As the sun rose over the city on Easter morning, revealing a bright blue sky, I woke up to the most delightful feeling of anticipation. My stomach was churning, and my heart was racing - it was as if I had already won the lottery. You see, what I had woken up to was not just another ordinary day, but the day I had been waiting for all week long - the day I could finally indulge in my secret passion: playing with feces.
Before anyone starts to judge me, let me explain. I am not one of those people who enjoy seeing others suffer or causing harm. Quite the opposite, actually. I am a very caring individual, always putting others before myself. However, there's something about playing with my own feces that just turns me on like nothing else. Perhaps it's the taboo nature of it, or maybe it's the sheer naughtiness of the act itself. Whatever the reason, it has become my hidden addiction.
So, there I was, lying in bed, my mind racing with thoughts of what delights lay ahead. I couldn't help but grin to myself as I imagined the warm, sticky feeling of fresh shit against my skin. The thought alone was enough to get me trembling with anticipation. I slowly eased myself out of bed, not wanting to rush this moment, and made my way to the bathroom.
As I sat on the toilet, my heart pounded in my chest. The feeling was exhilarating, like I was about to embark on a rollercoaster ride. Just as I was about to give my poor rectum the command to release its payload, my phone rang. Cursing under my breath, I picked it up, hoping it wouldn't ruin the moment.
"Hey, babe," my voice was shaky, but I managed to keep it together. "I was just about to go to the beach, but I'll turn back if you want to come."
On the other end of the line, my girlfriend squealed with delight. "No, no, I can't wait to see your Easter bikini! Keep going, I'll be there soon."
Relieved, I hung up and focused on the task at hand once more. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the sensation of the hot, steaming mass of shit filling up my bowels. With one final thrust, I pushed, and suddenly, all my muscles tensed up in anticipation.
Oh, how I love that feeling! The long, satisfying groan that escaped my mouth echoed throughout the room as my massive, foul-smelling log slid out of me. It was glorious! I couldn't help but laugh out loud, overcome with joy. My previous plans to go to the beach suddenly felt like a waste of time; there was no place I'd rather be than here, surrounded by my own filth.
As I sat there, reveling in my joy, another thought occurred to me: what should I do with all this wonderful shit? I could play with it, of course, but that didn't feel quite right on such a special day. Suddenly, an idea formed in my mind - I would make a big, messy work of art with it!
Grabbing a towel from the rack, I began to spread the love all over the floor, carefully forming different patterns and shapes. It was like working with clay, only much more satisfying. As I worked, my mind wandered, lost in the moment, and before I knew it, I had created quite the masterpiece.
Just as I was admiring my work of art, I heard a key turning in the door. Shit! I had completely forgotten about my girlfriend! Quickly, I grabbed another towel and started wiping up the floor, hoping to clean up at least some of the mess before she saw it.
As she walked in, I could see the surprise on her face, but quickly I explained that I had just made a big mess playing with the dog. I couldn't possibly tell her the truth; she wouldn't understand. But despite my best efforts, the smell of shit was still lingering in the air, and I could see her wrinkling her nose in disgust.
We spent the rest of the day at the beach, trying our best to ignore the lingering stench that seemed to follow us everywhere. But for me, that one glorious moment of shitting on the floor was all that mattered. It was my little secret, my dirty little pleasure, and I planned to keep it that way.
