Ultra Death, Ultra Uncomfortable

After work one day, I was over at this guy’s apartment.  We were dating for a while at this point.  As we talked about our days, the guy started unpacking his bag and took out a ziplock back containing hot sauce, which had spilled all over the inside of the bag.  As he was cleaning off the hot sauce bottle, I asked him what it was for.  He went into details about his love for hot sauce and his quest to find the hottest one.  He proudly showed me the label, which read “Ultra Death,” and explained how it was more potent than mase, claiming it was “hotter than 900 jalepenos.”  At this point, I zoned out of the conversation.  Later on in the night, we were making out in his bedroom and he started to finger me.  All of a sudden, I felt a slight burning sensation down there.  I told him to be careful, thinking that it was me.  Then the burning sensation became so intense that I screamed out for him to stop.  When told him that my vag was on fire, his face turned white with horror.  I watched as some sort of terrible realization came to him.  He said, “There must be some hot sauce left on my hands.  It’s really hard to wash off, but I scrubbed my hands, I swear!”  I immediately ran to the bathroom and started his shower.  I laid down in the tub and opened my legs to the ceiling as the cold shower cooled off my private parts.  I laid there freezing for what felt like hours as the burning sensation slowly ceased.  I learned a great lesson that night: When your hot sauce has the combined heat of 900 jalepenos, washing off 899 doesn’t make it burn any less.

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