Egg
Humming a little tune to myself, I gave the soybean paste stew in the pot a stir.
Three, two, one. Okay, heat off, and...
There. The smell passed, at least — not so different from the stews my parents used to make for me. It looked fine, too. The broth seemed a shade dark, maybe, but what mattered was heart, not appearances. As long as it tasted good, nothing else could go wrong. Spoon in hand, giddy with anticipation, I took a sip of the broth.
"Ugh, it's awful..."
It tasted nothing like what I'd expected. The broth was bitter. Not salty, not sweet — bitter. I had followed the recipe to the letter, so how had it come to this? If it had at least been too salty, I could have scolded myself for being heavy-handed with the salt, but bitter? I couldn't even guess where I'd gone wrong. Was it the paste? The anchovies?
I picked up a piece of zucchini with my chopsticks and tried a careful bite. It melted in my mouth. Not as a figure of speech — literally. Before I could even chew, it had mashed into nothing, leaving no trace of its shape. Hmm. I hadn't simmered it that long... maybe the zucchini just hadn't been in good condition to begin with?
The other ingredients fared no better. Tofu that crumbled apart the instant my chopsticks touched it; potatoes I half-suspected of secretly being mashed potatoes; onions gone so limp they simply drifted through the broth. The only thing still holding its shape was the dried anchovy I'd tossed in for extra flavor.
Letting out a long sigh, I turned my attention to the rolled omelet sitting beside the pot. This one was at least in better shape than the stew — if you overlooked the minor detail that it was burnt on the outside and raw in the middle. Charred black in patches along the outside, and damp — no, downright soggy — within. What was this, fried chicken?
But I followed the recipe exactly.
It was my first time cooking anything, true, but I hadn't worried much about it. One quick search online turned up cooking guides by the dozen; I'd figured I could simply follow along. Like assembling furniture from an instruction manual — do exactly as told, and nothing could possibly go wrong. Or so I'd thought.
Well... nothing to be done about those. They'll just have to be thrown out.
I couldn't eat them, and I certainly couldn't give them to anyone else. The world was a big place, and somewhere out there people who preferred this flavor surely existed — but I was confident none of them lived anywhere near my little studio apartment. I dumped everything I'd cooked into a black plastic bag, knotted it tight, then wrapped it in a second layer of clear plastic for good measure. I couldn't be bothered to deal with it today; I'd wash the dishes and take care of the bag tomorrow. And with that, cooking was over. Which left...
"What am I supposed to do with all this?"
The fridge was crammed full of groceries. Meat, vegetables — every kind of ingredient filled it from corner to corner. And until just a few days ago, it had been completely empty. Wasn't this a little extreme?
So this is how frightening impulse buying is.
Originally I'd only meant to buy the ingredients for the stew and a carton of eggs, but somewhere along the way, shopping had turned fun, and I just kept tossing things into the basket... Besides, back then I'd been brimming with confidence in the kitchen. I'd bought enough to make every dish I'd ever craved, but now that the first attempt had flopped and my enthusiasm had deflated right along with it, staring at all those ingredients only left me at a loss.
Still, I couldn't just leave them to rot, so I'd have to cook them up in simple little meals whenever I found the time. Meat first, then the fish fillets. The vegetables would keep a while longer, so a salad here and there would take care of those. Which left, what — the eggs?
Eggs... hmm.
I sank into thought for a moment. Not because I couldn't work out what to do with them — worst case, I could always fry a few. What I was actually mulling over belonged to an entirely different direction of thought. A slightly naughtier one.
I was still wearing Park Yerim's skin. I'd wanted to get used to cooking in a woman's body, after all. As for my outfit... a naked apron. That hadn't been the plan from the start. While browsing the mart after picking out my groceries, I'd happened to spot an apron and bought it thinking it might come in handy for cooking — that was all. Then I'd gotten hot standing over the stove, so I'd slipped on just the apron to shield against splattering broth and oil, and taken off everything else. Really. There were no other intentions whatsoever. I'm telling you, really?
All right, let's give it a try. I took the eggs out of the fridge and rinsed them in warm water. Cold would be a little... much, so they needed warming up first. Three felt like... a bit much, so let's start with two. Going straight to two on my very first try was already pretty perverted, wasn't it?
Eggs in both hands, I walked over to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. Carefully squatting down, I pressed the first egg against my pussy and pushed it inside. The apron kept the view from showing in the mirror, but having it hidden like that was its own kind of lewd.
"Mmh... nnh♡"
Before long, the egg had slipped all the way in without much resistance at all. I could feel the smooth, glassy texture of the shell against my inner walls. Slowly, I used a finger to nudge it deeper.
"Hah, hoo... mm, this is... whew, not bad in its own way..."
Where a dildo or a cock delivered that intense pleasure of stimulating every inch of the walls at once, an egg offered something gentler — a soft, ticklish sort of delight. Every time the rounded bulge of the shell brushed along my walls on its way up, my stomach gave a little jolt. At some point, the part of the apron covering my pussy had grown damp. So had my fingers.
"Mmh... is it all... in?"
My finger wouldn't go any further. Judging by feel, the egg sat about ten centimeters from my entrance. The sensation of something lodged deep inside wasn't bad, but I wanted to reach somewhere further in. Soon I pushed the second egg in after it. Perhaps thanks to the slick juices seeping out of me, it seemed to glide up more easily than the first.
"Hah... mm♡, hnn, haah... whew..."
Tok. The eggs knocked against each other. From here on, I'd need to apply more force. Each time the bulge of the shells teased my writhing walls, my legs wobbled beneath me.
"Hah, hah, haah... any deeper than this is, probably impossible..."
I'd pushed them in as far as they would go. A dildo could have carried them deeper, but that was a little too scary. This depth — just barely within reach of my fingertip — was exactly right. All I had to do was leave them be for a while, then take them out. Face flushed, I began slowly rocking my hips back and forth.
"Mmh♡ ahn... hoo, mmh, hah...♡"
Rocking my hips didn't exactly push the eggs downward, but I could feel them shifting little by little inside me. If a dildo or a cock stimulated the whole wall evenly, then an egg was more like... pinpointing one particular spot and tickling it? And a deep place I'd never been able to feel before, at that.
"Hah, it tickles, mm, hnn... mmh"
I teased my entrance with a finger. The itch made me want to scratch at that unreachable spot inside, and since that was impossible, I stroked the front instead. Not that the tickling sensation went away. Glancing down at the mirror, I saw my juices trickling out in a thin stream, soaking the floor and the apron alike. My pussy itself wasn't visible, but what was going on down there was painfully obvious.
"Whew... now then, shall I start... taking them out...?"
I tossed the apron aside and began gently rubbing my belly. Two rounded bulges pressed back against my palm. Savoring the feel of them with slow, soft circles, I then carefully bore down from just below my chest, pushing slowly toward my pussy.
"Ahn♡ hah, mm♡ the egg is, being pushed♡ down inside me... hoo... nnh..."
Not from below up, but from above down. Each time the broad curve of the egg stretched my walls on its slow descent, a rough breath spilled from my lips. A moment ago it had been a tickle; now it was pressing hard against everything inside me. When I spread the lips of my pussy wide with my other hand, the faint amber of an eggshell began to show in the mirror. Almost there, almost...!
"Hah, ahn♡ it's coming, the egg is coming out of my pussy♡ nnh, hah, hahhh...!"
Bearing down hard on my belly, I felt a slick, sliding sensation, and the egg popped free of my pussy — the wet squelch that came with it, along with a rush of sticky juices, a bonus. That intense visual stimulation stirred a satisfaction entirely unlike ordinary masturbation or sex. Ah, right — I couldn't stop here. There was still one more inside me.
"Mmh... this time, let's take it out♡ even more slowly... whew..."
With less force than before, I let the egg ease its way out. With a soft, wet sound, the juices filling me spilled out first, and then the egg revealed itself at my entrance. Its broad end slowly parted my lips as it slipped out bit by bit. It truly felt like I was laying an egg.
"Hah, that's it, just a little more♡ a little moooore... moooore...!"
With a slippery chup, the egg slid free of my pussy and dropped to the floor — and the thick juices kept flowing after it, still strung between my body and the shell.
"Hah... nnh... hah... this is, in its own way... really... so good..."
Next time, maybe I'll try something a little bigger than an egg. Thinking that, I quietly picked them up off the floor. All right — tomorrow's breakfast was decided. Eating eggs I'd laid myself... how utterly decadent.
It tasted like an ordinary egg. With just the faintest hint of citrus.