admitted I had a problem. That was the first step, right? It all seemed so straight forward when I arrived. The counsellor introduced himself at the door, shook my hand actually. I fetched myself a coffee, like some of the other guy’s there did and took my seat in the circle. The counsellor began the session, I was eager to hear what some of these guy’s were going to say. I sat forward, ready. The first guy stood up.
“My names John and I have a problem, I treat women like trash” He said, I was on the edge of my seat.
“I get women drunk in bars, go back to their place and take advantage of them” He announced and sat back down. What the fuck! That’s it I thought. Seriously. The next guy stood up and I felt some hope building, expecting better this time.
“My name is mike and I treat women like trash, I knocked my girlfriend out with an ashtray when she spilt my coffee” He announced. And? I thought but he was already back in his chair. The next guy was on his feet.
“I’m Craig and I never call girls after I’ve had sex with them” He said. Pussy! I thought to myself, my arms crossed in disappointment. Everyone in the circle was looking at me, so ok maybe I’d called him a pussy out loud then. They soon carried on, standing up saying some lame shit, sitting down again. Then the next guy, the next guy and the next guy. This was boring the shit out of me. I must of dozed off. I felt the guy next to me nudge me awake with his elbow. What, where, oh that’s right I was in group.
“Would you like to tell us something” The counsellor urged. I stood up.
“Yeah sure, My name is Paul and I have a problem with treating women like trash” I did it just like the guy’s before me and I smiled.
“And how do you treat women like trash” The counsellor encouraging me to continue.
“Is it ok if I start at the beginning?” I asked. The counsellor nodded. Ok, I’m going to blow your lame arse’s out of the water, I thought to myself. I cleared my throat and then began to explain.
The first time I treated a woman like trash was back in ‘97. I had just turned twenty and moved into a new block of flat’s. I’d noticed the woman who lived opposite me more than a few times the first week I was there. She was thirty two, and I thought she was quite attractive. At least at first I did, but I began to notice things about her. Different men came and went a few times. So she’s a bit of a slut, so what I thought. But then something different, something odd I noticed. At first I didn’t believe myself, I’d catch a glimpse of her and she’d be dirty, like she’d been rolling in trash, but I’d look back a moment later and she was clean. Over the next few week’s I noticed her looking like trash more and more often. I didn’t know why, but I liked it. Then came that fateful day. I was in the basement, loading my trash bags into the compactor, when she came down the stairs and into the basement too. I watched as she came my way, towards me, towards the compactor. She stopped right next to me, dropping her own trash on the floor. She leant back against the compactor and said something in a sultry voice. It was something like alone at last lover boy, or maybe it was we meet at last, I can’t really remember. I was absorbed in another thought. I was thinking about her wiggling and writhing in the trash. She was leaning right by the compactor’s open mouth right where you throw the trash in. I hadn’t even realised I’d done it, but I was actually watching her squirm and wriggle in the trash. I must have just grabbed her and hoisted her right up and in there. I just watched her, she was obviously shocked, and a little dazed I guessed. As I looked at her, with the trash on her and around her. She’s just trash I thought. I pressed the big green button and the compactor began it’s cycle. She struggled hard when she felt the machine moving, beginning it’s compaction, but the harder she struggled the deeper into the trash she seemed to sink. It only took a few minutes and she was gone, the trash was gone. I didn’t even know her name I thought as I walked away, but I didn’t actually are about her name. I’d barely given her another thought, until now.
The next time I treated a woman like trash, I continued to tell the group. It was just over a year later, late ‘98. I had befriended the girl that had moved into the empty flat opposite mine. Her name was Beth, at least I think it was Beth. We had become quite friendly, casual lovers as a matter of fact. We had a pretty good relationship, then I ran into a slight hiccup. Sometimes, when we were having sex, I’d see her covered in dirt and trash, I’d get mean. I’d call her a worthless slut and a trash whore, but I just couldn’t help it. It turned out she loved it, being called name’s during sex, but I was just seeing her as trash more and more often, until I always thought of her as trash. I asked her to help me with the trash one day and as she was helping toss the bag’s into the compactor, I knew what I was about to do. In she went with a flop. I watched for a moment as she gathered her senses. She was trash, and I started compactor. I watched as she struggled and disappeared into the machine.
I did the same thing to four other girls in the block during ‘99 to ‘01. I explained to the group lost in my memories now. Late in ‘01 I moved out and into a little house. For most of ‘02 nothing really happened. I still saw the occasional trashy girl, but just a glimpse and then gone, but in late November that year. I saw a woman at the office I worked in. Dawn, a good ten years on me, but she was stunning, beautiful leg’s, nice arse, good breast’s and she was pretty too. I imagined her covered in trash, she looked great. She caught me looking more than once and she flirted with me. I knew she was trash before I even started flirting back with her. Imagine my surprise when we got back to mine and she asked me to tie her up and treat her like a trashy slut. I was happy to. I had her bound and gagged in a bin liner, throwing trash all over her. She simply loved it. The more trash I threw in the happier she was, she had three orgasm’s in the bag while I trashed her. When I tied off the bag, sealing her inside, I could hear her squealing with delight inside. Even when I dragged her bag down to the car, ready to drive out to the landfill site, I could hear her delight from inside the bag, well it might have been delight. I’m pretty sure they weren’t sounds of delight as her bag tumbled into the landfill. I left her there. I didn’t know if she’d simply be buried by the next truck load of trash to get dumped here or not, but as I drove home I didn’t care. I had just dumped my trash.
From ‘03 to ‘07, there were seven more girl’s I trashed and took to the landfill, and nine more that I dumped in trash compactor’s. In ‘08 I met my wife. Her name was Jess. It was a whirlwind romance, we were married late in the year. I was happy she was happy. We played our games I was dominant, she was submissive. I loved to have her bound and gagged at my feet, and she loved it when I was cruel to her. I subjected her to all sorts of torment’s, I’d even keep her bagged and trashed for day’s at a time. I wouldn’t throw her away like the other’s I had before and while I had her I didn’t need to throw anyone else away like the trash. Then she admitted her affair. She begged and pleaded for forgiveness, and I said no. I told her I was going to trash her, bag her and throw her away with the rest of the trash. In tears she submitted to my will, simply allowed me to bind and gag her, put her in a bag and drench her with trash. She sobbed as the filth hung from her. Her tear streaked face looking up at mine as I ignored her, pilling more and more trash in her bag. I ignored her pleading eye’s as I sealed her inside the bag. I dragged my bag of trash to the dumpster over the road and hauled it in. I watched the truck come and empty the dumpster the next morning.
From then until about week a ago, there were thirty, give or take, women I put in dumpsters, maybe twenty five in the landfill and forty two women I trashed and put in various compactor’s around the city. I always remember the trash I put in the compactor, it’s my favourite. Oh and yesterday I trashed this slut and she went in a compactor too. I explained to the group. Intoxicated with my own recollection. I looked around the circle, looked at the counsellor. Why was everybody staring, looking so shocked.
“What, this is a group about treating women like trash, right?” I asked sitting down. The counsellor just looked at me vacantly, his mouth agape.
“This is a group for men, who, who treat women, badly, with disrespect” The counsellor stammered.
“So nothing to do with actual trash?” I asked. The counsellor shook his head slowly a stupid look still on his face. The police arrived and I was arrested. The counsellor had called the police shortly after I’d begun my explanation.
“What the fuck! I didn’t do anything wrong!” I protested. I was overpowered by the officers and taken to be charged. Charged with what? Doing a public service I thought to myself. All I did was get throw out the trash.
I escaped from prison three weeks later. So watch out. Unless you want to be my trash!
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