Whipped-cream War Turns to Golden Showers

We hose each other down with thick whipped cream, smearing it into filthy white masks over faces, sticky peaks on nipples, slippery trails down bellies. Tongues slide through the sugary mess, deep creamy kisses swapping spit and foam until we’re glazed sluts. Final act: legs spread over each other’s heads and we let go hot piss cuts through the cream, washing it off in yellow rivers as we moan and laugh, dripping every sweet-and-sour drop