"Timothy here was just being reminded that alcoholism is such an unbecoming trait," Sloth replied, nonchalant with Tim's thick fingers on her throat. Her expression told Envy not to interfere. "Nobody likes a drunk, do they, Timmy? Especially an abusive drunk. You only lash out at others because you can't even stand to look in the mirror. All the girls you buy and fuck only remind you how detestable you are." The man stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment, then suddenly tightened his grip so hard Sloth made a slight sound of choking.
"Shut up, bitch!" he snarled, but her lethargy was starting to take hold. The black pit of depression that he drank and fucked to avoid was beginning to yawn before him.
"Why're you so angry with me?" she asked, her voice rasping against his hold. "It makes you feel good to have power? Its an illusion, you know. You're powerless. You know what it feels like, don't you, Timmy. When uncle Frank came into your room at night and put his cock in you, you know you were asking for it by wriggling on his lap like that-" Sloth was sinking into his mind, dragging at the recesses where the man kept his darkest thoughts, sucking up any gratification he got from trying to work his fingers into her panties and smothering it in bile and hatred.