Human Christmas Tree (bondage, denial, peril, snuff, human trash, forniphilia, slavery)
The tinsel tickles as it hugs my body from shoulder to hip, wrapping me like a boa constrictor. My nipples have rather long barbell piercings inserted into them, gravity helping them agitate the freshly made punctures. I wish I could adjust them a little so they'd rest more comfortably, though I don't expect to move my hands again.

The barbells are so wide they stretch my poor chest buds erect. As if the stimulation from the wires running from piercing to piercing, with heavy ornaments and smaller lightbulbs hanging off them that jounce with rise and fall of my chest, wasn't enough. Were these tormenting weights set up to be purely decorative? Or do our masters enjoy us trying to hold our breaths so that the poor nerves in our tits can get a little rest?

My nipple barbells are connected not only to each other, but to the other two girls next to me on either side, forming a complete circuit of wires, decorations, and naked, aroused girlflesh. We're arranged in a circle on a frame, arm in arm, to make a human christmas tree.

My butt is uncomfortably full, filled with a massive bullet-shaped device which my sphincter just barely closes around, designed to regulate my body functions and cycle or distribute nutrients in my body, connected to the frame and supporting just enough of my weight to make it dig harder into my bowels. They told me it worked by "diffusion" or something when I asked. I never saw it before they put it into me, but I've become very, very familiar with its presence over our time together, and I expect it'll be with me for the rest of my life.

The rest of me is held in place by solid metal rings locking my neck, thighs, wrists, ankles, and back in place, so that I hang in a kneeling position: my hands behind me, chest and stomach forming the side of the christmas tree, knees down and bent, and my soles in the air for, as I quickly learned, easy tickling access. Even my tongue is held in place by a wire net frame attached to my capped teeth, so that I can't make unwanted sounds.

The frame cunningly forces a lot of my weight (as much as a small, decorative girl can weigh) to rest on a rather thick, intimidating dildo that from the little I see, is covered in uncomfortable spikes. The bulge in my stomach reveals how the massive dildo is all the way inside me, resting obnoxiously inside my uterus. I've only been locked in here for a couple of days, and already I feel a restless urge to move something, anything - but even my fingers and toes are curled and locked in place with thin wires so as to preserve the aesthetic effect. The best I can do is wiggle my hips and tense my vaginal muscles to try to perch more on my dildo stand, and find a place where the spikes inside touch as little of me as possible. Even then, I can only hold any given "comfortable" position for a few minutes before some new point hurts from having too much weight on it, and I have to start slowly shifting again. The other girls are doing this too, and every movement we make disturbs the thick intruders inside us, rustles the tinsel and makes our tit decorations bounce.

We've been sitting like this in a storage closet for a couple of days after being purchased, but now came time for them to move us to the room where we would be displayed. They plugged a cord into the base of our tree, and we all knew what that meant. I could feel the other girls trembling through our interlinked arms just before the electricity was turned on. When the electricity runs through our nipple piercings, it seems a buzz into our tits that smells like ozone and starts like tingling but gradually gets worse over time. Our only respite is the once-per-minute flash when the current is briefly turned off, and the pain gets to reset.

Unhappily, I also feel the dildo inside me whirr as it activates thanks to the power. The frame intelligently tracks my mood and arousal level, using its dildo to stir me up to the edge and then keep me dangling there or slowly moving away. I feel its points now moving inside of their own accord, prodding, stroking, stabbing different spots inside me, trying to find vulnerable nerve clusters they could administer shocks and vibrations to mercilessly. It wasn't long before everything melted into a haze of longing and aching desire that long hours of unrelenting molestation turned into agony. Though it was hard to pay attention, I got the impression the guests loved admiring our faces contorted with lust and desperation, and listening to our irregular gasping. The only time it let us rest was at night when everything was turned off and we were allowed to hang in the cold darkness, undisturbed, to get what sleep we could on our frames. In the morning, someone wiped me down with a scented rag to mask the smell of the juices I leaked and clean up the viscous mass leaking from my crotch. The rough scratching of the cloth was the closest I ever came each day to a climax.

I can't really see the other girls, only hear them whimper from time to time, because my felt-lined metal collar, linked to the frame by a rigid bar, holds my neck in place. I can only turn my head a little before I feel it firm against my neck muscles, so I had to learn to blow my long, red-and-green dyed hair out of my eyes instead.

If the other girls are like me, they were born albinos, and then had their bodies dyed and tattoed for their ornamental purpose. I was locked in place in a machine, while it covered me in red and white stripes like a candy cane, special ink playing the role of melanin in my skin. To finish the effect, two festive blush marks were added to my cheeks so that I could properly celebrate the season. A barcode on my right arm and the company brand above my butt register my identity in the system and signify the location of implanted chips. The ink was inserted with a specially developed topical anesthetic, so that it only burned when they painted me instead of making me pass out. They let us hang for a few days, recovering, before moving on with our processing.

Back in the present, they removed the wire netting from our mouths to free our tongues. A series of shocks erupted in our clits, thanks to wireless studs inserted through the hood into our little girlnubs. As one, we began to sing a carol:

"O christmas tree, o christmas tree..."

We had been carefully conditioned over the year of our existence for this purpose, with many songs trained into us at the command of a different series of shocks. The goal of this was to give us the appearance of a chorus while making the selection of our songs subtle. We couldn't keep the wavering and panting out of our voices, distracted as we were by the shocks and dildos, but our owners and their guests did not seem to mind. Sometimes I wanted to beg instead for them to help me with the aching need that never left my dripping pussy lips, but the conditioning made me continue with the songs my guests had selected.

Besides, we were just trees after all, mass produced on farms for this purpose, and no one cares about inanimate objects.

Between the constant need to adjust my position and the unending shocks on my clit that could only be relieved by singing, I was extremely busy, but I couldn't help noticing how happy the people seemed to be, exchanging gifts, eating delicious-looking food, and talking together about things I had never heard of. I wondered what it would be like to not have been born to be a tree. All of us were grown in tube-wombs to physical maturity and then decanted for a single year of conscious life to prepare for our roles, so seeing the lives of those we served was wondrous and incomprehensible to me.

When the faulty wiring on one of the girls next to me blew a fuse and burst her nipples, a disposal truck showed up, to wrap up and take her away, crying in pain and fear through her reinstalled tongue appliance. Likewise, the other girl expired when her dildo went haywire and gave her a heart attack from overstimulation (I listened to her screams all night, alternatively cringing and envying her). They decided to maintain the effect, two plastic mannequins would be installed in the places of the defective girls, and I would be made to face forward to entertain solo.

I heard my owners complaining about my batch's inferiority, consider replacing me as well with a new tree, and I resolved to prove them wrong, doing my best to sing each carol with all of my feeling. At night, with only the cold doll arms holding my elbows in place, it was much quieter and lonelier. Though it should have been easier to sleep without the other girls jostling me for their own comfort, instead it was scarier. I couldn't help worrying about their fates, and getting lost in my vulnerability, dreading each shock might cause my tits to explode, or fearing the dildo in me rubbing my pussy so dry I caught fire. It didn't help matters when, to increase my festive appearance, my owners added opaque red and green contact lenses to each of my eyes so that I could barely see anything through a shimmery blur. They also put on me a headband with a pair of tiny reindeer antlers, cute to them but annoying to me - constantly tugging on the hair that got trapped under it, digging into my scalp. I dreamed of shaking my head and throwing it off, but it was another indignity added to my endless pile.

To my joy, I made it through Christmas night and the opening of presents, and hung around for the next week watching everything quiet down as things wound down. With my performace and good condition by the end of the season, I expected to be packed up with the other decorations and stored in a dark place to wait another year to be reused. I wasn't sure I could endure months of waiting on my frame, still teased by my silent dildo, able only to stare ahead and suffer with the mannequins as company.

But instead, while they were tearing down the decorations, they took away my mannequins and dragged my tree to the side of the road. Before they put my wire tongue restraint back in my mouth, I begged to know why they were tossing a perfectly good tree. They shrugged and said that a tree was only good for one season, after which it wasn't fresh.

That's not a good reason at all!!! I wanted to scream, but by then my tongue was held in place. Thanks to my vision-depriving contacts, I couldn't even plead silently with my eyes because I couldn't tell where anyone was. It's okay, I thought to myself, trying to calm down. Maybe they'll just add two new girls. I'll be good as new.

They threw me onto the curb in the middle of the night, but the disposal truck wouldn't come till the next day. I sat and waited in the dark, still wearing my silly antlers and all of my other decorations, longing to be back inside the warm house. Cold wind crept up on me while I sat on my frame, collecting against my back, then caressing my thighs, breasts and neck, stealing the breath from my lungs and making my dangling ornaments jingle like bells. My teeth chattered against the wires holding my tongue in place. I dreamed of hugging myself with my arms for warmth, of blankets and radiators.

Now that I was unplugged, at least the shocks to my nipples finally stopped. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the dildo had a battery that stored a lot of charge in case of power outages; it was still poking and prodding around my pussy canal, keeping me from falling to sleep in the freezing dark night, occasionally vibrating to edge me closer to an orgasm I dreamed about but had never known.

The morning proved no more endurable. The wind did not cease, and the morning sun burned my skin, filling my eyes with dazzling light even when I squeezed them shut as tightly as possible. When the disposal truck came at last I could feel the weight of icicles forming on my pussy. The disposal lady's hands looked so warm and comfortable, but she only grabbed my frame to turn my frame around - I could only imagine the feel of her palms against my skin. She held a bar code reader to my bar code - "Terminated", said the reader.

"Yeah, duh," said the lady. "This unit is already two-thirds scrap." I tried to signal my disagreement with an indignant sound.

The lady read something on the reader too small for me to see, then exhaled in surprised. "Wow, normally an organic like you'd be picked up by the meat truck for soylent, but since your tree's already two units down, your remaining meat value ain't worth the trouble of taking apart your frame. You're going with the other garbage to the incinerator."

Whaaaaat??? Confusion and dread filled my mind.

The lady seemed to revel in my horrified reaction. "Yep, you're gonna be sitting in the scrap heap with the other meltables. They'll stoke the flames up real high and your worthless flesh'll evaporate as smoke, leaving only the valuable metals and stuff."

No. No. Surely this couldn't be how it ended. I shifted a little on the frame, but it held me tight as ever. I knew I couldn't break free. I was going to hang like this, in this uncomfortable posture, until I fried. My fingers and toes squirmed, resisting their tight bondage futilely.

The truck drove on, leaving me panicking on the sidewalk, my attempts to escape invisible to the naked eye thanks to the solidity of my bondage. It was only a little longer before the garbage truck rolled up and I was picked up by two workers, who eagerly groped my breasts a couple of times each and gave my clit a rude tug before heaving me on top of the waste. Soon sagging plastic bags followed, knocking me down the pile of garbage, and then I was buried in it.

The old on-board compactor wedged me and my frame deep into the masses of rotting vegetables, used tissues, discarded wrapping paper, empty boxes, and other broken furniture like me. When I made out the truck crushing the garbage smaller, I pleaded with the universe that the compactor might crush me to death quickly, or else break my frame so I could escape, but neither of these happened. I felt myself squeezed with other garbage into a cube with myself on the outside, my joints screaming as they were forcibly bent as well by a force beyond my power to resist. Garbage and liquid entered my mouth as I gasped for air, everything went black, and I thought I might suffocate, but suddenly the pressure released, and dim light returned as the compactor retracted.

My new posture brought pain to muscles I didn't realize I had, or threatened to overwhelm muscles that had been exhausted by my service as a tree. My frame had been twisted so that it now curled me backwards into a tense human u-shape, my feet now on my shoulders, my crotch forced firmly down tight onto my dildo so that I had even less control over what it did to me. Most of the garbage bags broke, spilling their contents onto me in a torrent of flith. Most of what was near me seemed to be discarded leftovers which covered my body with slimy fluids and disgusting squishy substances I could not make out, lubricated my blindly squirming body. I wanted to scream, but I could barely budge my chest against the sea of crushed garbage to draw fetid air into my lungs, so humid it felt like a swamp. I could feel broken plastic or metal from objects weaker than my frame wedged into my defenseless breasts and against my thighs. Something was caught on my clit-stud and pulling against it, so that I had to lift my crotch and hold it elevated to release the tension. I could feel my nipple wires tangled into knots around protruding garbage elsewhere, so that the studs and wires cut into my flesh.

With each crush it became harder to breathe, and everything got wetter, tighter, and more painful. Finally a roar came, where instead of more garbage being dumped onto us, I felt myself sliding the other way. Still unable to move, still fused into a garbage cake with splinters and hardening layers of curdled milk and dry mashed potatoes, I fell. As I descended, I made out someone telling the workers "...closed for two days, holiday season."

I landed onto a grate, on top of a pile of other garbage. The sea of rot I lay in made the air sweltering, though the incinerator was clearly not operational. I sweated and wanted to vomit, but had never eaten since my buttplug was installed. Buried in trash, all of my senses tortured, I wanted to die, and waited patiently for the flames to turn on.