Lube Me Up with Fry Grease
Free fast food smut samples! Getcha free smut!
DON’T OPEN THIS ONE EITHER MOM!
The sleazy, greazy fast food smut scene I posted last time kinda blew up. Sex sells…what a concept?
Well, I woke up with like 6 other scenarios in my head. Including what life was like for Wendy when she was held emotionally captive by Colonel Sanders. What drove her into the arms of Ronald? Who, besides the Colonel, would oppose their carnal embrace? Perhaps ghosts from the clown’s past will come back to haunt him. His one regret: betraying his battle buddy Carl, on the eve of his newborn son’s birth. How will this story end? Who will end up in the King’s torture chamber? Will Wendy & Ronald be able to smell danger in the air amongst the badussy vapors?
I need practice writing sex scenes anyways. I might have just fucked around and started a “smutsploitation” substack series.
Working title: “Lube Me Up with Fry Grease.”
🙊🙉🙈
Wendy breathily inhaled a sigh of relief and awe as Ronald worked fastidiously at her begrimed shackles.
“I knew you’d come, beloved.” She whimpered throatily as the ache blossomed from her freed wrists at last.
Ronald wiped a dribble of perspiration from his brow, his pearly white visage smearing. “It’s because of me that you are trapped down here.” He hastily eked out before scooping his bruised & battered beauty from the grimy floor. “I will have his head for this. Damn him and his ten herbs and spices for this defilement!”
She clung to his heaving man-mitties, finally feeling the safety and security she longed for. “Eleven.” she whispered weakly, breathing in his scent of slightly off frying grease & warm lettuce. Even the smell had her loins on their preheat settings.
“What’s that, my lil fry at the bottom of the bag?” He said, while looking every which way, searching for an escape. The way he had come in would be teaming with the colonels henchmen. Henchman Ronald knew by name, considering they all had once been his henchman, back in McDonaldLand.
“It’s Eleven herbs and spices, my short-sighted savior,” she hissed with her mouth nestled into his neck.
Her words rippled through his body, vibrating through his guts and down to his stirring [Big Mac]. The only thing he loved more than her heaving milky mounds of [Cole slaw] was her ready-to-serve…smart brain. He wanted to [Quarter Pounder with Cheese] that brain right out of her but knew that impending danger would make that a difficult tryst.
“I love it when you talk numbers, Wendy.” His knees tired and he laid her down next to him gently in a darkened doorway. His eyes met hers. An electric current of carnality flowed between them. The air of danger both frightened and supercharged their blood flow to all their stickiest parts. The moistness in the dismal basement wasn’t enough: the sensual scent of Wendy’s dining room wafted up between the two. She was as warm and humid as the solariums of her dynasty’s restaurants of yore & she was emploring Ronald to Dine In.
It was as if Ronald picked up Wendy’s telepathic thought via her slightly bitten lip and spread legs. He knew peril bedamned, he needed to yoddle in Wendy’s amber Grand Canyon pronto.
As he dove into Wendy’s [Caesar Salad], moans erupted from her gaping maw while she tugged at his crimson wig and clamped his writhing face against her. Her thoughts awash of passion as her ululating lover cast away any doubts she had of her unkempt and 3-days-unwashed [Arby’s Big Beef].
He had once told her, post-coitally how much he loved her natural, womanly scent/taste which assuaged any indoctrinated shame she had unwillingly picked up through her formative years. According to the fervor of the tongue-lashing that Ronald was slathering her nether regions with, he was enraptured with her [Beef n’ Cheddar]. Ever the thoughtful lover, he was paying attention to all her special ingredients, even her unplumbed [Chili Bowl].
Her back arched as waves of electricity flew through her body. Ronald’s hands squeezed and caressed her [Cole slaw mounds] as he inscribed the phrase “Will there be Fries with That?” on her [Happy Meal] with his inquiring lingua. He felt her body seize as his own engorgement leaks gobs of [special sauce] within his yellow jumpsuit. Her body rocked against his face, enflaming his sore neck, but he was intent on finishing off this buxom prisoner of war once and for all. Her body exploded, soaking her and Ronald in her heavily-seasoned love marinade.
Just as the door above them exploded in with a kick from a figure in a black and white striped jumpsuit. His look of shock, not hidden by his lone black eye mask. Wendy scrambled to cover her doggy bag as Ronald glared in the direction of his adversary with his donut-glazed face.
“Not you too Hamburglar. Not you too.” Ronald yelled behind clenched teeth.
“Robble Robble,” the ex-con spit as he descended the stairs with his weapon drawn.
Ronald, fluent in his gibberish, stood and readied himself for battle. Translating the gibberish in his head to “Ah my dear old friend. Twas it not a fortnight ago since we had last conversed? Yet alas I catch you…eating on the job again. Make haste chum, for your quick demise will come by the end of my sword.”
To be continued…
HEY! That was kinda fun! Tune in next time, as I pad your inboxed (and your lady gardens) while we format, configure cover reveals, and begin the ARC schedule for Gig of the Damned!
Passive-aggressively Yours,
Phrique
The unplumbed chili hole!!