Dumpster Girl
What’s it like to be left all tied up and gagged in a dumpster, only to be rescued — or at least, removed from the dumpster — by some horny fratboys on a scavenger hunt? Deedee finds out in Dumpster Girl: Part One, a 2005 story by Trystl that that was posted to alt.sex.stories. (If subsequent parts survive in some archive somewhere, Google refuses to admit it.)
Well, this is certainly another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, I thought, as the door of the dumpster slid open and instead of seeing Carlos, as I had half hoped and half feared, I saw an unfamiliar male looking down at me as if he was looking for something.
Even now I could feel the deep blush that not only made my face burn, but also traveled down through my nipples, across my stomach and into my crotch. If he’d slipped his fingers between my legs it would have come away wet.
How can it get any worse?
At least it wasn’t someone Carlos had sent, or he wouldn’t have looked so surprised; but the way he was looking at me, I wasn’t sure if that would turn out to be a good thing or not. I couldn’t really blame him. I must have made quite a sight—hogtied and gagged—and laying naked inside the dumpster.
I squirmed with embarrassment. The ropes dug into my flesh, while something hard and pointed pressed against my back.
The fellow looked over his shoulder and called out, “Hey, Tom, Randy. Come here! You guys are never going to believe what I just found.”
Oh, great. He wasn’t alone.
“It’s not the jacket?” a deep male voice asked.
“Better!”
“Well, that rules out the used panties,” said the deep voice. “It’s only worth 15 points.”
I heard footsteps. Someone kicked a can and it rattled down the alley. They’re getting closer, I thought; and the idea made me tingle all over with anticipation and dread. I couldn’t help it. I’d always been a major exhibitionist, or perhaps more accurately, I was a risk taker. It was the chance of getting caught and the anticipation of waiting to see what would happen to me when I was that really turned me on, much more than having someone look at me while I was in a compromising situation.
“It’s not the panties,” the guy looking at me agreed, his smile getting bigger all the time.
“Right, Jack. What could be better than the Jacket?” Another male voice asked.
“Take a look.”
The guy looking at me moved back a little to let the others in. Two curious and then shocked faces looked down at me.
“Holy shit, Jack” said the deep voiced male, who had long blonde hair and pale skin and wouldn’t have been bad looking without his glasses.
“He found the person who used to be wearing the panties before someone else took them off her,” said the other male, who was a taller, athletic looking fellow with brown hair and an earring in one ear.
“This is definitely better than the jacket,” said the blonde.
“So what are we going to do with her?” Asked the athletic one, and something in his voice made me suspect that he already had some ideas that I might not like.
Still, nearly the same question was running through my mind. What did I want them to do with me? I certainly didn’t want them to leave me in the dumpster. More than likely, Carlos would come back for me, which would no doubt be very bad—or he wouldn’t, which was likely to be fatal. I didn’t relish the thought of being picked up, dumped into the back of some truck, and smashed together with a bunch of garbage, which, from the pain in my lower back, I already knew contained at least one hard and sharp object. Nor did I like the thought of slowly starving to death at the dump, while my limbs went numb where the ropes cut off my circulation. And that was assuming that I didn’t die from exposure, or being eaten by some wild animal.
“Well, whatever we do, Randy, we can’t leave her here,” said the blonde, who, by the process of elimination, I figured had to be Tom.
“Right,” Jack agreed.
Randy rolled his eyes for a moment, as if he thought he was dealing with simpletons, unable to grasp the most obvious of concepts. He looked at Tom then turned to look behind him at Jack. “Has it occurred to either of you that somebody put her in this dumpster? Unless, of course, she crawled in there and tied herself up. And maybe, if they put her in there, they’re going to want to find here there when they come back for her.”
I’d been thinking of that a lot, but I’d been hoping that none of them would.
I held my breath when I saw the expression on Tom’s face as he began to realize the implications. I closed my eyes. The dread of waiting to see what they would do was a delicious torture. The moment seemed to hang in the air.
Finally Jack spoke up from behind them and his voice broke the mood. “If they wanted her back they wouldn’t have put her in there in the first place.” He pushed his way back to the front of the group. “Hey! Finders keepers, I say.”
“Maybe Randy’s right,” Tom said, as he moved back to give Jack room. “They could come back any minute. The kind of people who would put her in here aren’t likely to just let us walk away.”
“What? You’d have us just leave her here? What if she ends up dying because we didn’t pull her out? Would you rather live with that?”
“We could call the police,” Tom said. “Let them deal with her.”
“No way! You can’t turn me over to the cops,” I said. Or rather, that was what I tried to say. Instead it came out as a mousy little squeal and moan of protest—but at least it got their attention and gave me the chance to move my head in that universal sign that means, Come on guys, will you get this fucking gag off of me?
“She speaks,” Jack said, with a smile that told me he’d know the best way to use the fact that I didn’t want to be turned over to the police against me.
“She’s trying to anyway,” Randy agreed.
They stood looking at one another for a moment longer.
“Fuck it,” Jack said with a shrug. He was already climbing up the side of the dumpster. “I’m not leaving her here. If you guys want to duck out on me I’ll give you cab fare home, but I’m going to get her out. We can figure out what to do with her later.”
The rest of part one is downloadable here.
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