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Trash opened her eyes to see the colorful void stretching out in front of her. In the years since she’d been locked away, the darkness that had been her home had transformed into a sea of colors. With nothing to hear or see, her mind had created its own stimulation. What began as slight differences in the blacks and greys had turned into waves and shapes flowing across her vision. Trash didn’t mind, as she no longer had enough of a mind to mind.
She found herself lying on a mattress, her bound body sinking into the soft padding. Though she was heavily bound in real life—trapped in layers of leather, neoprene, and latex—none of that mattered in the deep recesses of her insanity. What her mind wanted her to feel, she felt. What her mind wanted her to acknowledge, she acknowledged. What her mind wanted her to remember, she remembered. So, despite actually sitting in a chair, she’d learned to reject that reality and substitute her own. The dark cell she inhabited in the 17th basement of the JF Institute had crumbled into her endless playground.
“Oh, look who’s joined us? Ready for another day of pure isolation, Trash. I have plenty of abuse waiting for you.”
“Mhmm, sounds good. I bet she’s still wet from last time…”
Her two companions had been similarly conjured by her fractured mind. One was Slut, a perverted deviant dressed in a skintight latex straitsuit—the other was Biker, a harsh woman in a leather jacket. The two of them were lying on either side of Trash, their bodies resting on top of hers in a perverted threesome.
“Mmmm,” she responded.
Trash was gagged—and hooded—but only because she wanted to be. The truth was that she was a masochist who enjoyed the bondage and isolation. In fact, Biker and Slut were both parts of her personality—Slut representing her perversion and Biker her love of leather. Each represented a piece of a past she had long since stopped caring about. They looked like her, but… what was Trash even supposed to look like? Her appearance was just another thing that no longer mattered. Once the two had been her tormentors, but she had since learned to love their company. They brought her joy, pleasure, and orgasms. She was theirs to play with and was perfectly fine with that.
She shifted in her restraints, almost as though she was trying to encourage one of them to make the first move. Trash loved being bound, so she wore similar restraints to what she did in reality: a latex catsuit, a neoprene straitjacket and matching pants, latex tape, and a leather sleepsack. The only difference was that, as a gift, her mind let her imagine the straitjacket as being leather. The way each layer gripped her body felt sooooo good. Even though her crotch was still damp from her last orgasm, she was already eager for another one.
“Oh, it looks like the little trash wants it badly,” Biker said. “Well, in that case, you’re going to have to earn it.”
“Don’t worry. It’s better for us that way.”
Slut disappeared, leaving her at the mercy of Biker. The woman got up off Trash, pressing down on her crotch for support as she pushed herself to her feet. Trash moaned, out of both pain and pleasure.
“Well, well, well,” she said, crossing her arms as she stood over Trash. “I have to admit, it feels appropriate looking down on you. You always were a piece of garbage. But even the lowliest trash has its uses.”
Biker ran a hand up the inside of her thigh. With the way she was already straddling Trash, it was obvious what she was planning. She dropped down to her knees, her legs on either side of Trash’s face, and positioned herself so her crotch was just above Trash’s gagged mouth. The waves of yellows and oranges were painted over by the blue of Biker’s jeans.
Trash tried to keep still, but her body shook in anticipation. Then, Biker fully sat down. Her crotch pressed against Trash’s mouth as a soft moan escaped from behind Biker’s lips. Her thighs squeezed Trash’s face tight. The pressure felt familiar, like this wasn’t the first time she had been in this exact position.
Biker glanced down. From her position, she could just barely look into Trash’s eyes, and Trash could just barely look up into hers. She smirked, a small smile that told Trash “well, come on, let’s see what you’ve got”. Trash moaned loudly, a sound that went straight into Biker’s crotch. Only a single layer of fabric separated their lips.
At first, Biker stayed still, letting her victim do all the work. Trash’s moans and the way she wiggled her head as she tried to break free were already enough to push her toward the edge. But as she approached her climax, she started rocking back and forth, grinding her lower half against Trash’s face. The extra abuse only made Trash moan louder, which pushed her even closer to the edge, which only made her grind harder. It was a positive feedback loop with only one possible ending.
Biker bit her lip as she rode up to the edge—and tried to hold back the scream as she fell over. Even if she was being denied the pleasure she gave to others, Trash still loved the sound. It ignited something within her.
“Nice one, garbage,” Biker said, once she recovered from her orgasm. “It’s good to see you still have it in you.”
She sat up from Trash’s face. As neither she—nor her orgasm—were real, she left no traces of pleasure on her toy. Once again, she looked down at the trash beneath her, only this time, her sneer was replaced with a satisfied smile. It… almost reminded Trash of someone.
“Hmph. I guess I’ll just leave the two of you to it, then,” she said, before disappearing.
Trash wondered what she meant, before she realized that a latex-covered arm had been wrapped around her shoulder.
“Miss me, Trash?” Slut asked. “Knowing you, I’m sure you didn’t. Honestly, watching you back there made me jealous. You’re such a lucky girl.”
All of a sudden, Trash was no longer lying down. The bed was gone—replaced with the softness and warmth of Slut’s body—and she was standing. It didn’t make any sense, but the fact that it didn’t make any sense didn’t occur at all to Trash’s broken mind.
“Let’s see how you look.” Slut let go and moved to Trash’s front.
Her purple catsuit glistened in a bright light that hadn’t been there a second before. The straitjacket’s arms were undone, allowing her to place her hands on her hips, even if straps still dangled from the ends of the sleeves. Just seeing her—blessed with a freedom that Trash neither had nor deserved—turned the bound masochist on even more. She wondered what kind of abuse her fellow pervert had planned and moaned in anticipation.
“You know, as much as I like that leather sack, you know exactly what kind of bondage I prefer,” she said, looking her over.
Slut reached forward, grabbing the zipper of Trash’s sleepsack with a bound hand. As she pulled it down, the sleepsack seemed to fade away, revealing the layers of thick latex tape. Though it was a regular occurrence, losing a layer of bondage always felt weird to Trash. It made her feel like she was naked—what did a naked person even look like?
“Now that’s more like it! I have to say, you look sooo humpable right now. I bet you’re loving it too. I’m glad we finally agree on latex now—it was so boring when I was the only one who loved the stuff.”
She walked back around to Trash’s back. At first, Trash wondered what she was doing, before Slut wrapped her arms around her waist. The straps of Slut’s straitjacket connected together, trapping them in a hug that pulled their bodies tight against each other. Her breasts pressed into Trash’s back and her crotch rested against Trash’s ass. The bound captive looked down. She could barely see Slut’s bound arms—resting just below the outline of her own underneath the latex tape.
“Hmm… I just love all the time we get to spend together now,” Slut purred into her ear. A spark of excitement ran down Trash’s body, making her tremble. “Let’s start slow first. Nice and easy.”
Slut pulled her hips back, before thrusting them against Trash’s butt. A sensual moan left her lips as a gagged yelp escaped from Trash’s. She held them there for a second, rubbing her crotch against her victim’s tape-covered body, before pulling back.
Then, she did it again.
And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
“Oh my, that feels really good. Whatever you’re doing, Trash, don’t stop.”
As Slut continued grinding on her, the speed and ferocity of her humping increased. The air was filled with the squeaking of latex on latex. It sounded heavenly. Trash could (barely) remember hating latex at one point, but listening to this symphony of moans and squeaks, she had no idea why she could ever despise something so intoxicating.
Cries of pleasure burst from Slut as each thrust stoked the fire inside her. However, it was pleasure that was denied to pieces of trash like Trash. Feeling her ass get humped and grinded on was definitely turning her on, but without any of that stimulation reaching her crotch, she just had to stew in her own horniness as Slut used her for pleasure. As much as she wanted someone to deal with the itch at her front, part of her was fine with it staying forever.
Eventually, the grinding became too much for Slut to control. Her body tensed up as she reached her climax, her arms squeezing Trash’s body tight. Happiness and pain mixed together into the sound that erupted from behind her ball gag. Slut’s grip only loosened as the pleasure of her orgasm drained out of her.
Trash heard her panting from behind. “That… was… amazing. You really know how to give the best orgasms, don’t you? I get wet just thinking about it.”
Slut’s compliments always sounded weird to her, like they should be followed with a comment about how Trash’s entire existence was a mistake. Even if she didn’t mean it, that rough treatment was the only kind that made sense to Trash. Anything else confused her. She was also wondering why Slut hadn’t pulled away from her hug yet. Even though she pretended otherwise, Slut was fully in control of this reality—something Trash knew all too well.
She quickly got her answer.
“You know, I’m really not surprised to hear that,” Biker said, stepping out of the haze. “You two really make the most pathetic couple.”
“Hnnngh. You know I just love to hear that from you. Look! She does too.”
Biker’s verbal abuse coupled with Slut’s physical was making Trash’s eyes roll back into her head.
“I won’t even pretend to be shocked. But I don’t disagree with Slut here. The only thing you’re good for is suffering for another girl’s pleasure. You do that very well, Trash.”
“You know, I think she’s earned her reward.”
“I agree.”
With a flick of Biker’s wrist, the tape covering Trash’s body disappeared, leaving her bound in just her black leather straitjacket. Actually, was it leather? Some days, Trash could have sworn it might have originally been something else. Biker stepped up to Trash—wrapping one arm over her and Slut’s shoulder while the other went down to Trash’s crotch—before thrusting forward. Her fingers dug deep into the leather as Biker’s leather-covered breasts met their twins.
“MMMHHHH!!!” Trash moaned loudly as the pleasure blossomed inside her.
“This is what you always wanted, isn’t it, Trash?” Biker whispered into her ear.
“This is the only reason you exist,” Slut concurred.
“To be used.”
It felt absolutely amazing. She already loved the feeling of being trapped in a straitjacket—being sandwiched by her two abusers made it even better. The way their bodies were pressing so tightly against hers, it was almost like… almost like she was being squeezed from all sides by a rubbery membrane. She could barely move—though it wasn’t like she could move much before—and she wouldn’t have it any other way. The way Biker rubbed her most sensitive regions while rubbing in how much of a failure she was was always her favorite part of these sessions. She found it even better than the orgasm that came after.
Both Biker and Slut had helped bring her to the peak, and together, they pushed her over. Trash’s body tried to shake, but trapped between the two of them, the spasms instead just bounced around inside her. Her teeth bit hard into the rubber ball gag, her eyes rolled as far back into her head as they could, and her mind went blank.
The experience was so overwhelming and—
Trash opened her eyes to see the colorful void stretching out in front of her…
8 years is a long time.
For some, it’s enough for a career to start and end, for a marriage to live and die, for a family to grow and shrink. As life goes on, individual moments add together to make stretches of time meaningful.
Even for Trash, despite her pathetic non-life.
Exactly 8 years ago, she had entered the JF Institute as a different person. Despite no one around to see it, a transformation had occurred in the cell deep within its 17th basement. Years of bondage and isolation had sanded away her hatred of latex—molding a bratty masochist named Elizabeth Jong into the creature of pleasure now known as Trash.
In the JF’s Institute’s records, a long-forgotten file marked today as the 8-year anniversary of her imprisonment. To Trash however, it was just another day in bondage bliss.