Part 3: The Shit Burger
Liam forced out a cry of frustration as he stumbled from the car, feeling too disgusted to even speak, his eyes wide with shock. He watched helplessly as his former boss, Sarah, strutted confidently to the back of the van and yanked open the doors, revealing a lump of brown feces nestled amongst a pile of dirty laundry. She extracted it proudly, flexing her well-toned arms as she did so.
"Hey, Liam," she called over her shoulder with a smirk, "make sure you keep the shit in your mouth at all times. From now on, it's your snack."
Liam felt his stomach churn at the thought of having to consume such filth. As instructed, he opened his mouth wide and let her deposit the putrid lump into his waiting maw. He could feel it coating his tongue, slimy and putrid. He gagged involuntarily as the acidic taste burned his throat, but with force of will alone, he managed to keep it down.
"That's a good boy," Sarah purred, slapping him lightly on the cheek, "Now, come over here and get your new t-shirt."
Liam reluctantly shuffled over to her, his eyes glued to the freshly pressed shirt with the logo of his former workplace emblazoned across the chest. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride as he slipped it on over his head, even as he was reduced to a shivering, shit-eating wreck in front of his former colleagues.
From that moment on, his life became a living hell. He was forced to wear the shirt at all times, even when he was forced to perform the most degrading tasks. He was made to clean the toilets with his tongue, scrubbing away layers of grime and filth that had built up over time. He was required to sniff deeply, inhaling the foul odors of urine and feces, effectively training his body to enjoy the stench.
Each morning, he woke to find a fresh deposit of shit awaiting him in his mouth. He had long since given up trying to resist; instead, he focused on chewing slowly and savoring the taste, however revolting it might be.
One day, things took an even darker turn. Sarah announced that he would have to run around the block with the sulky, a large metal contraption resembling a baby's pram, only much heavier and clunkier. He was horrified at the thought of being seen like this, but he had no choice.
Stumbling under the weight of the sulky, he could feel the cold metal digging into his frail frame. The harsh morning sun beat down relentlessly on his back, making him sweat profusely. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to keep the shit in his mouth, chanting over and over again, "I'm sorry, I haven't eaten all the shit."
