Waffles v. Pancakes: Dichotomy of Actions vs Words

It starts as it always starts, with that stupid argument.

“I’m telling you, waffles are better than pancakes.”

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been Team Pancakes. Soft, fluffy, perfect, easy to make, design only limited by your sense of creativity, syrup can be coated all over the surface evenly—what is there not to love about pancakes?

Enter your mortal enemy: Kamimoto Kotone of Team Waffles. “Pancakes are an abomination when it comes to breakfast food,” she’d always say, “because waffles are king!”

She’d even go on to list her points: Waffles are easy to make—the machine does it for you. No need to flip off a poorly flipped pancake when you can have a perfectly cooked and fluffy waffle. Waffles are crispy and pancakes are not—you need some proper CRUNCH to wake up. Waffles have holes to hold the syrup while pancakes just waste all of it onto the plate by virtue of being pancakes and you have to put in effort to coat it in the syrup if you want it evenly spread, so you’re wrong, wrong, wrong!

It’s an age-old argument that you’ve had for so long that you don’t even know how or when it started. You just know you have to win. It’s the same for Kotone. Which means, once it starts, it’ll never end, no matter what you’re doing at that point in time.

Even if it’s sex. Yes, sex.

Yeah, of all the times Kotone picks this argument back up, it’s mid-session, where she’s been riding you on your couch midway through some trashy movie that you’ve both cringed and laughed at more than enjoyed.

(See, she just turned to you and said, “Bruh, this fucking movie sucks so bad I’d rather fuck. You down?”, and yeah, you’re always down to fuck your best friend with benefits, but also, that movie fucking sucked. Then she started this fucking argument when she’s got your cock inside her, and well.)

“Yeah, sure—” You hiss through your teeth as Kotone slams herself down hard on your length when you start to retort, the pleasure of her walls squeezing around your length cutting you off, “—but you still need a machine for waffles. All I need is a pan.” You give Kotone a soft slap against her ass for good measure. “And quit trying to distract me when I’m trying to rebut, you filthy cheater!”

“Hngh—!” The whine from deep within Kotone’s throat makes you giggle, but it also goes right down to your cock, buried deep in her. “The machine does it all for me, not like you who has to fli—aah, fuck you!”

That’s right, you’re playing dirty too—”Just following in your footsteps,” you say—thrusting up into Kotone as she’s midway through her point. She punches you in the chest as you grab her by the hips to hold her steady, but she quickly realises it’s futile and opts for a different strategy—riding the life out of you. (“I’ll deal with your stupid point later, you piece of shit—”)

And ride you she does—fists on your chest turn into an iron grip on your shoulders for leverage as she begins to piston her hips down on you to meet your thrusts in the middle, the same way your lips meet hers in a kiss when both of you lean in. Kotone fucks herself on you with more vigor now, whines spilling out between kisses as she milks you of all composure you had with every sinking of her hips. You’re groaning as you thrust upwards, all the fight from earlier now put into making up for lost time and ruining Kotone’s composure as well. Both of you press foreheads against the other’s for a brief moment—a temporary stalemate—before Kotone’s smirking and nipping you on your neck, a place she knows all too well that’s your sensitive spot. Instantly, you’ve got a thumb on her clit, a muffled “Hey, fucking bitch—” against your neck morphing into a squeal when you tease her sensitive nub with soft swipes—a move that’s her Achilles’ heel—her body jerking on top of you with the surprise and added pleasure. Perhaps it was a mistake because that backfires on you—Kotone gets wetter and tighter around you, her pussy gripping tightly around you every time she pulls herself up, your cock getting coated with a fresh sheen of arousal with each stroke and taking you closer to the edge with it. She’s not even kissing you anymore—too close to even focus on anything else now—her moans getting whinier and faster, a telltale sign she’s about to lose herself, and lose herself she does. With a hard jerk, Kotone’s hips stutter, and she slams herself right down to the hilt as her body spasms, pussy squeezing your cock hard as waves of her cum rush around your length, walls quivering around you, pulsating as you continue to thrust into her, chasing your high amidst hers. It doesn’t take long for you—she feels too damn good—and you’re gripping her by the hips again, pressing yourself flush against her and pulling her all the way down onto you, cock hilted deep inside her as your rhythm falters and your hot cum spurts deep into her with every jerk of your body. You’re holding Kotone close as both of you ride your highs out, both of you panting and trying to catch your breaths from the fun activity you’ve both just had.

Trust Kotone to make good on her promise though—when she slides off you to lie back on your couch right next to you…

“So, back to your stupid fucking pancakes—”