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In his private sanctuary, a hulking, tattooed man, his size 11 boots gleaming, indulges in his fetish. A plastic bottle lies helpless on the floor, awaiting its fate. He mounts it, his boot sole pressing down, feeling the plastic yield. He shifts his weight, the bottle groaning and distorting. His breath hitches as he grinds, the crunch and squelch of the bottle music to his ears. He continues, his boots leaving imprints on the abused plastic, until it's nothing more than a pathetic, crushed remnant of its former self.