My Steamy Story: In an imagined content called "Midnight ...

My Story Time:

Ugh, bestie, let me spill the tea on the most unhinged, yet low-key iconic, Zoom session I’ve ever been a part of. It was me, Jess, with my fierce curls, and my OF fitness girlies Lucy, Mia, and Emma, all perched on our toilet seats, leggings yanked down to our mid-thighs. The vibe was so serious—no cap, we were finna channel some rage. The music dropped, this hard trance beat, and we all started pedaling like our lives depended on it. Eyes squeezed shut, I was moaning "MMMMMMMMMMMM" through gritted teeth, my bare thighs gripping the cold porcelain. The pressure built in my core, a deep, angry cramp, and I just let go. A powerful, rage-filled plop echoed in my bathroom, followed by a sharp, furious fart that totally ripped through the trance beat. I heard similar struggles from the other screens—Lucy’s delicate British "oh bloody hell" gasp, Mia’s energetic groan, Emma’s seductive whisper of "fuck yes." We were a symphony of pissed-off bowel movements, and it was the hardest workout of my life. Sheesh. Mood.