I perch on the porcelain throne, my loyal worm groveling at my feet, his masked face buried in filth. With a lazy drag from my cigarette, I exhale plumes of smoke over his trembling form, flicking hot ash onto the tiles he scrubs desperately with that pathetic toothbrush. “Clean it all, you worthless pig,” I sneer, grinding my heel into the bristles, forcing him deeper into degradation. As I relieve myself, his whimpers fuel my sadistic delight—he’s nothing but my human toilet brush, eternally broken.
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