Site Canteen 2

(story continues from Site Canteen)

Part 2

I slept soundly during the night, or for a number of hours anyway, but at around 7am, I began to come back to the waking world thanks to the noises of the construction site around me. Despite being sealed in plastic and buried in the canteen waste, the beeping of the machines, and the sounds of the men talking came through. At first, I was disoriented and did not know where I was. Feeling the waste pressing around me, and the sheen of sweat on my skin, I began to panic, and tried to thrash around. This was a useless attempt, as the waste had me pinned under its wet weight, and trying to move was virtually useless.

As my thoughts cleared, what I had done the night before came back to me. As I lay in my prison, I thought about where I was, and how nobody knew I was there, and I began to get rock hard. My bound hands had moved in my sleep to one side, thankfully above me rather than below, but still there was very little movement left in them. As I gyrated as much as I could into the stuffed black bags, I exploded in ecstasy at the thoughts of my position. I inhaled deeply through my nose and made a "mmmf" noise against my tape gag as I came with a rare force. My cum was dripping down the inside of my nylon trousers as I settled back into a more comfortable position, and the crackling of the bags above me subsided.

As I lay there, I began to worry about how tightly I was actually squashed here. Would I be able to actually get back out of this rubbish prison? I tried moving my arms, but the cable ties seemed to have gotten tighter during the night. I began to fear that getting out might not be very easy. As I contemplated my situation, the weight above me increased suddenly. Outside, John, one of my colleagues, was clearing up after the breakfast serving in the canteen. John huffed a little as he hoisted the second black bag over the tall lip of the bin and let it slump into the welcoming pile below. He looked to his side at the other 8 huge bags and sighed. How the hell did he end up doing this crap for a living anyway?

At the bottom of the bin, every single bag that John hoisted in increased the weight and pressure around me. By the time the sound of bags crashing into the pile had subsided, I was completely immobilized and began to worry a lot about how to get back out of here. I considered trying my escape now and taking my chances on getting caught, it was certainly better than being carted off with the wet waste to the landfill. On this though, I began, as much as possible, to rock side to side to try and free a gap which would give me more room to manouvre, and to try to free my hands from these cable tie handcuffs. I began to consider the cable ties a bad idea.

About a half a mile away, Mike, the site foreman was having a cup of coffee, oblivious to my predicament. He heard his name shouted from a little way away and looked up to see one of the plasterers approaching him. The plasterers name was David, a good looking young lad of about 24. He was wearing dark blue work cloths spattered with plaster from his work. Dave approached the foreman, slightly out of breath.

"Mike, sorry to bug you, but a small problem over in Building 2"

"Whats the problem Dave" replied Mike, peering intently at the young man.

"One of the huge drums of expanding foam that we got in for the ceiling fixes seems to be cracked. There is a tiny amount of the foam expanding out of the little crack, but I'm afraid its gonna bust, and if it does, there is a hell of a lot of foam in there. What should I do?"

Mike took a moment to consider the words. He knew the expanding foam was bought cheap, and was not too surprised to hear one of the large 55 gallon drums was busted. There was a small tap on each one, to allow the foam fill up the workmens guns without interacting with the air and expanding, but if it was escaping through a crack, then he had a problem. He looked at Dave and said,

"Nice one for letting me know Dave, we need to deal with that now. Is there any skips around the place with plastic liners in them?"

"No, not that I know of boss" replied Dave, "but could we not just throw it in a regular skip before it goes everywhere inside the building?"

"No, we cant do that" replied the foreman. "That stuff expands to 10 times its original size, and with 55 gallons in the drum, thats a lot of fucking foam. Problem is, that shit sets like concrete and sticks like glue, so if we put it in a regular skip, it will detroy the container and we'll be charged by the waste company. Do me a favour, have a walk around the site and see if you can spot any really big, strong plastic bags that would line the skip"

On this command, Dave began to walk around the site looking for a liner of some sort. It wasn't long before he spotted the bin beside the canteen (which I was still "mmmmfffing" in and trying to free myself from. He noticed the green liner in the bin and though it would be ideal. He stepped inside the canteen and asked the lads working there if there were any more of them, to which they replied, no, they only came when the bin was emptied once a week by the waste company. Dave explained the situation, and John, who had recently buried me deeper suggested that Dave take the skip over to where he needed it and dump the container of expanding foam in on top.
"Its only kitchen waste in there anyway, so it doesnt matter if it fills up with foam. The bin truck takes it straight to the landfill from here, so the liner will stop it sticking to the sides of the skip".

Dave agreed this was a good idea and left the canteen, on his way to get a forktruck to move the bin closer to the problem.

Inside the bin, I was having little luck in manouvring myself into a position that could possibly allow escape. Because the bags I was sealed in were so slippery, everytime I made an inch to the right, I would rock the left to try and increase my gap, only for the previous gap to fill up immediately with the soft pressure of the weight all around me. My hands were trapped above me, so I had no way to get them to my head to remove the tape gag, or the plastic taped around my head. I was sweating terribly, and felt like I was being pressed from every side.

Outside, the sounds of the building site increased, and I began to seriously consider having done this a bad idea. Suddenly, my heart stopped, as there was a metal CLANG noise on my bin, and I began to get the sensation of being lifted into the air. Surely this wasn't the bin truck? That wasnt due for another two days? If this was the binmen, I was doomed, as I had no way of getting out of my smelly predicament. My nose filled with the stench of garbage around me, and I gagged a little. Even though these smells would normally turn me on, the thoughts of being buried alive like this did not appeal to me.

As suddenly as the sensation of lifting started though, it stopped. I heard the beep of a reverse siren right outside and realized that I must be getting hoisted on a forklift to be moved elsewhere, and began to calm down, but the burning question was why would they move the bin?

Inside building 2, Mike saw Dave reverse into the half built loading bay on the forklift, with a huge steel bin balanced on the forks. 'He's a good lad', thought Mike, smart enough to find a type of solution to an unusual problem. This would have to do to avoid a massive mess inside the building.

Dave stopped the forklift, and set the bin down near to the damaged container. He asked Mike if this would do, and while Mike would have preferred an empty bin, unlike this one which was almost full to the brim with shiny stuffed bags of garbage, he couldn't expect miracles. The two of them approached the 55 gallon drum of foam, and noted that the small amount which had escaped the crack and expanded was now a much larger amount, and there was a distinct hissing sound coming from it as the crack widened.

"Okay Dave, get that drum on the forks and shift it into the bin before it blows, nice one for finding that bin"

Dave was delighted with the praise and set instantly to work. The drum was heavy, and it took two others with him to get it balanced on the fork, but eventually they managed. When steady, Dave lifted the forks over the lip of the bin and moved forward. As he got the forks and the drum over the bin itself, it began to wobble, and finally, it slipped to one side and fell with a massive FLUMP noise into the greedy trash below.

In my bags, the weight of the drum was massively unexpected, and as it landed in the pile above me, all I could hear were the sounds of crushing garbage and the whistle of plastic bottles being burst. The weight was incredibly intense, but for a small mercy, the angle that the drum landed caused it to slide to one side and as it touched the bottom of the steel container with a clang, it missed me narrowly. As it settled into place, I could feel the bag beyond my feet get pressed closer to me.

Mike clapped Dave on the shoulder and said he was glad he had mentioned this, and had avoided a very messy problem. With that, Dave hoisted the container back on the forks again and moved the bin back into posistion at the side of the canteen. With a clang, it fell back into position. Dave told the lads in the canteen what had happened and to be careful around the bin if they heard the sound of foam escaping.

Inside, I had no idea what had just dropped in beside me, all I knew was that it made my predicament so much worse. The inch or so that I was able to rock was now gone, and a few moments later, even more shiny stuffed bags fell into the top of the bin, packing me tightly into place. I knew now that this was a mistake.

Sadly for me, the clang of the skip dropping back to the ground was enough to widen the crack in the drum, and I became aware of a loud whooshing noise coming from inside the bin near my feet. I began to panic terribly, but there was nothing I could do as I was completly immobilized. The foam began to rush out of the drum at speed, and as soon as it came into contact with the small amount of air inside the bin, began to do its job and expand rapidly.

From my point of view, it began at my feet. I felt a tight warm feeling, like my feet had been dipped into deep warm mud, but still sealed inside the plastic of the bin liner. I tried vainly to rock again, but with no joy. The feeling of tightness around my feet increased and got tighter, and began to spread up around my plastic wrapped legs. Soon, the feeling was all the way past my waist. The foam was escaping freely now, and was forcing itself into every gap between the bags it could find. I could feel it moving underneath me, above me and all around me, as it expanded rapidly and encased my plastic wrapped body along with all the other shiny black bags. I could hear the sound of crushing again as the contents of my neighbouring bags compacted under the chemical pressure of the foam, and could feel as it pressed tighly against my body.

Now, the foam had reached my shoulders, and every part of my body from shoulders down was dripping with sweat from the heat of the foam expanding, and the lack of air inside the plastic. Once again, I tried in vain to move, but by now, the foam around my bound feet had began to set, along wth the foam around the other bags, and I realized I was nothing more than part of a massive lump of hardened foam and garbage. I began to smell the harsh chemical of the foam as it began to set around my shoulders, and as it continued to creep across my body, and around all of the other bags of trash around me. I tried to make some sound, but the tape gag held firm. The smell increased in intesity as the foam grew in girth around my head, packing the plastic close to my face. I thought once again how this was a terrible idea, as the foam encased my head entirely and blocked over my nose cutting off my air supply.

As I tried to wriggle a little or make some noise in vague hope that somebody, anybody might hear, I noticed that the foam had began to expand now inside my bag, having gotten in through my air hole. I could feel the gluey grip of it as it settled all around my face and began to expand down the inside of my bags, sticking me in place like a bug in amber. As I lost consciousness, and finally gave up the idea that I might survive this, I got incredibly hot and excited. Were it not for the fact that I was dying, this was a very sexy place to be. I exploded once more as I lost consciousness due to lack of air, and the explosion from inside my nylon trousers migled with the foam which had spread down that far. My rock hard dick was encased in foam, forever a statue to excessive fetish impulse.

The next day, the bin truck came as normal to haul away the contents of the bin to the landfill. Mike had been waiting for the driver to arrive, as he wanted to explain what had happened. The driver seemed okay with it, but was concerned about it being chemical waste, which should not go to landfil.

"Look," said Mike slipping him a hundred dollars, "do us a huge favour. Just take this to the landfill and find a nice deep hole where this won't be discovered, and then enjoy a beer on me. Does that sound fair?"

The driver was overjoyed with the extra money and wilingly obliged. He dropped the new bin into place, and got out of the cab to shake the massive green liner into place. When all was set, and the new bin ready to takes its contents, he hopped back into the truck, started the engine and headed straight to the landfill site. He knew exactly where to dump this sticky mess.

Mike watched the truck drive out, and was grateful. That could have been a very sticky and awkward situation for somebody, but thankfully they had avoided any problems.

The end.

 

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09.05.12