Carla Santos - Red Dress FASHION Toilet Read

As I lay down on the fashion toilet, the cool tiles against my skin sending shivers down my spine, I can't help but reflect on the incredible feeling of satisfaction that comes with being able to empty my bowels in style. This luxurious red dress I'm wearing makes me feel like a goddess of grace and sophistication, even as I discreetly push and probe my full, bloated lower region, trying to release the contents that are desperate to be expelled. The tugging and pulling sensation is both painful and arousing, and I can't help but wonder how this soft, warm mass of flesh would feel beneath my tongue, or between my skilled, practiced digits. As I gently massage my own anus, slick with the oily residue of breakfast and lunch, I imagine that someone else's hands are there, rubbing me in just the right way, coaxing out the delicious stickiness onto the cool tiles beneath me. But there's also something incredibly naughty and taboo about my current situation, and it adds an extra layer of thrill to the experience. What if someone were to walk in on me right now, squatting defiantly over the toilet bowl? How would they react to the sight of my beautiful dress rucked up around my waist, my plump, round bottom poking out from beneath? The thought makes me shiver with anticipation. Closing my eyes, I block out everything except for the feeling in my gut and the slow, steady rhythm of my own breathing. I'm lost in a world of sensation, of heat and pressure and the intoxicating scent of my own feces wafting up towards me. When the release finally comes, it's a rush of warm, viscous liquid spurting out of my body and splattering against the inside of the toilet bowl. It's overwhelmingly satisfying, and as I sit there catching my breath, I can't help but feel a sense of reverence for the simple, primal act that we humans engage in every day. And even though I'm normally so concerned about appearance and propriety, right now all I can think about is how good it feels to let go. Finally, I stand up, brushing the last few bits of dirt from my dress. The relief is short-lived, however, as a fresh wave of nausea washes over me. I know what I have to do – and as I bend back over once more, presenting my plush bottom to the cool tiles beneath me, I can't help but feel excited all over again.