This story is primarily about control between adult men with punishment and humiliation plus sneaker and clothes messy play and destruction. There are some sexual situations but it is not the primary objective of the story. If you object to any of this then read no further. This story is sexual fantasy fiction and any resemblance to persons past or present is purely coincidental. Text messages are shown in italic with no space between the responses.

Remote Controlled Part VII - Bin There, Done That

*ping* Whatcha doing?

Just what I didn’t need. Not when I had just under ten minutes to search these numerous bins for my clothes, or be left naked in the middle of a large shopping complex in Shepherd’s Bush.

*ping* I said whatcha doing?

I’m looking for my clothes

Did you lose them? That’s careless!

You know I lost them! Why are we texting anyway?

In a meeting

Well I’m kinda busy too right now!

Have fun :-p

The breeze block lined corridor had alcoves all the way down, each one sheltering a large wheelie bin; some recycling, some general. The raw dusty concrete floor tailed away and then took a left turn - I really hoped it didn’t go too far after that.

Now, would he have put my clothes in the furthest one away or would that be what he would think I would think he’s done and put them a lot closer to ‘home’?

I chided myself for overthinking things - you just need to walk down and calmly open one bin at a time and look inside. The bin closest to me was pretty full of cardboard but sat on top was a Lacoste bag. Bingo! Not that I expected this to be the right one but it meant there were only a possible five more to find and one of those had my clothes in it. My thoughts were confirmed and I quickly moved on to the second, third and fourth bins drawing blanks each time.

The fifth bin had one solitary black sack and a Lacoste bag next to it. Right at the bottom. I cursed Josh as it quickly transpired I couldn’t reach it however much I tried.

“Fuck it.” What can I say, I’d got to that point in my life where swearing at inanimate objects seemed normal.

Sighing, I started to clamber up the bin, flinching as my erect penis frequently touched the cold metal exterior of the bin. I paused briefly realising that once I slung my leg over the top my arse would be fully displayed to anyone who might have been watching. Not that anyone was, but it almost felt that I was watching myself. I was also aware that any of the doors from the back of the shops could be opened at any time.

After resting for a moment on at the top I tried to touch the bottom with my foot but the drop was too much. I lowered myself down and quickly realised the bag couldn’t possibly have all my clothes in it, but to my surprise it did have something in it; the boxers I had ‘purchased’. Was this a little parting gift from Josh, giving me more of a chance to find items? I momentarily felt a little guilty for cursing him before quickly pulling them on, feeling a lot happier at finally having a bit of cover. Although to be fair, the sight of my cock tenting out in these tight red trunks probably looked more ridiculous than being naked. The device had been keeping me permanently erect since last night and showed no sign of stopping.

Putting on a pair of trunks in a wheelie bin is more difficult than I imagined, alternating between darkness and banging my head on the lid. Exiting the bin was even more challenging, having to haul myself up to the top with my aching shoulder complaining like hell. I jumped down and looked at my phone. Five minutes. Shit. Time to speed up.

Bins six through nine were empty. Well, not empty, but not filled with what I wanted. Bin seven was a particular relief to be able to skip (no pun intended), filled as it was with waste from a cafe or something. They had obviously decided to be environmentally friendly and not use any bags while disposing their waste. How very noble of them; I’m sure the bin people loved that stink! Still, small mercies I only had to smell it rather than wade through it. Bin ten, located just before the left turn in the corridor, contained one of the ‘holy grails’ but just like earlier it was right at the bottom. I squinted my eyes at it and quickly decided if it had anything in it it would be just a top and I really didn’t have the time to waste clambering in for just that.

That was three down and three to go. And more importantly four minutes until the bin men did their rounds. I knew they would be dead on time so they can knock off and get home as soon as possible. I looked around the corner to see the corridor continue a bit further before ending with a large service door. There were another ten or so bins positioned alternatively left and right in pairs. I ran down the corridor quickly opening the bins in turn and soon found an empty bag.

Just two bins to go. So Josh had put my clothes in the furthest bin. Figures. Why didn’t I just start there?! First bin, empty bag. So second bin… empty! I mean completely and utterly empty. I shut the lid, paused, and then opened it again in some sort of forlorn hope there would suddenly be a different reality. Like I was Paul fucking Daniels or something.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

Maybe that bag in the other bin I ignored did have stuff in it after all. Or hang on, maybe he hid it underneath the rubbish. He wouldn’t would he? No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t! I started to head back to the unexplored bag when I heard the the sound of a handle being pushed down. There was no time to run around the corner… I just opened the closest one and scrambled in hoping they emptied the nearest bins first.

“Jimbo. Jimbo! Goin’ start at the far end - the bin just past Lacoste!”

Jimbo was obviously deaf. Hang on, did he say a bin just past the Lacoste shop? Oh shit, how did I miss that? Oh, was that why Josh was waving at me in that way? He was telling me where to look. Stupid me. Why didn’t I pay more attention? And what the fuck was that wet feeling on my foot?

The light of my phone showed me that my foot had gone right through a black sack. I ripped it open more so I could get my foot back out to find it was full of leftover food. It was disgusting. As I pulled it out I fell backwards, putting my hand through another bag of discarded food. I slipped further into the bin and felt a wetness seep through my boxers. It was safe to say this was not going well.

“Fuck me this coffee is worse than usual!”

I froze - that was right outside my bin! All of a sudden the lid lifted up. This was it; Jimbo was sure to see me. I shut my eyes in the hope I might somehow become invisible. The next thing I felt was a lukewarm liquid across my face. As it dripped from my hair onto my lips I could definitely agree that it was a disgrace to call this liquid coffee.

I opened my eyes to find darkness again. Hearing footsteps move away from the bin, I slowly lifted the lid. There he was - Jimbo’s mate. Hi-vis vest, cargo pants, boots and headphones. Ahhh, that’s why he was shouting! The bad news was that he was now between me and the bin with my clothes. Probably. If Mr Hellier hadn’t play some massive trick on me and these trunks were all I was getting.

The way was clear to the exit though. Did I just run for it and try to get home wearing only these trunks? These damp trunks. No, that was ridiculous. More ridiculous than trying to run in front of someone in a narrow corridor without them noticing? I was in something of a Catch 22 situation.

Or fucked as I liked to say.

I waited until he had just disappeared around the corner and swung myself out of the bin. One foot was completely slathered in something that used to be described as food. It was time for another sigh as I hopped down the corridor so as not to leave footprints. I stuck my head around the corner and to see he had ambled halfway down the corridor. Okay, I needed a plan. Creep up behind him and knock him out?

No, that’s a completely stupid idea. What on earth was I doing even contemplating that?! I was spectacularly good at making bad choices and relied on my brain filtering out the catastrophic ones before I proceeded to pick the worst of what’s left.

*ping* What’s happening?

Fuck off pls

“Arr..” I put my hand over my mouth to stifle the yelp of pain that was surging through my cock, and only after realising I had smeared food waste all over my face.

I’m sorry. Bit Mission Impossible atm. I did say pls. Can u give me 5 mins?

Haha. Yeah, fill me in later.

“Come on think..! Oh hang on, that might work!” I whispered under my breath.

I hopped over to ‘bin ten’ and pulled it out from it’s home, leaving it in the middle of the corridor just where it turned towards the exit, reapplying the brakes before diving into a bin close to the Lacoste shop. A few moments later I heard the rumble of an approaching bin.

“What the fuck! Haha Jimbo, you’re such a cunt man!” He spun the bin he was pushing sideways so he could get past to sort out the roadblock further down the corridor. It was now or never. The bin I was in was stacked with cardboard so it was an easy hop out and then a clamber into the other one. I got to the top opened the lid and chucked myself in.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” was the sound that immediately followed the dull thud of me hitting the bottom of the wheelie bin. Luckily my head was cushioned by a nice soft bag filled with clothes, unfortunately augmented with two pairs of sneakers. I could hear footsteps returning so I waited until my carriage started moving before quickly dropping the damp boxers. I used my polo to wipe my face, hair and then my hand and leg before donning my new polo shirt. The skinny jeans took forever to get on and while the chinos were still tight, I could get into them comparatively quickly. The AF1s went on just as I felt the bin bump through the service doors. They were nice and loose, which was cool because I like them ‘sloppy’.

Ah, I hadn’t thought about the next bit. That’s the problem with plans. Or at least my plans. Sometimes I really didn’t think about the complete story - just the bit that was just in front of me. This was either referred to as ‘concentration’ or ‘tunnel vision’ depending on whether someone thought it was a positive or negative quality.

The bin came to a stop and I heard Jimbo’s mate retreat back into the service area. Lifting the lid slightly so I had just enough space to peek out made it clear I was in some sort of service area and what was better was there appeared to be no-one around. I tried to pull myself out of the bin but my shoulder wasn’t having any of it; the fall through the door yesterday night and the clattering it just got had completely nadgered it. Christ, was that really only last night? It felt more like, I dunno, six weeks ago?!

It was then a engine started, accompanied by an annoying rasping sound. There was a clunk under the bin and it started to lift into the air.

This was it. I was going to be tipped into the back of a bin lorry and mangled in it’s metal claws. Of all the ways I was going to die, this hadn’t figured high on my list. It was just below being crushed to death by a comically oversized Battenburg cake while dressed as Spiderman.

The bin was now horizontal and I really had to think fast. What about those spy films where they wedge themselves against the ceiling as the baddies wander around beneath them? Yeah that might work!

I braced myself across the bin with the Lacoste bag containing my original clothes clamped between my teeth just as the bin tipped up and the lid sprung open. And there I was, suspended above the bin lorry. Bugger me, it was working! It was actually work….

“Oh fucckkk!” Would have been what I said next if my mouth wasn’t stuffed full of Lacoste bag handle. I fought Gravity and Gravity won and I was unceremoniously dumped into sea of black sacks. There were two positives here. One was that they provided a soft landing and the second was that this was just a glorified skip; no nasty mashing teeth to grind up the trash. The negatives were I had dived into the bin head first and disappeared halfway into the waste and that one of my AF1s had come off. Curse my dislike for tight lacing!

I clambered through the bags, almost having to swim, giving me a perfect simulation of what fish must feel like trying to progress up the Yangtze River. I gingerly popped my head out the rubbish in case there was anyone around but the coast was clear. My errant AF1 was about two metres away which wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

I pulled myself over the bags; this wasn’t so bad actually. It was like a huge ball pool and was pretty fun. So new plan: grab the AF1, hop out of the lorry and scamper home. Perfect. Good plan. Well done me!

My fingers reached out and touched the Nike. Just the fingertips at first but after a few more movements, I could loop my finger through the laces. Triumphantly I held it aloft like it was the World Cup. Soon after however the focus of my eye was taken behind it to another bin looming high into the air. Before I had a chance to utter my catchphrase the lid swung open and a cavalcade of bin bags and restaurant detritus was emptied on me.

The raised AF1 had protected my face from much of the waste but I still had some spaghetti splattered across my face and hair. The white Nike had fared less well and was completely covered in tomato based sauce. I love Italian food and this both usefully reminded me that (a) I had had nothing to eat today and (b) I was no longer hungry. It really did stink. But it wasn’t me making that horrendous retching noise. That was the truck reversing.

“You’re done. See you tomorrow Jimbo you ol’ bastard.”

After a moment of backward movement we were off. Okay this wasn’t the end of the world. A new plan was required - I could hear my brain screaming ‘What? Another fucking plan? Can’t you do anything right for fuck’s sake!’

Okay, I could just hop out when it was stationary. Sure, it was going to look a bit weird, someone hopping out of the back of a skip but that’s the least of my worries for now. It was amazing how quickly something that would have not even crossed my mind a week ago now seemed like the least-worst option. Although to be fair a week ago, I didn’t imagine I’d be in the back of a skip. Not during daytime hours anyway...

The truck came to a shuddering stop, enabling me to pop my head above the bags meerkat style. We were at traffic lights and there wasn’t much traffic or many people around. Perfect. I swung my leg over the side ready to spring to my escape. Ha, fuck you Fate and all your minions!

It was then I realised the falling bin bags had knocked my phone off the lanyard around my neck. As I had to stay within a certain distance of the phone to avoid penalty pain from the device I had no choice but to get back in and start searching for it. Mental note - Fate is a bitch, never piss her off.

While it wasn’t exactly needle in a haystack territory, it certainly took a lot of effort. I finally found it just as the truck stopped again, but this time the engine was turned off. I heard the door of the cab open, then shut and footsteps crunch through the gravel away from the truck. I peered over the edge again and could see Jimbo disappearing towards a office of some description. Behind it was a wide expanse of railway lines.

On the other side of the truck was park land with a small curtain of trees and bushes. That seemed the best option as the truck was right at the edge of the road. It was a doable jump but slightly too far to be comfortable. I dropped the bag down that contained my original clothes and mismatched tns before jumping down myself. The small bush that was supposed to provide a modicum of safety, instead caught my leg and sent me tumbling down the small bank before landing on my shoulder in a muddy puddle. Both AF1s had come off in as I was tumbling so I had no option but to put my bare foot into the mud to try to get upright.

The puddle was sloppier than I though and as I went to get up my foot slipped and sent me crashing to my arse. After sliding around for a bit I managed to get to my feet. My left cheek and leg of the chinos were caked in mud, the shoulder of my polo also. The front of the was damp and splashed with mud and my feet were slathered.

“For fuck’s sake!” I said to no-one in particular. I looked around; luckily the park was deserted but there was a row of houses to my left. As I walked back up the slope to collect the AF1s, twigs and stones dug into my feet but at least some of the mud was ‘cleaned’ off. I sighed as I pulled the muddy and tomato covered AF1s back on, wiggling my toes inside. I loved getting my gear wet and muddy but that was normally in a controlled environment - not in some unknown location with no transport! I continued up the bank using branches to aid my journey.

I reached the top and grabbed my Lacoste bag from where it landed and ducked back into the bush. Now, where the fuck was I? I checked my phone - what did we do before portable sat navs? After a moment I had my answer; Little Wormwood Scrubs. I clicked the ‘take me home’ button and it suggested a 20 minutes walk through a housing estate or a 30 minute work mostly beside the train line to tube station. The latter seemed better with the state I was in, and anyway I walked fast so it would be much less.

As I stood up and started to march purposefully down the track, I heard other footsteps. I turned my head to meet the eyes of Jimbo. What a state I must have looked, covered in mud and carrying a smart Lacoste bag. Bits of twig sticking out of my messed up hair. Probably. Only one way to play this...

“Hi Jimbo!” I called out with a grin and a friendly wave. He was so taken aback he stopped dead in his tracks, jaw hanging slightly open. I quickly, but as casually as I could, continued on my way.

The final stretch of the walk was down Ladbrook Grove; a very busy street. I got a few glances but I continued unimpeded.

*ping* What are you doing? And where have you been?!

It’s a long story… :-(

Tell me! Answer now…

I answered the call and explained to my Controller what had happened, to howls of laughter.

“It’s. Not. Funny!”

“Yes. Yes it is very funny indeed!”

“I could have been killed or worse!”


“You know what I mean!”

“But you weren’t.”

“Yes, but I could have been!”

“But you weren’t!”

I wasn’t going to win this one but I think it helped having a conversation. And it took my mind off the pointing and stares from the ever increasingly bustling streets approaching the station.

“Well, have a safe remainder of a trip home. Thanks for making my day!”

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

“Yeah, Mr Hellier mentioned you needed your attitude sorted out but I’ve topped up your card so you get the tube home anyway. What do you say?”

I hadn’t thought about having no credit. I was suddenly really tired so walking home from here wasn’t an option; I really needed that credit. I sighed and whispered into the phone “Thank you Sir.”


Shit. I was right at the station entrance and it was really busy now.

“I can take that credit away as easy as I gave it. Nice and loud. Now.”

The command was calm and not shouted but it was definitely said in a tone that meant business. I shut my eyes.

“Thank you Sir!”

I opened my eyes again and most people were now looking at me. I went red and quickly dived into the station and the cover it afforded.


I made it back to my flat without further incident, if you exclude all the pointing and snickering on the tube. I stood up all the way so as not to dirty the seats. Yeah, that's the sort of thing that bothers me; I guess I was brought up proper. One bonus was I had lots of room as exactly zero people wanted to stand anywhere near me.

I put my key in the door when Drew popped his head out of next door.

“Hey neigh… oh, what the fuck happened to you?!” I shrugged my shoulders. He grinned. “It’s a great look. Anyway can you come over later? I need to talk about Slave one.”

I just wanted a shower, food and sleep. This had been the longest Sunday ever; I suddenly had an appreciation why Jack Bauer always looked so haggard.

“There’s a beer in it. Oh, and you had a grocery delivery which I’ve kindly taken in… Get cleaned up and come over. We’ll grab pizza, Slave one is buying!”

How could I refuse? “Oh, okay thanks, yeah, I’ll be over in a bit.” My body was aching and my brain was starting to shut down but beer would certain enable to function for a bit longer. It always did.

I let myself in. I might be covered in mud and have really knackered my shoulder but I was finally home again. I leant against the door and let out a big breath. And then I realised I was profusely sweating.

It was really, really hot in the flat. Why was that? I opened the app on my phone that controlled just about everything in my house and saw the thermostat was set to 27C. I swiped the slider to reduce it back to a more sensible 18C but it didn’t move. I restarted the app but it was exactly the same. I checked the hot water. Off. Lights. Disabled.

A single light turned itself on at the far end of the room and then went off.

“What the fuck?”

The light in the centre of the room switched on, closer to me this time. After a few seconds it too went off and the one above my head switched on.

Oh no, he wouldn’t.

“Oh man, you haven’t have you?!”

The light went off.


Part 8 will drop on the 18th February.

Thank you for so much for your encouragement. If you have any feedback to sneaked666@everythingmustdie.com. Please support nifty by donating or writing a story. Also check out our website - everythingmustdie.com - if you like male clothes, sneakers and sportswear getting wet messy or destroyed. Any updates about the story will be posted there too.