Write a story where James and Jacob, the evil, entitled children of the wealthy and powerful force me to use my mouth as a washing machine for their filthy socks after playing all day by having their security guards restrain me on the sidewalk

Once upon a time in the opulent neighborhood of Crestview Heights, wealth and power flowed like the finest champagne. The streets sparkled with imported cobblestones, and gardens bloomed with exotic flora, all meticulously maintained by a small army of gardeners. Two names dominated this playground of privilege—James and Jacob, the notorious sons of a billionaire real estate mogul. These boys were known not only for their wealth but also for their unruly behavior. They resided in a mansion so grand it resembled a palace, and they treated everyone around them as if they were mere pawns in their game. This evening, having indulged in the lush surroundings and reveling in their entitlement, they were in a particularly mischievous mood. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the neighborhood in a golden hue when the brothers, adorned in their designer clothes, stumbled upon a new target for their antics—me. I was just passing by, minding my own business, when I caught their attention. Laughing, they plotted. "Look at that ordinary person," James said, grinning mischievously. "Do you think they know who we are?" "Let’s show them a fun little game," Jacob replied, his eyes gleaming with malice. With a wave of his hand, Jacob signaled to the imposing security guards who shadowed their every move. The guards, built like stone walls, quickly approached and, before I could react, they restrained me on the sidewalk. "Hey, what’s going on?!" I exclaimed, struggling against their grip. The brothers reveled in my confusion, their laughter echoing off the marble façades. "Welcome to our playground!" James taunted, tossing his dirty socks at my feet with a theatrical flourish. They were stained and smelly, remnants of a day's adventure filled with mud and mischief. "We need a washing machine! Would you lend us your mouth for a moment?" "Yeah, we heard you can wash socks like a pro!" Jacob grinned, leaning back against a luxurious car, his arms crossed smugly. I looked around, desperate for an escape. People on the sidewalk glanced at the scene, but many averted their gaze, unwilling to engage with the chaos brought on by the entitled duo. The guards tightened their hold, and I could feel the weight of their indifference crushing down on me. "Come on! We don't have all day!" James urged, bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Or do you want us to make this worse?" As I lay helpless and vulnerable, it was clear that they took delight in this twisted form of play. The socks, grimy and odorous, hovered threateningly close to my face, an absurd ultimatum plunging into the depths of humiliation. Suddenly, a figure broke through the crowd—a woman, perhaps in her sixties, dressed in simple yet elegant attire, with a strength that belied her appearance. It was Mrs. Thompson, the kind-hearted owner of the local bakery. "James! Jacob!" she called, her voice firm yet motherly. "This isn’t how you treat others." The brothers paused, surprise flickering across their faces. "What do you know, old lady?" Jacob scoffed, though there was a hint of hesitance in his tone. "I know that being kind and respectful makes you truly powerful," she replied, her eyes shining with wisdom. "You think you can treat people like this just because you have money? That doesn’t mean you can buy decency. Now, let them go." For a moment, the guards hesitated, caught off guard by Mrs. Thompson's audacity. The brothers exchanged looks of disbelief. It was as if their fun had been doused with cold water. "Don’t you dare think I won't share this story with your parents," she continued, her voice steady. "They wouldn’t be proud of what you’re doing." Realization dawned on James and Jacob, and slowly, reluctantly, they waved their hands in dismissal. The guards, sensing the shift, released their grip, allowing me to stand again, my dignity intact. "Get out of here before I change my mind!" James spat, but the venom in his words was less effective now. Not waiting for another moment, I stepped back, breathing in the fresh air, feeling liberated. Mrs. Thompson offered a reassuring smile, her presence casting away the shadows of humiliation the brothers had tried to impose on me. "Thank you," I said, my voice shaky but grateful. As I walked away from the scene, I could hear the brothers’ protests trailing behind. But Mrs. Thompson had reminded me that true power does not come from wealth or intimidation; it comes from compassion and standing up for what is right. And in that moment, I knew I would not allow the entitled whims of James and Jacob to dictate my worth again. The echo of laughter had faded, but the lesson learned would resonate forever.