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“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I’m happy to finally be able to do this for you more… fully.”
“I can’t believe you finally found a way.”
“Well, your safety is always my foremost concern. I do love you, silly.”
She stared up at him. She couldn’t help it. And not just from the excitement. At 6 foot 3 inches he towered over her 5 foot 1 inch frame. But she loved him all the more for how submissive it made her feel toward him. He could sling her over his shoulder and carry off to anywhere he chose without having to exert much effort with his athletic build and strong muscles. She knew that full well. She was completely in his power if he wanted, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it if he ever really turned all that height and strength against her. The thought thrilled her, tickling along her spine and sparking a tingle inside her pussy.
“Then how—” she started, but he interrupted.
“Since when does trash talk back to human beings?” he asked forcefully, then softened. “I assume since you wanted to do this for real then you really want to do it right.”
She locked her eyes on his, already wet with happy tears, and nodded.
“Good. Then listen. No talking.”
So many times they had played this game over and over at his massive home overlooking the bay. Nestled—and practically hidden—in 26 acres of wooded forest, she always felt safe being his trash.
Part 1
It would begin as always with him stripping her naked, then binding her wrists and elbows tightly together behind her back with duct tape. Then he would bind her just above and below her knees and at her ankles. After that, he would bend her legs until her calves squished against the backs of her thighs. Then he sat her on her knees and pushed her back until her boobs smashed as flat as her D-cups would allow against he knees, and he would tie her into as small a ball of human woman as her body would allow him to. Uncomfortable, strained, muscles taut and stretched and screaming for release, but never beyond what she found exhilarating. Never to the point of true danger. Never to the degree that her body wouldn’t be rested and safe and relaxed again after a long soak in bath salts and a good night’s sleep with lavender and tea tree incense wafting throughout her “recovery room.”
But that wouldn’t be the end of it. No. That wasn’t even all of the beginning of the evening. Once she was secured into a tightly bound ball of female flesh, he would shove whatever was available from her discarded clothing—panties and socks if she had dressed casually or perhaps pantyhose and a thong if he had prepared a more formal evening before granting her another evening of playing her trash game. As soon as the panties, socks, pantyhose, or whatever he had found were filling her mouth, he wrapped the lower half of her head in duct tape—always four circles—locking her voice in muffled silence pulling her long, red hair with the tape to the point that it stung and felt like a few strands were pulling loose. She would always try to smile under the gag, but failed thanks to the industrial grade tape he used.
At that point, the beginning was finally finished. She had been transformed from independent woman to bound and helpless plaything. And that meant it was time for phase two—becoming trash, but not just any trash.
His trash.
He would then squeeze her into a tall, white kitchen garbage bag, and even in her reduced state, her ball-shaped formed found the bag a tight fit. Then he would dump whatever trash he could find around the house in with her: paper waste, aluminum cans, plastic water bottles, even leftover food from whatever dinner they had enjoyed prior in the evening. Then he would tie the mouth of the bag loosely around her neck so as not to cut off her breathing.
After that, he would place her, bag and all, into a large black utility sized waste bag. Nestled at the bottom of the much larger bag, she loved the helpless feeling of seeing the opening of the bag several feet above her.
Then he would leave her to her excitement, her moistness dampening her thighs and calves and all but dripping into the bag that held her captive. While she waited, stewing in her trashy paradise, he would ignore her completely, either watching a movie or heading up to his office to work on accounts, or just to surf some porn—perhaps, she hoped, even sometimes to go to his massive bed and caress himself to orgasm while he thought of his poor, helpless fiancé whom he had reduced from autonomous human woman to mere disposable, throwaway trash to be discarded.
Hours later, he would return, peak in on her, smile, and then wander about the 22 rooms of his estate, bringing all the bins from each room and bathroom, dump them on top of her until her face was covered, keeping it loose around her, or at least loose outside the small, tight, kitchen bag that help her in a more compressed state.
He would then tie it off, lift her from the floor onto a utility cart, poke at her and make a few smart-ass comments about how maybe this time, he might just forget about her or let nature take its course for real, or wake up too late to save her from the weekly waste removal pickup.
Each “threat” would revive the waves of pleasure throbbing inside her sex. Each threat made her wish more than ever that he could and would bring himself to allow her to experience a more fulfilling trash existence. She longed to be so completely at his mercy that it didn’t matter even if he discarded her for good. She was his to use as he wished. And as she shuddered with orgasm after orgasm—all prompted by her imagination since her hands were bound too far away from her sex to do anything other than wiggle uselessly. Her dreams while she waited inside the back, dropped inside the outside bin, more bags piled on top of her, were of just that—being left alone to be picked up by the bin collectors, squished and squeezed in the truck’s compressor, and finally taken to a landfill to await whatever fate would claim her.
Of course, he loved her too much to let that happen, and each morning, without fail, there he would be, dumping her from the outside bin, rolling her to the garage on the cart, unbagging and unwrapping her, then carrying her exhausted, naked, vile, disgusting, sexually spent body upstairs to his master bathroom and leaving her alone for as long as she needed to regroup her thoughts into human thoughts and eventually take a shower to remove the immediate vileness and then a long bath to revitalize her sore muscles and joints.
Part 2
He told her to sit down and she did as he instructed. “This,” he said, motioning to the statuesque blonde woman who stood smiling at her from the foyer. “This is Melody. She’s Romany, or what the unenlightened call a gypsy, not realizing how offensive that terminology is. But, all that aside, she does have a few tricks and spells up her sleeve that have been passed down from her grandmother’s side of the family.”
The woman wore a simple blue dress that showed off her curves but without turning alluring into slutty. She nodded at the seated woman and said, "Nice to meet you."
"I'll let Melody explain it to you, but first I want to go over a few things just so you know where we stand. All right?"
She started to speak, but he raised his finger, and she stopped and chose to nod instead. Amazing. Just a simple finger, one digit, and she followed it's unspoken command. She embraced the feeling and smiled.
"Good."
"I know your real dream is to go beyond just pretending, and I well know that if I let you have your way, you'd prefer sometimes that I actually let you get carted off, crushed, and left mangled and helpless buried in a landfill, left to decompose along with the rest of the trash."
As he spoke, she hoped he could see how the edge of her smile twisted up at the corners. He was making her so wet she feared she might leave a spot on his chair.
"But, as much as you think you would love that," he said, and he emphasized the word 'think' with a nod and a raise in volume, "I believe that once the initial excitement wore off, you would realize quickly what a foodhardy decision you have made, and worse, realize that you had caused the kind of harm to yourself that there would be no coming back from."
The corners of her smile faded. Was he changing his mind already? Hadn't he promised he had discovered a way to actually make her fantasy come true?
"So, realizing I had to be the grown-up in this little endeavor, I refused to let you go any further than our harmless games -- at least until I could discover a way for you to get your way and for me to get mine."
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a quizzical stare. As she did, she noticed Melody's expression hadn't changed from the friendly greeting, and she realized she couldn't read the taller woman's face at all.
"I want for you to get the total trash experience, from being used up and thrown away all the way to being bagged, carried off, crushed, and left forgotten and unwanted in the landfill, counting the lonely days of isolation and boredom, with only the birds who drop in to pick scraps to keep you company and give you any indication of the passing of time."
It was too late for her to stop herself. Her panties became wet. And the chair too, she feared.
"But I also want for me to know that no matter what kind of awful things happen to you that you will not be killed or harmed in any way that can't be undone, and that no matter how long I allow you to indulge your masochistic little fantasy, at the end of it, you'll still be my living, breathing fiance back at home in one piece."
It didn't seem possible for both things to be true. There was no way reality would allow it. But that fact didn't stop her from continuing to leak sex onto his chair. She loved the game -- whatever it turned out to be -- that he was playing with her. Even if it was just to stimulate her mind into accepting the possibility that might actually be able to finally become the merest of "worthless stuff," nothing valued, just waste to be dumped and forgotten and carried away.
It was a strange fantasy. She had long learned to accept that, but according to the Internet she wasn't alone in her dreams. And luckily she had found a man willing to help her explore them, someone who loved her enough not to shun her because of her wanton, unexplainable urges, and way off the beaten path sexual proclivities.
"Which brings me to Melody here."
At the mention of her name, the beautiful woman grinned, then re-crossed her legs, letting the left bounce slightly in a way that distracted him. But who was she to get onto him about a wandering eye or even to feel she had a right to feel hurt. After all, she had heard him and she had agreed: Since when does trash talk back to human beings?
"Melody? If you'd like to explain."
The blonde woman rose and walked to her. "When Gregor told me of your problem, I have to admit that I was instantly intrigued. You see, I too have a --" she said, then paused, sighed, and finally settled on a word. "-- a friend who enjoys non-vanilla, shall we say, sexual fantasies. Things that just couldn't happen if left to what people percieve as real world physics."
Is she talking about some kind of high-tech VR? That would be awesome, the girl thought. With probes and wires hooked up all over her, it would be just like being there for real, and yet she would remain perfectly safe.
Her Gregor was a god damn genius. And luckily he had the kind of money to make such an idea happen.
She leaned up on the chair, elbows eagerly resting on her knees, and as she slid forward, she felt her ass move into a thoroughly wet spot on the cool leather. Gregor was going to have to get the chair cleaned, and with any luck, he would use her inability to control herself against her when he began her fantasy in earnest.
"Look at her, how eager she is," Gregor intoned. "It's been two years since I've seen her with that much excitement in her eyes. They look even bluer than normal."
Melody chuckled, but made no other response. Instead she continued with her explanation of whatever it was she would be doing to make the girl's dream come true. "All of these leads me to reveal to you one of my family's greatest secrets -- this grimoire."
"A grim-what?" She immediately caught herself and locked her eyes on the ground, apologizing for forgetting her place and speaking.
"Trash does not speak."
Her head sunk slightly lower.
"To the floor, trash," he said.
She slipped from the chair to her knees.
"Perhaps that will help you remember."
She smiled at the sudden wash of humiliation. Kneeling on the floor, the standing blonde towered over her almost as much as Gregor did thanks to her spike-heeled leather boots. As she was though, eyes locked on the floor, she could only see the woman's boots up to just an inch or so above her ankles.
She all but melted into the floor, a single puddle of sexual ecstacy, right then and there.
"As I was saying," Melody continued without acknowledging the humbled woman at her feet, "My grimoire is a book that has been passed down through the female side of my family for many generations. Some call it magic, but I prefer to think of it as a catalyst for influencing matter to act outside its normal rules and do what one tells it to do."
Magic. Now this little act Gregor and Melody were putting on for her benefit was getting somewhere. Ask any bondage enthusiast. Magical transformations were the ultimate form of being mastered by another. Not only would the victim have no ability to exercise a will of her own, she would equally have no humanity to exercise nor the rights to fair and human treatment that came with it. And on top of that, there was the complete loss of value as a person and the prospect of being ignored and forgotten as just another piece of whatever the master or mistress had transformed her into.
After speaking, Melody returned to her chair, but instead of sitting, she grabbed an oversized totebag and slid out a brown, leather, hand-stitched book that looked to weigh at least a hundred pounds. Book in hand, she returned to the girl and took her hand. Lifting her up, she placed the girl's hand on the surface of the book and said, "Feel the grimoire's energy and let your energy flow into it. There must be a bond between the book, the caster, and the receiver of the gift."
Damn. Melody was good. The girl realized then and there she owed Gregor a night he'd never forget. Anything he wanted. Any hole he wanted. Even that one. And as many times as he wanted. He had pulled out all the stops to make her feel loved and give her as immersive a fantasy experience as reality would permit. And she needed to thank him properly.
"Do you trust me?" Melody asked.
She nodded.
"You will need to speak for this," Melody said. "As with all magics, words are binding. Do you trust me?"
"Yes," the girl said.
"Do you give your energy willingly to the grimoire?"
"Yes," she said.
"And do you give yourself to the mercy and whims of this man?" Melody asked, pointing at Gregor.
"For as long as I live," she said.
"A simple yes or nor please. If we are honest about it, no matter how aware you will be, mere objects do not actually and truly live." She smiled warmly. "Do you give yourself to the mercy and whims of this man?"
"Yes," she said, and she wanted to add, "Absolutely. How could I say no?" But she found her words would not come. She mouthed the question, "What's happening?" but both Gregor and Melody ignored her.
Melody opened the book and read aloud an incantation in a language the girl couldn't understand. But not only that, she also found she could not understand anything Gregor said either, as if the whole concept of human language had disappeared from her brain.
"Do not worry." Melody's words came not to her ears but somehow to her mind, her understanding. "You will not need words to become trash. Trash needs not understand anything going on around it. It merely exists to be used as whatever it is and then thrown away when used up. If there is something the woman you used to be needs to know, I will let you know this way, but only if I deem such knowledge necessary. For most of the time during your adventure, you will merely exist without comprehension except that which can be deciphered without words. You will retain your ability to feel touch, to smell, and to taste, but your world will be one of silence and darkness otherwise. To allow you full access to your senses would be to lessen the totality of your experience, would it not?"
I don't know how they're doing this, she thought, but I hope it can go on for a lot longer than just one night. This is amazing. Once we're finished though, I will certainly have to ask how they pulled this off.
"Are you ready to lose your humanity?" Melody's voice echoed in her thoughts.
She nodded vigorously.
Melody grinned and continued reading.
She fell and landed softly on the floor, her vision and hearing completely gone. She simply felt the coarseness of the jeans she was wearing against her skin.
"You should see the expression on Gregor's face. As you transformed, even though I had warned him what to expect, his eyes were so wide. He was so astonished. You're lost inside the jumble of the clothes you were wearing, and we can't even see you now."
What they hell did you turn me into, she wanted to know. The anticipation is killing me.
There was pressure at her... Shoulders? It was difficult to tell for sure. The touch seemed to be pressing her all over. Something coarse rubbed against her, and her body tingled. Then she was free of all but the pressure that held her in the air. Her feet dangled and air rushed through her as her body waved in the slight breeze from Gregor's air conditioning.
This is killing me, she thought. What the hell have I become?
But there was no response from Melody.
Then her body was crumbled together into a ball, and the cool air was gone. In its place was a sudden wave of heat, like that of human skin. A hand? Was she small enough to be crushed and held in one hand? Paper? Some kind of food wrapper? Or perhaps some kind of plastic cup? There was so many possibilities, but she didn't know. She had no awareness of her own body, her own identity, her own state of being.
But then, she realized suddenly -- and she would have shuddered at the thought if her body could have responded -- should trash really have an identity? Was that merely a holdover of her human memory? Did you even own something as human as an identity any longer? This was exactly what she had asked for, to become something useless and wasted and unimportant, something without a need to know itself, something to be tossed into a garbage can and forgotten.
Her mind reeled from a sudden orgasm, and her new body did nothing but experience the wash of sensations. She waited for the wetness to come, it didn't. Her body had no reaction to the sexual ecstacy that had wrecked her was left of her mind.
"Did you enjoy that?" came Melody's voice inside her thoughts. "It's a trade-off I'm giving you in exchange for yoru sight and sound."
And one hell of a deal, the former girl thought. I'll take that trade any day.
"Gregor is leaving you with me for a while, but he'll see you again shortly. I'll explain this evening to you and then you will not hear from me for a long time, although..." and Melody paused for several moments. "The whole concept of time will become a more and more difficult idea for you to comprehend. You'll find that your entire world will close in to the point that it will consist of little more than the immediate sensations you remain able to grasp."
She felt her body slip through the air and seconds later she found herself resting on something soft and cushioned.
"That's my comforter," Melody communicated. "Now, while you're still able to comprehend such things, I'm going to give you a picture of your new life, your new body, the new you that will soon be used up and thrown away to find a new home among the rest of the trash."
Here it comes, the girl thought. This is me, the brand new me, or at least the brand new me that Melody has managed to hypnotise me into believing it me. But who cares? This is amazing!
No sooner had the thoughts escaped the nugget of her mind than Melody's words invaded her thoughts again. "I assure you that this is not hypnosis, nor any kind of trick. What you are about to see is you, the real you. This is your new body, your new life until Gregor decides otherwise."
And then the voice was gone. There was a tight pull and she felt herself stretched so far that she thought she might rip apart. The pain was immense, but not just the pain. Just beneath it lay something else, immeasurable pleasure. Between the two, her new body reeled with confused delight.
While the confusion and stretching occupied her world, a sudden image appeared in her thoughts. Melody stood in a bedroom, holding what looked like a pair of black pantyhose, stretching them to almost double their original length.
Was that... Were those nylons really... Her?
The pressure released just as the image changed to one of Melody dropping the pantyhose into the floor.
Then the vision disappeared, leaving her in darkness again with only the coarse, dirty fibers of the carpet to assault her new skin.
Melody? she cried out. Melody?
But there was no response. Nor would there likely be one for a long, long time.
Part 3
Time meant little for her while she waited. Only the changing sensations of her new, nylon body gave her any indication of movement or of changes from on location to another. She had lain on the coarse carpet for a long time (or so she guessed), then had felt the warmth of human hands again for a few moments before being placed in something hard and hot and filled with competing smells that didn't allow her to pin down any single scent. After that, she had been touched again by human hands and then finally laid against more softness that felt like she imagined herself to feel. From time to time, she found her body jostled around in the sea of softness, but not moved out of it, and there she had waited for what had seemed like forever.
Without sight or sound, her mind filled the moments with nothing more than the feelings. Her body maintained a permanent state of mild arousal, so much so that it made it difficult to focus her thoughts on any kind of organized collection of ideas about her predicament. With the constant sexual impulse wracking her brain, she had little awareness beyond that of the mere present. She was a thing without present or past. She was an object firmly trapped in the present, whatever that present might be. She needed no history, no future. She wasn't human, after all. She needed no story. She needed merely to be kept, to be used, to be used again and again until she was of no use any longer, then to be discarded without so much as a single thought or care from the person who owned her.
Still, in her tiniest moment of fleeting lucidity, she wondered how long had it been? Had she been living with Melody and for how long? Had Gregor even seen her? And as much excitement as her body was giving her just laying around, wasn't she supposed to be thrown away at some point?
But the moments didn't last more than a few seconds, and each time, she found herself lost again in sensations that overrode thoughts and relegated her to something less than personality, something owned.
Perhaps that's why the voice, after so long in silence, startled her so and brought the concept of identity rush back to her thoughts.
"Hello," Melody said. "Sorry about that. I had to come home and take a shower, and I figured you would rather spend your time waiting in a drawer with my other underwear than in my purse or on my floor. The floor not only stinks because of the dogs but I was also afraid you might be ripped before I had the opportunity to wear you for my date."
Date?! Melody was actually going to wear her? She wasn't supposed to become part of another woman's property. She was supposed to become part of Gregor's trash. But then again those feelings of resting in the lingerie draw were very nice. She could get used to such feelings.
No. She tried to rein in her thoughts. No. She belonged to Gregor. She was... She was... Hell, she had been someone, but now she was supposed to belong to the man who loved... the man who owned her. But, and it made perfect sense to her, what man would own pantyhose? What man would choose to own something like her? When she had been a woman she had a say in what she did and where she went and with whom. But she was no longer a woman. She no longer has a say in anything. As a temporary piece of women's clothing, she had no place belonging to a man like Gregor.
She was... well, she was nothing important. Nothing that mattered.
So what if she couldn't even remember her name.
Why the hell would she even need one?
"Here's the game plan for tonight," Melody's voice thundered in her thoughts. "Ever since I transformed you a few hours ago --"
A few hours ago?! The days, perhaps weeks, she had felt in her solitary existence had only been a few hours?! Oh, hell. This would be nothing like getting off during a night in the trash bin. At least she had known the passage of time then, could hear the katydids and sounds of cars speeding down below Gregor's property on the expressway a half mile or so down the steep mountainside. She had a world then to exist in.
But no longer.
Her world was now nothing more than a moment of scents, tastes, and tactile sensations, with no moment connected to the previous or to the next by any real relationship. They disappeared behind and came into existence before her, and her world would forever be one, big, forever now with nothing behind her and nothing before her.
Melody continued without responding to her thoughts, if the beautiful blonde woman who owned her could even access the thoughts or a pair on nylons. Or did she even have real thoughts. Maybe what she took in as thoughts was just her consiousness pretending she could think at all. Or maybe it was a process of winding down to an existence in which she wouldn't think at all, and would simply take in each moment as it happened until she no longer even had memories, forever and truly just a piece of flimsy, sheer fabric, and never had been a real girl at all.
"--I've been working an incantation on Gregor as well. Don't worry. It's one he requested, but I did make a few alterations to help him and to make your ordeal that much sweeter. You see, from about ten minutes ago until tomorrow morning, he will not remember that you existed. Instead, for tonight he will think of me as his fiance in your place. Meanwhile, I will be wearing you and you will be a forgotten entity. As far as he's concerned, tonight you're nothing more than a pair of black pantyhose I've chosen to wear for our date for him to enjoy looking at and perhaps touching if he gets frisky."
That was going too far. That was not what she had requested. That was... her mind settled as warm flesh stretched her form across what had to be five fingers. Melody had her hand inside her yielding and flexible body. That was perfect. That was why she existed. That would be so amazing to sense not only the filling warmth of her owner's legs as she encompassed them but also the more precise touch of Gregor's hands and fingers as he caressed her owner's thighs and calves and feet through her thin, whispy, practically non-existent body.
"But tomorrow morning, he'll remember everything, And then I'll give you back to him so he can take you home and do with you what he pleases. And eventually throw you away to begin the rest of your little fantasy in earnest."
For the next lifetime of sensations, the girl who couldn't remember her name could only remember the joy of being opened and filled up by the warm, soft skin of the woman who owned her. She was pulled, scooted, shifted and pulled again, all over, until the tugging finally stopped and there was suddenly only the overwhelming feeling of her purpose being fulfilled and her body being filled up to almost bursting.
Her mind reeled with stimulations that threatened to engulf her world in what felt like an orgasm, if only without the biology required to actually have one. But none of that mattered. Any thoughts of anger, hurt, loss, even betrayal vanished, replaced by the immediate now of ecstacy and wonder.
It was in such a timeless place where she at last felt the touch of Gregor's hand on what could only be Melody's thigh. She was compressed between Gregor's hand on top of her and the sticky, warm leather seat (if she had to guess) beneath her and filled up entirely with Melody's long, slender, soft legs.
Gregor caressed Melody's thigh and each motion sent her over the edge into what passed for an orgasm in my pathetic little nylon mind. Other moments clouded her focus and strove for dominance, but she could no longer piece them together in any kind of narrative. There was the pressure of his hands but not his warmth pressing her tight against what she was assumed was Melody's ass through the dress her gorgeous owner was wearing. There was the unmistable odor of oozing desire that wafted from Melody's sex and filtered in and through the nylon fibers that made up the girl's body. There was more rubbing and squeezing of her owner's thighs. At one point there was a hand between her owner's legs and the nameless girl could feel her body pressed along with her owner's satin (nothing else could possible feel that soft) panties against and even a little inside Melody's pussy. Soon her owner was leaking liquid sex though the satin and into the girl's new skin. It was as if she could taste her owner's juices with every part of her body. She was all skin, all tongue, all nose. Every sensation, touch, taste, and scent, blended into one and she rode the wave of what it did to her.
What little mind she possessed exploded in something she couldn't have imagined prior to that moment, and she simply no longer existed in any world, in any moment, in any sensation other than the joy of being overwhelmed and made exileratingly non-existent.
Part 4
She only felt alive again... or perhaps awake... no. aware. She only became aware again as the sensation of being soaked completely took over her focus. Her body reaked with the blessed odor of her owner's sweat and sex. Along with the comforting smell of sex came another scent, something clinically and strong, perhaps some kind of cleaning liquid. Only then did she realize that her skin was being forcibly rubbed against itself. She was rubbed, then wadded, then stretched slightly, only to have the sequence begin again. The touch and smells overwhelmed her again and she felt her focus begin to fade until she once more no longer aware.
When next her thoughts formed, she felt her body long and straight. There was a straight, single point of impact just under what she assumed was the panty portion of her nylon form. Outside of that one point of touch, there was nothing else save a very, very slight breeze weaving through her whispy body.
Her odor had changed. She no longer reeked of sex and sweat.
An image invaded her thoughts. One pair of black hose hanging over a shower rod.
Then a sentence, but just one. "Gregor asked me to keep you for a few more nights."
After that, she was alone with the breeze and the pressure of the plastic bar against her soft, new skin.
The voice carried no tenderness, no malice, no anything. Just information. She longed for it to speak again. She wanted to cry out for it, but what right did she have? She was owned. The voice was the owner. The owned existed merely for the whims of the owner.
The owner had once had a name. She had known it, she thought. The only name she could remember now was that of a man called Gregor. Knowing that name reminded her that in spite of her lapses into the moments of body-rocking sensations, she once had a past and that past included the man Gregor. Her owner factored into that past somehow, but she could not bring it to mind. Her owner was simply her owner. That was the extent of their relationship.
Relationship. But there was no relationship. There was simply ownership. Her owner owed her nothing but to possess her and to use her as she saw fit.
There was thoughts of being used, thoughts of Gregor touching her, but as they returned, they disappeared in blackouts of ecstacy. Each thought of the man cost her minutes, hours, hell, maybe days, weeks or even months of her existence. Just his name was almost enough to cause her mind to go blank with joy.
So she focused instead on the hardness of the shower rod bending her in half and dangling her in the air above her owner's tub.
Her life became a cycle of feelings again. Filled up by her owner. Touched by the man who loved to touch her owner and her. Immense blackouts of overwhelming sexual peaks. Coming to while being washed. Then hanging in peace and relative restfulness while she dried out.
There was no record of the cycle, however, only the cycle itself.
Her life, or what there was of it, had become a mish-mash of these sensations. There was her owner, and there was Gregor. And sometimes, there was her.
After what felt like hundreds, perhaps thousands of uses, untold numbers of the cycle of washed and worn and washed again, there was something new. Instead of going from the shower rod to her owner's legs, she once again went into her owner's lingerie drawer and was again trapped in the soft, silky prison of her owner's underwear and other pantyhose.
Inside the drawer, time meant nothing. There was no cycle, not use, only the constant, sub-aware feeling of riding a stimulating touch of softness that would never end in the release her mind needed. In that state, she waited. And she continued to wait. After several lifetimes of mental emptiness, trapped on the verge of an orgasm that never came, she finally felt the warmth of life outside the drawer, and the change triggered some new awareness in her thoughts. She was something. Not much of a something. She remembered that. Just a used and owned something. But she had a purpose. And she had someone who needed, at least occasionally, to use her for that purpose.
And there was a man. A man named Gregor. A man whose face she could not remember. A man who loved his owner and enjoyed the way she made her owner's legs look and feel. A man who loved to make her owner fill her nylon body with the sweet, sweet odor of sweat and sex.
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