Plastic Bagger Ban

by Daniel Guy 

(A specially requested sequel to a previous story - Giovanni Plastics.)

‘Shattowe Bertrand, seel-voo-play.’  says Martin Littlejohn in a thin, nervous voice with a faint Birmingham accent. The French taxi driver sighs and nods and off they go, passing fields of languedoc vines and pretty green hills littered with cypress trees. 

Martin is forty-three and works in a bank. He’s slightly overweight but otherwise not bad-looking, and his pale blue eyes and tufty bown hair suggest an easy-going and honest man. His wife and two young kids think he’s on a three day management course in Manchester, but he’s here in the south of France, alone. 

The warm mediterranean sun is setting as Martin steps out of the taxi and looks up at the imposing entrance to Chateau Bertrand. It’s ancient, ornate and grand, built three hundred years ago, standing on a gentle hill, looking out onto acres of lush green vines. Imposing tall trees stand alongside the chateau and the gardens surrounding are well kept, pretty flowers grow in all the borders.  Martin is one of many guests pulling up in taxis along the wide gravel driveway at the front of the chateau and walking though its impressive front doors. A pair of peacocks wander across the green well-watered lawns to watch them all arriving. 

At the reception desk Martin shows his ticket and identity card and is given a small key on a rubber arm-band printed with a number, which he is told he must wear at all times. Once he has undressed and locked his possessions in his locker he wanders into the Great Hall, where the other guests are congregating. The initial embarrassment of standing naked with about five hundred naked strangers has started finally to fade. 

The Great Hall is a vast room with high ceilings and gothic sculptures on plinths, all draped in polythene. The entire chateau has been transformed into a plastic palace. Huge tinted plastic curtains hang down from every wall, and drape heavily around the grand staircase leading to the upper rooms. The entire building is awash with clear plastic sheeting, sparkling in the coloured spotlights. The furniture is soft bright pvc.  There are large four poster beds placed in the alcoves, all draped with yet more sheets of soft plastic. 

Large clear plastic buckets filled with white towels, available to the guests are placed in the corners of every room. Other clear plastic buckets are filled with red silk ties, perfect for the guests who enjoy bondage. 

After a few minutes, a slim good-looking Italian man with straight black hair greased back tight against his head, enters the hall. He’s wearing red rubber shoes, tight white pvc jeans and a black pvc tee-shirt. He’s followed by a beautiful female figure, wearing a bright red pvc dress and mask, and shiny red stiletto heels. The assembled crowd turn one by one to notice them as they pass through, and after a few moments they break into smiles and applause. 

It’s Mario, the host and owner of Giovanni Plastics, a company based in Milan, and his wife Roberta. The crowd parts in front of him as Mario and Roberta make their way through to the stage at the far end of the hall. Mario mounts a small podium and the applause fades to silence. 

‘Dear Plastic Fetishists,

Welcome to our family home. We are honoured to have you here for this very unique and special event and we hope very much that everyone will have a night to remember. We are all here to pay our final respects to this….’

Mario steps away from the microphone and reaches out to a shiny clear plastic curtain, tinted by pink light, hanging as a backdrop behind him.  Clutching the material lovingly to his breast, he continues his speech.  

‘Despite coming from a wide spectrum of society all around the world, everyone here shares the same intense and personal relationship with this material. Most of us have all lived our lives in awe of it, unable to resist it’s alluring touch, it’s sensual feel against our skin, it’s strange and dangerous mystique, it’s capacity to envelope our bodies, our heads, and cocoon us from the outside world, and even from life itself. Out there in the normal world, we are considered to be  deviants, but I promise you, we are safe here tonight, among our fellow fetishists. One day, when our civilisation has become a little more enlightened, when sexual activity will be separated from all emotional or procreational impediments, people like us who have developed sophisticated methods, techniques and rituals to heighten our sexual pleasure, people like us will be seen as Gods, maestros and great sages of arousal and orgasm.’

Another ripple of applause from the guests echoes around the hall.

‘For fifty years, Giovanni Plastics has been making bags, sacks and sheeting of the highest quality, from the finest, smoothest and shiniest top grade polythene. I am sure that many of you here have been among our most dedicated customers. 

But as we all know the world has changed, and this material that we all adore so much, will soon vanish completely. While I think most of us accept the need to protect the environmental, it is a great tragedy that the plastic products we adore have now been banned throughout the world.

This international ban has had a devastating impact on all plastic manufacturers around the world and one by one they have closed. Giovanni Plastics will also be closing it’s remaining factory in a few weeks time. Over the last few years, plastic fetishists around the world have struggled to find good polythene products for their unique sexual pleasure. Stores that once stocked their particular favourite bag, sheeting or plastic wrap, have one by one, replaced their supplies with biodegradable, vegetable-based material, which has none of the alluring properties of traditional polythene. These substitutes do not have the texture or the strength that is so important to us all.   Worldwide stocks of high quality polythene products we all used to derive such pleasure from, have dwindled now to almost nothing.

So my wife and I, who have both been dedicated plastic fetishists for many years, decided that we should hold a party, a celebration and a commemoration of plastic, and to invite as many genuine plastic fetishists from around the world as we could find.  We are honoured to have so many of you here. Tonight will be our opportunity to gorge ourselves on our much loved material, one final time. 

We invited you all to bring your own supplies, and I know that many of you have. We thank you for that. We at Giovanni Plastics have in turn, made available to you all of our remaining stocks, and we urge you use them to the full. 

We have done our best to provide the best facilities possible in order for us all to have an unforgettable night. We have arranged the building to incorporate public and private spaces.   Clearly you have already found the changing rooms and lockers provided for clothing and personal possessions, including of course your phones.  I would like to remind you that when the party begins, everyone here shall nothing but plastic against their skin and we insist that no photographs are taken. 

I hope you will have the opportunity of exploring other parts of Chateau Bertrand. You will find shower rooms and supplies of towels too for I imagine we will all want to make a great deal of mess. We have discrete, professional cleaners on call throughout the night, to ensure that play-spaces are wiped clean of discharges of every kind. 

There are separate halls for mummification and breathplay lovers. I am aware that breath-play lovers among us will want to engage in breathplay. We must try to play safe, if we can, and if we can’t, there are medical staff on the premises, available at all times. We are all adults here all activity must be consensual. The breathplay room has a viewing balcony, which I imagine will be very popular. I shall certainly enjoy being there. 

At midnight tonight, there will be a very special performance, given by a performance art group. Their piece is called ‘Flytrap.’ It will take place in the courtyard and I guarantee that it will be of great interest to many of you here tonight. 

Well, that is pretty much all I want to say. My wife and I are keen to get out of these clothes and join in the fun. So, please, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy yourselves, and let the party begin!’

The guests applaud. Giovanni steps down from the platform. He embraces his wife and moments later they are lead away by a group of their close friends. 

The lighting changes in the grand hall. Dance music begins to play and the chateau suddenly takes on the ambiance of a fetish club.  Guests start dancing. Others start to wander off to explore the rest of the building. Panelled wooden double-doors open and attractive young servants in pvc shorts and tee-shirts, enter with trolleys piled with food and drinks, and these are placed on white clothed tables around the sides of the hall. More waiters dressed in pvc bring in cases of cardboard boxes, filled with good old fashioned polythene bags, sacks, plastic wrap and rolls of plastic sheeting.  There are plastic products of every size and thickness. There are crinkly oven bags, tinted shopping bags, and clear plastic garbage bags. Other boxes are opened, containing clear plastic bibs, capes, and rainwear, made from thick glass clear pvc. The guests begin at once to explore the products now displayed, and those who have brought their own personal supplies, start to place them out on display. 

Suddenly everyone is enjoying themselves and Martin decides it is time to explore the rest of the chateau.  Along the corridors there are small round platforms raised above the ground, and naked men and women dance alone, dressed in clear plastic skirts. The first place to grab his attention is a large room at the end of a long dark corridor, called the Black Widow’s Web. In it there are large rolls of plastic wrap attached to the walls all around the room. Already the guests are beginning to explore the enormous potential there is to be had in this enormous plastic web. The room is criss-crossed with strands of plastic wrap, and guests are already becoming entangled, half-mummified, some suspended inside complex knots ten feet in the air. A female figure, dressed in tight black latex from head to toe moves around the room, helping the guests to become completely entangled in plastic. Martin is tempted get bound up in the glistening strands himself, but decides to wander about a bit and see what else is on offer. 

The next room he comes across is dimly lit, a chill-out space, where naked bodies, draped in cellophane dance in mindless glee.  Martin spends some pleasant moments dancing close to a young African woman who’s wrapped tight soft plastic wrap around her body, from the top of her breasts, down to her thighs. It makes for a very lovely dress.  She invites him to caress her breasts through the soft blue tinted plastic film. He enjoys this a great deal, the smooth, warm silky feel of the plastic against his fingertips. Her breasts are firm and squashed tight against her chest. Her nipples harden with each caress. After a while another woman comes over and address to him in Russian. 

‘I’m sorry?’ says Martin.

She makes it clear she wants to take over, so Martin agrees and leaves.

In one of the breathplay rooms, he watches people being bound tight with pallet wrap to steel chairs bolted to the floor.  A young man, covered in tattoos is wrapped to the chair, his arms sealed tight to his sides while a voluptuous redhead sits on his lap, facing him, fucking him while she suffocates him with a large shiny black plastic garbage sack. Martin joins the circle of people standing around, and watches them all, entranced and masturbating. 

In the men’s toilet he sees a middle-aged Japanese man with a thin moustache, wearing a clear plastic boiler-suit, lying in the long steel urinal trough. Martin watches him masturbating gently and blissfully as the male guests walk over one after the other and piss over him. Martin is stunned, unable to piss for a while because the sight is arousing him instead. He watches, absorbed before finally managing to piss over the man’s head. He finds it both thrilling and liberating. When he has finished he thanks the Japanese man politely for the pleasure and the Japanese man grins back. 

He wanders into one of several mummification rooms and sees a dozen people mummified to poles, with only their genitals exposed, and others standing around caressing them playfully. In the corners of the room are other pale shiny figures, male and female, mummified in kneeling positions, parcelled up tight in many layers of tight plastic wrap. Only their mouths uncovered, wide open, so men can stick their cocks in, or women can thrust their crutches into and enjoy some faceless licking. 

The room next door is called the The Sausage Chamber.  Curious, Martin steps in and sees a crowd gathered around a large tube of clear plastic hanging from a roll down from the ceiling. People are queuing up to be slipped inside the tube. Two large men, dressed in white latex boiler suits and white latex masks stand beneath the hanging tube of plastic. They slip the tubing down over the waiting guest and then lift him onto a long table. The plastic tubing is cut from the roll and knotted at both ends so the guest is sealed airtight inside. Another two men in white latex boiler suits then lift the human sausage off the table and carry it to one of the many couches lining the side of the room. There the wrapped bodies can stay inside for as long as they like. Martin watches the pale bodies inside the sealed sacks squirming with a mixture of panic and delight. He’s tempted but decides not to try right now, but maybe at some point before he leaves. 

He strolls along a corridor where the private cabins are located. A door is open and an elderly man with thin strands of long white hair down to his shoulders, sits on a bed. Looking up as Martin stands in the doorway, he smiles and says,

‘Hello. Come in.’

He speaks with a thick Dutch accent. Martin steps in and the old man proceeds to show him his own private collection of bags and sacks, laid out carefully on the bed. He picks up a small clear plastic food bag the perfect size for breathplay, and holds it out. 

‘Feel that. Go on.’

Martin feels the smooth shiny plastic between his fingers, as if it were the finest of oriental silks, and then nods gently in appreciation. 

‘Mmmmm.. Lovely.  Incredibly soft and smooth…’

‘These were made in Germany in the eighties.’ says the Dutchman, taking the bag back, delicately, like it was made of wafer thin glass. 

‘I only have these three left. Would you be interested in putting one over my head?’ 

Martin flushes with indecision. 

‘Or at least watch me, while I do it myself, perhaps? That would also excite me a great deal.’ 

Martin declines politely and leaves. He wanders up a fine old wooden staircase to the third floor and finds himself in a bar, where the lights are dim and people are relaxing at tables with drinks. Some are half-asleep with post orgasmic exhaustion. Others are dressed in loose clear plastic gowns that sparkle in the coloured light. Everyone is deliriously happy. 

He orders a beer, and while he’s waiting he’s telling himself off for being so afraid. He promises himself to be more adventurous for the rest of the night. He picks up the bottle and looks around for somewhere to sit. A woman of a similar age, with purple streaks in her hair, is sittng on her own at a table in the corner, watching him. She catches his eye and beams him a friendly smile. She has half a bottle of wine and two glasses in front of her.

‘Hi, I’m Serena. Who are you?’

‘Oh. Hi. I’m Martin.’

‘Wanna sit down and help me finish this?’

Martin smiles and sits beside her while she pours him some wine. 

‘Cheers!’

‘So what do you think of the party?’ she asks. 

‘It’s incredible.’

‘Yeah. What’s your favourite space?’

‘Difficult question. I’m not sure yet.’ he replies.

‘Mine’s the Garbage Room. Have you been in? It’s in the cellar. I’ve just had some amazing fun there. Oh boy, I could stay in that room forever. You know they’ve got the old thick shiny black grade one polythene sacks I used to play with as a kid.  Incredibly soft plastic. Oh and the sound, that soft crinkly sound it makes! They stopped making those sacks years ago. I couldn’t believe it! It was heavenly. I couldn’t stop having the most sensational orgasms!’

They carry on chatting and soon Martin is able to relax. 

Serena asks him how he got into plastic and for the first time Martin finds himself telling his very private story to someone else.

‘When I was six, when I discovered that putting plastic bags over head made me horny. I didn’t tell a soul. I didn’t do it often. I spent years pretending this freaky weirdness didn’t exist, and did my best to do normal and conform. I got married and had kids but this plastic obsession kept hanging about in the back of my mind. A few years ago, I started looking at fetish sites, secretly, furtively, terrified that anyone would ever find out. I started chatting on-line to other plastic lovers, but I never had the courage to meet anyone. I just dreamed about it. Then two years ago some guy called Paul, who lived not far away and said he loved rubber and plastic, offered to come round and mummify me in cling-film. It was irresistible. We arranged for him to come over when my wife was going to be out at a stag night, and wouldn’t be back till the following morning. 

Paul turned up. When I told him the kids were upstairs asleep, he was a bit freaked out, and I thought he was going to leave, but he didn’t and we had a great time.  Paul stripped down to his black rubber suit, slipped on a black rubber mask and pulled out from his rucksack a large roll of industrial pallet wrap. I got undressed and he mummified me. I lay there across the sofa with a breathing hole and my cock poking out for hours, while Paul played with my dick and sniffed poppers. I met him a couple of weeks later at his place and he tied me to a chair and bagged me up. It was fantastic. I’d never done anything like that ever before. But my wife got suspicious, so I stopped. I couldn’t risk it.  I promised myself never to think about it ever again. Then six months ago Paul got in touch.  He told me about this party and thought I might be interested.  I wasn’t at first. I’d decided to put this plastic obsession out of my mind. But I couldn’t. It won’t leave me. The images keep popping into my mind. So then in the end I sent off for a ticket, and that’s how I’ve ended up here, basically.’ 

They continue talking for a while and then she persuades him to go with her back dow to the Garbage Room. There she finds one of her favourite black plastic garbage sack and insists he seal her up inside it. 

She hands him two black cable ties and tells him how she wants it done. The bags are huge. He opens up the bag and places it on the floor. She steps onto the plastic and he pulls the sack up and over her head, then seals her inside it with a thick black cable tie. He takes the second tie and straps it loosely around her neck so the black sack balloons around her head. He caresses her breast and her bum through the plastic. She’s right. The sound of the plastic crackling is almost as erotic as the feel. He steps back. 

‘You all right in there? he asks. 

‘I’m in Paradise. See you around, Martin..’

He watches for a while longer and then decides to move on. 

As he stands in a corridor wondering where next to go, a tall Asian man with a hairy torso and a very large cock dangling between his legs walks up to him.

‘Excuse me. Can you tell me how to get to the courtyard?’

Martin thinks he knows and gives a few directions.

‘Thank you. I am going to see this Flytrap show. I have two good friends performing in it. It starts in two minutes. Perhaps you would be interested in joining me?’

Martin isn’t a man who tends to like culture.  But he remembers being curious when the host mentioned the event at the start of the evening. 

‘OK. Sure.’

As they start to walk, the Asian man holds out his hand. 

‘I am Achmed. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Martin. Pleased to meet you too.’ 

So they walk together through the chateau, and out to the courtyard, where a large stage has been constructed.  It’s a warm, balmy night. People are standing around, waiting for the performance to begin. Martin and Achmed stand at the back. Houselights fade. Coloured lamps light the stage and they see a huge clear plastic curtain, ten metres square, hanging down from one side of the stage to the other. It glistens seductively in the light. 

Soft techno music slowly crescendoes. The stage lights brighten. A spotlight on a naked man and naked woman appearing each side of the curtain. They stand and face each-other, the shimmering transparent curtain between them, He is erect. She too appears to be very aroused. They move closer to each-other. Then they move their faces together till they touch the plastic. It sticks to their faces. They try to pull away. They grab the sheet with their hands, but their hands get stuck. Soon they are both struggling. The giant curtain is on a roll suspended high above the stage, and the more they tug at the plastic, the more the roll unwinds. Soon the couple are being completely mummified. They tear the plastic from the roll, but then their fingers become wrapped together, and they cannot tear anymore, so they just twist and pull but the more they do this, the more wrapped up in plastic they become. Their struggling becomes frantic. More of the plastic is pulled off the roll, untill finally they are both cocooned tightly together in one shiny blob of plastic. As they writhe tightly together on the floor more of the sticky plastic sheeting wraps itself around them. It’s a remarkable sight, watching them trying to break out from their tight plastic cocoon, but at the same time it’s clear their muffled groans are expressions of divine pleasure. It takes a while before the shiny blob stops moving, and the pale pink skin finally sags inside. The audience cheers and applauds. Some are having their own private orgasms. 

Martin turns to the Achmed. 

‘Wow. Great actors!’

‘Actors?’ replies Achmed. 

‘No, my friend. They are not actors. They are my friends! They actually wanted to die like that. They had been planning it for months and I am delighted to have seen it.’

Achmed smiles at the shocked expression on Martin’s face. 

‘Listen to me, Martin. It’s what you and I want to believe, so that’s exactly what you are seeing. All the couples you see going into the Flytrap tonight have chosen to be suffocated on stage. A perfect way to go, don’t you think?’

Martin looks at the motionless cocoon, lit now by just one blue spotlight. He doesn’t know what to say. He walks off to find somewhere private to despunk. 

He finds a brightly lit room adorned with white pvc drapes, and colourful plastic orchids standing in giant white plastic pots. The floor is covered with large inflated clear plastic cushions and in the middle sits a man on a long thin white plastic bench, holding a plastic pillow against his belly, and looking up at a video projected onto the wall. Martin stands in the doorway to watch the video. It is a film in slow motion of a voluptuous woman with short blond hair lying inside a large clear plastic sack, attached to an air pump, and the air is being sucked out. The plastic slowly tightens around her body till she’s truly vacuum-packed, and then after she struggles the air is slowly pumped back in, and she can breathe again, until again the air is slowly sucked back out, and the cycle repeats itself, endlessly. 

The man turns and smiles, says come in, and Martin gingerly enters the room. 

The man looks remarkably like Martin, same weight, same colour of eyes and hair. 

Even his wedding ring looks similar. 

‘Hi, I’m Sandy, all the way from Colorado. Isn’t this a great party?’

They start to chat. After a while Sandy reaches down to a brown cardboard box at his feet and pulls out a clear plastic bag. 

‘These,’ he says, ‘are my all-time favourite. I have just this one box left. 50 cm by 60 cm and tinted pink. Perfect for breathplay and the feel… well, it’s unbelievable. Do you like breathplay?’

Martin nods bashfully. 

‘Try one.’ 

Martin opens up a bag and slides it down slowly over his head. 

It is indeed a breath-taking sensation. The plastic is slightly thicker, yet still crystal clear, and the feel is so erotic against his skin. Sandy opens up a second bag and slides it over his own head. They turn, flip their legs over till they face each-other. 

Sandy picks up two long red silk ties. He makes two nooses and hands one to Martin. They place the nooses over their heads.  For the next hour they sit there, kissing each-other through their bags, tightening and untightening the nooses, listening to the soft crackling around their ears of the plastic as the bags inflate and deflate with their breathing, seeing how long they can last before they release the knots and access fresh air. The game continues for many hours till finally they both ejaculate in blissful ecstasy. 

Martin returns to his hotel at 5am. He looks at his phone. Three lovely messages from his wife. He smiles. He lies down on the single bed and looks up at the ceiling. He sighs a long sigh. He is aware that he is smiling. Exhausted but for a rare moment, truly content. He makes his usual promise never to even think about plastic and breathplay ever again. It’s over now, he says to himself. All the plastic has gone. No more. Never again. 

Never ever again. 

Never.

He falls asleep. 

Daniel Guy