When men call their other half a witch, they are normally just referring to her cruel personality. But when I said that she was a witch, I meant it. And, yes, she was mean also! She had found my internet browser history, and opted to look at Gromet's Plaza. She expected to find a porn site but what she found were kinky stories. The Bound Section was fairly harmless. Although not into any kink herself, other than making my life a misery, and that is hardly a kink. That was normal!
She delved deeper into the stories. The Giantess Section just sounded pathetic. Men fantasizing about large women eating them, inserting them, squashing them. What losers, she thought. Furthermore, she could not imagine any real woman, wanting to eat or insert others.
Then she discovered the more hardcore stuff. Trashcan. What people actually get off being disposed of as garbage? These must be REAL losers, she thought. But on reflection, disposing of me as garbage, now that DID have appeal!
I told you she was nasty, and this is as nasty a tale as has ever been published here. YOU have been warned!
WARNING: Proceed NO further until you have fully read and understood the story-codes and you accept the consequences of reading further.
Naturally, she quizzed me about which section of the plaza I read most, but I kept quiet. Ashamed to speak. Fearful to speak. After all I knew that she was the sort of woman who could make our dreams come true for real.
Now I know what you are thinking: Lucky me. But it is not that simple. Do you actually want to die? Think about it. Maybe pleasure. Certainly pain. Then pleasure no more. At most, a week of happiness before the trash truck comes, for your final journey.
No need to buy or book a return ticket; this journey is one way.
If I had thought my silence would save me from her wrath, it did not. Indeed, it had quite the opposite reaction. My continued silence as her interrogation proceeded, just infuriated her more, made her think the worst, and convinced her that I did have something truly dreadful to hide. But my demeanour, with my head hung low, like a condemned man, ashamed of my actions, made her conclude I was also a real loser, and you and I both know what she thinks of real losers. We are trash. And there is only one place trash goes!
A few days passed, I had not cracked, and I had stayed silent. Pretending to have a change of heart, when she had no heart, I should have smelled a rat.
She cooked me dinner, to make up. Why was she being kind to me? She rarely ever was. There was always an ulterior motive, and today's so-called peace offering was no different. The food was laced with shrinking potion.
I was damned if I ate it, and damned if I refused. What if I refused it? To throw it back in her face after she was being kind, that would result in a hell even I feared to tread. So I munched away, telling her it was very nice, and that she was very kind to cook it for me. She just smiled in silence. The warning signs were all there, but what choice did I have?
Afterwards, I felt sleepy, and when I woke up, my eyes had trouble focussing. It was as if some things were further away than they normally were, and other things I could see in minute detail.
I was naked and one inch tall.
This loud voice boomed at me. "So you are awake then!" she shouted. "As I have decided you must be a real loser, you and I are breaking up. I have had enough of you. I want a real man, not a real loser. You are probably one of those men that fantasize about being thrown out in the trash. Well my passing gift to you, is to make that happen!"
She chuckled at the sound of her own wit. "Does that turn you on, when I speak like that?" My limp cock betrayed its owner and stood erect. "Oh I am glad. I aim to please!" she snarled as she looked at me. "Then what I have planned for you, will make you very happy." she continued. "I think you should spend a few days in the kitchen waste."
She picked me up, and placed me inside a half full kitchen bin. It could hold 50 litres of trash, and it swallowed me whole, as just a tiny speck of trash. I lay there on top of the vegetable peelings, the fruit peelings, the used soggy tea bags, the coffee grinds, the broken egg shells, used tissues, bits of plastic packaging.
Just normal stuff you would find in an average kitchen bin from any household in the land. Except this bin, now also contained a shrunken, tiny, naked man, and worse for him, there was only one person who knew of his plight, and she was the one who had shrunk him and placed him there.
In other words, I was totally at her mercy. Of the many qualities she possessed, mercy was not her strong suit. It was then I wretched at the smell inside the bin. It was never a nice smell as such, and this close too, made it far more potent, like placing your nose on top of the waste. Not recommended, don't do this at home. Vomit stains are hard to remove.
"Oh if you think that smell is bad, just imagine where you are going! Week old trash smells far worse, I bet. Mixed in with thousands of different bins, must be even worse. It is a good job, such foul smells never come back. They just go away. I care not where!" She teased, more in truth than in jest.
I knew where the trash went, as do you, dear reader. Indeed, we are experts on such matters, after years of "research" reading stories on the Plaza.
Assuming you are new to this, I will indulge you. Brown bin waste from the garden goes in a Rotopress garbage truck, and ends up shredded for compost. Green bin waste is for dry recyclables - plastic bottles, glass bottles, paper, cardboard etc. This went to a sorting centre to be separated and baled for mills to melt or pulp.
But kitchen waste is black bin waste. Assorted, unwanted crap, that no one wants, needs, or has any use for. Although, that statement is not strictly correct. It has one final use. To be used as fuel at a local power station to generate electricity. I knew exactly where I was heading, if I did not escape. But how to escape?
The kitchen bin was lined with a white polythene liner. Too steep were the sides of the bin to climb. Even if I waited until the bin was full, and I could get out, where could I go? A fall from such a height, for a man my size, would only mean certain death anyway. And that is assuming, I was not squashed under everything else added to this bin, on top of me.
Worse still, collection day was Monday, and today was Friday evening. She pushed the bin back into the cupboard, where it lived, and my world became dark as well as smelly. Most authors on the Plaza don't seem to realise the long periods of nothingness that trash has to endure.
No action is hardly a compelling story for the reader, but trash spends large periods of time, simply ignored and left alone. I was left with my own thoughts. I racked my brain for a plan, but no plan seemed feasible. Part of me hoped that she would free me. But if she did, my life would simply be yet more abuse. It was not if she would free me, you understand, this witch was a bitch. She had no intention of freeing me, and I already knew that, if I am honest.
I curled up, and tried to get some sleep. I would need to be alert, if the possibility of escape presented itself. I woke in the middle of the night. It was still dark. It was still smelly. I half wanted it to be a dream. But it was actually going to be a nightmare, and one I would witness fully conscious. I went to wee. It was only a little amount, hardly noticeable really.
There was no food, other than peelings, and if I wanted to eat or drink, that was all that was available. But whilst humans can live some while without food, and maybe 4 or 5 days without water, they cannot live very long without air! I knew when she tied the bag up, and took me out for collection, the clock would tick down to me going unconscious and taking my last breath.
Unless the polythene had a hole in it, and I was lucky. Unless the bin liner popped inside the jaws of the garbage truck and I had air again. But what if I was squashed flat? No good being able to breathe, only to be flattened. Even if I lived, as far as the incinerator, I knew there was no hope once I got there.
Well I only had a few days to live, at least I would enjoy my last moments on Earth. I grabbed my cock and wanked. It seemed strange doing it, whilst shrunk inside a trash bin, with only kitchen waste for company, but at least we would share our fate together. I fell asleep soon after.
I was woken to the kitchen bin being moved, and a whole pile of trash buried me alive. "Morning Sweetie" she said "I hope you enjoyed your new bed, new home... final bed, final home! Have some breakfast! I did!"
Trash bins from around the house were emptied on top of me. The bin from the lounge. The bin from the bedroom. The bin from the bathroom. It all went in on top of me. I was now under several layers of trash, that were several inches deep. She noticed that the trash came almost to the top of the bin.
"I cannot have you making an escape, by giving you things to climb out on." she hissed.
With that she got a flat plastic food container, that was empty, and smelled of ham, which she had eaten, and she laid it flat on top of the trash. Then using both hands, she pushed sharply down on the trash in the bin, and what was several layers thick, was now just a few.
I had been manually compacted! I was now just trapped in between the rest of the contents.
"I think I should be able to fit some more in here, before your trip in the garbage truck!" she added, when she was satisfied with what she saw. The flattened trash, in the kitchen bin, and no movement was visible.
She had wrongly assumed she had killed me, but I was very much alive. During the rest of Saturday, I was buried more and more, and squashed again as she pushed down on the bin's contents. I had become part of a trash sandwich, and I was part of the filling. I was held firm, but an air pocket allowed me to breathe, but not move.
I spent a second night in the bin. I had masturbated some more, content that she would never know. I was now surrounded below, in between, and under the trash. I was truly just another piece of trash myself. Then I felt her pull the bin liner out, and there was a pressure from below. The white polythene bag, almost ripping open, as she had overloaded it. I am not sure if it had, whether I could have escaped nor if I wanted to. I had accepted my fate.
I had dreamed of watching someone seal me in a polythene bag, but when it happened for real, I saw nothing, as I was trapped amongst the trash in a solid block. I heard her speak one last time, not that she knew I could hear her; for she thought I was already dead.
"That's it. Time to take the trash out!" she said to the full and bulging bin liner. "It is a shame really, he does not know what is happening to him." But I did.
She carried me out the house, opened the lid of the black wheelie bin, for general household waste, and she dropped me inside. My stomach leapt, like going down in a lift too quickly, and the bag rested on top of another bag of kitchen waste that was already in there. Then the wheelie bin lid closed, and it went very dark.
I spent the rest of that day inside the wheelie bin, wanking, obviously, while I still could! Then she moved the wheelie bins to the kerb, for collection. The next day the garbage truck arrived. I had listened to it many times over the years fantasizing about being emptied inside. So what was it like for real?
It was very quick. One moment the wheelie bin was stationery, the next it was tilted and pulled into the road, behind the rear loader. I was wanking for all I was worth at this point!
I pictured her doing the same, as she watched from an upstairs bedroom window. Her fingers moist with her cum, as she circled her clit, with one hand, and entered a finger with her other hand. Maybe she would get off on disposing of me?
But then again, she could be sound asleep. Only to get up later, and wheel the empty bins back to the house, and shrug her shoulders at having saved her money on my funeral costs.
The dustmen knew nothing of it, at any rate. To them, I was just another bin to be emptied. I wonder how many they empty on each round they do? Hundreds? Thousands? More?
My wheelie bin was grabbed by the bin lifter at the rear of the garbage truck. It clamped on the bin, and hardly a second later, my wheelie bin was hurled up in the air, and inverted. Its lid flying open, and my bin liner and the other bag, tumbling out together, onto the cold steel surface of the hopper.
As the wheelie bin was lowered to the ground, and the operator wheeled it back to the kerb; so the packer plate descended to scoop up the hopper contents and give them a good squeeze!
The loudness of the machinery, so close, so menacing, caused me to have a bowel movement, not that anybody saw. The smell inside the truck, even more putrid than the kitchen bin, and infinitely more pungent.
Both bags burst, and I got mixed into the truck's contents. Moments later, the neighbour's trash joined me, then the next house, then the next. Far too many to possibly count, the trashing, the mixing, the squeezing went on for hours and hours. Until the garbage truck could eat no more.
The truck went for a longer drive. I knew what that meant. It arrived at the incinerator. It crossed the weighbridge to weigh the contents of the "fuel" for the council's statistics. The truck lined up with a holding pen, reversed, and backed up to push the trash out. Like some large metal jellyfish, its mouth was also its anus.
The hopper lifted. The ejector plate pushed. At first nothing happened. The block of trash was stuck solid. As if it knew what awaited it, and did not want to leave its nice snug home inside the garbage truck.
The pressure built up, and the pile of broken, squashed, and still some whole, polythene bags, some white, and some black in colour came out of the truck and tumbled into a large holding pen some twenty feet below.
This was my resting place, but not the end of my journey. Not quite. I lay there amongst the trash, wondering what would happen next. I was looking up at the ceiling of the tipping floor, half expecting to see another garbage truck dump its load right on top of me. But what I saw was a large metal grab crane, and an operator sitting in the cab of his control room. Its jaws opened, and it plummeted to where the pile of garbage lay.
The controller pulled a lever, and the hydraulic jaws closed and squashed everything, including me, one last time. I was then lifted up into the incinerator. The blast doors shut. And I saw an orange flame shoot towards me from all sides.
I wonder if she knew I had witnessed it all. If she did, she did not care.