I look down at myself, at the smooth white surface of the bodysuit hugging me like a second skin. It feels almost too pristine, too perfect, like it's waiting to be ruined.

I kneel, lowering myself slowly, deliberately, face first into the sloppy wet mud. I get an urge to fill my bodysuit with the thick wet mud and I start to shove handfuls down my front. Soon, my body, once sleek in the clean white suit, is buried under layer upon layer of swelling mud. The suit bulges in every direction, grotesque and bloated, rounding me out until my real shape is gone. It's not me looking back anymore it's something overstuffed, swollen, and unrecognizable.

The humiliation seeps in with the mud. I can't see the figure I'm used to; all I see is a distorted parody of myself, weighed down and exaggerated, like I've become a clumsy, overfed version of who I was. The fabric clings tight, but it's stretched to its limits, rounded into bulges where the mud has gathered. My stomach juts forward, heavy and sagging with the weight pressing outward, so full it makes me waddle when I shift. My hips and thighs balloon beneath me, soft-looking and exaggerated, as though I've grown impossibly obese in a matter of moments.

The suit smooths it all into round, bulbous curves my chest, my belly, my backside, all grotesquely enlarged. Each bulge shivers and sloshes when I move, the mud inside shifting like liquid weight, dragging me down, making me clumsy and slow. The once-pristine white is dark and dirty now, stretched thin across a body that looks twice its size.

Enjoying my humiliation I shove handfuls of the sticky mud into my face and over my head. It clumps around my nose and I can't breathe, my head and hair heavy with the mess.

I roll around in the mud, like a pig in its element, caking my face and breasts til I'm unrecognisable. The clean up takes far too long