Gromet's PlazaDevoured Stories

Wasted Food

by Willing Tasty Morsel

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© Copyright 2006 - Willing Tasty Morsel - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; shrunk; giantess; tease; food; mast; disposal; death; hard; cons; XX

As I lay on your plate, looking up and watching you eat, my excitement continues to mount. It's been months since I was reduced to this size, roughly two inches in height. Every moment I've spent as your tiny plaything has been wonderful.

I'm not sure what I've enjoyed most; there have been so many wonderful experiences... standing in the bottom of the bathtub as you showered, with the dirty, soapy water running off of your body, flooding down over me, nearly washing me away down the drain... laying on the floor while you played with my helpless little body under the sole of your shoe, always wishing you would just step on me and crush me into goo... the entire days I've spent trapped inside of your bra, or squashed in the crotch of your panties. Even the time your dropped me into the toilet while you were going to the bathroom, and then stood there afterward with your fingers on the toilet handle, toying with me and threatening to flush me, was wonderful.

To say nothing of the things you've done to me in the kitchen... that memorable half-hour in the freezer... bathing me in the dishwasher... popping me into the oven for a couple of minutes with a pan of cookies... that time you put me in a pot of water and set it on the burner to boil, pulling me out with tongs at the last possible minute. If I was forced to choose, I guess I'd have to say that the things you've done to me in the kitchen were my favorites, no doubt because I am so anxious to be your food, and to be eaten.

Thankfully, as we long-ago agreed, that time has finally arrived. And here I am on your plate, waiting my turn! It's an interesting feeling, to be laying in a puddle of melted butter from your baked potato, mingled with the juice from your steak, with a little smear of dressing from the adjacent salad all over my feet. I hope I look tasty, because I cannot wait for your fork to take me.

As I lay on my back, looking up and watching you chew and swallow your other food, I can't help but imagine what it will be like when my time comes (not that I hadn't imagined the same thing a thousand times before). I know I'll be excited as you're lifting me to your open mouth with your fork, but will I be scared, too? I doubt I will, but until it finally happens, I just won't know. You've played with me in your mouth many times, so at least I know what it'll feel like to be laying naked on your tongue, and I won't be shocked by how easily your tongue can manipulate my body and move me around the inside of your mouth.

But this will be the first (and last) time your tongue will be positioning me to be chewed; placing my body directly between your powerful molars. As your jaws close, I will be crushed between those molars in one initial, sickening crunch, then your teeth will tear my body to pieces and chew it to pulp before swallowing and digesting whatever's left of me.

I suppose the average man would be terrified beyond comprehension at the mere prospect, but I am merely aroused. I find it impossible to contain my excitement, and begin to masturbate furiously. I wonder what it's like for you, looking down and seeing part of your dinner playing with itself on your plate. I hear you giggling, so I assume you don't mind.

Throughout the meal, you haven't said a word to me. Not too surprising; I've never noticed you talking to your food in the past. You continue eating, and less and less remains on the plate. Soon, all that's left is part of the baked potato and its skin, a little bit of salad, a few green beans, and the fat and gristle from your steak. And me, of course.

You set your knife and fork on the plate next to me, wipe your lips, and then fold your napkin and place it on the table. I'm puzzled: you appear to be finished eating, but how could that be? I'm still here on your plate, just waiting to be taken! You confirm my worst fears when you announce, "Mmmmm, that was a wonderful dinner; I'm stuffed."

My utter disappointment must have been pretty obvious to you: aside from my facial expression, my dick instantly went limp. Literally from as hard as it had ever been in my life, to totally limp, just as quickly as someone snapping their fingers...

"What's the matter?" you ask, "You seem to have lost interest."

"You're supposed to eat ME, too!" I cried, almost in tears because I haven't already gone into your mouth and down your throat.

"No, that isn't exactly what we agreed on... we agreed that you would become my FOOD, isn't that correct?"

I think for a few moments, and to the best that I can recall, you're correct. In all the many times we've discussed it in the past, that's always what I told you I wanted to be: your food. I admit that you're correct, but point-out that food is something people eat, and I'm still laying here on your dinner plate, literally waiting to become dessert.

You laugh. "You must be joking! EAT you?! I could no more eat you than I could eat a live hamster. The whole idea is absolutely repulsive to me. The mere thought of chewing and swallowing you, and having you inside of me, well frankly, it turns my stomach. Besides, you're probably awful-tasting."

I am crushed. Now I do break-out in tears, my disappointment is so total and complete. In-between my sobbing, I hear you speaking to me, in a much more soothing voice...

"There, there. Don't cry. I promised you that you'd become my food, and you have. You ARE my food, laying right there on my dinner plate. Look at it this way: sometimes, people help themselves to a little bit more than they can finish. What they don't eat goes to waste. That's what's happened to you. You're food alright, uneaten food, and you're going to go to waste, just like everything else on that's still left on my plate."

I blink hard a couple of times, clearing my tears, while I try to figure-out what you're talking about. "Go to waste?" What the hell does THAT mean?!

I look up at you, and see that you have a smile on your face, a smile unlike any I have ever seen. It's almost, well, evil. "Go to waste," I think, "go to waste?" Suddenly the horror of what you intend hits me in a wave of terror. I must have gone pale at the thought, and your next words make it clear that I'm correct.

"That's right! Uneaten food goes to waste. And what happens to wasted food? That's right, too! It goes down the garbage disposal. All ground up, right down the drain in little bits and pieces. You wanted to be food, and now you have your wish."

I am terrified beyond speech as I feel you lift the plate and carry me into the kitchen. You set the plate on the counter, and walk back to the dining room, returning with the serving dishes and glassware. Before you returned, I briefly thought about trying to escape, but up this high, there is nowhere for me to run. Jumping to the floor is out of the question; the results would be the same as if I was a normal-sized person who jumped off a 20-story building.

My fear continues to mount as you turn-on the cold water, then reach over and flip the switch, starting the disposal. I can feel it rumbling through the countertop. As I watch, you start to rinse and scrape the serving dishes, and the pots and pans you used to cook your dinner. I can hear the horrifying grinding, gurgling sounds of each scrap of food, as it falls onto the garbage disposal's blade, and is savagely ripped to bits. I watch as you reach for my plate, the last one left that hasn't been rinsed. I was absolutely terrified before: now I'm so frightened I start to tremble and hyperventilate.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, darling. You wanted to be my food, and indeed, you are now. Don't be too disappointed; none of my other food gets to decide what happens to it, only I do. And this is what's going to happen to you. If you stop to think about it, being ground down the garbage disposal isn't so bad. It isn't even all that much different than being eaten alive. My teeth would have ground you to bits; instead, the disposal will take care of that little chore, and you'll be ground into just as many little pieces, probably even more. You've watched me use the garbage disposal hundreds of times to get rid of unwanted food, and believe me, you're the most unwanted piece of food I've ever had on my plate.

"Besides, if I'd eaten you, you just would have been flushed down the toilet tomorrow morning as shit; you must have realized that. Whether you go down the disposal or down the toilet doesn't make any difference, because you're eventually going to become raw sewage no matter what. Since you obviously want to be disposed-of in the sewer, I'm really doing you a huge favor by doing this to you. Grinding you down the garbage disposal is the fastest, most efficient way of giving you exactly what you want. But if you'd prefer, I'll take you into the bathroom and flush you down the toilet right now, no questions asked. That's just as quick and easy, but remember, if I flush you, you'll never know what it's like to actually be food, not even wasted, uneaten food. Wouldn't you really rather be exactly like all of my other food that's ever gone to waste?"

Reluctantly, I nod my head up and down. In fact, what you have just said is absolutely true. Although I'd much rather go in-between your teeth and then down your throat, the end result really is just about the same. And I'm amazed at how easily you stumbled onto my darkest, most unspoken secret: I'd always known that being eaten meant an inescapable one-way trip to the sewer, and I craved that trip more than anything. But I didn't want to be flushed down the toilet to drown in the sewer; it would have been too much like being swallowed whole and digested alive. That idea had never appealed to me at all. Being eaten alive meant being put into your mouth and chewed-up, not gulped-down whole like a raw oyster.

"Well, which is it going to be? This is what you wanted, and it's going to happen right now. Do I flush you down the toilet, or rinse you into the garbage disposal?"

I take a deep breath, and before I can lose my nerve, I stammer out, "g-grind me down the garbage disposal." As I hear myself saying those words out loud -- actually hearing myself volunteering to be dropped into that brutal machine, still running just a few inches beneath my plate -- my fear slowly starts to subside, and my erection begins to return.

"That's better, little one! It's best to have a positive attitude about this; after all, there really isn't anything you can do about it now, so you may as well enjoy the experience, if that's possible under these circumstances. Don't be afraid; this won't take long at all. No matter how horrible it is, just remember, it'll all be over quickly."

Amazingly, your words arouse me. I realize that you're absolutely correct, and it suddenly hits me just how badly I WANT to be rinsed into the disposal. My mind is racing, and I can't think of anything I've ever wanted more. I'm tempted to run to the edge of the plate and jump headlong into the disposal on my own, but I really want you to do it to me.

I start stroking my dick furiously as I tell you, "I'm not afraid anymore, just excited... I WANT to go down the garbage disposal! I admit it! I want to be ground to bits just like the rest of your wasted food! I want you to put me in it, right now! Send me to the sewer! GRIND ME DOWN! PLEASE!"

You don't say a word. Silently, you look down at me and move the plate under the faucet, tilting it to a sharp angle. The flowing water starts to rinse the leftovers into the sink, and there's nothing I can do to avoid being carried along with the rest of the wasted, uneaten food.

I fall into the sink, and the running water carries me helplessly toward the huge drain opening that leads into the disposal. I can feel it rumbling through the sink, much stronger and closer than it felt when I was up on the countertop. I don't try to delay the inevitable; by now I cannot wait to be inside, being ground and pulverized. I float quickly to the edge of the drain, flow smoothly over the side, and fall helplessly inside, onto the merciless cutting blade. As it starts throwing my body about uncontrollably, I feel it beginning to rip into my flesh and tear me apart.

During the first second or two, it's almost impossible for me to grasp what's being done to me. It's seemingly incomprehensible. This can't really be happening, can it? This is just some bizarre fantasy dream that I can't wake up from, right? But it IS happening: I'm actually in the process of going down a garbage disposal.

It's making quick work of me, too. A second or so later, I realize that my hands and feet are gone. A split second after that, so are my penis and testicles. Simply gone, just like that. Every time my helpless body makes contact with the spinning blade, another chunk is torn off, flushed away by the running water, and instantly ground to pulp. I can actually FEEL myself getting smaller and going down the disposal. Anyone else would probably be in excruciating agony, but I feel only abject joy. Fifteen minutes ago, being ground down a garbage disposal was the furthest thing from my mind, but now that it's being done to me, I've never wanted or enjoyed anything more.

All too soon, I realize that half of me has already gone down the drain, and there's absolutely nothing I can do to prevent the rest of me from following quickly behind. That's my only regret. It's all happening so quickly; I wish there was a way to prolong the experience, to make it last longer. But you were correct: the disposal is incredibly efficient.

I'm no longer disappointed that the job isn't being done by your teeth: this is better. MUCH better. It's the most incredible experience I've ever had! I only wish there was a way I could thank you, but that's no longer possible. Hopefully you realize how grateful I am that you did this to me, and how much I'm enjoying it.

The last few seconds are the best and most intense. I've finally attained my deepest, most intense desire: I've been disposed-of in the sewer. You told me it was going to happen, and it has. I've been completely ground down the garbage disposal, and every last trace of me has gone down the drain. The blade spins freely now; its work is done. There is nothing left in the disposal, nothing but cold fresh running water, flowing down the drain into the sewer behind me.

I wonder if you're leaving the disposal running for a few extra seconds, just to insure that there's nothing left. If so, you need not have worried. I am gone. Totally eliminated. Converted into raw sewage. Nothing is left but tiny bits of pulverized flesh and bone, floating slowly downstream in an endless river of human waste, on my way to the sewage treatment plant. How incredibly perfect.

You were right: going down the garbage disposal WAS just like being eaten alive, only a hundred times more intense and satisfying. It was the best idea you've ever had, and the most wonderful gift you've ever given me.

Did you enjoy standing there listening to my body thrashing inside the disposal? Did you finger yourself while I was being ground down? Why am I even asking? Of course you did.

Be sure to check the files on my laptop. The formula for the shrinking reagent is there, with detailed instructions for preparing any amount you need. Without that, none of this would have ever been possible. My private bookmarks and email files are there, too, and a list of all my passwords. Explore the world I once lived in, and you will see that I was not alone... many men have "special desires". Then start contacting the men in my address book. There are hundreds of them, with as many different fantasies and fetishes as there are men. Each and every last one of them would do anything in his power -- and give you anything -- to be your next "tiny little friend".

Charge them every cent they have for the privilege, and then give them exactly what they want. You'll be amazed how easy it is, and how many of them there are. Many will want nothing more than to simply lay on their back on the floor and let you step on them... not very much effort on your part in exchange for his life savings and everything he owns, eh? You may need to buy a few extra rolls of paper towels to wipe-up the mess afterwards, but that will hardly break your budget. Some will only want to lay down in front of your car and have you run over them; you won't even need to waste shrinking reagent on that crowd. You didn't get to flush me down the toilet, but believe me, plenty of tiny little men will be begging you for exactly that, and nothing more. Others may have more involved desires, but you've already proven your insight and creativity, so that's hardly a problem. Most importantly, those tiny, willing victims will make you rich beyond avarice. You'll never need to work another day in your life... your "work" will consist entirely of taking their money and property, shrinking them, and then providing them with whatever gruesome end they desire.

And best of all, whenever you shrink one who insisted on being eaten alive, a quick trip to the kitchen sink will solve that little problem permanently, whether he likes it or not...


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