Title: Gwen Gets Trashed
Categories: Ben 10
Characters: Gwen Tennyson
Cameo(s): Natalie Tennyson
Tags: Inanimate Transformation, Trashcan Fetish, Garbage Fetish, Magic, Unaware, NonCon, Disposal, humiliation, Gross, Odour, Vomit
Alternate Titles: Garbage Girl
Commissioned By: Anonymous
Started: 06/10/2024
Finished: 06/10/2024
Public: 06/11/2024
Gwen Tennyson, always eager to expand her knowledge of the mystic arts, flicked through the spellbook she'd taken from her magical rival, Charmcaster. Sitting cross-legged in her parent's living room, she flicked through the pages. There were just so many of them. Spells to change her high colour, style her hair, move objects, and various summoning spells varying from the simple to the intermediate.
As she flicked through the pages, one encantation caught her eye. Sanatio De Immundus, or Cleaning of the Unclean. It looked like it was supposed to gather trash into one place or container. If it worked, she'd be able to save a lot of time cleaning her room and other chores, giving her much more time to spend pouring over her spellbook and engaging in her many extracurricular activities.
Gwen smiled smugly. It was pretty simple. Unlike some of the other spells in the small book, this one didn't require any components; just speak the words clearly and perform the hand gesture depicted in the illustration. Looking about the room, Gwen spied a forgotten tissue down the side of one of the armchairs. She practised the gesture a few times and mouthed the words of the spell until she was confident she could cast it correctly - she didn't want to end up with a frog tongue like the last time she failed to adequately prepare, then she had been lucky not to be coated in slimy mucus.
Gwen cleared her throat, she could already feel the arcane energies trickling through her as she summoned the mystical energies within.
"Sanatio De Immundus!" she exclaimed, thrusting her hand, fingers flexing and spreading as they pointed towards the tissue. She carefully formed each syllable, and ethereal light blue energy surrounded her digits. But just as she was mid-way through the final word, a burning sensation assaulted her nostrils, abruptly spreading into a small explosion as she sneezed mid-spell.
The spell went awry, flying off target.
Before Gwen could even open her eyes, the spell struck the large mirror above the fireplace and rebounded at her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came as the spell worked its magic.
Tingling sensations washed over her and grew in intensity; her skin began to vibrate, and then her bones shook as if her very essence was being rearranged. Her white and blue raglan shirt with a cat logo, white calf-length capri pants and white sneakers with dark blue stripes abruptly darkened and stretched over her body, merging into a latex suit and crushing her body, the spell's light reflecting in shimmering patterns.
Her body began to fall to the floor, shrinking smaller and smaller and wider and wider as the spell seeped through to her body. Her skin rippled, melted and darkened. Gwen lost her shape, and piece by piece, she was transformed.
The brain she had been so proud of, that had brought her many accomplishments reshaped and transformed, becoming a soggy, tattered trashy magazine with pictures of scantily clad women suspiciously stained and sticky. Her eyes rolled away from their sockets as they glazed over, becoming cracked, chipped marbles falling somewhere in the still-shifting polythene bag. Her thin pink tongue darkened and thickened, morphing into a wadded-up slab of chewed gum, any semblance of flavour long eroded. Her lips pressed together, rolling over one another as they transformed into a used-up tube of lipstick. Her fiery hair lengthened, paled and darkened, falling from her head as it became a twisted bundle of moulded spaghetti.
Her clothes twisted and wrinkled.
Her petite nose crumpled and shifted, paling until it turned white, splashes of white and green viscous fluid soaking into it as it became a snotty mess of used snotty tissues. Her teeth loosened and cracked as the pristine jaws warped into rows of shattered eggshells, slick with a gooey greenish slime.
Gwen's stomach tried to cramp and roll as the horrid cacophony of flavours filled her awareness, only for it to bulge outward, gaining weight and reshaping as it was transformed into a gallon of curdled milk. She could feel the chunks sloshing around inside. She wanted to be sick.
Her clothes audibly crinkled around her.
Between her legs, her chaste pussy morphed, hardening and lengthening into a grotesquely darkened, very used tampon, while her ass and bladder compressed together, merging and bulging into an oversized soiled diaper. Her womb shrunk and shrivelled up, twisting in on itself, mouldy cum oozing out of a latex ring as it became an old, used condom.
Once elegant and powerful, her smooth-toned legs and her feet flattened beneath the weight of the diaper, wrinkling and folding in on themselves as they became an entangled pair of old, holey nylons, stained with sweat and grime from their owner.
Crinkle
Her Clothes settled around her and grew still.
Panic set in as Gwen attempted to move, only to find herself unable to do so. Her new form was cumbersome and uncooperative. No matter what she did, she remained stationary. The only thing moving was her awareness, as though her mind was no longer shackled to her brain and could move freely through her body.
She could feel things oozing and sliming inside her and trashy juices pooling around her base.
She tried to open her mouth and call for help. But nothing happened. Her lips didn't move, and the chewed gum of a tongue didn't even twitch.
Panic surged through her.
Straining her awareness beyond her confines, Gwen was able to catch her reflection in the dark, polished marble of the fireplace and felt her stomach drop as she processed what she saw. She didn't see the boyish prodigy but a dilapidated, stuffed trashbag leaning to one side.
Gwen's stomach churned, her chunky milk curdling with disgust as she took in her new form.
Her awareness shifted through her body. She was a mess of squished cans, crumpled newspaper, and a sludge of half-eaten fast-food containers. She felt sticky and greasy, her skin now a collection of plastic wrappers and discarded food packaging. The odour was unbearable, a potent cocktail of rotting meat, sour milk, and stale bread that made her gag.
She was so disgusting.
Her mind moved through her body, and when she found the rancid condom, her milk curdled to the point the plastic bottle cracked, letting the chunky mixture dribble out, the foul odour filling her body. She hadn't even kissed a boy and her womb had been replaced with some old pervert's disgusting moldy condom.
The spoiled milk began to mix with her trash juice.
Her chipped marbles flickered as the words screamed in her awareness. HER trash juice.
She was even starting to think of herself as the trash she'd transformed into.
She needed to turn herself back before she started thinking about dustbins and landfills.
'The Spellbook!' fresh waves of panic crashed through Gwen's trash.
Scanning the area around her trashbag revealed nothing but the carpet beneath and around her, which was darkening and staining as her rancid juices secreted through the polythene.
It had to be inside her bag!
Gwen turned her mind inwards even as it made her milk chunks sprout fuzzy mould.
Gwen's consciousness swirled around the putrid mess that had once been her body, searching desperately for the spellbook. She felt the squish of rotten fruit under her, the jab of a used needle through a newspaper, and the cold, clammy touch of wet leaves. The feeling of the various textures made her want to retch, but she had no mouth or stomach to do so with.
As her panic grew, so did the pressure in the bag. The stench grew stronger as condiment packets and rotten food mixed with the juices from her milk-filled cavity, creating a noxious stew of foul odours that permeated her new form.
Her mind touched upon a crumpled-up piece of paper, sticky with some unknown substance. Hope fluttered briefly as she thought it might be the spellbook, but it was just a forgotten homework assignment, soggy and useless.
Her awareness shifted through the tampon that had been her pussy; the long-dried pubic blood was starting to chip away and mix with the juices. She felt the sludgy mess of old coffee grounds and mashed cigarette butts and the slickness of grease. The feeling of each disgusting piece of garbage against her mind only made her feel lower, more disgusting, more degraded.
Every ounce of her was just trash.
Waiting to be thrown away and sent to the landfill.
She was disgusting.
Her thoughts grew sluggish as the reality of her situation sank in, and a strange, wet, thick substance began to leak from the stuffed diaper, only to be hungrily drank in by the trashy magazine that was her brain.
It was so hard to think and search.
She was a piece of trash, used up, unwanted and waiting to be thrown away.
Deserving to be thrown away.
If someone discovered her, they wouldn't even know its her. She'd just be a pile of trash leaking on the carpet.
No. She needed to get out of this.
Gwen's mind searched deeper. It felt like she was moving through jello. Very mouldy jello.
She tried to ignore the squelch of a slimy banana peel as she searched for the spellbook.
It had to be somewhere inside her. It had to be.
Deeper and deeper.
The chunky juices made her want to gip.
Still, deeper she went.
And then she found it!
Nestled between a slimy half-eaten burger and a crushed beer can, the leather-bound book lay open, its pages sticky and stained with some foul substance she didn't want to even consider.
The words on the pages danced before her inner eyes, taunting her with their inaccessibility.
Her mind reached out, trying to manipulate the pages, but they remained stubbornly still. Her frustration grew as she realised she had no hands to hold the book, no eyes to read the words, and no hands to perform the crucial gestures.
Could she even cast the reversal spell if she found it?!
The trashy magazine drooped, its pages turning almost black as the foul fluid continued to erode its contents.
It got harder for Gwen to shift her awareness.
She needed to think.
THUD
The sound of a door closing tore through the trash's awareness, smashing her thoughts like a mallet.
The carpet vibrated with heavy steps beneath the trash bag, pulling Gwen's sluggish consciousness back to the world beyond and causing her to lose the spellbook and only chance of salvation back to the rancid collection of trash.
Gwen's mind trembled as it stared up at the towering form of her mother. She was wearing a white blouse with a grey skirt and high-heeled shoes, a green jacket draped over her shoulders. Natalie's dark blue eyes crinkled as she stared down at the trashbag,
Her mother's gaze made Gwen feel even lower and more disgusted. She was sure her mother's nose wrinkled at the stench coming off of her.
She was disgusting!
Maybe she deserved to just be thrown away and sent to some landfill after all…
Natalie's voice washed over her, muffled through the trashbag that contained the transformed girl.
"What on Earth?" the older woman murmured, her footsteps approaching the pile of trash that had once been her daughter.
Gwen felt every step ripple through the carpet.
She was feeling more like trash with every passing second.
Natalie Tennyson approached the trash bag with a look of confusion and a hint of disgust. The stench coming from it was unbearable, a nauseating blend of spoiled milk and rotten meat that polluted the air. She pinched her wrinkling nose as she leaned closer and reluctantly opened the mouth of the bag. Her eyes scanned over the dark, slimy shapes filling the bag for any sign of what could have caused such a foul odour.
The bag squished under her scrutiny, the trash inside shifting and emitting an even more sickening sound. Gwen's heart, now a crumpled fast-food wrapper, fluttered as it moved beneath her mother's attention.
But Gwen remained unseen, trapped in her horrific transformation.
Natalie's hand hovered over the bag, her curiosity fighting against her revulsion. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the sticky condom that was now Gwen's womb, feeling the cold, thick, slimy fluid still leaking from it. She flinched at the touch, her eyes widening as the realisation dawned on her that this wasn't just a pile of garbage but something far more disturbing.
Her hand recoiled as though burned, and she stepped back, her mind racing.
That condom hadn't belonged to Frank. They never really used condoms, which meant only one thing.
Natalie's thoughts turned to her daughter. Her stomach lurched, and she couldn't hold it in anymore. With a hand over her mouth, she felt the burning fluid surging up her throat. Natalie turned and leaned over the bag, her hand moving and lips parting as she spat a mouthful of vomit into the gaping trash bag, her eyes watering as she gagged on the aftertaste.
The warm, acidic fluid splattered against Gwen's mind, mixing with the foul juices already soaking into the magazine.
The chewed gum prickled in the sludge that was her mouth as the reality of the situation slowly, painfully slowly registered in her awareness.
Her mother had just thrown up into her.
Her mother had just thrown up into her.
The thought was too much to bear. The last vestiges of her human dignity slipped away, leaving behind only a desperate, pathetic pile of trash.
Natalie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, flicking it over the still-open bag and sending splatters of vomit into it. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She had to get rid of this bag, and it was staining the carpet. It was disgusting. And besides, she had something much bigger and more awkward to deal with.
With a grimace, she bent down and picked up the bag with a firm grip, forcing the opening shut in her fist. The rancid cocktail sloshed around as she lifted it off the floor, a foul trickle seeping out of its bottom.
Gwen's mind reeled with horror as she felt herself being hoisted into the air, the weight of her new form pulling on the bag's makeshift could feel the bag straining beneath the weight of her trash.
Her mother strained her arm muscles, bulging her veins as she lugged her daughter's trashy form through the house and towards the kitchen as quickly as she could, leaving a foul, shimmering snail trail of bin juice.
The sound of her mother's footsteps was like a funeral procession to the helpless former redhead.
The kitchen lights were too bright, illuminating the sticky mess that was her new body. She could see her mother's reflection in the fridge door, her face pale and drawn. She looked sick, and Gwen couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for causing her mother such distress.
Natalie opened the door, the cool evening air lovingly caressing them both as she stepped outside and rounded towards the black bin. She threw open the lid violently and heaved the still-dripping bag over the bin.
This was it; she was about to be thrown out like the common trash she was.
Gwen felt the sickening drop towards the dark abyss, only to be violently rocked to one side. Gravity shifted, and her bag was turned upside down. She hadn't realised her mother hadn't tied the bag shut. It was too full! She had made too much trash!
With wet splats, a shower of rotten food, packaging, dirty napkins, snotty tissues, and rancid milk was poured into the hungry bin, ready to be feasted on by cockroaches before being taken away to the landfill when the binmen came.
Gwen wanted to cry out in terror.
Then the magazine dropped, and everything went black.
Gwen knew no more.