Would You Like Ketchup With That? - Sex Stories

Would You Like Ketchup With That?

... pleasure. God, I was hooked, and I knew it. I only wish there was some way of telling her, but it was out of the question. Still, it was such a visceral fantasy, one that didn’t have to end as long as I didn’t want it to. That night I dreamed of her, naked as she straddled my face, my tongue pushing between her folds, her weight pressing against my face, forcing me deeper into her dripping wet pussy... I awoke suddenly, furiously rubbing my overheated snatch, on the verge of yet another mind blowing climax, one that curled my toes and left me gasping for breath as I clutched my pillow with one hand so hard that I thought it would burst in my grip. oOo Of course, there were those days when someone else’s voice greeted me, leaving me saddled with disappointment and longing for the sensuality of ‘p’s popping and the erotic prose of ‘have a nice delightful wonderful lovely evening'. Those days I would simply go home, nibble a few fries halfheartedly before tossing them and try to drown my displeasure out with an orgasm or two, not that they were anything like the ones that she gave me. Yes, I know exactly how obsessive that sounds, but obsession was really what it had become. I’d be lying to myself to say otherwise. God, if she ever took an actual vacation, I thought, or worse, if she quit or was fired, what would I do? That made me get ahold of myself. I couldn’t help but chuckle. I wouldn’t be the end of the world. Plus, think of all the money I’d save and the calories I’d ...

... cut out of my diet. There’s always a silver lining; sometimes you just have to look a little harder for it. oOo “Ketchup for your fries,” she said with a cheeky smile, dropping two red plastic packages into my bag. I gave her a puzzled look, but said nothing, merely smiling as she sent me off with her usual good bye. Not that I stopped thinking about the change in our ritual all the way home. This time, instead of dropping my food on the counter and rushing off to the bedroom to get myself off, I paused, examining the contents of the bag. Fries, two packages of ketchup, and receipt with something scrawled across the back. Wear a skirt tomorrow. I moaned softly, leaning against the counter, my eyes closed in blissful ecstasy as I pushed my hand into my jeans and ground my fingers against my clit, coming quickly with a silent cry before sliding down to the floor, my head cradled in my arms as I rocked back and forth, my cunt soaking through my panties and my jeans, finger turning to fists as I felt it trickling over my puckered asshole, imagining those words in her sweet, sincere, sensual voice. oOo Nervously, I ordered my usual, trying to detect something, anything different, in her voice as she read it back to me, popping her ‘p’s just like always. I was wearing a skirt, one that had been carefully chosen after much deliberation. Teasingly short and pleated. I was thankful that I was still young enough to carry it off and had the legs for it as well. “Ketchup with your fries?” ...