Garbage Disposal
CONTENT WARNING: scat! eating garbage! rotten food! ewwwww
OKAY this is one of the weirdest things I'm into BUT I kinda discovered it by accident. I thought of "garbage disposal fetish" one day and wrote this story as an experiment to see if it was hot to me. Yep. It's hot.
You can probably figure this out from context but in case you can't, here's more or less what's going on:
This is I think what's called "normality play." The narrator's big derg boyfriend serves as their waste disposal unit, eating almost everything they throw away. He does this for Reasons. It's important, because yes.
This isn't a weird, awkward, unpleasant thing to either of them, and in fact is so normal that the parts of him involved (stomach, asshole, etc.) are fully objectified and thought of as parts of the house plumbing - even though the rest of him isn't.
btw I've only barely proofread this and when I started writing it it was more a sex story than a normality story so it might read a little weird at first. As if the rest doesn't.
About halfway through dinner, I spilled my wine on the table. I cursed as it ran to the edge and dripped off onto my thigh, then grabbed a handful of napkins and started sopping up the mess. Tirk sat by my side, ravenously eating the roast herb chicken and mashed potatoes we'd spent the last hour preparing. Once I'd gotten the worst of the mess soaked up, I wadded the wet napkins into a ball and pressed them against his muzzle. He set his fork down with a clink, a bite of chicken still on the tines, and opened his mouth so I could push the ball of red soaking mush into his maw. I didn't give him time to chew, just shoved it into his gullet and pressed it down with two fingers, burying it into his throat.
I wiped my hands on my legs and went back to eating my dinner while Tirk sat motionless, the dragon's throat muscles moving up and down over and over as his throat tried to unclog itself. He had an uncomfortable look on his face but he just kept swallowing dutifully until, with a gulp, the lump disappeared. He picked up his fork and shoveled the bite of chicken into his mouth finally, grunting in approval. I looked up at him and smiled. "We really nailed the seasoning this time, didn't we?"
He glanced back at me and coughed slightly before replying. "Mm, yep. Last time I was being coy with the paprika. I'm glad I listened to you this time around." I didn't point out that last time I made all the seasoning decisions we ended up choking on tablespoons of red pepper. Our plates were nearly clean, and despite the delay from the wine and disposal of the napkins we finished at the same time. We both stood up with our plates and headed for the kitchen.
The counter was still a mess from cooking dinner, so I set the plates down and got to cleaning. Tirk knelt and opened his maw, waiting patiently as I collected trash from the counter. I tossed the empty plastic bag the chicken had come in into his mouth, followed by a couple paper packets that had contained seasoning mix. I'd used the last of the flour so I stuffed the empty paper bag into his mouth too. I could see his tongue licking at the bottom of the plastic bag but he was having trouble pulling it in, so I used a long wooden spoon to shove it all down until his gullet could grab onto it. It took him a good five minutes to get the mouthful down, during which I sprayed down the stove with cleaner, wiped all the spattered grease and starch up, and tossed the filthy paper towels into his muzzle.
When I was done with the dry trash Tirk scooter over to the sink, opening the cupboard door and pulling out the drain harness. He slipped the elastic bands over his orange-scaled head, hooking them behind his horns, then pulled the mask tight, pressing the rubber nozzle into his throat and the overflow tubes into his nostrils. Meanwhile I had retrieved the pans from the stove where they'd been soaking in soapy water and poured them down the sink drain. There was a moments pause as the water flowed through the drain hose, then I heard Tirk start gulping, swallowing the soap, congealed grease and cold water. I scrubbed the pans briefly, then turned on the hot water and rinsed them a couple times. Next I picked up the bucket of potato skins, filled it with some hot water, and poured it down the drain, turning on the garbage disposal so they wouldn't clog up the plumbing. I saw my dragons eyes widen as he started swallowing faster, trying to keep his mouth from overflowing.
While we'd been cooking I'd pulled some lettuce out of the fridge and found it was brown and mushy, so I brought it to the sink, tore it into a few hunks and threw those into the disposal. Tirk let out a muffled moan as the rotten vegetable mush filled his mouth, but I followed it up with a couple half-cans of moldy beans that had been left in the fridge much longer than intended and a carton of sour milk. We really needed to keep a better eye on our expiration dates, but at least it didn't go totally to waste.
I poured the chicken bones from our plates into the sink and let the disposal grind them up and wash them into the sewer, scrubbed and rinsed the two plates and shut off the fauced. I poured the rest of the bottle of wine down the drain; I hadn't been a huge fan of it and I didn't feel like hanging on to the rest. There was a line of half-empty beer cans from a party last weekend that I'd finally rounded up that night, and I dumped those out too.
Tirk's belly rumbled, and I scritched the big orange dragon's head between his horns as I unclipped the drain harness and stowed it beneath the sink. It slipped out of his mouth with a wet slurp, and I saw dirty water dripping from his nostrils. The potato skins had probably clogged up his muzzle and the water had to go around through the overflow spout. I pulled off a paper towel from the roll and wiped his face with it, then shoved it into his maw. He chewed and swallowed the dry sheet, then let out a loud burp, followed by a loud gurgling from his belly. I helped him up to his feet and kissed him deeply, tasting the fermented beer and bits of potato skin stuck in his teeth.
Tirk hmmmed pleasantly into my mouth as we kissed, our tongues twisting around each other, him tasting the meat and herbs on my breath, me tasting the garbage on his. He burped again, and I swallowed the sour-tasting mouthful of sewer gas. It was only fair, after all his work. Our lips parted and we smiled at each other, and then I nuzzled him and laid my head on his chest, holding him tightly.
After a couple minutes he flipped the lightswitch off and we walked out to the living room. We took up our usual spots on the sofa, leaving the TV off; it was a quiet night and neither of us wanted to do much of anything. He settled back and sprawled across the cushions and I lay down between his legs, laying my head on his chest and hand on his belly, feeling it slightly swollen with gallons of dirty water, a pound of food residue and our best homecooked meal yet. He pulled up a fantasy book on his Kindle and started reading, and I just closed my eyes and lay there, listening to his belly gurgle as his strong predator stomach acid broke down everything we'd thrown away, pulling nutrients out of the spoiled lettuce and softening up the bits of chicken bone and waste paper.
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A few hours had passed, when Tirk nudged my head with his elbow, making me awake with a start, blinking in the dim room. I looked up at him once I had my bearings and smiled, but I saw he had a grimace on his face. I reached up and put a hand on his cheek. "What's wrong, honey?"
The big dragon didn't respond for a moment, then I heard his stomach growl and felt his body contract. He winced and mumbled, "I think that flour bag might have been too much for our plumbing. I haven't felt anything move in a couple hours."
I stroked his snout affectionately for a minute while I woke up the rest of the way, then stretched slowly and stood up, stumbling a little. I offered him my hand. "C'mon, hon', we'll get that taken care of." He took my paw and let me lead him to the bathroom. I opened the cupboard and pulled out a half gallon of drain cleaner, turned on the fan, and sat him down on the toilet with the lid down.
I unscrewed the cap from the bottle and put my hand on his jaw, squeezing his mandibular joint until he opened his mouth. He had his eyes closed, but I saw a hint of laughter in his facial expression at our old "make a dumb lizard open his mouth for medicine" joke. I carefully and steadily poured the grey fluid into his maw, listening to it sizzle as it ran down his tongue, rubbing his throat to remind him to swallow even though he hated the taste of the stuff. I stood back as far as I could, avoiding the fumes, but with my free hand I held his and squeezed it as I poured the last of the acid into his gullet.
When I'd finished I put the cap on the bottle and dropped it in the regular trash can, and then, to keep him company while the stuff did its job, I sat down on his lap, sliding my arms around his shoulders. He made a soft moan of approval and hugged me back, holding me tightly. We sat for several minutes, listening in the quiet bathroom as his tummy rumbled and popped, the blockage slowly being melted through by the efficient clog buster. He stroked my back, and I kissed the side of his muzzle, carefully avoiding his contaminated lips.
Suddenly Tirk shifted, and his body tensed. I knew what that meant, and I quickly stood up and headed for the garage with him close behind me, holding his belly as he thumped down the hallway. We got out into the garage and he hurried to the far end where the sewer hookup was. I knelt, peering under his tail, and lined up the yellow arrow on his tailbase labeled "CONNECT HERE" to the same one on the sewer connection.
Once he was in place I patted his rear and he sunk down, letting the thick, tapered metal pipe push through his drainhole and slide into his septic tank. Immediately he grabbed my arm, squeezing tightly as his gut contracted and fluid started gushing into the sewer pipe, making a muffled sound of running water along with loud plops and spurts as our clogged plumbing emptied itself all at once, end to end into the main sewer system.
It took only twenty seconds, but Tirk spent the whole time grimacing as he contracted his drainpipes as hard as he could, flushing all the acid and liquified sludge out to be washed away to another treatment plant.
Once the flow stopped, he dripped into the pipe for a few seconds, then let go of my hand and nodded, exhausted. I closed the drain valve, then opened the flush valve, and the pipes hissed as water pumped up into my boyfriends guts. After another few seconds I shut it off, opened the drain valve again and let him empty the now mostly clean water into the sewer.
Once he was empty, I helped him pull off of the thick pipe, which exited his body with a slurp, and he turned around and knelt, opening his muzzle and sliding it onto the end of the pipe until the "WASTE IN" arrow painted on his snout matched the one on the pipe. I wrapped a strap around his muzzle, pulled it tight and fastened the velcro strips to help him stay attached, and then opened the flush valve again.
Tirk's eyes shot open as cold water rushed into his throat, thrashing a little as it pumped down his throat and bloated his belly, a little spraying from his nose, then relaxed and let the flow continue, having convinced his body to leave his throat open and receptive. I let a couple gallons pump into him, then turned it off and opened the drain valve again. Tirk groaned, retching loudly into the end of the sewer pipe, but I knew he'd need help, so I stepped around behind him, sliding my hands around his neck and digging my fingertips into his throat, rubbing up and down and listening to the breath sucking through his nostrils getting shakier. Eventually I heard him inhale deeply and at the same moment I moved my hand to his belly and dug in as hard as I could, compressing his swollen stomach.
He vomited loudly, his body shaking as his digestion tank emptied itself into the sewer, heaving over and over and spraying gouts of acidic water and dragon bile into the drainpipe. I rubbed his back as he emptied every leftover bit of the blockage, then rested, sweating and panting into the pipe, his rear drainhole dripping water onto the floor. His eyes were closed and his body was heaving from all the effort of clearing out the obstruction, so I let him be for a while, holding him until he calmed down and relaxed. I gently unfastened the velcro and helped him up as he slid his muzzle off the pipe, gasping for air and working his sore jaw once he cleared it.
We trotted back to our bedroom and collapsed on the mattress. Tirk let out a disappointed sigh. I knew what was wrong - he hated being empty, even if that's what it took to keep our septic system running. I wrapped my arms around my dragon and held him tight as I pressed my limp cock up under his tail, squeezing it to get enough stiffness to push up into the warm, dripping wet drain opening. The push of my dick into him extracting a grateful moan as I started emptying my bladder with the liquid from all the wine I'd had that night, filling his septic tank back up rapidly. The orange dragon writhed in pleasure as he was filled, and when my flow tapered off I couldn't bring myself to stop there.
I slipped my wet cock out of the sewage tank and hopped up to settle over Tirk's face, exposing my tailslit and pressing it against his snout before he had a chance to be surprised. He opened up his muzzle as I farted, but I aimed for his nose and blew my shit smell through his nostrils, filling his rinsed-out sinuses with the smell of feces. Tirk shuddered below me and gagged. I angled back at his open maw and started pushing the digested remains of my portion of dinner into his mouth, thick lumps of digested food sliding into his muzzle where they were welcomed by his tongue, pulling my shit into his throat. He swallowed each lump with loud, grateful gulps, and I knew my dragon was pleased to be filling himself with a stream of waste again, even if it didn't need to be processed a second time.
I pushed the last lump of my feces into his maw, then stood up and turned around. I watched him chew this one to make it a little easier to pass, then he gulped it down, his throat visibly bulging as he swallowed the big wet lump. He burped loudly, washing sewer stink over my face, and I grimaced a little but smiled at him anyway and leaned in for a kiss. He didn't open his mouth this time, but we pressed our lips together and closed our eyes, enjoying the feel of each others loving touch as we snuggled, eventually falling asleep in each others arms.