Scene 2A: Mike was in the second can.
Mike trembled as the can next to his was lifted up and dumped, knowing that he was next. In the afterglow of his orgasm, he wasn't finding his situation quite as sexy as he had a moment ago. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was terrified, and even more so when he heard the thunderous roar of the truck's compactor running. The little amount of noise he could make had no chance of being heard over all that, and even when the compactor finished, the truck's engine even on its own was still a deafening sound.
The truck's noisy brakes let up a moment, and then were re-applied, even closer to Mike. Shit, he thought. Shit, I'm next.
No sooner did he realize it than it was coming true. The truck hooked its grabber onto his can and hoisted the can up just as it was designed to. Mike struggled to no avail as his world shifted and, in moment, he found himself upside down. The gravity lock clicked as it unlatched, and then all the bags fell from the can down into the belly of the truck. One, two three, from the kitchen, the bathroom, and then Mike and everything Catherine had considered his. The fall was brief but terrifying. He had no idea what he might land on. What if there was something sharp? What if he landed on his head rather than his side?
In his brief moment of freefall he shifted his weight as much as he could to try to ensure a safe landing... or, as safe as one could have in the belly of a trash truck. He twisted just in time, too. He managed to land on his side, his fall somewhat cushioned by the previous two bags of trash and by the blanket that had been stuffed in with him. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't much else to land on. The compactor had just run, so the truck didn't have much loose trash built up in it.
Of course, that would soon change, especially since Catherine had set out three cans, not just two!
Now that he wasn't stuck inside the can, Mike found he had regained some ability to move. His bonds kept him in an awkward and slow-moving position, but with effort he was at least able to roll to the side so that – hopefully – no trash would end up getting dumped directly on top of him.
But...
A part of him didn't want to move at all. A part of him wanted to stay right there, motionless like trash should be, waiting to get buried in more bags and then compacted like the rest of them.
He shook the thoughts from his mind. He knew that if he had been in the first can, he'd already have been compacted, probably reduced to an unrecognizable paste crushed in the middle of a whole pile of trash. No matter what his fantasies had been, that wasn't what he wanted! He was a person, damnit, not trash!
The truck idled for a short while and then pulled away, taking Mike right along with it. He realized with some surprise that it hadn't picked up the third can. He wondered why that could be, and struck upon a concering idea. What if Catherine had somehow thought he was in the third can and not set it out, or marked it to not be taken away? Shit, what if she was just trying to scare him and thought he was safe and sound in the third can when he was actually being hauled away with the trash?
He didn't dwell on such thoughts for long, instead realizing that this was probably his last chance to try to escape. As the truck trundled along down the street, he started struggling agaisnt his bonds and the bag he was tied inside. It wasn't too hard for him to poke a small hole in the bag with his fingers, and then after some twisting and turning he was able to get one of his feet into the hole and, between that foot and the big toe of his other foot, he was able to start tearing a bigger hole.
The truck rolled to a stop at a house further on down the street. Mike could hear the grabber arm moving again, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was begin struggling his way out of the bag once the hole was big enough. As he wriggled his way out, he could feel the sun beating down on him and on the metal floor of the truck, heating it to an uncomfortable degree despite the somewhat chilly weather. Not to mention, the floor was somewhat sticky and gooey from the remnants of months and months of trash being compacted atop it – to say nothing of the smell!
The truck lifted the new can up and over to dump it just like it had dumped Mike's can. A pair of heavy black bags fell in, just narrowly missing Mike as he wormed his way out of his own bag and squinted against the daylight. He was free of the bag, at least. He was loose in the compaction chamber along with all the other trash. But, of course, he wasn't safe yet. For one thing, he was still bound. And for another... well, he was still in the compaction chammber!
He struggled against his bonds with little success. Another can got emptied into the truck, and then the truck moved on down the block to yet another house and dumped just a single can there. This can was a particular mess... the people who lived at that house didn't seem to think bagging garbage was important, so it was just all loose bits of waste which fell all over the place in the truck, covering Mike with old food scraps, used tissues, and worse. The smell made him gag, as if he wasn't already doing so with the dildo gag shoved in his mouth.
The truck went on, oblivious to his plight. Slowly, the main container of the truck was filling up. Mike knew that once it was full, the compactor would get run again, and unless he did something before that happened, he'd get compacted right along with everything else! Fuck, why couldn't they have cameras in the back of these trucks so that the driver would see him and stop?
Or what if there was a camera, a hidden one, and the driver just didn't care? Or what if Catherine had called ahead and instructed the driver to ignore him? Fuck, that's exactly what a good trash mistress would do.
Another stop. Another can of trash, another three bags tumbling down beside him. These trash bags were white and a little smaller than most of the others, and they were packed full. One of them even had a tear in it, and the gooey remains of somebody's dinner oozed out of it and all over Mike's feet.
But there! There was something. He had a sudden idea as his eyes fell upon something sharp looking in the bag. It looked like one side of a pair of scissors which must have broken at the hinge, and it's what had caused the hole in the bag. If he could just get to it, maybe he could use the sharp edge to undo his bonds!
He tipped himself forward and fell again onto his side, his back facing the bag along with his tied hands. His whole body was now a mess from rubbing against the floor of the truck, but that didn't matter to him... it wouldn't matter, so long as he could get out of here. With his hands tied behind his back it was difficult to find the blade, going by feel alone, but eventually he took hold of it and –
Thwump, a couple more bags fell in, one of them landing right on his arm. Although it wasn't heavy, it made him lose his grip, and now there were two bags between him and his salvation. He almost gave up at that, almost resigned himself to his trashy fate, but he pushed on, inching along to work his way between the two new bags and back to the one which held his rescue.
Fortunately, the truck had finished with this part of the neighborhood, so it had a slightly longer drive until it got to its next pickup, which gave Mike enough time to get to the broken scissor blade once again and this time actually get ahold of it. He twisted around to get them into the best position he could to start slicing at the bonds which kept his hands tied. It was slow going, especially since he dropped his tool more than once in the process, but little by little he was making progress. Little by little, ever closer to his freedom.
The truck had reached the next neighborhood on its trip, and just as Mike freed his hands another two cans' worth of trash got dumped in with him. One landed against his side, bumping him and causing him to drop the blade again, but that didn't matter anymore. He had freed his hands!
He rolled away from the falling bags and took the broken scissor again, getting to work on the ties around his legs. These were thicker than the ropes which had held his hands together, but now that his hands were free he was able to get a better angle on these ropes to cut through them faster than before.
Bag after bag joined him, along with a couple more awful sprays of loose trash from bagless cans, as he worked to free himself. The truck was starting to get full when he was only halfway through. Then, with the ropes still holding fast but almost cut, a terrifying, familiar sound began.
The compactor was running.
He saw the packer plate and panicked. The big slab of metal advancing from the front of the truck slowly toward the back, and he renewed his efforts, slicing frantically at the ropes while the bags of trash around him began to shift as the compactor inched closer... closer...
Freedom!
He scrambled to his feet but then slipped, his feet still covered by goo from the trash. He landed hard on top of a number of trash bags which were rapidly getting pushed toward the back of the truck. Air was wheezing out from them as he got to his feet, ane he tried to be as casutious as possible with his footing even as he raced to move.
Finding his balance, he glanced about trying frantically to figure out what to do. Unfortunately, the truck was too tall for him to jump up and catch its lip. Shit! Had all his efforts been for nothing? There was nowhere to go!
Except... there! The advancing packer was only four feet tall. He jumped for it, scrambling over the edge just before the metal plate could crush him into the already-compacted trash at the back of the truck. He tumbled back down to the floor, but this time he was on the other side of the packer. A pair of powerful pistons extended from the front of the truck to the packer, both of them slowly extending to compact the load of trash he had just moments before been a part of.
Unfortunately for Mike, he wasn't home free just yet. It took him a moment to come to his senses, his heart racing with adrenaline and only just starting to ease now that he was safely on the other side. Safely... until he realized what would happen next. As it turns out, he wasn't the first piece of trash to end up on this side of the compactor. There were three bags of trash here as well, each of them crushed against the front of the truck where the packer would return to when it wasn't extended. Each of these stray bags was just a couple inches thick, since when the packer was retracted all the way, that was all the space there was between it and the wall it extended out from. And just as Mike was realizing what that meant, the compactor began to retract.
He didn't immediately realize it was moving towards him, and that cost him precious time. The pistons pulled the packer in much faster than it pushed them out, so the big metal plate hit Mike in the back and knocked him to the ground. Before he knew it, he was prone, getting pulled by the packer toward the wall and toward a very flat demise. If he didn't make his way back over the compactor plate, it would retract all the way to its starting position, leaving him with only a couple inches of space to fit into... plenty enough for trash, but certainly not for a person!
Does he escape in time? Go to scene 2B for no, or 2C for yes.
Scene 2B: Mike doesn't escape as the packer retreats.
Mike scrambled to get ahold of something – anything! – and managed to catch the top edge of the packer, but as soon as he grabbed it he slipped again. His body and the floor beneath him were both too slick with trash juice for him to find any useful purchase, and he wound up just falling over himself and landing awkwardly on his side. The packer was retracting... fast. He probably had at most ten seconds to escape.
Another attempt... another slip and failure. The force of the moving compactor plate was just too much for him to overcome, and it dragged him along as if he was nothing. And soon, it seemed, that's exactly what he would be.
He looked up, only to see the wall rapidly closing in. Or rather, to see that he was rapidly closing in on the wall. His eyes fell upon the three bags which were crushed against the wall already, and they reminded him of what fate was in store if he didn't make it out.
Realizing that he was out of time, he sprang to his feet. There was no time left to try to work on finding the right balance, it would have to be a leap of faith. He stood, started to jump as high as he could to get over the plate, and...
Splat.
Mike may have escaped one side of the compactor, but he was no match for the other side. The compactor plate settled back into its regular position, hardly inconvenienced by the trash that had wound up in its way. The two-inch gap between the plate and the wall had been designed for just that purpose, anyway, to keep trash from having any chance of jamming the compactor when it wound up on the wrong side.
The truck continued its rounds, the compactor running over and over through the course of the day. The compressed trash behind the compactor stayed there, plastered against the wall, even after the truck dumped its load at the landfill and shut down for the day. It even stayed there through the next day, and the next. Each day, some small number of bags would end up popping up and over the compactor plate and ending up on the wrong side, and each time the compactor plate would pull them along and crush them into that tiny space.
Four days after Catherine had her boyfriend set her trash out at the curb, the truck was finally due for cleaning. The packer was extended and one of the workers at the waste disposal plant climbed up into it with a shovel to scrape away all the crushed trash.
By the time he got there, enough bags had been crushed on top of Catherine's special trash that nothing looked any different from usual. The worker grumbled – this was probably his least-favorite job in an already unpleasant workplace – and set about scraping the trash from the wall with his shovel, tossing it all into a cart he had positioned beside the truck. Five minutes later, all the large pieces of trash had been removed. The worker got out of the truck and had it sent for washing before returning to his cart. He cleaned out two more trucks in a similar way, and then his cart was full.
He wheeled it over to one of the many devices at the waste management facility and hooked it up. With the press of a button, the cart was lifted, tilted, and tipped over into a massive funnel. Then, the worker dutifully flipped a single, little switch, and the large shredder sprang to life, chopping through all the trash that had been emptied into it and reducing it all to a much more manageable size.
When the shredder finished, the worker flipped the switch again to turn it off, then walked off to go about the rest of his day.
The last piece of Catherine's trash had been destroyed, reduced to a mess of shredded scraps that nobody could ever hope to recognize. Some people, if they knew what was in the shredder that day, might have been sad. Catherine would mostly just have been surprised it had taken that long to be properly disposed of. But most people?
Most people would realize that trash was just that... trash. Worthless, useless, and deserving of nothing more than total destruction. And that's exactly what it got.
The End
Scene 2C: Mike escapes as the packer retreats.
Knowing what would happen if he didn't, Mike scrambled to his feet. He almost slipped, but caught hold of the edge of the packer to keep himself from falling over. He took a moment – the only one he had – to steel himself, and then he channeled all the times he had jumped fences in his youth to pull himself up and over. He tumbled to the floor – graceless but safely on the other side – just as a metallic clang locked the plate back into its starting position.
He'd made it.
He lay there, his heart pounding, breathing heavily... except, he couldn't breathe heavily, not with the gag in his mouth. That was an easy enough problem to fix now that he had his hands free and wasn't in immediate danger. He unhooked the gag and tossed it aside, glad to finally take a full breath. Even though the air tasted like trash, it was still a relief compared to being forced to breathe solely through his nose!
He lay there for a couple of minutes in total exhaustion while the truck drove on. Eventually, it pulled to a stop and Mike heard its arm moving to pick up another trash can, and he remembered that his ordeal still wasn't over.
Fortunately, now that he wasn't gagged, he was just one step away from freedom. All he had to do was call for help until somebody heard him.
"Hey!" he called. His voice was hoarse and weak, so he cleared his throught and tried again, more successfully this time. "Hey! Help! I'm in the garbage truck! Somebody!"
Despite his efforts, another can of trash got dumped in with him.
"Hey! Somebody, listen, I'm in the trash truck! Help! Get me out! Get me out!"
Inside the cab, the driver looked over to his buddy, who operated the controls for the grabber and the compactor. "Hey, did you hear something?"
"Nah, man. You're hearing things."
He reached for the dial and turned up the music they were playing in the cab. Between the music and the sound of the truck itself, there was no way they were going to hear Mike. And since there was nobody nearby on the street, either, Mike's calls went entirely unheard as can after can got dumped into the truck with him. Mike, for his part, was standing against the side of the truck, out of the way of the falling bags.
He spent nearly ten minutes calling out before his voice got too weak to keep doing so and he realized he needed another plan. He looked around the truck. The top of it was much too high for him to reach by simply jumping up... but maybe, if he piled some of the trash bags against the side, just maybe he could use them to get a bit higher and be able to climb his way out. He got to work at once, shifting the bags around to make one big pile against the side.
Before long, it was looking big enough that it would work. Cautiously, watching his footing and putting his hands against the wall to try to keep his balance as the truck stopped and started, he began to ascend the pile. The first trash bag was easy enough to step on, but to his dismay when he did so it collapsed beneath his weight. Where it had been almost a foot and a half tall, he sank in it until his foot was only about six inches off the floor of the truck, all the rest of the trash in the bag pushed aside or squashed beneath his feet.
"Fuck," he muttered as he realized that his plan may not work as well as he had expected. Still, he tried taking another step forward, stepping onto a stack of two bags. Unfortunately, not only did these collapse like the first one had, but the bottom one also slid out from under the top one altogether due to how slick the floor of the truck was. The unexpected motion caught Mike by surprise, and he fell forward, landing face-first in the pile of bags and sending them all askew in a little avalanche of trash. All the work he had done to put them in place had been reversed in an instant. And before he could even start to think of another way to escape, he heard a familiar sound. The compactor was starting up again.
He rushed to his feet and, now knowing how to escape the compactor, climbed over it easily and was safely on the other side for most of the compaction. He stood there, with nothing to do, as the packer pressed forward and bag after bag hissed and then popped under the pressure. Mike was only a little bit surprised when he realized he was getting another hard-on, somehow excited by the knowledge that just moments before he had been in the same place as the bags the compactor was destroying.
He didn't have long to dwell on this before the paker began to retract, but this time he was ready for it. With a running start, he was able to get over it easily, falling back to the now-empty main floor of the truck. The mass of compacted trash in the back looked bigger now than before, but only by a little bit. The compactor was nothing if not efficient.
He knew he should think about coming up with a new plan, but he was rapidly getting too horny to think about anything serious. Now that he had figured out how to survive the compactor, escaping wasn't the immediate necessity it had been earlier. He could afford to spend some time getting himself off.
He sat against the wall of the truck and began stroking his solid cock, watching bags of trash getting added to the truck and dreaming about everything that had happened yesterday and earlier that very morning. About how Catherine had started it out like it was a simple play-session, then gone and thrown out all of his old things right along with him, and how she had set him in the garage and let her new boyfriend take him down to the curb. Robert. Her new boyfriend, since Mike was just a worthless ex to be disposed of along with everything else that reminded her of him.
Lost in daydreaming, her hardly realized that the truck was getting full again until the compactor started, and he eluded it again the same way he had twice before. He was strating to get good at this, though he knew that his arms and legs would be be seriously sore the next day. First from being bound and stiff for almost 12 hours, and then from all this frantic climbing and jumping to escape the crushing power of the compactor. But, that would be a problem for Tomorrow-Mike, not Present-Mike.
When the compactor finished, and Mike was once again safe in the main body of the truck, he was still incredibly horny, and maybe it's that which impaired his judgment. He had, he realized, loved getting trashed by Catherine, and he loved that he was actually here, in the trash truck, where all her trash wound up. But, just sitting at the side of the truck was kind of boring. It didn't seem like the "real" trash experience. So this time, instead of going over to the wall of the truck to masturbate, he went right to the middle of the open floor of the truck and lay down on his back, his arms and legs spread wide and his cock pointing proudly toward the sky.
The truck arrived at its next stop and he heard the familiar sound of the grabber arm picking up another can of trash and hoisting it up. In seconds, it came into view, held aloft above the opening of the truck and maneuver until it was right above Mike's spread-eagle body.
"Trash me!" he cried as the can got tipped and the two bags inside tumbled out, falling down and landing right on top of him.
Thwump, thwump, they fell down, one ending squarely on his chest and the other over his crotch. They felt heavier after their tumble than they really were, but that just turned him on more.
"Oh my god," he thought, hardly realizing he was saying it aloud. "I'm really here. I'm really in the trash truck, really getting buried."
The grabber arm got to work again, and a moment later three more bags fell out. Two of them rolled off the first bags to settle against Mike's sides, while the third one wound up rolling right down to cover Mike's head. The smell pressing down on his face and nose was nauseating, clearly the result of an unfinished meal or three which had been dumped several days before. His immediate instinct was to try to hit the bag away, but he held back.
I'm just trash, he thought, I'm just trash, and trash doesn't decide what it gets thrown out with. Trash just accepts its fate.
Several more bags came tumbling down, and several more after that, and even more after that. At the bottom of the growing pile, Mike was lost in a haze of twisted passion. As the bags shifted around him, sometimes making it easier to breathe and sometimes harder, he switched between muttering his thoughts aloud and keeping them to himself, but in the end it was all part of one long stream of horny consciousness...
"Yes, Mistress. Yes, I understand, I'm worthless to you. Of course, Mistress, yes you can throw me out. Oh... you want to put me in the compactor. O... okay, Mistress, if that is what you desire. You want to bury me in trash, Mistress? You want to watch me disappear beneath a pile of worthless garbage? Okay, Mistress, whatever you want Mistress. But... what... what's going to happen to me, Mistress? You won't just leave me here, will you, Mistress? You wouldn't just leave me in the trash..."
The trash was starting to pile up.
"Oh... oh, I see, Mistress, yes of course I understand. You have a better man in your life now. You don't need me anymore. So... you're really just going to leave me here? Just leave me in the trash? Oh, yes... of course, Mistress. If you say this is where I belong, then it absolutely is. But, Mistress... if you leave me here in the trash... what happens to the trash?"
He felt his cock pulse, and he winced a little to keep himself from cumming. He didn't want to cum just yet. The way he saw it, there were two ways things could go down at this point. Either he was on his way to the end of the line, in which case he may as well savor each moment while it lasted, or he'd find some opportunity to escape, in which case he'd want to have the best possible memory of this once-in-a-lifetime trashing experience.
The bags were piling up around him. There was a constant, but not extreme, weight upon his chest and his spread-wide arms and legs, and he couldn't see anything through the several bags of trash that had collected around and over his head.
His fantasy went on, with him mumbling just one side of a conversation that very well could have happened if things had gone a little different.
"It gets... what do you mean, Mistress? What do you mean the trash gets destroyed? You don't mean like... oh... oh you do. That is what you mean. But, Mistress, if I'm in the trash... and trash gets destroyed... then won't I be... oh. Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress, I understand. This is what you want. Yes, Mistress, of course I am happy to serve you in any way I can. If you want me to be destroyed with the trash, then yes Mistress, I am excited to be disposed of."
He was playing with fire, and he knew it. The trash was building up on top of him, its weight getting steadily heavier, and he knew that if he waited much longer to get out from under the pile that it would start getting difficult for him to do so. He also worried that he'd get too lost in the fantasy and would just give in to the compactor the next time it ran. He couldn't do that though... he'd have to get up, he'd have to climb over the packer, not just this time but the next time too, and the next and the next after that.
Or, did he have to?
He almost came again, and turned his thoughts elsewhere to calm down as best he could. But eventually, they wandered back to his fantasy...
"Mistress, may I ask one more question? Thank you, Mistress. I was just curious... how am I – I mean, the trash – how is the trash going to get destroyed? Oh... oh. Right here in this machine? This very compactor? And... and you're going to turn it on and watch while all the trash gets crushed and destroyed? Will that please you, Mistress? Will seeing all of this worthless trash getting disposed bring you pleasure? It will? Oh, thank you, Mistress, thank you for letting me please you so! Wh... what are you doing, Mistress? Is that... is that the button? Are you about to press the button that starts up the compactor and destroys all the trash inside? ...just... just one thing Mistress... please, just one more thing... is it... is it going to hurt, Mistress? Is getting compacted going to hurt?"
Mike laid there for a moment, pondering what his fantasy-mistress's response might be. "No. No, of course, Mistress, I understand. It doesn't matter if it hurts, because I'm just trash and trash doesn't care what happens to it. Okay, Mistress. I'm ready. I'm ready to be your trash. Compact me."
He steeled himself. He could guess, from the weight of the trash above him, that the compactor would be running again before long, and he realized that if it started running right then, his orgasm would be uncontrollable and he'd most certainly end up letting himself get crushed right along with the rest of the trash. He wouldn't have the strength he needed to escape his fantasies.
"Well? Go on, Mistress. I want this. I want you to destroy me now that you've replaced me with a better man. To get compacted with the rest of the trash is exactly what I deserve."
Another can emptied out on top of him. Surely this time... surely they'd run the compactor this time...
"Please, Mistress! Please. If it will bring you pleasure to see me get destroyed, then destroy me. Turn on the compactor and let it crush me with the rest of the trash. Pleasure yourself while I get removed from your life forever! Delight in my disposal and cum as I'm compacted!"
Does the compactor turn on right now? Go to scene 2D for yes, or 2E for no.
Scene 2D: The compactor turns on while Mike fantasizes.
With a now-familiar roar, the compactor came alive, and Mike came right along with it. The timing was perfect. His fantasy was coming true. Had he scrambled to get up, he might have been able to do so in time to escape compaction, but instead he just lay there beneath the pile of trash, his cock squirting and his heart pounding.
"Oh my god, thank you Mistress! Thank you! This is all I've ever dreamed of!"
The bags around and above him began to shift as the compactor began its work.
Holy shit, he thought to himself, this is real, this is really happening. I'm just... I'm just letting myself get trashed. Fuck, this is hot...
"Thank you, Mistress! Oh, thank you for letting me be your trash, thank you for throwing me out and giving me what I deserve! Once I'm compacted I'll never bother you again, Mistress, and you can live a wonderful life with your new, better boyfriend. Anything to serve you, Mistress!"
Now he could feel himself getting pushed along on the floor of the truck. It wasn't getting tight – not quite yet – but the pressure was definitely building.
"Mistress... please... will you think about me again sometimes? When you're thinking about old slaves, or taking out the trash? ...no? No, I suppose not. Trash is meant to be forgotten. Forgotten, and destroyed. Forgotten... destroyed... forgotten... destroyed."
He realized with some surprise that he was well on his way toward yet another orgasm.
"Forget that I'm even here, Mistress. Don't look at me and see an ex-boyfriend getting crushed. Look at me and see trash getting destroyed."
Now the pressure was starting to get intense. Air was escaping the bags around him and the spaces between bags were getting tighter, and he realized that he must have already been pushed pretty much all the way into the pile of previously compacted trash at the bag of the truck. A couple bags popped around him, and he heard the truck's engine getting louder as it funneled more power to the big compactor.
"This is it, Mistress!" he called out through the muffling bags all around him. "This is really happening! I'm your trash! Goodbye, Mistress!"
All at once, the pressure increased like he had never felt possible. The air around him was almost gone, and he could feel his whole body starting to twist beneath the advancing weight of the compactor. Despite it all, his cock was on the verge of cumming once again.
"I hope I've pleased you, Mistress! Goodbye! Thank you for putting me in the trash! Thank you for making sure that I get destroyed! Thank you for showing me where I bel – "
The compactor rumbled to a stop, and there were no more words. He never did cum that one final time, instead ending as a worthless piece of trash with just a dribble of precum as his trashy goo.
The truck carried on as it always did, Nobody knew that anything special had just happened, and when the truck got to the landfill, he got unloaded right along with all the rest of the crushed trash. The only person who ever had some idea that he might have been there was Catherine – his Mistress – the very woman who he had so loved to be trashed by. And as for her? She'd never know exactly what happened to him, and she did think about him a few more times after that day. Happy thoughts, all of them, remembering how she had gotten rid of her worthless ex to make room for a new, better boyfriend.
She thought about him a few more times... but that was it, and once a year had passed, she never even thought of him again. She threw out his memory just like she had thrown out all reminders of him.
In all fairness, it's just what he would have wanted.
The End.
Scene 2E: The compactor stays off while Mike fantasizes.
Mike lay there, holding his breath, waiting for the familiar sound, begging for the compactor to spring to life and end his existence in the trash... but it didn't. More bags got dumped in, and more and more, but the compactor remained motionless.
Somewhat relieved, but largely disappointed, he started extracting himself from the prison of trash. His fantasy had come to its natural conclusion; unfortunately, reality hadn't decided to play along.
He slowly managed to escape the pile of trash bags, and he rose to his feet. His fantasy unfulfilled, his cock had fallen limp, and he muttered with annoyance. So close. So close, and then nothing. He'd been certain that the compactor was due to run.
No sooner did he consider that, than the compactor sprang to life. Briefly, he considered letting it take him, but the moment was gone. He clambered over it as it destroyed the trash that he was supposed to be in, and then he went back over into the main part of the truck when the packer began to retract. He was getting used to the pattern.
He stared at the compacted pile of trash at the back of the truck... the pile where he belonged. He supposed that he could catch the next load, do the same thing and try to time it all better, but the moment was lost. He was back to seeing himself as a human, rather than as trash.
He took a seat against the wall of the compaction chamber, as the truck continued its rounds.
The way Mike saw it, he only had a few options. Building a pile of trash to climb up and escape hadn't worked, and there was no other way for him to get out on his own. He could call for help, but he'd already tried that and nobody had heard, so it was probably a useless endeavour all around. So, he realized, there really was only one option. He had to ride along with the trash until the truck was emptied. It was either that, or surrendering to the compactor, and he'd already decided against letting himself get crushed.
So, then. Time for him to settle in and see what happened.
He was worried though. As a part of his kinky interests, he'd researched a lot of ways in which trash gets managed, but since he'd never imagined he'd be in this sort of situation, he hadn't researched what the local companies in particular did with their collected trash.
He hoped that the truck was going to end up at a transfer station, where the trash would get sorted and he'd be able to escape, even if it meant all the workers there seeing him naked in the trash. Barring that, if the truck went straight to the landfill, that would hopefully also give him a chance to get out, and perhaps a bit more privately at that.
It was the other possibilities that worried him.
What if the truck dumped its load directly into an incinerator? Or, perhaps even at a transfer station, what if all the trash was fed straight into a shredder, reducing it to tiny pieces that could be more easily sorted by machines? What if all the trash just got pushed out of the truck and into another, more powerful, compactor which would thoroughly flatten the trash before it got loaded onto a ship and taken to be dumped in the ocean or to rot in the plentiful land of some third-world country?
It seemed like a tossup whether or not he'd survive. A 50/50 chance of getting what he wanted.
Only... he wasn't certain which side of that chance was the one he most desired, for as he was thinking about what could happen to the trash, his cock rose back to attention.
He would stay here, in the trash. He'd avoid getting compacted, and when the truck reached its final destination, he'd get out right along with the trash... wherever that may take him.
He began stroking his cock, and when that wasn't enough, he grabbed one of the bags, moved it away from the others, and collapsed onto it belly first. As he started to hump it, he imagined that it wasn't just ordinary trash inside. He imagined it was a woman – some cheap whore – thrown out after she had failed to satisfy a man. She was there, bound up in a bag just like Mike had been, but unlike Mike had, she wasn't about to get out.
As he fucked the bag, he came, and he lay there on it for some time, exhausted in the afterglow of his orgasm, until the compactor started up again. He got to his feet, climbed over the packer, and watched as it did its sole, repetitive job. He imagined "his" bag of trash getting pushed into the back of the truck and getting slowly squeezed and then abruptly collapsing into a flattened mess, the whore inside having pleasured one last man before never having a chance to fail men ever again.
The compactor retracted, and he went back over it.
So it went. Three more loads joined him in the truck this way, and then, with the compactor having recently run, the truck pulled to a stop and he heard a different noise. This sound came from just ahead of the truck, and was the loud clanging of metal-on-metal. He was puzzled at first, but then, the source of the sound became clear.
The truck had a grabber arm on the side it used to lift trash cans and empty them. Mike had seen and heard that get used plenty! But up in front, there was a different device designed to pick up and empty entire dumpsters, and that was what he was hearing. He watched, feeling almost paralyzed, as the whole dumpster came into view and was tipped over. The plastic lids fell open, and a torrent of trash plummeted out in one sudden pile. It was a giant mess of trash of all sorts – some of it in bags, but most of it just loose. Mike was knocked to the floor once again as the trash fell all atop him and he heard the bin getting set back down.
The truck had finished with its general rounds of the neighborhood, and was now going to the three locations where the town had dumpsters set up for communal trash disposal. Each of the three locations had four dumpsters, and since pickup had been skipped the previous week, they were almost all full to the brim. Just as Mike was starting to escape the pile of trash, the truck hooked up to the next dumpster and was emptying it in no time. The tide of trash was enormous, and Mike was more than a little scared. The truck had just gotten really full, really fast.
And sure enough, there was the compactor starting up.
He scrambled to his feet to escape his fate, but it was a close call. He'd have to be careful of any more dumpsters getting emptied. He had no way to know that ten more dumpsters were going to be joining him. He had no idea how full the truck was going to get.
As he heard the truck hooking up to a third dumpster, Mike realized that he had to try to find another way to escape compaction. It was too risky with the dumpsters forcing him to the floor, especially with the compaction coming so soon afterward. He looked around, and realized he now had a new option he hadn't tried before.
For most of the trip, the compacted trash had been shoved into a compartment and filled it floor to ceiling. But, with all the trash that the truck had collected and compacted, the compacted pile now had a couple feet of trash exposed to the open air. It was four feet high, and probably not stable enough for him to stand on, but if he climbed up onto it and laid down it should keep him safe from the compactor. In theory, he could settle down there and not need to worry about the compactor running for the whole rest of the trip.
He climbed up on top of the compacted pile of trash and lay down just in time. The truck emptied the next dumpster, and although a few small bits of loose trash flew wide and landed on Mike, most of it (including all the heavy bags) just fell down onto the floor which Mike was no longer on. His plan, it seemed, was working.
The truck backed up, moved a little ways, and picked up the final dumpster at that location. Again, Mike stayed clear of most of the trash. But now came the real test, as the compactor rumbled to life.
He stared at it as it approached, as it pressed up against the load of trash from the dumpsters and began pushing it all toward the back and toward Mike. He remained motionless, aside from the twitching of his still-active cock. He fully expected the trash below him to shift as new trash got compacted into it. He just wasn't certain of how much movement to expect... nor, really, of how dangerous it might be.
The trash beneath his began to rustle, and the new, uncompacted bags began to whistle and pop as the compactor smushed them into a smaller and smaller space. Some of the bags beneath Mike shifted and got compacted a little more than they already had been, but for the most part, the shelf of trash remained stable. He had found a safe spot!
The compactor retracted, and the truck drove on. It took ten minutes for it to reach the next dumpster lot, and during that time Mike began to fall back into his old fantasies. By the time four more dumpsters' worth of trash was getting emptied into the truck with him, he was lost in his imagination, stroking his cock as the compactor ran two more times. He noticed that the bottom four feet of the truck was almost completely full of crushed trash. Most likely, another dumpster couldn't be emptied and still have room for the compactor to run.
He assumed that meant that the next stop would be the last. But in truth, there were still four more dumpsters to take care of! Unaware of this, he decided to head to the center of the mass of compacted trash and start digging a hole in it. Now that the truck was "full" and the compactor presumably wasn't going to run again, he could get even closer to the trash and to the fantasies running through his head.
As the truck drove on to the next set of dumpsters, Mike made a small hole and wriggled his legs and waist down into it. He left his torso, arms, and head out above the compacted trash, but pulled the loose bags he'd moved out of the way over top of him so he could once again feel like he had been buried in the trash.
"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for putting me where I belong. Thank you for compacting me."
Of course, he hadn't actually been compacted, but being half-buried in the mass of compacted trash was tight enough for his fantasies!
...and it was about to get a whole lot tighter.
When he heard the truck pulling in to its next stop, he thought his trip was almost done, but then came the sound of another dumpster getting picked up and he realized his ordeal was not over yet.
He didn't have time to move before it was too late. The truck lifted up the dumpster and emptied the whole thing out. The trash fell on top of the compacted trash already in the truck and also, therefore, on top of Mike. In an instant, his world went dark as all sorts of garbage, bagged and otherwise, buried him once again.
In reality, he knew that this was a very bad thing, but his fantasy was too strong and it overwhelmed all else. He could do nothing but imagine Catherine, his wonderful Mistress, at the controls and watching as her worthless ex got buried beneath a tide of trash. Of course, she wasn't actually there. She was probably back at home, making love to his replacement, no longer even thinking about the trash pickup earlier that day.
Either way, he was horny. He could picture her as an uncaring woman at home in love with a new and better boyfriend, or he could picture her at the controls, a cruel mistress happy to be rid of her trash. Both were fantasies come true. Both made his cock twitch as he imagined one and then the other and then the other again...
The truck hooked up to another dumpster. and the weight built up on Mike doubled as it was emptied out. Now, he was well and truly buried.
Then, came the sound he was waiting for. The compactor, coming to life one final time. There was only a foot of uncompacted trash, and the packer pressed into it in no time. The pressure increase on Mike's legs and waist were immediate and intense, and he realized how terrible a mistake he had made thinking that the truck was already as full as it was going to be. The compactor ran in overdrive mode, taking that one foot of uncompacted trash and turning it into two feet of open space by pressing all of the trash closer together. Mike knew that this was it, that he couldn't survive compaction like this, that all those times escaping the compactor had done nothing but suspended his sentence...
And then it stopped. The compactor retracted. Mike could hardly budge a leg muscle, and they were all sore from the weight they'd just endured, but to his surprise everything was intact. He was okay. More than okay, he was thrilled. He hadn't just been thrown out... he'd been thrown out and compacted, even if only slightly.
Meanwhile, another dumpster full of trash rained down on top of him, and then another. He expected that this would be it, that they'd fire up the compactor again and that this time it would be more than he could bear... but it never happened. The truck's drivers knew it was full, but since they were at the end of the collection anyway there was no point in compacting anything further.
Not that it was an easy fit. Two weeks worth of trash was a lot, especially with twelve dumpsters finishing off the route. In fact, the truck was full enough that if Mike had thought to do so and had been able to free his semi-compacted legs, he would almost certainly have been able to climb the pile to escape the truck. But, he had no such thought. He could do nothing but revel in the reality of his situation, aglow with delight as he lay half-compacted in the trash and buried by more than two dumpsters full of garbage. Not a shred of sunlight could reach him, and the only sound was the straining of the truck's engine as it set off down the road toward its final destination.
For Mike, the trip was twenty full minutes of trashy bliss. Unable to see outside, he had no sense of direction. All he could tell was the starting and stopping of the truck as it reached intersections and continued on, the trash around him settling naturally with the motion.
His mind turned back to idle wondering about where all the trash, and him along with it, would end up. The possibilities raced through his mind, and he played each out to its natural conclusion. Most likely, he was done for. There was some slim chance of rescue, but not enough to count on. Not enough to care about.
In time, the truck arrived at the city's vast waste management facility. The driver checked the schedule and saw that this load was supposed to be sent into one of the facility's four large shredders. He drove the truck over to them, only to find that all four shredders were already in use, and two more trucks were already lined up waiting for their turns.
"Ah, fuck," the driver muttered, a sentiment which his coworker, who operated the rest of the truck's controls, agreed with.
"What's up with this?" the driver asked. "There's never a waiting time. Think one of the shredder's is broken?"
"Nah, it's probably just all slowed down 'cause of the holiday last week. Double loads and all. Fuckin' annoying though, we're already running late."
"Yeah. You know, what say we skip this whole thing and just dump at the landfill?"
"That's not the schedule."
"Is anyone really going to care? Schedule's already fucked."
The coworker shrugged. "Gotta point there."
As the truck drove on, inside it, Mike had no idea how close he'd just been to his own destruction. The shredders were ruthlessly efficient and hooked straight up to the truck, so as the truck bed tilted back and opened all of the trash would get fed straight into the massive grinding gears of the machine. The trash would spill out onto the conveyor beyond reduced to much smaller, much more manageable pieces which could be recognized by the sorting machines, but certainly not by people.
But this was not to be Mike's fate, and the truck drove right on past the shredders. Trash, after all, was trash, and the driver just didn't much care where it ended up.
After a couple more minutes of driving, they arrived at the landfill site.
Mike heard the familiar beep of the truck being put in reverse and knew that something was happening. His first thought was that the truck was making another stop, and more trash was about to join him, but he quickly realized that was impossible. The truck was surely as full as it could go, and besides, it had been a much longer ride since the last stop than it had been at any point earlier in the day. And that meant... that meant...
That meant he was finally at the end of the line. Wherever that may be.
The truck rolled to a halt and the beeping stopped, only to be placed by a new noise and a disorienting sensation of movement. The bed of the truck was being lifted up, tilted toward the rear. Trash shifted and settled all around Mike, and he felt himself tensing up, preparing to learn what fate lay in store for him.
The hatch at the rear of the truck began to open. Bits of loose and uncompacted trash rapidly took advantage of the opening to tumble down and out of the truck to whatever destiny awaited them, but Mike was so buried in the darkness that he still couldn't see what was beyond.
Then, the compactor started up, one last time for this trip. Every other time, as the giant machine pressed forward, it had crushed the trash against the far wall of the truck and against the other compacted trash. This time, with no wall on the other side, all it did was push, and the mass of crushed waste began to slide along the floor of the truck, taking along with it the helpless person trapped within.
Helpless, but not altogether unhappy. This was it... this was the finale of his story as a piece of trash. At this point, it didn't even matter what happened. Whether he was destroyed him or given a chance to escape, it didn't matter. He had been trashed and had ridden the truck all the way to its destination, and now he was about to learn what that destination was.
"Here I go, Mistress. Here I go out with the trash."
The loose trash around him moved faster as the momentum of it sliding out of the truck created an effect similar to an avalanche. Mike's legs and waist, stuck in the compacted block, get dragged along with it while the loose trash battered his body and head and arms. It was all just as uncaring of him as Catherine had been, and why would it be otherwise? He was just trash, after all.
Then, for a brief, wonderful moment, he caught a glimpse of sunlight. The trash around him fell away enough for him to see, and the sight left him in awe. He was really there. He was really at a landfill, getting ejected out the back of the truck. The landscape of trash sprawled out before him in all directions. It was a vast, motionless mass aside from the occasional loose plastic bags and such blowing about in the wind and the two large landfill compactors. The machines' huge treads rumbled across the landscape, tearing everything up and smooshing it down to make room for ever more trash, scooping it up with their bulldozers and moving it around to keep the landscape level throughout.
He saw this, and a thousand little details of his new home graced his vision before he realized something else. The landscape started a full twenty feet below him. The truck was parked at the edge of a pit, and he was about to get dropped into it.
No sooner did he realize this, than it happened. The packer extended to its maximum width and the truck reached its maximum tilt, and suddenly the whole mass of crushed trash began to fall, slipping out of the truck and tumbling down into the expanse of trash below. He screamed as he fell – not even meaning to, just unable to help it – but the sound was quickly muffled. The edge of the compacted pile clipped the side of the pit, causing it to almost spin forward. Mike was thrown along with it, still embedded in it, and before he knew what was happening his world went dark again and he was laying halfway upside-down. His back was to the earth, atop loose trash which had fallen from the truck ahead of the compacted pile, but the whole compacted mass had landed atop him, pinning him beneath the density of trash it contained and hiding him from the world outside.
He couldn't see, but he could hear some faint muffled sounds from above. He heard the back of the truck clang once and then twice, shaking to get any remaining trash out before returning to its normal position. Then, the engine revved up, and the truck pulled away. It had left him there. Right where he belonged... right where all trash belongs... oh, fuck, he was feeling horny again, and he slowly, slowly worked his hand down to his crotch. It wasn't an easy thing to do beneath the weight of the trash, but he knew the reward would be well worth it.
Meanwhile, in the truck, the driver glanced over to his coworker. "Hey, did you hear something weird there?"
"I don't think so."
"Mkay. Oh, also, hadn't that lady called yesterday saying to let her know when we dumped her trash?"
"Oh, yeah. Sounded like some sort of test of how long the process takes. What a great day to do it when everything's slow due to the extra load. Anyway, sure, I'll call her."
He picked up the truck's company phone, fished out his note with the name and number, and gave it a ring. After a minute, it clicked to the answering machine.
"Hello, Catherine? This is Tom, from the trash company. Just wanted to let you know per your request. It is just before 1:30 in the afternoon, and your trash has just been dumped at the landfill. Please feel free to give our office a call if you need anything else."
He hung up the phone and the truck drove off, on to collect its second load of the day.
Catherine received the message later that day and saved it so she could listen to it as much as she desired to in the future. She didn't know for certain which can Mike had been in, but if he'd been in one of the first two, that message confirmed his fate. Dumped in a landfill, along with everything else that reminded her of him. Now all that was left one this one little message, and she'd only even keep that until she got a new phone, but during that time she'd spend many evenings listening to it, picturing Tom as a real stud and getting off on the idea that he had sealed Mike's trashy fate without ever having any idea he was there. She was positively thrilled with how the trashing had gone, and happily masturbated to the memory of it for years to come.
As for Mike...
He lay there, buried in trash, jerking his cock like there was no tomorrow until he was well and truly spent. He wondered about trying to get out, but not five minutes after he landed there another truck dumped its load in right about the same spot, and ten minutes later there was another. The weight built steadily, but never got do bad he couldn't breathe, though the air did start to seem stale and the stench of the place only worsened as he lingered in it.
He came, and as he lay there, trapped within the trash, his thoughts turned once more to escape. If he started digging, perhaps he could find his way out, but what then? Someone who worked around the place would find him, filthy and naked. Fuck, he'd probably get in trouble, and questions would get asked and he'd have to tell them everything that had happened, and what if that got Mistress Catherine in trouble? That was no good. He loved her, now more than ever now that she had made his fantasy come true. He couldn't risk any possibility of this being traced back to her, and as he thought through his options, he realized there really was only one path open to him.
Welcome to your new home, trash, he thought to himself. I hope you enjoy it, 'cause you're never going to leave.
As the day wore on, more and more trash piled on top of him, burying him and all his things that had been thrown out with him in a prison of trash which he knew he'd soon be unable to escape, but now he didn't care. Trash had gone from being his fantasy to being his reality, and he couldn't have been happier.
You're welcome, Mistress. I hope you're happy now. I hope Robert is a better boyfriend for you than I ever was.
As it got later in the day, he could faintly hear and feel the rumbling of the landfill compactors going about their work. Eventually, trash stopped raining down onto him, and the compactors started getting closer, likely scooping up trash from the big pile near the side of the pit to spread it out more evenly across the landscape. He knew that was his last chance of rescue. Even if he didn't want it, there was a chance he might get seen as they moved the trash from place to place. He could only imagine what might happen then.
In the end, he didn't get a chance to find out what exactly his fate might be if he were found. That night, the landfill compactors got near him, but they always retreated with a scoop full of trash from the pile he was buried in. Eventually, as night fell and temperatures began to drop, the compactors went silent, and Mike realized that he was in for a full night in the trash.
Some fragment of him thought that it would be a good time to get out, but he pushed the idea aside. He'd already made up his mind. This was his new home. And besides, what if they had cameras monitoring the place at night? Then he'd be found out even if he left when nobody was around.
He faded in and out of sleep over the course of the night, his mind filled with sweet trashy dreams and memories of all taht had happened in just the last day. To think, two days before he had been a person, and just look at him now. He was smelly, filthy, and right where he belonged. His dreams took him many places that night, and waking between them he brought himself to several more orgasms, always imagining what would happen in the morning, when the landfill compactors started back up. He imagined being found and rescued... or being found and getting trashed anyway, the compactor operator taking great pleasure in it or perhaps even hired by his Mistress to finish him off.
In and out of dreams, in and out of hearing the sounds of immensely powerful machinery. Always he was shrouded in darkness, in the tight confines of the trash which turned him on so.
In one of his dreams, it was morning. The trash around him was hot, warmed both by its own mass and by the searing heat of the sun. He squirmed about in his prison as he heard the distant sounds of the compactors starting up. Soon, they'd be trundling about engaged in their singular task, and soon they would find him, one way or another.
Perhaps, sooner even than he'd expected. As if out of nowhere, he heard one start up not far away at all and he heard the engine engage, carrying the destructive device across the landscape of trash and steadily growing louder. His cock pulsed with anticipation, and he expected that at any moment he would wake up to find himself in the midst of cumming once again... but it never happened. The sound grew louder and louder, and he came, but he did not wake up to do so. Finally, he realized that this wasn't a dream. That this time, it was real, the compactor was coming for him and this time it wasn't slowing down to engage its scoop on some other pile of trash.
"Oh thank you... thank you, Mistress, thank you... it's all I ever wanted. Goodbye, Mistress! Good--"
Then, silence. From within the trash, the only sounds were that of popping and wheezing bags and the clanging of squashing of shifting trash as the landfill compactor rolled right on over the pile which Catherine's trash had wound up in.
Marie, the compactor's driver, looked behind her at the space she had just driven over. It had been a large pile, now reduced almost to be level with the trashy landscape surrounding it. She was a college student and didn't like the job, but took out her frustration on the trash in an effort to find herself a useful outlet. She checked the leaderboards on her phone, that she and the other drivers used to compare how much trash they had destroyed. Even after that large pile, she was still only in second place.
Fortunately, the pile still had a bit more space to be compacted, so with a smile she circled her compactor around and lined it up again. "So long, trash," she muttered to herself. "Once I've crushed you all the way, I'll be sure to get first place."
And in the end, she did. She never knew what was in the trash, and she never honestly cared. She, after all, was just doing her job.
As the day wore on, Catherine's trash would get crushed several more times, and then new trucks full of trash began adding to the pile. Slowly, hour by hour and day by day, the mass of trash built up, the landsca
Topic: Putting the Past Behind Her, Part 2 (Read 9968 times)