© Copyright 2017 - Polythene WrappedMe - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; bagged; dustbin; discarded; mast; rescue; Solo-m; trash; escape; M/m; discovery; hum; garbage truck; collected; compacted; landfill; wheelie bin; stuck; transported; incinerator; cons/nc; XX
Like most people, when they get to 18 years of age, they stop growing any taller. Only for me, it happened aged 3, I got to 30 inches tall, and then I stopped.
Now aged 21, I found myself with all the same sexual urges, but who was ever going to fancy me?
Life at home, with single-parent my mother was sad.
She was a women of fixed weekly routines.
She worked every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, from 8.30 am to 4 pm, as a domestic cleaner at a large house in the country.
The rubbish at our house got collected on Wednesdays too, and every week, our strong, shiny, black, 240 litre, polythene trash bag provided by the council, and printed with the council’s logo on, would contain three white 60 litre bags full of kitchen waste. These were normally added on Fridays, Sundays and Tuesdays (the night before trash collection).
Mum kept the council’s black sacks in an ottoman trunk in her bedroom.
I would watch her on Fridays, empty the swing bin in the kitchen. She would always squash the trash down with her hands, and then pull the white 60 litre bin liner out of the bin. She would then twist the top of the bag closed, and go to fetch a new clean black council sack from her bedroom. This would be opened up, and I would then watch her place the full white 60 litre bag from the kitchen swing bin, and drop it inside. It always seemed to slide down the inside of the black council sack, as if it was being swallowed by a large plastic animal.
Mum would then carry the black council sack, out the hallway, through the front and porch doors, and down the front path, to where our dustbin stood, at the front of the house.
The dustbin had a lid, and two metal handles that had to be locked into position to keep the lid on firmly.
By the time we finished Sunday dinner, the swing bin in the kitchen would need emptying again, and Mum would squash the waste down inside like before, and then pull the white 60 litre bin liner out, twist it closed, and carry it out to the dustbin and the 240 litre council’s black trash bag, where it would join the kitchen bag from Friday.
Then on Tuesday, Mum would empty the kitchen swing bin for the last time, before collection. This third 60 litre white polythene liner, full of food waste etc., would join its two brothers and sisters in the dustbin.
Once the council’s black sack contained all three bags, it was sometimes difficult for Mum to close the bag, and she would resort to squashing the bags down once more, using the full force of her body weight to do so.
Mum would then get some string and seal the council black sack tightly closed, before heaving the heavy bag and its contents out of the dustbin, and carry it down the front path to leave it for collection at the front gate.
However, the dustmen, always used to move the bags to pile them up, near our front wall, so that when the rear loader garbage track arrived, they could simply hurl the bags into its hungry mouth to be crushed and taken away to the local landfill site.
From an early age, I liked the smell of the council’s black sacks, and the feel of the shiny polythene against my naked body.
Mum had told me never to play with polythene bags, and I knew of the dangers of suffocation.
Before my Father had left home, and my parents had divorced, he had left some tools at home. These included an electric drill.
After the dustmen had collected the trash, and while my Mum was out at work one Wednesday, I struggled to move the empty dustbin inside the house. Using the electric drill, I discretely drilled some air holes in the side of the dustbin, making sure to vacuum clean up any plastic shavings. I then returned the empty dustbin back to its normal place outside.
That night, I chatted to Mum about how sad I was with little prospects of finding a girlfriend, and she seemed genuinely sorry for me. I then asked if she would help me with a fantasy.
Confused at my request, I told her to think of it like a game.
I said, “You know how the dustbin is now empty, the waste having been collected today, well I would like you to put me inside”.
Startled with such a kinky revelation, she declined.
“Ewww, you want to go inside a smelly, sticky, dirty dustbin, whatever for?!”
I said, “Well I would not be inside the dustbin itself, I want you to put me inside a nice, clean, new council black sack, and put the sack inside the dustbin.”
“But you would suffocate!” she replied. “I have told you never to play with plastic bags, and besides when you lock the dustbin lid on, you seal the smells inside, and you would have no air to breathe.”
“I have thought of that too”, I answered “I have drilled some air holes in the dustbin”.
“Well you have obviously been thinking about this a lot! Mum commented. “But you still have not answered ‘why’”.
“I need your help to climb in and out, for the dustbin is way too tall for me to get in or out. I just wanted some enjoyment”. Sob. Sob.
But her answer, remained a defiant, “No. Certainly Not. I am not putting you out in the dustbin and that is final!”
But Mum was never a person to leave matters unanswered. She wanted to find out why her son wanted to be trashed, so after she had calmed down, she asked again.
“Why do you want to be put out in the dustbin?” she asked.
“I just wanted to fantasise about it. I have no girlfriend, and I find my mind wanders.” I replied.
“Okay, just this once” Mum said, as she went into her bedroom to retrieve a council black sack. She brought it to me. It looked so shiny and glossy, I could not wait to try it.
“Well then, get in!” she beckoned, as if she was calling my bluff.
I started to undress.
“What are you doing!” she screamed.
“You don’t want me getting my clothes dirty….” I replied, with an answer to everything.
Then she noticed my erect penis, and she realised my fantasy, was a sexual fantasy.
“I am really not comfortable, doing this with my own son.” She commented.
“But it is not as if it is a sexual act, you are merely putting the trash out, and I am the trash”, I answered.
I climbed inside, and knelt down.
Mum gathered the top of the bag closed, and I was carried out of the house, as just worthless trash.
Mum put the bag down by the dustbin, and opened the lid, then she picked the bag up, and I was gently lowered inside.
Mum looked at the air holes I had drilled in the dustbin, “You make sure you breathe!”
“Yes” I replied, “Can you leave me here all night? And please stop talking to your dustbin, I don’t want the neighbours to realise what we are doing!”
Mum closed the dustbin lid, and it went very dark inside my council black sack.
Then I heard my Mum lock the handles on the dustbin lid, to secure it in position. I was now trapped inside, and totally at her mercy. Finally, I heard her walk away, and the porch door slam closed.
I had done it, I had been trashed and taken to the dustbin, and put inside as just another worthless object to be discarded.
Needless to say, I spent all the rest of that evening and all night, rubbing my cock, and letting my juices run all over the inside of the black sack.
By the time, Mum came to get me out on Thursday morning, the bag stunk of spunk.
Mum retrieved the bag out of the dustbin, and I was carried inside the house, and promptly ordered to have a bath.
Mum then emptied a bag of kitchen waste into the smelly and sticky sack, and it was carried back to the dustbin.
Then on Monday, when Mum was out at work, I sneaked out of the house, naked. There was one advantage to being 30 inches tall, I could remain unseen more easily.
Next, I placed a set of door keys under a loose brick, so I would not be locked out.
After a great deal of struggling, I even managed to reach the dustbin lid, by standing on a low wall. I opened the lid, and after much more struggling, I managed to climb up, and inside the dustbin, replacing the lid as I fell inside. I could not, however, lock the handles of the dustbin lid, from the inside. I then crawled inside the black council sack that still smelled of my sexual exploits earlier, and proceeded to pull the two 60 litre white bags of kitchen waste on top of me.
When my Mum returned home, she noticed the dustbin lid was unlocked. “Phew! This trash stinks!” I heard her say, as she quickly locked the dustbin lid back on.
I then heard her walk up the path and inside the house.
There waiting for her, was a note I had left in the halfway. It read, “I have gone to stay with my mate Tim. See you on Thursday”.
The rest of Monday, I was inside the dustbin, along with the bags of kitchen waste. All of Tuesday too.
Then on Tuesday evening I heard Mum return with the third, and final, bag of kitchen waste.
Mum unlocked the dustbin lid, oblivious to the fact her naked son was back inside. She opened the council black sack, and without giving it another thought, dropped the 60 litre bag of kitchen waste inside, to join me and the other two bags of trash.
Mum then flattened the bags inside, as she pulled the council black sack up, and gathered it closed. She then tied it with string, and I was then pulled out of the dustbin, and carried inside the black polythene sack to where my Mum left the rubbish for collection, and I heard Mum walk away.
Alone, I quickly pierced an air hole in the council sack, so I could breathe again.
I had done it. I had been put out with the trash for collection!
I spent a number of hours jerking off, and I laid sealed in the 240 litre council black sack, with the three 60 litre white bin liners full of kitchen waste.
Then once completed, I simply tore a hole in the council black sack, and pretended it had been got at by foxes. Under the cover of darkness, I returned to the house, collected my door keys from under the loose brick in the garden, and waited for Mum to go to work as normal. After she left, the dustman came and collected the waste. Part of me wanted to be collected too, but I did not want to die.
Like the rest of our lives, this became our routine.
Every Wednesday, Mum would put me in a new, clean, council black sack, and carry me to the dustbin, where I would spend a night. She would then collect me, and I would return to the dustbin on Monday, and wait to be put out with the trash collection; before ripping a hole in the bag, and escaping.
It became so normal, that in time, Mum never questioned why I spent each week in a dustbin, or the rest of the week at a mate’s house (or so she thought).
Occasionally, things would happen.
One week, as Mum was carrying me up the path to put me in the dustbin, a neighbour called to have a chat. Mum had to pretend, I was just trash, so it would not arouse suspicion.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Gladys, I have just got to take out this trash” Mum told her friend, before I was carried to the dustbin, and placed inside.
Mum told me afterwards, she could hardly focus on the conversation with her friend, whilst pondering if she had noticed the black trash sack, contained a naked body, with an erection.
But Mum need not have worried. What is suspicious about putting out the trash? Her friend Gladys never gave me a second glance. To her, I was just garbage to be disposed of by my Mum.
Another neighbour across the street, Bunny, lived with his wife Nell. Bunny used to get up early to leave the house at 3 am, as he worked as a refuse collector, and even drove the rear loader garbage truck that collected our waste.
One Tuesday night, after Mum had put me out for collection, I had fallen asleep, and when I tore open the council black sack, Bunny spotted me, climbing out naked, still dripping with sperm and garbage juices.
“David, is that you?” said Bunny. “What on earth were you doing in there?” Look at the state of you! I thought these sacks were torn open by foxes, I had no idea you were inside. That was very dangerous. You could have been collected!”
His words simply caused my cock to become erect again.
“Is that what you want?” he asked in shock.
I nodded my head in shame.
“Well I think if I set the packer plate on its lowest crush setting you might survive, but you might suffocate.” Bunny said.
“How did you get trashed?” Bunny then asked.
So I explained how I had drilled holes in the dustbin, and I had climbed inside when Mum was at work. I did not mention how I also got bagged and placed in the empty dustbin each week by Mum.
“Well you could stay inside your Mum’s council black sack, next week, until collection time, and the lads could throw you inside the truck with the rest of the street’s trash. But I would not be able to rescue you until the landfill site, and I would not be able to tell anyone about this, or I might lose my job. So you would have to be prepared to take your chances!” Bunny said.
The following Tuesday, Mum put out the trash for collection. Only this time, her son would be collected too.
I stayed put, masturbating inside the council black sack.
At 3 am, Bunny left his house for work, but before he went, he walked over to my Mum’s black sack. He was amazed that he could not see me at all. I just looked like a bag of trash.
“David are you in there?” Bunny asked.
“Yes” I replied.
“See you in a few hours. Remember to keep still so you won’t be spotted!” Bunny instructed.
Bunny then drove to the council depot in his car, and I was left on the pavement once more, alone.
As dawn broke, I could faintly see through the shiny black sack, and I could see the council’s logo on the polythene it read “Council waste”. And that is what I had become.
Early commuters walked passed, on their way to work. No one stopped to look at another bag of trash, put out for collection.
Hours later, Bunny’s garbage truck arrived down the street. Ahead of it, some men walked piling the garbage bags together, so the truck would have to make less stops.
A few doors down, I watched as they piled the trash bags near the curb, ready for the rest of the lads to hurl inside the truck when it stopped to collect them.
Then two men walked closer, and they picked up the trash bags and came walking towards me. I froze as still as I could be. But they just dropped the neighbours’ bags next to my Mum’s like normal.
I felt the neighbours bags press up against my naked and polythene covered body. They felt so good. I wondered what it would feel like as they and I were crushed together…..
The garbage truck, too, was advancing up the street. The pile of bags a few doors along, was already gone, and the truck was coming for me.
Bunny stopped the rear loader truck right next to me!
His colleagues set about slinging the bags into the compression unit. Moments later the bags next to me were picked up, and then it was my turn.
The refuse collector picked me up with ease, and I, and my Mum’s kitchen waste, was thrown into the back of the truck. I landed on the soft bags beneath me in the hopper that had been discarded by the neighbours.
Having loaded the last bag inside, one chap, pressed the green button to activate the packer. I wet myself in fear.
It covered me and the other bags of trash, and scooped me up out of the hopper and pushed me into the bags already inside the truck; and the truck simply moved off to the next pile of bags.
The sound of the hydraulics working was deafening, as I could hear everything inside pop and burst. My ears popped too, and my Mum’s council black sack was squashed flat, and I was held against the bags of kitchen waste that dug into me. The black sack finally burst and I was smeared with trash juices and food waste, as I was pushed further inside the rear loader garbage truck.
And still the ordeal continued, as the men continued their work, and only their driver, knew who was being carried along with the trash. I was being squeezed tighter and tighter. I started to panic, but Bunny had remembered to set the packer plate on its lowest setting, and apart from being trapped, no harm came to me.
Hours later, after hundreds of compaction cycles, I was ejected out the garbage truck at the landfill site and rescued by Bunny.
A few weeks later, I visited my Mum whilst she was working at the large country house, as a domestic cleaner. Only, I did not tell her about my visit.
Instead I thought I would investigate their garbage arrangements. Being a much larger place, they would have much more waste, and I liked the added thrill that I would be in someone else’s trash.
At the rear of the house, I found three tall wheelie bins, next to a wall.
I had never seen wheelie bins before, and I did not know why they had wheels, for I had never seen them hooked onto a rear loader and up-ended by the truck’s bin lifter.
I mistakenly assumed, the polythene liners they contained would be manually lifted out, like my Mum did at home with our dustbin. If the liners were removed from the wheelie bins, I could always tear a hole in them, and escape as I had done before, and blame the mess on more foxes, after all the countryside has loads of foxes, right?
I climbed on the wall and peered inside the three wheelie bins, two were already full, and the liners they contained had been tied shut. The third wheelie bin, has some bags of kitchen waste in it, and space enough for me!
I climbed inside, closed the lid, and hid under the bags of kitchen waste. This was just like being at home, only now I was inside a stranger’s trash.
My Mum brought out a bag of kitchen waste, and dropped into the third wheelie bin, and on top of her son, before proceeding to push down on the bags and pull the wheelie bin liner up, and gather the top closed, and tying it with string as normal. Then I felt her push the wheelie bin lid shut.
“We cannot have foxes getting in. They make a dreadful mess at home”, Mum said to herself.
Inside I jerked off, again and again. I had expected to be pulled out of the wheelie bin, but I had not. Perhaps, it was not collection day?
But it was, and I heard the familiar sound of the garbage truck arriving.
“Hang on a minute, I am still inside” I thought, remembering that Bunny would not be driving this garbage truck and there would be no special arrangements for a softer pack, or a rescue at the landfill site.
Then I heard one of the wheelie bins rumble across the path as it was moved towards the truck. I would have to wait until the refuse collector pulled the bag out, so I could get out of the wheelie bin that enclosed me tightly.
Then I heard a sound I had not heard before, it was the sound of the wheelie bin being flipped over and the trash falling in the hopper.
Not sure what this new sound was, I laid and heard it again, as the second bin was emptied.
Then my bin was moved. It was latched onto the bin lifter, and I was summersaulted up in the air, and down into the hopper. My heart skipped a beat. Automated loading was even more thrilling, than being tossed inside. It was as if the machine itself was processing me. One object to another.
The scoop of the Geesink Vulture picked me up, and I was packed firmly inside the truck.
The truck drove off, and I found myself being emptied with the load. I just hope I could escape this landfill site unaided.
But it was not a landfill site. No sooner was I dumped into a holding pen, then a bulldozer pushed me and the bags onto a fast moving conveyor belt. I tumbled and fell, and was carried away in a vast tide of garbage bags towards the council’s incinerator...
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