[I'm notorious on at least one other site for posting stories when I have insomnia. I've decided to try one here with some of the content people expect from me here. What follows is written entirely in one sitting, starting from scratch with the title as a prompt. Expect typos. Start 10:36 PM]

He wiped the sweat from his brow. It was sweltering in the lamination room. Well over a hundred degrees. It had been a heck of a shift. Thanks to the limited staff allowed at the factory, he was working pretty much alone. The only other person was a young lady who he knew mostly as 'that girl who stares at him during lunch." She was in packing and shipping, way over on the other side of the factory, and the doors to this room were required pass codes to enter, because of the dangerous machinery. If someone came along he'd hear them tapping in the pass code, and thus he would have warning. That was the only reason he'd taken the calculated risk of violating the dress code to the degree that he had.

His shirt and undershirt was hanging on the edge of the safety railing. It was probably unprofessional to be processing all of their big lamination jobs shirtless, but as far as he was concerned if his bosses were going to shirk labor laws and make him work this whole part of the factory solo, he was going to at least shed a few layers to keep from suffering heat stroke.

A fresh pair of plastic rolls had been loaded into the reels on the top and bottom of the machine. Now it was just a matter of running them between the heated rollers. This was always the most frustrating and tedious part of the job. The railing was specifically designed to make it hard to get your fingers close to the rollers, which was great while you were working, but in this specific stage of the maintenance of the machine it left him standing on the lower railing and leaning his thighs against the upper railing to give himself the leverage to reach out and tease the plastic into position.

"Just get in there you stupid-- whoop!"

A few drops of sweat on the bottom railing caused his boot to slip. He flailed in a brief moment of panic and fell forward. He fully expected to land face first on the metal grating beneath the machine. He didn't. But his present circumstance was hardly an improvement.

One hand had slid between the rollers. The fingers jabbed through and were stuck tight, and he was left bridging the space between the operating console and the business end of the machine. His knees were propped against the railing, and his hand was wedged so tight he didn't even have to hold on to keep from falling. It probably should have hurt, and maybe if not for the adrenaline spike of nearly falling it would have. Instead it just felt tight and, more than anything else, embarrassing.

"Okay... Okay... Don't panic," he muttered to himself. "I just need to counter rotate the roller."

He shakily reached out with the other hand and tried to manually roll the bottom roller back. It wouldn't budge. No amount of twisting or tugging would produce even a degree or two of rotation to free his fingers. He looked down. It would probably help to slip his knees off the railing and step down on the ground to get a better angle, but the rest of his equipment and materials were scattered in that space. Trying to set foot there would, at the very least, leave him with adhesive smeared all over his pants.

He turned and spotted the dangling controller for the machine. It hung down from above and had a handful of buttons for activating, deactivating, and reversing the machine. Hall he needed to do was reverse it for a moment and his hand would be free. Cautiously shifting his weight to the trapped hand and one knee, he raised his leg and kicked at the controller. On his very first try, he managed to hit a button.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong button. He'd tapped the "jog foward" button. The rollers turned, devouring another few inches of his hand. Since his other hand was still resting on the roller, the brief activation only served to suck that one between the rollers as well.

"Crap..." he muttered,

Now the controller was swinging and rotating, and the rollers had dragged him forward such that his knee was barely resting on the railing. He took another deep breath and eyed the controller. With a bit more timing and a bit more care, he kicked at it once more...

Right on the "Full Auto" button.

The machine lurched to life. The rollers started to mercilessly drag at him, treating him like any of the other huge sheets set for lamination that he'd been feeding through all day.

"No, no, no!" he yelped as his knees slipped off the railing.

Both legs splashed down onto the adhesive tray and both wrists vanished between the rollers. He scrambled his feet against the grating, trying to get a steady enough footing to yank his hands free, but the quick-set glue just adhered his boots to the floor. The rollers dragged him further and further off balance, gobbling up his arms with little sign of effort.

With both feet and both arms immobilized, he was left with nothing to do but focus on the sensations of the roller. The pressure was incredible, and the heat was intense. But there was no pain. The worst he felt as the smooth rollers inched past his elbows was an uncomfortable tightness, like someone had sat on his hands.

The machine grumbled onward. Now his face was starting to approach the hot rollers. He could smell the thin layer of glue and the weird scent of hot plastic. His boots, still stuck fast to the floor, started to slide off his feet as he was pulled out of them. Worse, the same was happening to his pants, which had gotten a glue coating of their own and had stuck to the tops of his boots. That's what he got for not cuffing them. Before this was over, he was going to be left in nothing but his underwear.

That thought probably would have bothered him more if not for the fact that he'd noticed it moments before his hair was caught between the rollers and his head started pinch between them.

The last sound before his mouth mashed between two steel rods as a mixture of a yelp and a groan. Hot smooth metal squished his face and coated it in glue, fixing his expression. The pinch of the rollers was startling, but brief. Soon he felt the dizzying sensation of his head sagging downward to follow the guide rollers beyond the main ones. The once rigid skull curved easily through the machine, and soon his chest was being treated to the heat and pressure. Dazed and confused as he was, he almost enjoyed the sensation. He'd had expensive massages before, but the most skilled hands and the most expensive massage oils couldn't dream of wringing out the tension and stress in his muscles the way these rollers did. If he could make a sound, it would be a long, lingering murmur of contentment as his abs mashed flat. When the machine sucked in his butt and groin, he jolted and even managed buzz the plastic coating he was sandwiched between with a quiet whimper. His junk pinched flat in one slow, achingly intense motion. The sensitive bit of anatomy sent lightning bolts of raw feeling up to his flattened brain. His legs kicked with what limited motion he had left and the plastic coated 2D remnant of the rest of his body wobbled and twitched in the machine's grasp as he was teased to an unbearable near peak and locked there.

He was still coping with the simmering sensation between his legs when his curling toes pinched between the rollers and the last of his third dimension was banished. At the same moment, the darkness of the machine's interior gave way to a brief glimpse of light as he emerged from the machine. Almost immediately he was in darkness again, as his face flopped down against the exit slide of the machine. He slid against metal that, prior to his mishap, would have felt searing hot. Now, in comparison to the heaters of the machine, the output tray felt downright bracing and cool.

He slipped against it until his feet flopped out of the machine and was left there. Flat, motionless, helpless. He could feel the pressure and creaky stretch of the plastic sandiwching him. His manhood was mashed flat inside his boxers, still broiling with the not-quite-sufficient stimulation. He felt smooth. Loose. Relaxed. And above all else, embarrassed and frustrated.

For the better part of an hour, he remained there, barely managing a meager flop despite his best efforts. Then, without warning. He slid forward and rose up into the air.

Unblinking eyes focused on the face of his coworker, who looked upon him with a curious, confused expression. Her gaze slipped up and down, taking in the no-doubt comical sight of a flattened man in his boxers. With a vague look of disbelief, she reached out with her other hand and ran her finger along his flattened chest.

With nothing but a thin layer of plastic between her finger and his hyper-sensitive squashed flesh, the long, slow *SQUEEEEEAAAAAAK* of her sliding finger caused him to shudder and wriggled. It produced the slightest wobble of his laminated form, but it was enough. She gasped.

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh!" she squealed. "I've got to... I've got to... I'll be right back!"

She carefully laid him out on the tray, this time face up, and dashed away. In no time at all, she returned and set something down, just beyond his limited field of vision. She leaned over him and slid him so that his legs flopped down over the edge of the tray. She then leaned forward, past his head, to reach for the tips of his outstretched hands.

He assumed she was going to try to find the edges of the plastic layers and pry them apart, though leaning over him as she was meant she was mashing her overall-clad chest right on his face. He produced another barely audible whimper and squirmed a bit. This wasn't helping with the whole "super-sensitive junk teetering at the edge of release" problem. He prayed for something to distract him from the sensation. At best his torturous near-climax would get worse with all this titillation, and at best he would climax and make a mess.

The distraction came... in the sensation of his fingers curling over and beginning to tightly roll upon themselves. She swiftly and efficiently rolled him like a poster, coiling his hands and arms. She stopped briefly to look down at his face.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I know just where to hang you!" she trilled.

He whimpered one last time before his head was pulled into the tightening scroll. Around and around he went, face wrapping around his arms, body wrapping around his head, legs wrapping around his body. Warm hands twisted an tightened him into a neat poster roll. Then, with a final *FOONK*, he was slipped into a packing tube, ready to be transported to her home.

As she slapped a cap in place, sealing him in the darkness of the tube, he couldn't decide what he wanted more: to be released and restored, or to have her play with him a bit first.

---

Finished 11:41. Sort of similar to something else I'd written. I guess I was just in a similar mood.