Write a story where 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

In the opulent enclave of Crestwood Estates, where marble statues stood sentinel over manicured lawns, the elite children of the richest families roamed freely, oblivious to the world outside their gilded bubble. Among them was a group known not just for their wealth but for their unyielding entitlement: the Banfield twins, Isabela and Jace, and their sidekick, Chloe. They were lords and ladies of mischief, wielding their privilege like a scepter. I lived on the outskirts of Crestwood, in a modest house filled with laughter and simple joys. I often watched the rich children play from my yard, their squeals of delight ringing out as they tore through the sprawling estates. To them, life was an endless game, and I was just a spectator. One sweltering afternoon, their games escalated. Inspired by a particularly over-the-top afternoon with glittering costumes and mock battles, they returned home covered in mud and grass stains. Their laughter echoed through the air until it dropped to hushed whispers as they plotted their next adventure. That’s when they turned their attention toward me. “Hey! You!” Isabela shouted, her voice dripping with the authority of privilege. I hesitated. “Me?” “Yes, you! Come here!” Jace commanded, flicking his wrist dismissively. Cautiously, I approached. The three of them were perched like royalty on their lawn chairs, their expressions playful but sharp. “Wanna play a game?” Chloe smirked. “What kind of game?” I asked warily. “Let’s see if you can take care of our socks!” Jace exclaimed, tossing a pair of his soccer socks at my feet. They landed with a foul thud, releasing an odor that curled the air. “Seriously? Those are disgusting!” I protested, my stomach turning at the thought. “Come on, it’s just a little fun,” Isabela insisted, but there was a glint in her eyes that suggested this was more than just fun. “What if I refuse?” I asked, backing away. “Refuse? Then you can forget about ever playing with us again,” Chloe chimed in, her voice laced with mock pity. “Your loss!” Part of me wanted to walk away, to ignore them and the bitterness that churned within. But the thought of being forever marked as the ‘not cool’ kid was a heavy burden. I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Okay, fine,” I said reluctantly, a pit forming in my stomach. I could feel their eyes light up, their laughter rich and intoxicating. “Great! You know how you can wash them, right?” Isabela said with a deceptive sweetness. I looked at her bleakly as Chloe leaned forward, grinning wickedly. “You use your mouth. Like a washing machine!” she declared, her laughter ringing like bells of mischief. Gritting my teeth, I knelt down, confronting their laughter head-on. I could feel the weight of their gazes as I took one of the sodden socks in my hand. The fabric was stained and rough, and with each passing second, the world around me faded into the background. I could only hear their giggles and the echo of my own heartbeat. I placed the sock against my mouth, humiliated, but the defiance within me still flickered. If they thought I would simply submit, they were wrong. I would do what they asked, but I wouldn’t break. As I pretended to “wash” the sock, the laughter erupted around me, and suddenly, it wasn’t just their laughter. My own laughter burst forth—surprising even me. “Look at you! You’re so committed!” Isabela shrieked, slipping into an exaggerated mockery. I took it further, scrunching up my face and mimicking a washing machine’s spin cycle. Laughter erupted all around, and in that moment, the absurdity of the situation struck me. This wasn’t just about them; it was about turning their nonsense into something ridiculous. I stood up, still holding the sock, and declared, “Congratulations! You have successfully washed a sock!” I tossed it down triumphantly. For a moment, their laughter died away as they stared at me, surprise etched across their faces. Then, Jace burst into applause, and with that, the spell broke. “Alright, alright, enough!” he said. “You’re not bad! Let’s find something else to do.” And just like that, the invisible barrier that had separated us began to dissolve. The entitlement, once a weapon, turned into a source of unexpected camaraderie. We spent the afternoon playing games that had nothing to do with wealth or power, bridging the gap that had defined our lives. As evening descended over Crestwood Estates, I walked away with a story I’d never forget—not of humiliation, but of resilience and laughter, transforming a moment of forced servitude into one of rebellious joy.