Author: DuineDeDanann

Lilabelle is at one of the bathhouses that are outside Uptown.
Many have viewing rooms, where the filthy exploited lower class of the city can watch
its patrons dirty and clean themselves.
The wealthy elite of Uptown live in a dirt-free world, so the purpose of the paint
room is to simulate the feeling of being dirty and to increase the sense of satisfaction
after the cleaning.
Outside of Uptown, in The City, water is scarce, so scarce that the poor that live there have never cleaned themselves.
Lilabelle enjoyed watching the filth through the glass wall, enjoyed even more that the filth watched her as she slowly covered her body in deep and thick red paint.
Her hands roamed her naked body, coating every inch of it with the crimson. She stood beneath the pour, letting it splash against her chest as she worked it beneath the folds of soft skin under her breasts.
She sat down then and spread herself beneath the crimson. Facing the crowd of filthy on lookers, she lolled her head back, stretching her neck as the stream above her poured down between her breasts until it ran over her hairless navel and over her labia. She worked the paint into there too. Arousing herself as the gritty texture grazed against her clit and between her lips. She pushed the cold and quickly drying liquid into herself. She turned and raised her ass so the slow stream of crimson poured itself onto her tailbone. She moaned in pleasure as the crimson spread between her ass cheeks and felt its cold embrace on her asshole. The paint ran down her spine too, stopping at her neck and parting on either side to run along her delicate jawline before meeting again at her chin to drip on the floor. She balanced on one hand, and her other explored behind her where the crimson still fell upon her exposed ass. She coated her fingers in the crimson, before pushing the build up of coarse material into her asshole. She pushed deep. Up past her second knuckle, moaning again, and throbbing between her legs grew, as the drying and grainy paint scratched the inside of her anus. She could feel her skin prickly and tight, and the soft weight of the drying paint inside her cunt. Lastly, she stood, face first beneath the ever pouring crimson. Covering her face, and ears, until not an inch of her was not covered in it.
She stepped away then, eyes closed, feeling the dryness spread. She was caked in the stuff. Viscous rivulets of paint dripped from the erect nipples of her large breasts. She could feel every inch of herself as the scratchy coating tightened on her skin. Between her thighs, she could feel the crimson slowly drop from her pussy and asshole. She waited until the drips had stopped. She was in an ecstasy of sensitivity.
She opened her eyes now, a brilliant blue against the crimson paint. Painted cracked and fell around her eyelids in flakes as she opened them.
The paint continued to pour from the hermAphrodite statue’s cock, and she patted it in thanks, causing it to shut off again.
Walking to the door of the inner bathhouse she stopped for a second and smiled, then giggled. Many of the pitiful filth were rubbing their disgusting never washed hands on their cocks and pussy’s. As if those filthy genitals could even be compared to her and her fellow Uptowners. They barely qualified as genitals at all.
Pitiful globs of semen streaked the outside of the windows. Two men began trying to fuck one of the masturbating women beside them. A brawl was breaking out, a rape and an orgy. The tingling between her thighs grew. She loved driving these filthy subhumans into a frenzy. She was the god of lust, or at least she felt like one.
She turned then to go, bored of the sexual brawl. Her eyes were drawn briefly to a man. His penis wasn’t even out. He was ignoring the fighting and the raping. He was just staring at her, a look of disgust on his face. She loved it and smiled all the wider at him. The hateful ones we always the most fun to tease. She knew that he would do worse things to her than any of those other braindead spermatozoids. The thought, of getting really and truly filthy in a struggle with him brought her arousal to a fever pitch, but then she turned away. As much fun as it would be to tussle with the filth, they didn’t deserve her. They should be happy they even got to see her.
She walked gracefully as a panther through the automatic doors, into the inner bathhouse. She never cleaned herself in sight of the filth. They didn’t deserve it.