It's sexier when the clothes stay on as a wise whore once said. It's sluttier that way. Nothing like attending a Bach cello concerto in a little collared black pinstripe dress with unbuttoned French cuffs and black Nylon pantyhose, or in my case, attending a drenching with a fresh batch of piping hot fake cum and a pot of thick, golden custard. I've even styled my hair so I could saturate every dark russet lock. And forget about panties, it's all about how that rough Nylon feels rubbing against unprotected folds.

Starts apprehensive, just a gentle brush of fingers over the pitcher of fake cum before a smile flickers across my lips and the defilement begins. The first splash catches me off guard and hits like hot wax. Lust nestles its way underneath my formal attire as molten spunk pelts against the black Nylon encasing my legs and hairy cunt, labia peeking through the stretched crotch. The bukkake jizz sends a nervous shiver down my spine. Blood flow slowly branches out to my nipples and aching clit at the thought of how much better this would be if it could be the real thing, surrounded by a ring of cock-thrusters as they fap louder and louder; heady ball scents preceding a massive outpouring of semen over my face and stylish outfit until I reek of used-up skank. I'd want everyone to know I'm a whore underneath, especially on the streets with globs dried on my face and pooling between my legs. My perversions spiral out of control. Gooey fuck-spunk is scooped all over my clothed body, my face, and massaged into the Nylon encasing my dripping sex.

Black pantyhose turn sheer with a glistening sheen of fuck-spunk. The whirlpool of desire sucks me in long before I get to impaling my hungry holes. I even try to fist my mouth. And in case there's any doubt about it, I flip up my dress, revealing cum whore carved red in lipstick. On my knees, I squirt more on my dress which drips down in slow motion over my ass and clings to the hem, culminating in a wet slap and delicious sting.

Tights get peeled halfway, hobbling my legs. The inevitable fucking begins. Custard gets added to the mess, painting my cheeks and glass anal wand which gets inserted with no small effort, but once it's in, it's in and I can't stop. The closer I get, the more I need to feel the warm smoothness of custard streaking my skin and plastering my face. The building heat in my core staves off the chill from the old cum gluing my dress to my skin.

Trashed pantyhose slipped off one foot, both holes are wide open for simultaneous destruction. Reaming both cunt and ass, I bring myself past the edge with a glorious splosh of fake cum over my ruined face.

After recovering, I wring all the white gunk from my hair and strip off all my fancy accoutrements.

Never has classical music been more of a turn on.

I outed myself to my friend who stopped by shortly after this because I couldn't think of a better way to explain the fake cum I spilled in the kitchen. She gave me a tarp.