I’m lounging at the home of a male friend, reclining on a mattress while wearing alluring, seductive lingerie. He’s out handling some tasks, and I’m left alone, feeling bored and aroused. After pleasuring myself multiple times, I look for something else to occupy my time. My gaze falls upon a collection of books that might be intriguing… I saunter towards them, playfully swaying my perfect derriere. One book, in particular, catches my eye. You see me perusing it in various enticing positions. It turns out to be a terribly poor publication, essentially a guide on how to manipulate people. I utterly despise it. My inner book critic demon emerges, and I feel an overwhelming urge to defecate in it. I want to fully convey my disgust with this book. Thus, I do, expelling an ENORMOUS, thick log that plops right onto the pages of the open book. I take my time thoroughly soiling the book, smearing the feces everywhere, sitting on it, farting on it, urinating on it, standing on it, and smearing it with my thick, foul-smelling excrement. I want to convey my sentiments about this book to my friend, so I place it back exactly where I found it.