Disclaimer: There are no publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc in this story, but if there were, they would be the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

My name is Steve Machell. I'm a line operative at Femina, one of the biggest manufacturers of sanitary products in the country.

On the fateful evening, I had been working on a line that used a new method of producing tampons that the R & D people had been working on. They'd somehow come up with a way of shrinking the products using a special light. This was shone on the materials for a precise time, and would make everything fifty percent smaller.

This was going to be massive! Packaging costs would be reduced by almost 60%. Our new range of shrunk products would be far more discrete than anything else on the market, and since they expanded again when exposed to warmth and moisture, they formed a compact, leak free seal. We'd trialled the products on a small scale, and the response was overwhelmingly positive.

So we were going ahead with a full scale trial, ramping up production, and automating things as far as we could. The line could almost run itself, and we'd worked out that we needed only a handful of staff to ensure everything kept running smoothly.

Unfortunately, when you're setting up something new, there will always be a few bugs to iron out, and sadly for me, this was no exception. A loud beep and a flashing amber light indicated that the hopper containing the cotton waste had jammed up.

I went over to the hopper, and leaning over the edge, attempted to prod the mass of cotton that had jammed the chute at the bottom of the hopper with a metal pole that was leaning against the hopper. These things jammed up fairly regularly, and a few prods would normally be enough to get things moving again.

And then I slipped. My feet just went from under me, and I found myself tumbling into the hopper, still grasping the stick. That's happened before too, but since we always got a soft landing, and because the chute is far too small for us to pass onto more dangerous parts of the production line, it was generally seen as comic relief.

The chute is where the new light had been installed, and as I hit the bottom of the hopper, (dislodging the jammed cotton as I landed), my feet and legs went through into the chute. I realised that something was wrong straight away, as I found myself going further and further in. My body, which would normally have been too big to go through was being shrunk to half it's normal size.

Then the pole caught across the top of the chute, leaving me hanging in the light. It got bigger and bigger in my hands until I was forced to let go and I dropped...

...onto a fast moving conveyor that was about 4 times as wide as I was tall, and it ran quickly in a deep metal trough, taking the cotton waste into the compacting moulds.

The entrance to the machine yawned wide in front of me, and I was plunged into noise and darkness as it swallowed me. I shouted with fear, but there was nobody to hear me, even if my voice had been audible over the din of the machinery.

Then I tumbled into a mould, along with a load of cotton, and a moment later I felt an intense crushing pressure as everything was squeezed into shape. I didn't expect to survive, but a moment later, the pressure eased a little, and I found myself ejected into a circular hopper. This one contained thousands of half formed tampons, and they were all swirling and rolling towards a hole in the centre. I swirled and rolled too. My arms and legs were pinned by the compressed cotton around me, but I hadn't been exactly in the middle of the mould. My face was clear, and I could see, and breathe.

Not that this gave me any great relief. I knew where I was heading next. The hole in the hopper led to a machine that sewed 4 neat rows of stitching into the lobes of the tampon, before finally attaching the blue string to it's base. It could do hundreds every minute, and I was about to fall helplessly into it.

I rolled around, bumping my face and forehead into the brushed aluminium surface of the hopper, and all the time, more unfinished tampons were landing on and around me. I got closer and closer to the hole and inevitably, after a minute or so, I fell through into the dark and clatter.

Once again, you could say that luck was on my side. The needles passed to either side of me, constricting the tampon into 4 compact lobes, with me sort of in the middle. I already couldn't move, but these rows of blue thread made sure that no matter how hard I struggled, nothing was going to work loose.

I bumped and tumbled onto my feet, and a final stitch was put in, securing a long strong string to the end of the tampon. I could see nothing of this, but I'd worked there long enough to know exactly what happened. And so I knew what came next.

The string lifted, taking me up with it, and it was deposited into a hole, on a conveyor belt full of small round holes. The next stage would be to put the tampon together with it's applicator. Quickly, we sped along to another machine. A thick cardboard tube was positioned above me, and as it came down, something shoved the bottom of the hole I was stood in upwards, and forcing me into the tube. I could feel another, slightly smaller tube, pressing on my shoulder, and then I was out into the open again, although barely any light filtered through from where I was in my new predicament.

Another conveyor. this one was textured with shallow grooves that made the tampons line up horizontally next to each other. All the same way. All in exactly the same position. We were all heading for a machine that would wrap us, firstly in a paper wrap, and then in bundles of twenty, we were packed into a cardboard box. The box was picked up and put in a bigger box, ready to go out into the world. That box would be sealed with packing tape, I knew, and a label stuck onto it with barcodes and text labelling it's contents and destination.

And that was the end of the line. For me too, I thought. Despite somehow surviving the rigours of the production process, I couldn't see how I'd last for too much longer. How could I eat? How could I drink? Was I to die some ignominious death, here, in pitch darkness, in a carboard box, inside the warehouse, or on the shelves of some supermarket? After the noise and violent motion of the past few minutes, it felt good to have calm stillness, the sounds of the factory muffled by layers of cardboard and cotton, but as time drew on, the immobility and quiet unchanging circumstances became first boring, then stultifying.

I slept a lot, although fitfully. Each time I awoke, I found that nothing had changed. I got hungry, and thirsty, but after a while it didn't seem to get any worse. I could only put it down to a side effect of the shrinking process, but somehow, my normal bodily processes seemed to have been put on hold.

There isn't much to tell about the days that followed.

I lay, unable to move, in the dark, in near silence. I was barely able to breathe, and I'd long since realised that no matter how loudly I called, nobody could hear me.

Eventually, things did change, and not for the better, but I'll tell you all about that in chapter two.

Concentric layers.

In the middle of it all is Steve. Immobile and only too aware of his situation. He is held firm by the compressed material of the tampon, which has been stitched into it's proper shape, and squeezed into a cardboard tube. Well two tubes actually, one inside the other.

The tubes are in a paper wrapper. The wrapper is one of many inside a cardboard box. The box, a deep blue in colour with a stylised picture of a purple flower, and the brand logo printed on it is itself just one of many inside a much larger cardboard packing crate, and that crate is on a rack in a warehouse.

Right now, there's little point in describing things from Steve's point of view. It's dark, and quiet, and nothing much changes.

So the unpeeling of the layers will be done from the outside in, and it's mainly from there that we need to watch.

First of all, the crate.

After a week or so sitting in the warehouse, the crate was lifted on a forklift, and carried out to a lorry. The sound and movement woke Steve, and he shouted and fought against his constraints, but his most strenuous efforts were utterly futile.

the lorry was filled with many similar crates, and made it's way across country to a distribution centre, where Steve's crate spent a few days before continuing, in another lorry to the warehouse area of a large supermarket.

From there, a worker cut the plastic ties that bound the cardboard crate, and cut through the brown adhesive tape that sealed its' top. The tampon boxes were taken out, and stacked, a little untidily, on shelves, along with boxes of other brands of sanitary towel and tampon (and incontinence pads)

Inside his tube, Steve could hear muffled music, mostly chart hits, and some classic songs from over the years, and although the darkness was still absolute, he knew that his situation was slowly changing.

After a few days, in the middle of the night, he was once again shaken into awareness as the box was lifted, and placed on a pallet. the pallet, laden with toiletries was pushed into the main shopping area on a handcart, and Steve, although he had no way of knowing it, was now placed on a shelf, in the feminine hygeine aisle of the supermarket.

Morning came, and the store opened. More music now, and a growing clamour of voices. The beeps of tills. The occasional alarm noise as people passed through the entrance with inadvertantly retained security tags. The shouts and cries of children. Announcements over the public address. This is a colleague announcement. Cleaner to isle four please. All checkout operators to the tills please. All muffled, and still pitch black. Steve felt the box he was in move, as a shopper pushed it to one side to pick up a box of her preferred brand. More nudges and jerks and then...

a sense of being lifted, before being dropped unceremoniously into a shopping trolley.

So who was she? This woman, who was unknowingly purchasing a tiny person along with her groceries? She could be tall or short. Black or white. Beautiful or plain. Or plain ugly. She could have hair of any colour. She could be fat or thin. Steve might never get to see her, wrapped as he was in layers of cardboard, cotton and paper, so in a sense, it didn't matter who she was. She was a Woman. She was both old and young enough to menstruate. She needed tampons. Perhaps Steve would have liked to have been picked up by a stunningly attractive willowy blonde, but of course, he had absolutely no say in the matter.

So I'll leave you, the reader, to provide, in your own minds eye, a picture of the woman, who was by now pushing her trolley along another aisle, and picking up the rest of the things she'd gone out to buy. His deep blue box was now buried deep in the trolley beneath a weeks grocery shop.

Her name though, was Gina.

Once more, Steve made a superhuman effort to be noticed. Screaming and shouting, and trying to rock and move, but with no better luck than before. The box was placed on a conveyor belt. Its' barcode was scanned, and he was placed into a carrier bag. the bag, with many others, was taken out to a car, and Steve was driven to an ordinary house, on a suburban street, and was carried inside, fighting against the implacable constriction all the while. Perhaps she might just have heard him, with the voice of a gnat, while in the car, or carrying the bags into the kitchen, but luck was not on Steve's side.

His box was eventually taken out of the bag, and he was carried upstairs, along with soap, toilet rolls, and bottles of shampoo and shower gel. A bathroom cabinet was opened, and Steve's box was placed inside. The door to the cabinet was closed, and stillness returned. Muffled footsteps retreated, and somewhere, a door clicked shut.

Gina was, well, if not exactly looking forward to her next period, at least curious about how things were going to be.

She'd seen the adverts in magazines and read reviews on online sites, and the general tone was overwhelmingly positive.

Still, she'd bought the new brand when she still had a few of her usual tampons left, and planned to wear a sanitary towel with them at first. Just in case.

She knew her period was due in about three or four days when she bought the box that contained the unfortunate Steve, so Steve was forced to stand, immobile and almost completely devoid of sensory input for a few days, in his box, inside the cabinet in the bathroom. Steve had long since given up trying to move. The tube he was in was packed tightly with many others, and he  had almost no leverage anyway, since he was held firmly inside a dense and compressed mass of cotton.

From time to time, he would hear noises. The sound of the toilet flushing, a shower running, faint voices. And once, louder, the sound of what must have been a heated argument between a man and a woman. He felt a vibration through the box, and heard the sound of a door, slamming shut, and the sound of footsteps running up stairs. Then something like silence again.

Deprived of any distraction, Steve listened intently and tried to work out something, anything about what was going on, but swaddled in his layers of muffling padding, everything was vague and abstract. Only the closest and loudest sounds offered any clarity.

The loudest sound of all was when the cabinet was opened and closed. The noise was startle Steve, and he would be filled with dread, wondering if his seemingly inescapable fate was now upon him. But so far, apart from a couple of violent knocks and jostles, whoever had opened the cabinet was not looking for tampons.

And then, three days after he'd been placed casually on a shelf in a bathroom cabinet, he heard the cabinet door opening, and after a moment, he felt the box lifted, and brought down. There was a scratching, scrabbling noise, and Steve's heart beat like a sledgehammer as he heard what could only be the sound of the lid of the box being opened.

He tried to throw himself from side to side, and roared at the top of his voice, but his tiny voice was inaudible over the sound of the refilling toilet cistern, and, he heard now, an extractor fan buzzing and whirring. His most stenuous movements had not succeeded in moving him a millimetre.

Steve was jostled far more than by his own efforts when fingers reached in and pulled out one of the tampons. If he'd been able to see, he'd have seen Gina, standing with a small frown of concentration, as she looked at it closely, turning it over and over between her fingers before tearing off the paper wrapper, and pulling out the tampon. This too, she scrutinised intently, before closing the box, and putting it back on the shelf. A moment later, the cabinet door closed with a loud click. There was a minute or two of silence, during which time, Gina had pulled down her tights and panties, emplaced the new tampon, and after putting a sanitary towel into the crotch of her panties, pulled them back up. She pulled her tights up, and pulled down her skirt, smoothing and straightening it as she did do. Then Steve heard the toilet flush, and a moment later, he heard the door to the bathroom close.

After that he heard nothing. Bored, frightened and frustrated in equal measure, he once again tried to move. Throwing his weight around, as hard as he could, he found that suddenly, he was able to make his cardboard prison rock slightly from side to side. That was all.

Gina meanwhile, had found her first experience with this new type of sanitary product slightly unsettling. It looked too small, and although it was undeniably discrete, she was still a little apprehensive. This disquiet was not helped by inserting the tampon. It didn't feel quite right somehow, and she could't feel it inside the way she normally would. The reviews she'd read though, had warned that this was the way it felt, and that as the tampon expanded, when the heat and moisture of her body reversed the effect of the shrinking ray, the feeling would quickly pass.

Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, she felt it gradually expand until it gently but firmly filled it's space. She left for work half an hour later, driving  to an office building a few miles out of town. When she needed to use the toilet, she would check her pad carefully, and was pleased to see that there was no staining or spotting. Still this was only the first day of her period, and the flow was pretty light. Towards mid afternoon, she took a bathroom break, and sitting in a cubicle, pulled out the new tampon. It was now about the size and shape of an ordinary tampon, and it had done it's job perfectly. She wrapped it in toilet paper, and disposed of it in bin next to the toilet. She replaced it with one of her old brand (which somehow now felt slightly bulky and unwieldy), and went back to her desk, quietly pleased.

The next morning, Gina went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. This time she took out, one by one, several tampons. As before, Steve heard the noises, and felt himself being jostled, but then, without warning, he was lifted suddenly upwards, and was battered violently from side to side, as Gina put him, and another tampon, into a pocket in her handbag. She zipped the pocket shut, and closed the bag before sitting on the toilet and inserting the third of the tampons she'd pulled out of the box. This time, she didn't bother with a sanitary towel before dressing for work.

Now Steve felt himself lifted, and he swung backwards and forwards as Gina walked to the car, with he bag dangling from its shoulder strap. She dropped the bag carelessly onto the passenger seat of her car, and drove to work. Steve now felt himself pulled around as the car accelerated, braked, and cornered. The radio was playing loudly. A mix of current affairs, chat, and music.

When Gina got to her desk, she put her bag underneath, and got down to work. Steve could hear a babble of voices and noises that he thought might be printers printing, phones ringing, and keyboards clicking. Sometimes he could make out fragments of conversation, and thought that perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could now make himself heard.

Steve had long since realised that his only chance of salvation was to somehow make himself known to the outside world. Perhaps, once his existence was discovered, the scientists that had developed the shrinking ray could find some way to reverse the process and restore him to a human scale again. Surely his absence had been noted. Surely someone had raised the alarm, and the possibility of his falling foul of the shrinking process had been considered. Perhaps even now the authorities were arranging an emergency recall of all the products from the factory. Steve had lived alone, but still, friends and family must have wondered why he had vanished so suddenly and completely. And yet, what were the chances of being found. Trapped in one item out of many hundreds of thousands? And wouldn't it have already happened by now? He'd been in the box for weeks! So Steve could count on no help from outside. He could only try his hardest to make the world aware of his existence, by the only means available to him. And so he shouted and screamed, and tried to throw his tiny weight around. This time, he managed to get the tampon that contained him to rock fractionally backwards and forwards, and then it rolled into a more stable position inside the pocket of the bag, braced between the side of the bag, and the other tampon. Then, no amount of effort could make it move at all.

Occasionally, Gina would get up from her desk, and walk around. To get coffee. To attend to some work need like collecting some printed documents or talk to some other worker in another part of the office. She would usually leave her bag under the table then, but when she had her morning break, and again on her lunch break, she took Steve with her. He'd never knowingly been into a Women's toilet before but now found himself carried unwittingly in, swinging rhythmically from Gina's shoulder.

It was quieter in here. A few female voices spoke and laughed. Steve could hear running water as someone ran a tap into a sink. It gurgled down the plughole. Gina went into a cubicle, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet. She took her bag and put it on her lap. She undid the clasp, and unzipped the pocket, and pulled out...

the other tampon.

Had Steve only known it, this would have been one of his best chances of catching Gina's attention, but it all happened very quickly, and he only had a moment in which to act. By the time he realised that the movement and noises he was experiencing might just give him a chance, Gina's fingers were withdrawing from the pocket, and zipping it closed again. She stood up, opened the lid of the toilet, sat down, and peed lavishly and long (all that coffee!) before removing the morning's tampon. As she'd expected, the flow was heavier than the day before, and this tampon had absorbed much more than the one she wore the previous morning. She checked the crotch of her panties carefully, but found no trace of blood. Satisfied, she put in the new tampon, tidied herself up, and went back to her desk for the afternoon session.

That evening, after driving home from work, Gina made herself some pasta. Right now, she had the house to herself. After the argument two days earlier, her boyfriend had left. She knew they would patch things up in a few days or weeks, just like they always did, but right now, they both wanted a bit of space from each other, while they licked their emotional wounds.

She ate her food, and tidied up the kitchen, then curled up on the sofa for a quiet night in front of the TV. She flicked through the channels restlessly. After about half an hour, she felt a need to use the toilet, and at a convenient ad break, she picked up her bag and opened it. She reached into it and unzipped the pocket. then she pulled out the remaining tampon, and holding it loosely between her fingers, carried it upstairs into the bathroom.

"OUR NEW MOISTURING SPRAY CONTAINS NEO-PEPSOMES AND ARCTUANIUM EXTRACT FOR ENHANCED LONG LASTING COMFORT AND VITALITY! TOP SCIENTISTS CLAIM THEIR HANDS HAVE NEVER FELT SO GOOD!"

"IF YOUR DOG COULD TALK, HE WOULD ASK YOU TO BUY CHUMMIES DOG FOOD! NOW AVAILABLE IN CAT FLAVOUR!"

"THESE AREN'T JUST POTATOES. THESE ARE FREE RANGE POTATOES, FREE TO ROAM IN THE FIELDS. REMEMBER. A HAPPY POTATO IS A TASTY POTATO!"

"And now back to our lead story, the emergency recall of Femina products due to the their possible contamination with what the company have so far only described as 'foreign matter'. Our reporter, Catherine Golding has this update..."

Gina was already at the top of the stairs.

She left the door to the bathroom open, as people will often do when they are alone, and crossed to the toilet. She pulled up her skirt, and pulled down first her tights and then her panties, and removed her old tampon. She wrapped this is a length of toilet paper and put it in the waste bin, as she'd done with the previous one at work that afternoon. Holding the new tampon in one hand, she tore the paper wrapper at one end, and allowed the tampon inside to slide out. Gina barely gave it a glance, beyond making sure she was holding it the right way around. It looked just like the others. It probably weighed a few grammes heavier than the others, but she didn't notice. Just one of those boring mundane things you do in your life, without any real thought of reflection. She paid no more attention to what she was doing than she would to a tissue paper if she wished to blow her nose.

And what of Steve at this point? Well Steve was doing what he'd been doing all along. He'd felt the sudden pull as Gina plucked him from the bag, and knew instantly what it meant. His protests were downed out by the TV, and the cardboard tube inside it's paper wrapper was too sturdy to allow his most frenetic movements to be felt. He heard the rip of paper, and felt himself dropped into the palm of Gina's hand.

And now, could he see, right on the edge of seeing, a tiny bit of light coming down through the end of the tube? The merest suggestion of a grey, instead of the unrelenting pitch blackness that had been Steve's constant companion for the last few weeks?

The moment was fleeting. Gina leaned forward, spread her legs wide, and carefully placed the head of the tampon, and Steve's feet, at the opening to her sex. After making sure it was positioned and aligned correctly, she pushed it firmly in, and then smoothly pushed the applicator to it's full extent, burying the tampon deep inside her. Then, equally smoothly, with practiced fingers, she pulled the cardboard tubes out of her body, leaving just a length of string protruding into the space between the top of her thighs.

Steve's first impression was one of wetness. Gina's vaginal walls were slippery with both her discharge, and with mucous. Then he became aware of heat. Gina's body core was utterly around and about him, and he was amazed at just how hot that felt. After weeks of an almost constant ambient temperature, to be plunged into this humid furnace was a shock.  And then he became aware of an intense smell and taste. A rich, ferrous, cloying, organic smell and taste.  Finally, he became aware of sound. There were various bubblings and gurglings being transmitted through Gina's insides. He heard her breathing, in a long slow tide. And over it all, he heard the rush and throb of Gina's heartbeat. Incredibly powerful it seemed to Steve. It pulsed through him and around him as her blood surged through her arteries.

The only sense that wasn't engaged was sight. If he'd not been pushed so firmly and deeply inside, perhaps he might have seen, through the slightly gaping opening to the outside world, the lace lined cotton gusset of a pair of slinky pink panties ascending rapidly up Gina's thighs, before covering her crotch firmly and completely. He might then have seen a gauzy layer of nylon as Gina pulled her tights up. He might have even been able to make out a hazy descent of a dark layer as she pulled her skirt back down again.

Steve could see nothing of this, but he felt a surge of movement as Gina stood up, flushed the toilet (muffled but identifiable) and walked out of the bathroom and down the stairs. She flumped down onto the sofa, brought her knees up to her chest, and grabbed the TV remote.

"And finally, here's Bob with the weather".

Gina flicked through the channels idly, looking for something that would engage and occupy her. She wasn't thinking much of anything at all, but was vaguely aware of the feeling of increasing fullness as the tampon inside her slowly swelled to it's proper size.

Although no longer constrained by the cardboard tube, Steve was still held firmly by the way the tampon had been stitched into lobes. He was aware of a new and odd sensation, in a world where everything was bizarre. It felt like the walls of his new prison were slowly but inexorably closing in on him. After a moment, he remembered how the product was supposed to behave, and realised that everything that had been shrunk would expand to about twice it's size when exposed to a certain level of heat and moisture. Steve wondered in horror about this. If he expanded to his normal size, while inside her, he would literally rip the poor girl apart.

The thought brought impetus and action. He had some freedom of movement now, and knew he was growing steadily.

Steve tried to thrash his arms and legs, and to bend and twist his body. Using all his strength, he managed to move, just a little bit.

Gina felt a tiny stirring inside herself without really realising it. It was so small. So subtle. Without really thinking about it, she found that her hand had crept down to her groin, and after a moment, that she was stroking herself gently through her skirt. Most of her attention was on the romantic comedy she'd been watching for the last few minutes. The male lead was an actor she liked. He surfaced now from the blue waters of a swimming pool. His blue eyes sparkled in the Mediterranean sunshine. His toned tanned torso dripped beads of water back into the pool as he held his head to one side, smiling quizzically at the leading lady, who was angry with him because...

Gina's hand crept inside the waistband of her skirt, and her other hand moved to her breast, where it gently rubbed her nipple.

With her eyes glued to the TV screen, she found the zip at the back of her skirt, and unfastened it. The subtle movement inside her continued unabated, and finding herself increasingly aroused, Gina pulled and kicked her skirt down to her feet, and kicked it off the sofa. She rubbed herself through the soft smooth fabric of her panties, and then after a couple of minutes, her hand found its way inside, and she massaged her clitoris and labia, first gently, then more forcefully.

Then, she seemed to come to a decision. She left the TV switched on, but got up off the sofa, and walked softly upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the top drawer of her bedside cupboard, and pulled out a small vibrator.

Steve had felt himself grow gradually, along with the tampon that contained him, until he could feel himself pressed snugly against the sides of Gina's vagina. While she was standing, he found himself upside down, but now, after a bouncing, jostling minute, he found himself lying on his side, as Gina lay down on the couch. Now he noticed that the walls were no longer getting any tighter, and after a few more moments, he realised that he too had stopped growing. He had nothing to refer himself against, but if he'd been shrunk to a couple of inches in height, he'd now grown to about twice that. He hoped that his slightly increased bulk would make his attempts to be felt more successful but at first, nothing seemed to happen.

What he could feel was a sticky warm and wet sensation, starting at his feet, which was gradually being drawn further up his body, as the thick dark blood of Gina's womb gradually seeped down and into the tampon. Now, as he kicked and squirmed, he felt the walls around him get wetter, as if Gina's heartblood had somehow thinned and was seeping past him.

After a short while, he felt Gina stand up, and felt the rhythm of her body as she walked out of the room, and upstairs to her bedroom. A moment later, he felt himself on his side again, as Gina lay on her bed and spread her legs. Once more, she massaged herself through her panties and then, she pulled them down and kicked them off one leg, leaving them dangling from her ankle. After using her fingers for a minute, she switched on the vibrator, and rubbed it around the area next to her clitoris.

Inside her, Steve puzzled over a strange buzzing noise that had infiltrated to him, and then over a strange, intense vibration that shook the walls of his hot wet prison. What on earth was happening out there? It took him a few moments before he worked it out. My God! The woman was masturbating! He was coated in a sticky covering of her vaginal fluids, as she worked the vibrator against her now slightly swollen outer parts. Steve was both repulsed, and somehow aroused. Not that he could do anything to scratch the itch in his loins.

Now he felt her rocking gently, moving her pelvis rhythmically. The buzzing stopped, and he felt a giant finger enter , and he was pushed, just for a moment, slightly further inside. The finger wiggled and withdrew. Then the buzzing started again. Gina's movements became more intense and regular, and suddenly, as a drawn out gasp and moan made its way through her body, Steve felt himself alternatively squeezed tightly, and released, as Gina reached her climax. Then he felt her relax, and after a minute or two, he found himself being carried back downstairs.

The rest of the evening was more uneventful. Gina, after making coffee and an evening snack, settled back on the sofa, and watched TV. Steve tried to move sporadically, but Gina was sated. She was tired, and not thinking much about anything.

Sometime towards midnight, she switched off and went up to her bedroom again. She smiled at the rumpled sheets, and got undressed before putting on a silky pyjama top. Then she remembered her tampon, and wandered sleepily into the bathroom. She didn't turn on the light, but did leave the door open. A little bit of light seeped in from the bedroom as she sat on the toilet, unrolled a length of toilet paper from the dispenser on the wall, and reached down between her legs.

Steve suddenly felt himself being pulled by his head along the slick walls of her vagina, as Gina looped the string around her finger, and pulled gently. The tampon came out, and she dropped it into the waiting wad of toilet paper. She quickly wrapped it and dropped it into the wastebin. She wiped herself, and went to bed.

Nobody knows the final end of Steve Machell. A day or two later, Gina emptied the bathroom bin into the main household bin, and a day after that, the contents of that bin were emptied into a bin lorry.

Perhaps Steve met a fiery end in an incinerator, or ended up buried under tonnes of landfill. Or just maybe, he finally managed to escape his bonds, as the now soft and weak material that surrounded him was exposed to the stresses and abrasions of the outside world.

That, though, is another story.