Canada Pounds My Butt And Covers My Pancakes With Real Maple Syrup In An Erotic Way Also It Is Delicious - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

what a day buckaroos WHAT A DAY. just sitting here thinkin on the future and getting very excited about what lies ahead on this timeline. just between us patreon buts i can say what i think you are all probably assumed which is there will be small book tour for chucks upcoming traditional publishing debut. this is getting worked out and i will announce the dates soon. unfortunately NO CANADA i am sorry canadian buds just gotta get that one out of the way right now in care your hearts were pumpin with excitement. 

heres the dang thing though, if all goes well then in the future THERE WILL BE CANADA I AM SURE. in fact ive got my fingers crossed old chuck is gonna trot around the world. but like all trots we gotta take it one step at a time

anyway all this gettin ready for tour has chuck thinkin on buckaroo travel and what it is like to find yourself waking up in a new place. long ago chuck used to trot around a lot, leaving home of truth and just GOIN PLACES went all over the dang country and yes even to canada

had a great time up there. fond buckaroo memories of going to way of STANLEY PARK in vancouver, seeing STAMPEDE FAIRGROUNDS in calgary and even having dang POUTINE in quebec city (and hearing all the buckaroos speak french that was a dang surprise but a welcome treat. had a great time talkin to buds in different languages.)

anyway with excitement of upcoming travel figured i would post a tingler about a GREAT PLACE chuck has been. please enjoy CANADA POUNDS MY BUTT AND COVERS MY PANCAKES WITH REAL MAPLE SYRUP IN AN EROTIC WAY ALSO IT IS DELICIOUS

Sam loves is small town Kansas lifestyle, but when Canada unexpectedly shows up at his favorite local diner, Sam quickly discovers the charm of his handsome neighbor to the north. Soon enough, Sam is embarking on a journey of culinary discovery, first learning about poutine, then uncovering the important difference between fake maple syrup and the real thing.

Unfortunately, real maple syrup is hard to come by in small town America, but Canada has an erotic solution that will cover Sam’s pancakes in a hardcore way he’s never before experienced!

This erotic tale is 4,100 words of sizzling human on handsome living country action, including anal, blowjobs, facials, rough sex, and real maple syrup love.

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CANADA POUNDS MY BUTT AND COVERS MY PANCAKES WITH REAL MAPLE SYRUP IN AN EROTIC WAY ALSO IT IS DELICIOUS

By Chuck Tingle

Kansas is a big place, but all that extra space leaves plenty of small towns scattered across its beautiful Midwestern landscape. Some folks pass through here and can’t wait to leave, the casual lifestyle simply too slow for them to bear, but others can appreciate our little hamlet for what it is, a great place to kick back and relax. It would be easy to assume growing up here was excruciatingly boring, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. My early years were spent riding bikes up and down old dirt roads, or fishing in the creek that splits our town in half. I was outside almost every day, running around until nightfall and then getting up early to start it all over again.

Now I’m older, and less likely to go traipsing through the woods for fun, but I’ve still got that powerful sense of appreciation for this place.

Today there’s plenty of work to do on the farm, and I’ve been up since dawn taking care of business. Fortunately, I understand the importance of a hearty lunch to keep a guy like me moving, and now it’s time for a well-deserved break.

I’m cruising down Main Street in my big red truck, pulling up out front of my favorite local diner and throwing it into park. I climb out of my ride and take a deep breath, soaking in the clean, fresh air as it blissfully fills my lungs. The sun is beating down hard against my face, warming me to the very depths of my soul.

After giving myself some time to enjoy the moment, I continue onward, opening up the diner door as a loud bell chimes.

“Hey there, Sam,” my favorite waitress, Betty, calls over with a smile. “Anywhere you’d like.”

I turn on instinct, beginning the saunter over to my favorite booth but stop in my tracks when I see that it’s occupied.

Clearly, I’m in the presence of an outsider, as any local would know this has been my spot for years. I’m here at the Rosewood Diner every weekday, noon on the dot, and this space is always open for me.

Not today, though.

Of course, I’m an even keeled guy and I know that whoever this unexpected guest is, they had no idea what they were doing when they sat down. I don’t hold it against them.

Instead, I walk over and take a seat at a nearby table, this new arrangement giving me a similar vantage to the one I’m used to, only ten or so feet to the left. I lean back into my chair, taking a deep breath and letting it out. I don’t need to look at the menu because I already know what I want, and this allows my eyes to wander over towards the outsider who happens to be sitting in my usual spot.

This is the first time I’ve been able to get a good look at the guy, and the second my eyes reach his beautiful, muscular form I can feel my heart skip a beat. A slight gasp escapes my throat and I try my best to stifle it, not because of the fact that this man is incredibly handsome, but the fact that I instantly recognize him.

The man sitting in my usual booth is, in fact, no man at all, but instead the entire country of Canada. I was only planning on a quick glance, but now that I’ve seen who this is I can’t help but stare, my eyes drifting across his endless hills and beautiful, lush coastlines of green and blue. I see towering cities of beautiful, modern architecture, and seemingly endless snowdrifts to the north.

Suddenly, Canada glances over at me, catching me off guard. I try my best to avert my eyes, but I’m not fast enough.

Almost immediately, it strikes me that looking away is probably the most awkward thing I could do in this situation. Instead, I quickly change course and push directly into the situation at hand. I gaze back at Canada and offer a smile.

“Hey,” I say with a nod.

Canada grins, clearly quite friendly. “Hello!”
 “What brings you to Kansas?” I question, trying my best to make pleasant conversation with this geographical celebrity.

Canada considers my question for a moment and then, instead of answering, beckons me over to him. “Come on, we don’t have to be shouting across the restaurant. Sit with me.”

I stand up and walk stroll over to the booth, sliding in across from the handsome country.

“I’m Sam,” I inform him.

“Canada,” the sentient location retorts with a firm handshake. “I’m here for the ribs.”

I narrow my eyes. “Wait… really?”

Canada nods. “Yep.”

“You don’t have ribs in Canada?” I question.

The country laughs. “We do, but not like down here. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the ribs in Kansas, so I thought I’d give them a try for myself.”

Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by Betty, the waitress, who places my usual stack of pancakes before me. She then sets a strange plate of food before Canada unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

“Anything else I can get for you?” Betty questions.

The country and me thank her and shake our heads, wave her away. Right now, all that I can focus on is Canada’s incredibly bizarre meal.

“What is that?” I finally blurt.

“Poutine,” Canada informs me. “You wanna try some?”

“What’s on it?” I continue, skeptically.

Canada pokes around with his fork, giving me a good look at every layer. “Well, you’ve got your fries here on the bottom, and then you’ve got your nice, brown gravy slathered all over. Then you’ve got your cheese curds.”

“And on top?” I continue.

“Well, those are short ribs,” Canada explains. “That’s not really traditional poutine, though.”

Suddenly it all makes sense. “So that’s why you’re here,” I blurt.

Exactly, the handsome country replies with a nod. “I’ve heard that some folks say we should update the recipe and put short ribs on top. I figured I’d give it a shot with the best short ribs I could find.”

“And?” I question.

Canada looks down at his plate and carefully collects the perfect ratio of each ingredient with his fork. He’s constructing the most objectively fair bite that he can, not loading on too much of any one thing. When the living location is finally ready, he opens his mouth wide and shoves the food inside, closing his eyes and chewing slowly. I can tell that Canada is doing his best to savor the moment, to make sense of all these incredible flavors as they swirl together within his mouth.

Eventually, Canada swallows. His eyes open.

“Well?” I question.

The living country hesitates, then finally shrugs. “Eh… it’s not really the poutine that I know and love. I don’t think we’ll be changing the recipe any time soon. If you American’s wanna put short ribs on top, that’s fine, but I don’t think this tradition’s gonna change.”
 The longer I stare at this decadent plate of food, the more I think back to that very sincere offer of a bite of my own.

The handsome country notices me eyeing his plate and pushes it over to me. “Go ahead,” Canada says.

I construct a sample, trying my best to get an even amount of each ingredient just like the sentient location had done before me. The only difference between each of our creations is that, once everything is perfectly balanced, I throw on another huge piece of short rib for good luck.

I bring the fork to my mouth and take in the overwhelming, savory flavors, chewing slowly and then swallowing with a gracious gulp.

“Oh my god,” I stammer. “That was one of the best things I ever tasted.”

Canada smiles wide and laughs to himself. “Thanks.”

“Canada!” I suddenly cry out, still blown away by this incredible dish. “You’ve been holding out on us! Nobody ever talks about ordering up some Canadian food! What’s the deal?”

“I talk about Canadian food,” the living country jokes with a shrug.

“Not enough, apparently,” I continue. “What else is going on up there that I don’t know about? You been hiding some sport that’s better than hockey?”

Canada’s eyes suddenly narrow in an expression of deep seriousness. “There isno sport better than hockey,” he informs me.

I’m a little taken aback by this sudden change in mood, so I try to change course quickly. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” I stammer.

The living country quickly realizes how harsh he just came off and struggles to make amends. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he begins to apologize.

“It’s nothing,” I counter. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I know how much you like your hockey. Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Okay. What’s better than hockey?” Canada suddenly blurts.

“Football,” I answer almost immediately.

Once more I can see the living location’s blood starting to simmer, but he pushes these feelings back down even faster than before, settling himself.

“Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you,” I continue, trying to change the subject once more.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Canada offers. “I love these trips down to The States.”

I consider his words for a moment, something still not making any sense to me. “If you’re down here, then what’s up north?”

“What do you mean?” Canada questions, a little confused.

“I mean… where are all the Canadians?”

The living country laughs. “Oh! They’re inside me! I’m a rather large place, so there’s plenty of room.”

“And if I was to get in my truck and drive up across the border right now?” I question.

“Just empty ocean,” explains Canada. “Until I get back, of course.”
 The moment I laid eyes on this incredible country, I’d felt a powerful attraction to his gorgeous physical form. The longer we sit like this and talk, however, the more that I’m pulled in by the rest of him. There’s something about Canada that’s incredibly cool, laid back and relaxed in a way that I’ve always wanted to be, but never could manage to pull off.

Sure, there’s plenty of great things about Kansas, too, that’s why I’m so happy to call this place home. But Canada is alluring in an entirely different way that I can’t quite put my finger on.

It suddenly hits me just how aroused I am by the presence of this beautiful country.

“Pancakes for lunch, huh?” the sentient place says, taking a look at the plate that sits before me.

I nod. “Yeah, I don’t know why. It just fills me up after a long day on the farm, I guess.”

I reach over and grab a bottle of syrup from the edge of the table, turning it over and giving the plastic container a firm squeeze. The thick, golden liquid begins its decent down the side of the bottle, but before it can reach the exit, Canada grabs the syrup from my hands.

“What the hell are you doing?” Canada blurts, looking back and forth between the plastic bottle and me.

“Putting some maple syrup on my waffles,” I stammer, utterly confused. “I thought you liked maple syrup.”

“I fucking love maple syrup,” Canada offers. “But that’s not what this is.”
 The sentient country spins the bottle around and quickly scans the back, shaking his head in disgust as he reads the ingredients.

“Nothing but corn syrup and sugar,” the living country says, murmuring the words feverishly under his breath.

“But it’s pretty much the same, right?” I continue.

“Not even close,” Canada retorts. “Have you ever had real maple syrup?”

I shake my head.

Immediately, Canada slides across the booth and climbs to his feet, marching back towards the counter where our waitress stands. “Excuse me,” Canada calls out. “Do you have any actual maple syrup here?”
 “Isn’t that it right there in your hand?” the waitress questions.

The living country stops abruptly, doing everything he can to stay calm in the face of this horrific maple syrup snafu.

“Do you know where I can buy any real maple syrup?” Canada continues. “I’m not joking. I’ll buy a whole box and leave it with you guys if you’ll promise to stop serving this fake stuff.”

The waitress just shakes her head apologetically. “I’m sorry,” Betty replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something called real maple syrup around here. Maybe it’s only up there in Canada, or… right here in Canada. You can’t just reach inside yourself and grab some syrup?”
 “It’s a very delicate balance,” Canada explains. “My hand’s gonna be huge if I reach inside myself and go rooting around. I might find some syrup, but I’m way more likely to crush a city.”

“Oh no!” Betty cries out in alarm.

Canada nods. “I’m afraid so.”

Defeated, the sentient country turns and walks back over to our table, his head hung low. “No real maple syrup,” he mutters as he slides back into the booth. “This is a tragedy.”

As much as it seems like Canada might be overreacting, I’m beginning to trust the countries opinion on this kind of thing. After all, the man who introduced me to poutine probably knows what he’s talking about when it comes to food.

“Is there any way we can get some of the real stuff?” I question. “There’s a few larger towns nearby.”

“I don’t know,” Canada replies with a shrug. “The way the waitress was talking, I doubt it.”
 “Well, thanks for trying,” I reply, reaching out and putting my hand over the sentient location’s.

The second our skin touches a powerful surge of arousal shoots through my veins, filling me with aching desire. This whole time the attraction between us had been lurking just below the surface, but now it’s finally reared its head for all the world to see.

“You know, there is one way to make maple syrup,” Canada cautiously begins. “The real stuff.”
 “What is it?” I question.

Canada smiles, hesitating for a moment as a myriad of thoughts flood through his mind. The living country is clearly trying to determine whether or not he should continue down this path, something absolutely delicious resting on the tip of his tongue.

“My cum,” Canada finally offers with a slight smirk.

“Wait, what?” I stammer. “Are you for real?”

The living country nods. “Absolutely. I cum one hundred perfect real, authentic Canadian maple syrup.”
 I bite my lip playfully. “I think I could probably help you harvest some of that.”

As Canada and me walk up the steps of my old farmhouse we can hardly keep our hands off of one another, tearing away clothing and leaving the fabric strewn about in a long trail that leads from my truck to the front porch.

We push open the door and continue to make out passionately; our hands exploring the topography of two perfectly toned bodies. I draw my fingers across Canada’s chiseled abs, drifting lower and lower until I reach the waistband of his pants.

With the living location’s belt undone, I hover here for a moment, allowing Canada to savor this brief swelling of tension.

“Please,” the country finally groans.

I finally have mercy, reaching down below Canada’s waistband and wrapping my fingers tight around the living country’s enormous rod. Canada lets out a long, satisfied moan as I begin to pump my fingers up and down across his length, leaning his head back and closing his eyes tight while the sound gradually escapes his throat.

The country is clearly enjoying himself, pumping his hips along with my movement as I retract his massive Canadian dick from its fabric prison. Soon enough, I’m beating him off with frantic enthusiasm, cradling the living country’s balls with one hand while I work his shaft with the other.

Driven mad with lust, I eventually drop to my knees before the handsome sentient location, opening my mouth wide and taking his dick between my lips. I quickly get to work bobbing my head up and down Canada’s shaft, sucking him off with reckless abandon. I’m utterly belligerent with lust, and although this sexual encounter was first framed as a way to get my hands on some real maple syrup, the delicious waffle and pancake condiment is currently the last thing on my mind.

Right now, all I care about is letting this beautiful country fuck me silly.

Eventually, I pull Canada’s cock out of my mouth and slowly lick him from the base to the tip, dragging my tongue slowly across his incredible length and then playfully kissing the swollen head.

When I take the living location back between my lips, I don’t just pick up where I left off. Instead of frantically pumping my face across his length, I slowly push myself farther and farther down onto Canada’s giant rod, taking him deeper and deeper within my throat. I relax enough to allow the country’s cock safe passage beyond my gag reflex, and soon enough I find my face pressed hard against Canada’s perfect abs.

I hold in this position for as long as I possibly can, gazing up at the beautiful country in all of his glory. Canada places his hands against the back of my head, holding me here for a moment as he savors his position of dominance. I’m loving every second of this.

Eventually, I’m forced to pull back with a sputter and a gasp, spit dangling in a long strand between my wet lips and Canada’s shaft.

“I need your cock inside my ass right fucking now,” I demand. “I need you to pound me up the butt.”
 I fall back and spin around so that I’m on my hands and knees, totally nude in the foyer of my home as I pop my rump out towards the handsome, muscular country behind me. I wiggle my butt from side to side, then playfully reach back and give one cheek a slap. Next, I hold myself open for him, allowing Canada to get a good look at my tightly puckered hole.

“What are you waiting for?” I coo. “Get over here and fuck me.”

The handsome country finally makes his move, climbing down into position behind me and aligning his gigantic rod with my backdoor. Canada, teases me for a moment, testing the threshold of my anal seal and then pulling back before fully penetrating my body.

“Please!” I beg. “I need that juicy hog of yours. I need your Canadian bacon.”

“You know what we call Canadian bacon where I’m from?” the handsome country questions.

“What?” I reply.

“Just bacon,” Canada says, swooping his hips forward and impaling my body across his massive rod. “Thick, juicy bacon.”

I let out a startled yelp as the handsome geographical location enters me, not entirely prepared for his enormous size. While I’d had no trouble taking him between my lips, deep within my asshole is another story entirely. I feel as though I’ve been completely pushed to my limits, my ass utterly maxed out and aching from this brutal stretch.

Fortunately, Canada is a patient and graceful lover, taking his time with me and allowing me a moment to adjust to his size. At first, the sentient location doesn’t move at all, just allows my body to come to terms with his penile enormity.

Eventually, the two of us are moving together, pulsing back and forth in a soft, steady rhythm. The longer we do this, the more my discomfort begins to crumble away, the layers of sensation peeling back slowly to reveal a potent, hidden warmth underneath. Now the powerful ache has disappeared completely, replaced instead by a warmth that floods my senses with pleasure.

“Oh fuck yeah, just like that,” I moan, Canada and me falling into sync with one another completely.

The next thing I know this gorgeous country and me are slamming into one another at a steady pace, the escalating ecstasy passing back and forth between us like a growing feedback loop.

“That feels so good, that feels so good,” I begin to repeat to myself over and over again under my breath, the words cascading out of my mouth as they grow in volume. Eventually, I’m crying out at the top of my lungs. “That feels so good! That feels so fucking good!”

I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my hanging dick, beating myself off in time with the hammering against my backside. This immediately creates two distinct sources of pleasure, one in the depths of my prostate and another at the head of my cock. Together, these sensations start to build off of one another, elevating me to a plane of carnal lovemaking that I never knew existed.

Now, Canada is hammering away at me with everything he’s got, pounding my butthole with brutal enthusiasm as I moan and squeal with pleasure.

“I’m so close!” I scream. “I’m so fucking close. Keep fucking me just like that!”

Canada doesn’t let up as I’m suddenly thrust over the edge of a powerful orgasm. I throw my head back and let out a blood curdling scream, a mighty climax sweeping through me like a tidal wave of pleasure. Jizz erupts hard from the head of my shaft, splattering out across the floor below me in hot, milky patterns.

It’s the best orgasm of my life.

However, this is not the cum that we’re here for.

“Are you ready?” Canada questions, clearly working on a similar timeline.

“Ready,” I reply with a confident nod.

Canada pulls out of me and climbs to his feet, walking over to the nearby counter and opening up my leftover container of uneaten pancakes. He takes them out and sets them on a plate, then pops them into the microwave.

The next thing I know, Canada and me are standing naked together, listening to the soft hum of the nearby microwave as my plate of pancakes slowly rotates.

Finally, the microwave dings with a faint chime, prompting Canada to remove the plate and bring it over to me. He hands me the warm food, which I graciously accept.

I drop to my knees.

“Let’s see what this real maple syrup is all about,” I coo, setting the pancakes next to me and then reaching up to grab ahold of Canada’s swollen cock.

I enthusiastically begin to pump my tight grip up and down the living country’s length, beating him off with frantic excitement as he whimpers feverishly above me.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Canada begins to chant, growing louder and louder until he unleashes an unbridled cry to the heavens. “I’m gonna cum!”

I continue to beat off Canada with one hand, and with the other I lift my plate of pancakes, placing it directly below his rod. The next thing I know, fountains of glorious maple syrup are erupting from Canada’s cock, some of it splattering across my face while the majority of his load ends up painting the hotcakes below.

Without warning, two giant moose waving red and white Canadian flags burst through the wall of my home, sending wood and drywall flying everywhere. They rear up and wave their flags in the air as the Canadian national anthem blasts for some unknown location.

As Canada himself continues to blast hot maple syrup cum across my pancakes, the Canada flags erupt into a flock of loons that scatter across the foyer, flapping their wings wildly.

It is now revealed that below the flags were hidden hockey sticks, and the moose each perform a perfect slapshot with two hockey pucks that they’ve apparently brought with them.

I watch as the pucks fly across the room, colliding midair and erupting in a splash of warm Tim Horbin’s Coffee. Meanwhile, Canada has produced a cup from within him, gathering the coffee before it has a chance to hit the ground. The sentient country then hands me the hot cup of Tim Horbin’s as he finishes cumming.

“Some coffee to go with your pancakes,” Canada says before finishing his powerful orgasm and staggering back.

The moose and the loons eventually make their way out of my home, wandering around in the front yard as I struggle to catch my breath.

“That was incredible,” I gush.

“And you haven’t even tried your pancakes yet,” Canada offers with a laugh.

I smile, standing up and walking over to the kitchen. I pull a fork out of the drawer and cut myself a large hunk of the delicious treat, not hesitating for a second as I pop it into my mouth and begin to chew.

“You’re right,” I tell Canada with a smile. “Real maple syrup definitely worth the effort.”