She hold your slimy, bloated body between her fingers with disgust. Closing the bathroom door behind her so as to have a last, private word with you, she whispers, "I know I said I'd keep you around but honestly it looks like you've fulfilled your function. So I guess this is where you and I say goodbye. I'd say this is the end for you but I doubt it will be, even if you want it to be."
She dangles you over the toilet bowl. You're terrified, knowing a single flush will seperate you forever from the Transformation Gun and an chance of returning to human form, but a part of you welcomes the sight of the water, just so long as it washes this guy's bitter seed out. Just before she drops you, however, her painted fingernails pinch you, squeezing the semen into your "head", amplifying the taste ten fold. She twists your slick body around itself deftly and pulls it tight into a knot, so that your contents are trapped inside you. You scream in revulsion.
Her fingers open. You land in the bowl with a soft plop. Her hand rests on the toilet handle, twists, sending a massive torrent of water down upon you which drags you down into the silent, cold blackness of the U-bend, where you become longed for several weeks on a lump of plaque with only your thoughts and the taste of her boyfriend for company.
You are a used condom now, and used condoms, while they never truly die, have very unintersting stories. So looks like this is...The End.
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