The Manure Pool
I had always been called weird, but I never been bothered about what people thought about me. We were all weird in our own ways, weren’t we? It turned out though, that my weirdness was a little over the rooftop.
Besides the weirdness though, was a green-eyed beauty. No bragging, but I was the most beautiful eighteen-year-old I had ever met. I had a thing for ponytails, so more often than not, my waist length brunette hair was held up in a neat pony. Today though, I had decided to let it loose. Silky strands of brown hair cascaded down my back, forming a lustrous curtain that swayed from side to side with each step I took.
My body was curvaceous enough to be flaunted without a sliver of shame, and I was great at doing that. My long legs were enclosed in the tightest pair of grey leggings I could find in my closet. They hugged my skin tightly, pronouncing the firm globes of my ass, and of course, the mouth-watering bulge of my camel toe. My fleshy chest was enclosed in a white sleeveless crop top that flaunted my toned stomach and did nothing to hide the juicy dip of my cleavage. Graceful and tall, my endless long legs were a pair to behold. They ended up in a a pair of sneakers. White as snow, the sneakers seemed to be in a competition with my crop top.
Home was boring. If I stayed in that hellhole a minute longer, I just might lose my mind, so I set out for a walk. Lucky me, my home was barely a half minute away from the forest, so I was there in no time. My adventurous spirit was a part of me that could never be taken away. My insatiable sexual hunger was one step ahead of it though. Always was.
For an eighteen-year-old, I sure was one hell of slut, but my extreme sexual behavior was what made me Michaela Wolfe.
The warm evening breeze whistled in my ears as I walked through a pathway flanked by tall trees. Dry leaves crunched beneath my feet, blending with the whistle of the wind to form an ear-pleasing rhythm.
I walked deeper into the forest, enjoying the fine greenery stretching out before me. Moments later, I arrived at a clearing. Once there, the smell of fresh dung hit my nostrils. I breathed deeply, taking in as much of the smell as I possibly could.
To others, the stench would be unbearable and repulsive, but to me, it was the exact opposite. My first sniff of it had my heart fluttering with a savage excitement–an emotion I only felt when my pussy started to throb hard with anticipation.
I glanced around, desperate to find the source of the overpowering smell. That was when my eyes settled on a pool. Far from colorless, the liquid in it was too thick to be considered liquid. It was a pool full of fresh cow dung. Dark and creamy, it called out to me, and its voice was one I could not resist.
I advanced toward the creamy pool, and with each step I took, I could feel my heart clenching with anticipation. I peeled off my shoes, set them on the ground and knelt beside the pool. Taking a scoop of the creamy dung, I spread it across my face. The consistency was a lot creamier than I’d though it would be. It glided effortlessly across my skin, pampering my face with its warmth. My whole body tingled with a desire to be coated in the warm paste. I rose to my feet and gently stepped into the pool. The sight of my porcelain skin and grey pants being covered with the brownish dung brought a throb between my legs. It was even more exciting when my crop top dipped in as well. The homely liquid coated my body, but it was far from the coverage I wanted, so I rubbed it in like lotion. My hands glided down the sides of my face, my neck, and then I cupped my breasts through my crop top. My now hardened nipples strained against the stretchy spandex of my top.
Heat pooled between my legs. Although most of it was the warm dung, I could tell my pussy was hopelessly wet. It could really use a cock, but there was none at the moment–such a shame–so I settled for my fingers. I parted my legs and trailed my slim fingers up my thighs. Despite the warmth enveloping me, a cold chill bolted through my spine, making me shudder.
I slid my fingers higher, only stopping when they settled on the crux of my legs, where my dripping wet snatch hid behind my now soggy leggings.
I moaned as my fingers parted my pussy lips. The raw emotions flooding my insides left me shaken, panting, gasping for breath. I dragged my fingers along my pussy, in search of my clit. Once there, I clamped down on the sensitive nub and pressed it gently. My other hand crawled up to my torso. It slid beneath my top to grasp my boobs.
I spread out my hands and lowered my head, sinking deeper into the pool until every inch of my body was covered in dung. I kept my head buried underneath it until I was out of breath. It was a lot like the breathlessness I often got when I lay beneath a huge ass, letting it smother me and cut off my airways. Frantic for a breather, I raised my head out of the dung and sucked in a deep breath. Globs of dung all over my face felt a lot like a facial. They started to stream down my face, hair and neck, tickling me with each move.
It was only a few minutes before I returned home. But was I worried about how my prudish townspeople would react to seeing me all stained and reeking of poop? Not even close.