Eating and pooping like a pig
I wake up with a playful urge in my body, that tingling that compels me to move without a second thought. I get out of bed, barefoot and in my underwear, and walk to the kitchen with stealthy steps, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet. The kitchen is lit by the dim morning light that filters through the window, and there, on the counter, I see the jar of baby food I left last night. It's the fruity kind, thick and sticky, with a sweet smell that invites me to play.
I reach over and eagerly open it, plunging my fingers directly into the cold, creamy porridge. I begin to spread it on my arms, giggling softly as I spread it over my chest, down my stomach. The jar sticks to my skin, leaving sticky, slippery stains. I sit on the floor, surrounded by cold tiles, and keep playing: I smear my legs, my crotch, until I'm covered in that sweet, dirty mess. My hands explore, smearing everything around me, the floor, the cabinet doors. I feel naughty, liberated, my heart pounding.
But the game awakens something deeper inside me. I feel a pressure in my stomach, a knot tightening. I squat right there in the kitchen and push with a moan. The hard balls begin to emerge, one after another, falling to the floor with a dry sound and rolling a little. They are small, compact, like brown pebbles that contrast with the sticky mush already covering me. I don't stop; I keep pushing until there's a little mound at my feet, warm and fragrant, mixed with the sweetness of the baby food.
Now, the mess is complete. I kneel on the floor, surrounded by my own filth, and begin to play with everything: I spread the little balls with the rest of the baby food, squish them between my fingers, and spread them all over my body. My hands move down to my crotch, slippery and dirty, and I begin to touch myself. Pleasure rises like a wave, mixed with chaos: I masturbate frantically, rubbing, penetrating with fingers covered in that sticky, earthy mixture. My body arches, stained from head to toe, as ecstasy washes over me in waves, silently screaming in the middle of the kitchen, which has become my forbidden playground. In the end, I stay there, exhausted and completely soiled, satisfied in my perfect mess.
