Washed Up

There was a problem with the new automated laundry system at the Chez Risolto where I worked. Sure, I could call tech, but one of the things my bosses like about me—and one of the reasons I got he job managing the department—was that I didn't just spend money willy nilly and call a tech at the first sign of trouble. Thanks for my dad being a handyman during my teen years, I had learned several tricks and trades from him to do at least basic repair to motors and hydraulics, along with some electrical and various gadgetry.

So it was that I was trying to save the department some money and possibly put it toward an additional point raise for the team come review time.

Of course, I should have cleared my head first because I was distracted by all the stupid politics in the coven. Heather, our priestess, was in a huff because even though she was head of the group, I was her boss at work. She had tried on numerous occasions to use that to make me show favoritism, but the truth was she was a lazy worker. The lack of bonuses or overtime I offered her had become a sore spot between us, and she was making life difficult during our rituals. She had even threatened to put a love spell on my boyfriend and take him from me, then laughed it off as a joke—but I wasn't so sure about that.

Because of that, I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have. I had pinpointed the software issue as coming from the huge washing cylinder control, and I was in my stocking feet, scooting around the edge of the basin to reach the programming panel. I knew I should have used the ladder and changed into trainers, but Heather had me so angry that my I just wanted to hurry up and go home to a nice, hot tub filled with bath salts.

I had just reset the software after adjusting the program when my foot slipped and I fell eight feet into the basin of warm, soapy water. It was like a swimming pool but without a ladder. I reached the side, but found I couldn't get a grip to climb the walls—Spider-man I wasn't—nor could I reach the top without help.

And there wasn't a sign of help anywhere, nor any expected that late in the day.

As I was trying in vain to reach for a way out I saw the light on the control panel light up green.

Oh shit! I was about to get washed now that the problem was fixed.

Powerful water pressure started to move me to the left and right, almost as if hands were trying to scrub me. Then the pressure shifted and I started going up and down instead. In moments I found myself underwater with no way to claw my way back to the top. Then, thankfully the motioned shifted back to left and right and I found my head above water. With no way of knowing how long I'd be under next time the pressure shifted, I did the only thing I could think of to save my life—I recited a protection spell.

Now, no matter what happened, I wouldn't drown. The cleaning chemicals wouldn't hurt me. Nothing could. The magick would see to that. Helpless, I let the giant washing machine have its way with me, and within a few minutes I was mostly naked in the soapy water as the machine had ripped away my dress and soaked my stockings to my legs almost like they'd be coated with glue.

So, with no other recourse, I simply let my body get mixed in with the huge load of sheets and towels. I was tossed about in the water for almost 40 minutes. Sloshed and flipped and spun around, tangled and untangled in the wet items I shared the basin with. Safe from harm, I let myself settle into becoming at least for the moment just another pieces of the linens swishing about in the wash. I found the warmth and wetness relaxing and I drifted off in my thoughts.

I was so far mixed under the sheets that I had no idea when the green light flicked to red and prepared to release the load of moist clothes to the next stage of the wash.

I had planned on escaping when that time came but the heavy, wet weight pressing on me and wrapping around me prevented that. I was safe from suffocating or from being crushed, but I dared not reverse the protection spell yet.

When the bottom dropped I knew I'd made the right decision. I knew all about the system so I knew what was coming next, and without the protection spell in place, I would have never survived it. First, the sifting arms to spin slowly but forcefully to separate the jumble of laundry into individual pieces. As it did, I felt as if I'd have been ripped apart without the spell. I felt sure I would have been little more than a bloody stump with both arms and both legs pulled off my torso. Thankfully, I emerged from the sifting all alone, no longer mixed in with the sheets, and all my limbs intact.

When the scanners were sure that I was a single piece of laundry, they let go and dropped me into a funnel that ended with an old-fashioned wringer to squeeze as much water from the sheets and towels as possible. Sure, it was older technology but the rollers were super tight and somehow still more gentle on the linen than the direct heat of an industrial tumble dryer.

I wasn't sure how the magick would protect me this time. I just knew that it would. Still, I couldn't help but feel afraid as my toes started to compress between the metal rollers. I waited for the popping and cracking and snapping of bones but I never heard a sound. Instead, I simply passed through the cold steel silently and flopped into a basket sitting on the conveyor below.

The way I drifted on the air as I fell and the way I landed softly with no real weight, I was certain that the rollers had flattened me. So that was how the magick had protected me. It had made me pliable so that the minuscule area between them would simply reform me rather than kill or maim me. If I weren't so tired of the automated system's treatment I would have probably decided to just relax and experience the sensation.

As it was, however, I discovered that I didn't have a choice.

It was time to end the cycle, and as I tried to open my mouth to speak the restoration spell, I couldn't. In my flattened state, my lips were as useful as they would be on any poster or cardboard standee—which is to say completely useless.

I stared up in horror as a towel, then a pillow case, and finally, a fitted sheet fell from the wringer and covered me, hiding me in the basket. Then the conveyor lurched forward, and I knew I was heading to the sorter.

Being close to the top, I didn't have long to wait as two arms lifted my flat form from the basket and a red beam searched my front and back side for a bar code to identify the kind of linen or towel I was so I could be sorted and sent to the proper zone to be prepared and stored for use when needed.

“I'm not a stupid sheet,” I wanted to say, but all I could do was hang limp at the machine's mercy—of which it had none.

The lights searched me four times then tossed me in a different basket. I landed, more rolled up than lightly tossed this time, on a torn sheet, and another sheet that was either also torn or had lost its bar code.

My new basket was moved to a holding area in the prep area, and I was left in the dark until the first of my employees discovered me as the most out of place piece of linen the Chez Risolto had ever seen.

This was it. If I had to explain to someone how it happened, I couldn't do that without telling them about my magick, and that was an automatic loss of my power according to the rules of the coven. Besides, how would I tell them anyway? With any luck, I'd simply be recognized as some weird, kitschy item that someone had given me as a gag gift, and then I'd be returned to my office. At that point, I would be dependent on Heather to restore me and hopefully not take away my powers and kick me out of the cover.

So I waited.

When the overhead lights flickered on, I was startled to hear Heather's voice yell out, “Oh my fucking god! What the hell happened to you, Lydia?”

Of course I couldn't answer, so I simply lay in a wad at the top of the basket. She towered over me with her work uniform and her long black hair pulled back in a French braid.

“Holy shit! You can't talk, can you?”

I still said and did nothing.

She grinned.

“This is just too precious. Let's see if I can figure out what the hell happened.”

She shook her hand at the wrist then made two connecting triangles in the air, and her hand took on a dull orange glow. She placed her glowing palm on my bare, flat stomach, and her eyes grew wide. As she saw what had happened to me, I also re-experienced it all. After a few moments, she let go of me then shook the orange glow out of her hand.

“Well, then, aren't you lucky I found you instead of one of the others? I totally would have had to kick you out then.”

She picked me up and held me by the shoulders at eye level, letting my feet and arms dangle a foot above the floor. My head flopped backward between my shoulders, looking upside down at the wall behind me, where I could read the OSHA guidelines and employed time off schedule.

“This is fucking amazing.”

She shook me out like a towel then let me flap until I rested straight down again.

“So fucking amazing.” She laughed. “So, now you need to to restore you because you can't speak thanks to your own protection spell. You know, if you were a better witch, you could have used teleportation or flying or any number of others spells to get out of the basin, but all you could think of was protection. It's almost like you wanted to get turned into a flimsy wisp of hotel linen.”

I would have glared if I had been able.

“Let's check out these sexy stockings first though. Who would have thought you'd go for something like this. I guess the motion of the washer was just to much for the rest of your clothes, huh?”

She only kept grinning like some damn clown.

“It'll tell you what. Let me help you.”

But instead of reciting the restoration spell, she draped me over the crook of her arm and carried me to the supply cabinet. From my angle I could see her reach up to the top shelf and then come back down to her flat feet and close the metal doors.

“You see,” she said. “The problem isn't that you're flat. It's that the machine just didn't know what to do with you since someone forgot to put your bar code on you.”

She lay me and the bar code down on the desk beside the prep area computer. Then she scanned the bar code with the hand scanner, and set it back down to fill out the onscreen form.

“Let's see,” she said as she typed. “I think you'd function best as a king-sized pillow case since you're too small to be a bed sheet and too big to be a regular pillow case.” She typed and I listened.

I wanted to beg her please, not to, that she could do whatever the hell she wanted, just let me be human again, but I could do nothing but lay in a pile on the desk as she redefined my existence by cataloging me in the system.

“What color would you like to be? And be careful when deciding. The white and cream get used the most, but you choose something like maroon or midnight blue, it could be weeks or months before a tag is issued to retrieve you from storage.” She put her finger to her lips. “I think something pretty, maybe a bright, cheerful, Kelly green.”

No, I thought. The hotel hadn't used green for three years. Every green sheet in the catalog was folded and stored not on the floors for use but in the basement for long-term placement. For the items that would be lucky to ever see the light of day.

Heather continued typing.

“That out do it. So, according to the database, your barcode number belongs to an unmatched odd piece that isn't part of a set. And to top it off, you're a Kelly green, king-sized pillowcase. How does that sound to you, Lydia?”

She laughed, picked me up and carried me over to the workstation and lay my foot across one of the sewing machines. I screamed in silence as she turned on the machine and within less than a minute had the bar code tag sewn to the ball of my left foot.

Then she slipped her finger under the edge of my stocking on my mid-thigh. “You know, these do look really sexy on you, so what do you see we just go ahead and keep them them. No sense in them getting jerked off you in the wash.”

The she slid my helpless, flat body further up into the sewing machine until my thigh was touching the needle. A few quick stitches and the stocking was secured to the back of my right thigh. Then moved me a few inches and also sewed the stocking on the left thigh too. After that, she flipped me over and make a matching stitch to the front of each thigh. She tugged at the stockings.

“Good,” she said, beaming her wicked, triumphant smile. “Now you don't have to worry about losing these... ever.”

Like that was on the top of my list of worries.

I tried again to beg with my eyes, knowing that I was at her mercy, unable to move even my eyes. The begging was all in my head, of course, but hell, I had to try something.

Heather shook her hand and made another pair of triangles. When it was glowing she touched my ass. The warmth from her glowing hand actually felt night, and I shook the feeling from my angry mind.

“Go ahead, talk to me. I can read you mind right now.”

“You've had your fun. A joke's a joke. You got me, okay. But it's gone far enough.” “Do you really think so?” Heather asked. “I'm not sure it's gone far enough. You have to

understand the position I'm. Finding you like this I can get you fired from your job and out of the coven. I won't have to deal with your privileged ass getting in my way anymore. I'll get to be the one who gets what she wants, and you'll be stuck on a shelf where nobody will ever know.”

“Please. I'll do whatever you want. I'll leave town. I'll quit and recommend you for my position. Just turn me back to normal.”

“I don't know. I really like you like this.”

“Please.”

Then she lifted her hand and shook the orange glow away again. She laid me out flat on a long plastic table so I was facing up. She looked at the clock.

“Gonna have to hurry for this as much as I wanted to savor it.” Just what the hell was she about to do to me?

She closed her eyes and started to chant in Sumerian. Her skin took on a golden sheen, like she was standing inside a sun. She reached down to the table and touched my face with both hands. Where her hands met my skin, I tingled like low-level electricity running beneath my skin. Pulling me taut as she moved, she pressed her hands down to my neck and shoulders. The electricity followed her hands as she moved to my breasts, lingering just a moment longer than on my shoulders. I almost climaxed from the touch. Then across my stomach. Down my arms and fingers. Still tingling. Still all but vibrating from the power charging inside me.

This is it, I thought. She's really done a number on me and now she's setting me free. I should have known she would really leave me like this no matter how much we don't get along.

She flattened her palms on my hips. My pussy.

I couldn't stop it then, and even nothing more than a literal poster girl I came hard and I came long. My brain told my body that everything was already and that anything was worth it just to have that one blissful experience.

Then my thighs. My knees. My lower legs and ankles. Then my feet and toes.

When she stopped I was still glowing inside, and I longed for another breathtaking orgasm like the one I had just had—if I had possessed any breath to take.

“Done,” she said, opening her eyes and stopping the chant. “No, I didn't just do the restoration spell, silly. I reinforced your protection spell. Now, even if you could find a way to reverse your original spell, you'd still have to get through mine. Now, if I were to leave you in a safe place where the spell could naturally dissolve over time—perhaps a few months—then you'd of course gradually become your old self again. But if I leave you in a place or position where returning to flesh and blood would put you in danger, then the spell will remain active and continue to protect you by keeping you in this invulnerable form.”

No! No! No! My mind screamed but my stupid, worthless, immobile and blissfully uh-hurtable body didn't do a goddamn thing but lie down on the plastic folding table.

“Now,” Heather said after letting her absolutely control of my life sink in, “the rest of the staff is going to be here soon, so we can't just leave you lying around for them to find you. Can we?”

She picked me up, then carried me to a laundry bin and dropped me inside, then covered me with a load of towels.

“Let's see if the system knows what to do with you this time.”

She rolled my bin out to from the prep room to the opening bay, then locked the front wheels against the open window and tipped the bin to drop me and the towels inside where no human being would see me again until the laundry was clean and folded, waiting to be put away on a floor.

Only in my case, no human being would see me again until the hotel decided to go back to using green in the suites.

I landed near the bottom of a plastic bowl and waited until enough laundry was added to it throughout the day to reach the required weight. Then the machine lurched into action and the bowl was moved to the large wash basin where I had started my sad new existence, and I was once again dumped into warm, soapy water.

This time, however, I was completely trapped by the water and constant sloshing and jostling or the water jets and the changing pressure. There was no intentional movement on my part trying to reach the top. There was no moving annoying sheets away from me. I was helpless, and the washer was treating me no differently than any other flimsy, unliving thing thrown into it. I was just another piece of linen. What did it care if I was soaked and pressed and tangled in with other items that needed cleaning?

After the washing, the basin spun rapidly and I was all but glued to the inside wall by the water I had soaked in. Then the water was released, and there was one final spin to shake loose any remaining water before that too was drained and I heard the wringer activate.

I was one of the last pieces dropped into the wringer this time, and when I hit it I was still folder in half with my face in my crotch. On the plus side, I smelled very clean. Very, very clean. Probably cleaner than I'd ever been thanks to the chemicals and the motion of the jets.

I felt nothing but pressure as my blindly went through the rollers any leftover moisture was squeezed from my body.

I waited with my face up in my business, feeling heat from my still living but immobile body, for several minutes until the arms lifted me and held me upside down by my feet. The red line from the scanner started at my head and worked its way up until it found the bar code on my feet. Then it gently lay me down on a conveyor belt and ushered me to the next station.

Last time I had been deemed untagged and my journey had ended with the arms when I was dropped into the untagged items and sent to the prep room to be “fixed.”

This time, however, the system knew exactly what I was and knew exactly what to do with me. Damn that Heather. With a few stitches and a cloth bar code, she had sealed my fate inside the very department and computerized system I oversaw.

I was lifted again and draped over a filament line with other pillow cases and then moved back and forth with slow motions across a stream of hot steam on both sides, not unlike the hand dryers in public restrooms, only in this case they were designed to air dry the laundry with the danger of snagging or burning in a tumble dryer.

I backed and forthed for at least thirty minutes until a scanner register me as dry and I was straightened out and laid on the conveyor again.

At this point I was pushed on to another streaming plate, and a matching plate descended to press me flat... well, flatter, if it were possible. After a few seconds it lifted, then the plate I was lying on flipped over in the middle, folding me in half with my face between my feet. The top one descended again and pressed me smooth and flat. The bottom one then folded me again, into a forth of my regular size and smooshed me smooth a third time. It kept up this constant folding and steam pressing until I was roughly the size and depth of a 200 page trade paperback book.

Only then did it release me and send me forward.

By this point, I could only tell by the movement and momentum. After all, with my face folded somewhere within tiny package I had become I was as blind as I was helpless in all other ways.

But I knew my system, and I knew what was coming.

I felt the outside layers of my folded body touch something cold and I knew that was the shrink wrap bag. Then there was heat, and I was constricted even more as the bag was sealed to keep me clean and fresh during long-term storage. My foot would be visible to the outside so my bar code could be read and scanned if ever I was needed. But until then, I was going to spend a long, long time in the basement while Heather completely ruined my former, human life that honestly I might never see again.

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