Anne Fields was an office administrator, working in the city for a medium size finance company, which for most of the year meant keeping the office clean and open, with enough stocks of everything from mugs to paper to loo roll.
In practice it also meant that most of the account managers, almost all male, treated her like their own personal dogsbody, from ordering pizza to cleaning up spills and occasionally emptying their rubbish bins if they’d filled them up before the end of the day. On the upside the pay was quite good, even including a clothes allowance as she was occasionally required to greet clients and other office visitors.
The task she really dreaded though was organising office parties. After something happened at one that took place years before she joined, darkly called ‘the incident’, all parties had to be held at hotels or restaurants. The problem was that they’d been banned from all of the decent ones due to the drunken behaviour of various staff…
Anne let out a deep sigh and put the phone down.
“What’s up?” asked Dave, one of the nicer guys who worked there.
“Oh it's the Parkland Hotel, after last year they’re refusing to host our Christmas party again,” explained Anne.
Dave laughed, remembering the devastation they’d caused. Well… most of it, his memory being a bit hazy.
“Tell you what,” he said, “my ex brother-in-law is opening a new restaurant on the other side of town, I doubt they’ll have heard of us yet.”
Dave chuckled evilly, causing Anne to wince. I guess there's no love lost there, she thought.
“Better not mention my name,” Dave added, confirming her suspicions.
Anne decided to give them a call and within the week it was all booked. In fact they seemed quite the reputable place, with the usual terms and conditions which Anne skimmed over.
It was a Friday night in December, unseasonably warm but raining. Inside the restaurant, the office party was getting going. The welcome glasses of bubbly had lasted seconds and most of the men were around the bar, well on the way to being merry. Dave had decided not to attend, which was probably for the best, Anne thought.
Anne was feeling good, she’d chosen a lovely chiffon evening dress in dusty pink. It was full length with a tight floral lace bodice that held her boobs up nicely without a bra, topped by a generous V-neck that gave a great view of her cleavage whilst just holding onto modesty. The skirt of the dress had a good long thigh split which, with the help of some slightly too loose heels, had already caught the attention of some of the guys. Underneath she wore modest knickers in a light tan colour and her usual light tan stockings and suspenders. Her hair cascaded in curls over her shoulders and her make-up had come together well for once.
Just then the doors to the back of the restaurant where the meal was set to be were opened and people began to find their tables.
First course was soup, a choice of leek & potato, or tomato & cream. It tasted delicious but was unfortunately a little cold.
Anne would’ve had a quiet word but the shouting from the drunk, entitled guys had already started.
“Oi, this is shit,” yelled Justin.
“Yeah, fucking cold as fuck,” shouted Jonny back, slamming his spoon down and splashing the tablecloth.
Henry was way too drunk already and took it out on the two waitresses collecting plates, yelling for them to “come and get his soup”. Unfortunately, getting an idea from his own words, he then told the waitresses to get his other soup as well and pointed at his crotch.
“Oh god,” thought Anne, as the waitresses fled the room, it's only the first course.
Two waiters started bringing main courses out even though most of the half eaten soups were still on the table. No matter, there was enough room.
The main course was standard British Christmas meal, somewhat overcooked veg, an iffy yorkshire pudding and a choice of salmon, turkey or a vegetarian quiche thing.
It got eaten… mostly… but there were plenty of leftovers. They’d finished all the wine though, Anne noticed and were already toing-and-froing to the bar for more. Just then, the older of the waiters came over to speak to Anne. “Our waitresses both just quit!” he said, visibly annoyed, “you’ll have to find someone to clear these plates and food away.”
Anne looked around hopefully but everyone in earshot was studiously not meeting her eye, well apart from Mike who was arseholed and blatantly staring at her cleavage.
Sigh. Anne realised she’d be the one doing the plate clearing and reluctantly got up, reaching for the heavy duty plastic bin liners that the waiter was holding.
“Wait, wait,” he said, softening somewhat, “I’ll get the food waste wheelie bin, it’ll be easier for you.”
It started well enough at table one, where Anne had sat the all the basically reasonable people in the office, and they helped her scrape the plates and bowls into the large lined wheelie bin before stacking them ready to be collected.
But then she moved onto the rest, where things had descended to the usual annoying rowdiness. As Anne started to clear the plates someone, Ben she thought, threw half a bread roll into the wheelie bin next to Anne.
Except Ben was incredibly drunk, and missed. The roll, which OF COURSE had been dipped in soup, landed smack in Anne’s cleavage and stuck! At that very moment, Anne had one hand on a plate, and the other on a knife, scraping food into the bin. Unable to dislodge the roll, any other way, she gave her boobs a little shake but to no avail.
“I’ll get it!” yelled Dan, and threw a half eaten, gravy soaked potato from his plate at the roll.
It hit Anne on her neck, disintegrating into a potato and gravy mess before sliding down her dress.
She was so surprised that she tried to grab it, forgetting that she had a plate in her hands… until, with quite a thump, the plate landed across her left boob.
Anne knew she should be upset, and some part of her was as the shock and laughter spread around her, but the cold gravy on the plate had gone straight through her flimsy dress and onto her nipple. Despite everything, Anne was instantly horny.
She tried to regain her composure, and leant over the bin to finally shake the food off her dress, but the men were having none of it. Seizing their chance, they started throwing more food at her, using her like the backboard of a basketball basketball.
“Anne isn’t emptying the bin, she is the bin!” someone yelled and before she could grasp what was happening two men had lifted up, her shoes flying off, and planted her feet first into the wheelie bin. As they did so, Anne’s lovely dress splayed all around the bin riding up to her boobs.
“My dress!” she yelled, instantly regretting it as the same men in one quick motion pulled it up and over her head.
Anne was suddenly, somehow, standing in a wheelie bin, food mess over her bare feet in just her knickers, stockings and suspenders, surrounded by almost everyone in the company she worked for. If only she wasn’t so horny.
Dan, sporting an evil grin, walked around the table with half a bowl of soup and the remains of his main course. First he slowly tipped the soup bowl over Anne’s boobs causing her nipples to spring to hardness. Anne couldn’t help but gasp, and her face flushed further red as Dan scraped his dinner plate over chest, leaving the remains of his meal to slide slowly down over her quivering breasts.
Anne knew she should say something, anything, but she was as horny and turned on as she’d ever felt and could only whimper as a queue formed and one by one, her work colleagues emptied their food waste all over her.
Mostly they tipped their food over her boobs, but also over her back and shoulders and Anne was soon covered front and back in slimy gravy, veg and soup and standing thigh deep in gloop. By now it was all too much and she slipped a hand inside her knickers, not caring who realised as she frigged her soaking wet cunt.
It was easily the fastest climax she’d ever had, within seconds she was shaking with orgasm, oblivious to the drunken cheering around her. As her orgasm passed Anne opened her eyes to see her boss standing right in front of her, a sly grin on his face and, Anne glanced down, an obvious erection in his trousers!
Her boss slowly lifted an almost full plate of food and tipped it over Anne’s head … and thats where the few remaining plates and bowls were emptied too, until Anne was head-to-toe bedraggled and the sticky food mess was squishing as far up as her waist.
“Scoot down a bit,” said the head waiter and, as Anne complied, flipped the wheelie bin lid closed. The bin tipped up and Anne was pushed down and against the front of the bin, pushing her tits into the mess of food. At the same time, the inside of the lid, covered with gross old dried food smeared across her head leaving grim bits in the mess of her hairdo.
The bin lid opened again and Anne found herself against the wall, watching her colleagues eating their puddings. “Save some for the bin,” someone yelled, and everyone laughed, even Anne.
“I’ve never known any group clear up so well,” observed the head waiter laughing as person after person tipped the remains of treacle sponge, Christmas pudding and even bits of cheese and crackers over her.
Soon though, the food was all gone and the lights dimmed as the evening’s disco started. Anne was starting to realise what she’d done, or at least not tried to stop, and the predicament she was in. She didn’t even know where her dress had gone, never mind being almost naked and covered in food waste. She slumped into the congealing mess around her and pulled the bin lid shut.
It felt amazing being in the dark, and the mess. Defying all sense she pulled her knickers off and lost them to the gloop before enthusiastically rubbing her aching clit again and again and again.
Outside her world the party was in full raucous, drunken spirit. Some women had turned up from somewhere Anne could hear, she hoped there wouldn’t be a lawsuit.
Occasionally the bin lid was lifted and a curious face appeared which always soon turned to laughter. As the evening went on, rubbish was thrown in on top of her, occasionally bits of cake but mostly serviettes and tissues. At least I won't have to deal with the restaurant complaints about mixing the food and normal rubbish up thought Anne, not when I get fired tomorrow.
That realisation, that she was losing her job tomorrow, should’ve worried her but all Anne could feel was relief. As the stress washed away, Anne relaxed into her bin, giving into how turned on she was to be used as a rubbish bin.
She was approaching her third (or fourth?) orgasm when her bin lurched suddenly and the lid shot open. Before she could react, Ben, by now horrendously drunk, leant over her and without hesitation threw up.
The vomit mercifully landed over the back of her head rather than her face but there was so much of it. As wine, cider, beer and the gross chunks of a partly digested Christmas meal covered Anne’s hair she could only crouch, frozen in absolute horror.
The lid went down again, only this time the smell was awful. She managed to get rid of some of it by mixing the vomit into the food waste with her hands but still it stank. Finally she realised the smell was her own hair.
There was only one thing for it. Squeezing her eyes shut and holding her nose, Anne ducked her whole head under the food mess. As she came back up, food waste, tissues and paper stuck all over her face and head, Anne climaxed, hard.
She was still dazed as the bin once more lurched and tipped. She felt her bin being wheeled away, the sounds of party fading, replaced with the shouts and clangs of a kitchen clearing down before with another jolt, her bin was set down and the lid opened.
She found herself in an old loading bay, staring up at the head waiter and his underling.
The head waiter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What was once a pretty woman was now a disgusting mess of food, rubbish and – he sniffed cautiously – yes, vomit.
“We’re going to have to get you out,” he said, before adding “but there's no way to do it without you making a mess.”
“Sorry love, but we’ll just have to tip you in” and he glanced at the enormous dumpster in the corner of the loading bay.
“Please no,” managed Anne but she had no idea what else to suggest.
The two waiters shrugged, and gently tipped her bin on its side. Mess began to slide up past Anne into the dumpster below.
“It's a full week's worth,” laughed the head waiter as the smell of rotting food hit Anne, “but it should cushion your fall!”
And with that the bin was unceremoniously upended and Anne dumped near head first into the putrefying mess, disappearing completely from the sight of the two men.
After being constrained in her bin, Anne’s arms and legs took a moment to get going, but she managed to kick and pull her way back to the surface, just in time to see the dumpster lid being closed.
“Wait, you can’t leave me here!” shouted Anne, as she saw the waiters heading back into the kitchen.
“Its ok, I’ve told someone where you are,” yelled the head waiter, still laughing.
“Who?” shouted Anne.
“Some guy called Ben,” came the answer as the door closed.
Anne just stared, the last time she’d seen Ben, he was vomiting over her head and too paralytic to look after himself, never mind rescue her.
“What the hell am I going to do?!” Anne shouted at the inside of the dumpster, her voice barely audible across the empty loading bay.