Happy New Yeer

 ”Happy new yeer,” Sophie greeted you at the door. Smoke billowed out, as she desperately clung to the door frame so as to not fall. Her big melons jiggling within the thin net bag of her outfit. A lit joint dangled from her full lips, adding to the smoke

“Damn, Sophie. It’s not even…(cough)”, you checked your watch, “Noon, and you're wasted,” you noted, coughing from the smoke.

“I guezz i starred the pardy a li'l erly, he he,” she giggled. Then she continued, “Hope yoo donn mine?”

You promptly replied, “Mind? No. I love intoxicated girls. And getting them intoxicated. And them getting intoxicated for me. You know that.” You took the joint from her lips and leaned in for a kiss. She was a moving target, so you first kissed her cheek, before finding her plump lips. The kiss tasted sweet of champagne and weed. 

When you pulled away, you continued, “Love your outfit. What little there is of it. Which is why I love it.”

“Ssangs.  Shay, dizz you brin' any shampaign?,” she asked. 

“Of course,” you told your girlfriend, holding up a couple of bottles in one hand. With the other you helped her to take another toke of the joint. Then as she held the smoke in, you took the joint from her lips.

She turned, and stumbling, leaned against the door frame, exhaled, and then slurred, “Grade.  Less gow inside ann zzrink summ ann havve summ fun.” As she said “fun” she twerked her but. You knew exactly what she meant. Keep her drunk and high, and fuck her. You knew it would be a fun NYE. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dont be silly

Image
  https://girlsgettingwasted.blogspot.com/2023/11/are-you-trying-to-get-me-drunk.html Even as you spoke, she consumed half the glass of wine, and then closed her eyes and playfully stuck her tongue out.  “I c'n be silly (hic) iff i wanna,” she tells you, before drinking the rest of her glass. “That you can be. But don’t say I’m trying to get you drunk.” you say as you refill her glass. “You don’t have to drink that-I'm not making you” you tell her, pointing to her refilled glass. “Bud, iss soo (hic) gooond.  I canned (hic) waizz it,” she says before beginning to drink it. She stops midway and adds, “Yoo may nod (hic) be stryin' t' ged me (hic) zzzrunk, bud i (hic) thing i will be (hic) soon,” and resumes drinking the wine in her glass.  “What makes you say that? I you ask me youre barely tipsy” you ask, as you refill her glass, emptying the bottle. “Thiss'zz (hic) my sevennh glazz (hic) uhf wine?,” she noted as she drank it. “ann (hic)how many cockt(hic)ails did i h...
Read more

Little Sally

Image
  “It ok li'l sally, close yer eyes ann lean on aunn loddi.  Im zzzrunk too, bud i wo'nn led yoo fall.  Stroke uncle frankies hard cock.  He loves it wenn zzzrunk girls ssroke it,” Lottie told her 18 year old, wasted drunk niece. Lottie loved getting drunk, loved getting other girls drunk and loved that her husband loved drunk girls.  A few weeks ago, Lottie had met her sister, Sally's mother for lunch-well a martini lunch. “I caught sally comin' home zzzrunk lazz week,” Dottie slurred. “Whad'd yoo doo?”, Sally asked. “Nothing-i wuz zzzrunk too.” “Welll i guezz the apple didn’t fall too far frum the tree.” “Im sooo proud uhf my li'l girl,” Dottie remarked and drank her martini.  “Still, shes sooo young.  Juzz eighteen,” Lottie remarked. “Oh, i nowe.  Shay, maybe yoo coud give herr summ lessons, liyke aunn fran did us?,” Dottie asked. “Grade idea.  How 'bout shhe ssays wiss me furra weekenn inna few weeks,” and so it was decided. “Yer the cool...
Read more

Brereakfast

Image
Breakfast Under the warm Mediterranean sun, she leaned over the table, her wide-brimmed Louis Vuitton hat casting a playful shadow over her face, as the scent of freshly prepared brunch wafted through the air. The azure sea glistened before her, mirroring the vibrant blue ribbon on her hat. She savored the moment, the gentle breeze carrying whispers of the ocean. She was still drunk from last night, too drunk to care that she was on the balcony in just her skimpy white lace underwear with lavender flowers. The french toast was beautiful, but her muddled brain was trying to decide what to drink. Champaign, Vodka, or orange cocktail.  Under the warm Mediterranean sun, she leaned over the table, her wide-brimmed Louis Vuitton hat casting a playful shadow over her face, as the scent of freshly prepared brunch wafted through the air. The azure sea glistened before her, mirroring the vibrant blue ribbon on her hat. She savored the moment, the gentle breeze carrying whispers of the ocean....
Read more