Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Your Love is My Drug (Chipotlan)

Warning: this story is not for smut-virgins or anyone who doesn't like smut or sexually explicit stories. Honestly, I don't think anyone is prepared for this level of crack. Much thanks to Iggygirl01 for being my sounding board, as usual.

This story is very loosely based on the song "Your Love is My Drug" by Kesha.

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It's the last night before my flight home and I'm on my way back to Mitch's house with my last supper. I have to make this special. I won't be back until the end of the summer and I have no way of getting my fix until then without coughing up the money to fly halfway around the world. Nothing else compares. No one'll deny that America is full of a lot of bad and horrible things, but it has some amazing things, too. It's the Land of the Free, the Home of the Brave, and the Source of Most Addictions. I'm addicted, I won't even lie. But it's not in the way that you might think.

Okay, I'll admit that I might have a problem. It's not a big problem, not really, but people might... misunderstand. They might misinterpret it if they find out, or they might blow it way out of proportion. Or they might just take all of the fun out of it. That's the worst thing that could happen. I don't really see what the big deal is. I mean, I'm not hurting anybody, I'm not bothering anybody, and I'm pretty sure nobody even knows about it. It's nobody's business, really, but just in case someone finds out, I have to be prepared. I'm tired of hiding, but I'm too big of a coward to talk to anyone about it. Who do you even talk to about this kind of thing?

I am addicted to Chipotle. Chipotle is love, Chipotle is life, Chipotle is bae, ten out of ten, twelve days out of seven. If I had the money, I would open a Chipotle franchise down the street from my flat in Brisbane and live off of the profits and the pots of guacamole. But it isn't my love for eating Chipotle that causes problems. Everyone does that so it isn't weird. It's what goes on after one of my secret late-night-snack runs that might get me in some trouble. It's just so irresistible and it's a whole new level of hot and spicy. I don't know what Rob and Preston did that made them come up with that phrase, but I think I know where they're coming from. And it's delicious.

I always get the same thing every time I go to Chipotle: a chicken burrito with brown rice and black beans and green salsa, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole all on a flour tortilla with a side of chips and two containers of guacamole. Every single time. They don't even ask me for my order anymore, and I can just walk in and check Twitter on my phone while I wait my turn in line to pay. It seems like half of the time I have a free burrito on my rewards card. They are literally giving me free porn. It's like they know what's going on here and they ship it. They ship it hard.

And it gets better. Today is one of those grand days where I don't have to eat with the boys, and as soon as I get back from the restaurant I lock the front door and take off for my room to have dinner with myself. Now we're finally getting somewhere. There are so many different things you can do with chips and guac or a burrito that you'd never even think of when other people are around. That's where things get interesting, like right now. So I know Mitch is still awake doing something in the kitchen (as always), and I'm pretty sure Jerome's asleep upstairs. My door's locked and I doubt Benja's going to come bother me at eleven o'clock at night when we've been recording all day and he has Game of Thrones episodes to watch. I think I'm safe.

I turn the main light off and move the mouse on my computer so I can use that light to see. I make sure the shades on the windows are closed and the webcam is unplugged and I get to work. I've learned my lesson with that damned Bacca watching me on my computer. I give in and eat a couple of plain chips while I get undressed, and I can already feel it working its magic on me as I throw my clothes aside and lay my dark bath towels down on the computer chair and the floor. I bought those specially for times like this. Next, I carefully open up a big black trash bag and put my feet in it and slide it halfway up my legs to make the clean-up process a bit easier. No one can know about this. Ever. Finally, I reach for that beautiful brown paper bag. I can feel my pulse racing and my pupils dilating as the paper crinkles under my fingers, and I know that what I've been waiting for for two days is here at last. So worth.

I carefully pull the burrito out and set the rest of my loot up on the desk for later. I gently tug back its shiny, foil foreskin on the top, making sure that the bottom half stays wrapped; this doesn't need to be any bigger of a mess than it's already going to be. The first bite sends a warm wave of pleasure through my veins and down to my already-saluting cock, the sensitive skin flushing even more once the rush of endorphins passes. The air feels unnaturally cold now, almost painful. I have to hurry. I take another huge bite out of the top of the burrito and I quickly hollow out some of the filling from the middle. I need to make enough room so it doesn't spill over onto the floor again. The taste of chicken and beans and spices fills my mouth and the smell intoxicates my brain and I can already feel that familiar tension growing deep in my stomach. I feel like Pavlov's dogs, drooling to the sound of a bell. I can't even eat Chipotle around Merome anymore because it just makes me hard. Still worth.

It's time to put my plan into action. I slowly bend my cock outward so that it slides into the hole inside of the burrito, the overwhelming heat sending a powerful jolt through my body. It's so hot, so smooth, so wet... Honestly, who needs girls or guys or anyone else when there's Chipotle? Nothing can be as hot as this, except maybe another burrito with the ultra hot salsa in it. I love the chill of the sweet sour cream, the friction of the grains of rice, the burn of the peppers in the salsa, the slickness of the juicy black beans... I love it all. I can't get enough.

I push in until the tortilla starts to rip around the edge of the opening and I lay there in ecstasy until it just isn't enough anymore. I need more. I slowly, carefully pull out and push back in, over and over and over again until I can feel the gentle tickle of grains of rice falling down my calves and into the gaping bag below. I move it as fast as I dare, the tension mounting every second. The heat, the moisture, the texture, the sting, the smell, even the sound is too much. I never last long when I'm surrounded by such utter perfection. My muscles tense up and jerk violently, and I know my body is out of my control. My hips thrust themselves forward and a small avalanche of scraps tumbles down from the mouth of the burrito.

When I find my senses again, I start taking in the damage I caused this time - it doesn't seem like too much. I can feel streaks of some kind of liquid running down the end of my shaft and onto my balls, and I notice the familiar itch of rice where it got tangled up in the hair. I've seen worse. I've done it often enough that I know where the rice falls and I know how to clean the guacamole stains out of the carpet now. Wait. The guacamole. We aren't done here yet.

I shakily pull the rest of the way out and brush the rice and chunky remains into the trash bag to minimize the spread of incriminating evidence. I refold the skin of the warped burrito so that it will at least look like it's going to stay together, then I reach for the closest container of guacamole. I hear Mitch finally stomp his way upstairs for the night, probably with half of the food from the kitchen in tow. The guy has a fridge fetish, honestly. At least no one else has to touch my toys. I wait for him to settle in before I pull the little plastic lid off of the delicious sauce, dipping my finger in for a quick taste before I begin.

Starting from my neck and working my way down, I slowly pour the warm, thick, green cream down my front, my muscles twitching away from the heat. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling of it dripping down my skin and pooling in my belly button and running off onto the towels. Fuck Swedish massages and acupuncture. All you need in this world is a bag of Chipotle, a pair of good headphones, and a computer with high-speed internet access. I wait for the delicious treat to cool before I open my heavy eyes and lean over to grab the rest of the burrito. I pour the last few drops from the first container of guacamole into the giant hole at the top, noticing that it has become more like bean soup in a tortilla than a burrito. I shrug and take a bite, feeling my eyes roll back in my head in pure pleasure as all of the familiar tastes come together. Now this is perfection.

I look over at the computer and carefully put my right earbud in, watching to make sure I don't drag the cord through the river of guacamole on my chest. Green hair catches my eye and I click on the newest JackSepticEye video and start watching, grabbing a chip and scraping some of the heavenly dip from the middle of my stomach. Yeah, I have to get on a plane tomorrow for like, more than half of the day, but if flying until my legs fall off means that I can come back to this in three months, I'd do it every day. So worth.