Bambi 2

 

Helping your stepmom's recently divorced friend Bambi move home to Florida from Texas hadn’t been your idea of how to spend spring break. You had imagined sunny beaches, parties and drunk girls. But your stepmom talked you into it, telling you Bambi would pay you well, as Bambi’s ex-husband was a wealthy oil tycoon, now less so as Bambi’s half made her a wealthy woman. Then you met her-total MILF. Bambi was stunning-Big tits, bigger but, curves in the right places, auburn hair, pretty face. And drunk-your kryptonite. Her ex had to be a scummy cheating bastard to divorce this angel. 

Even in the early spring, it was hot and humid in Texas. So Bambi wore a blue string bikini and boots as she helped you pack. Mostly you packed and she drank and stumbled and staggered about, telling you what to put in what box and complaining about her ex. It was a lot of work, but fun too. Watching her was so sexy. She was pretty drunk when you finally took off your shirt, after placing a box in the shipping pod. “Oh, my.  Yer sooo fit.  Sooo sexssy.  Way benner 'an my fat ex hussman,” she complimented you. 

“Why thank you. Youre smoking hot too,” you told her. She was about to fall, so you grabbed her, and slapped her ass. “Such a sexy ass.” You told her.

“Yah doan mine i'm almose zzzrunk off my assss?” she asked, taking another pull from her long neck bottle of beer.

“No way. I love that you're nearly drunk off your ass,” you told her. She took an unsteady step away from you, a smile on her flushed face. She drank the rest of her beer and sat it down on the box. What she did next, shocked you, but was so sexy. She pulled down her bikinni bottoms and showed you her bottom. Gorgeous, a plump, drunk peach of a bottom.

“Yer sooo sweed.  I'm zzzrunk ann horney.  Fffuck my assss” she slurred. For a moment you considered what the neighbors would think. But as your cock grew in your jeans, you figured, screw them, she was moving, who cares what they think. You grabbed her, and kissed her lips, squeezing her bare ass. She started to undo your jeans. However sense came over you and you led her into the shipping pod. It was hot, but at least it afforded some privacy. Little did you know, by the end of the week, you would no longer care about privacy with Bambi, your drunken slut MILF, having fucked her in far less private places then in a moving pod in her drive way. 

When Bambi passed out, you covered her with her bikini and carried her into the house, and laid her down on the bed. Then you finished packing.

That evening, Bambi emerged, sober and freshly showered in a sexy yellow floral print pheasant blouse and matching skirt. Seeing you've finished packing, she suggests you go to dinner at her favorite restaurant, a nice steak house.

A)

The steak house was dimly lit, with dark wood paneling and the rich aroma of grilled meat and aged whiskey in the air. Bambi had insisted on driving, her sleek black Mercedes gliding through the Texas dusk as she chatted animatedly, her earlier drunken haze replaced by a vibrant, almost predatory energy. The yellow floral outfit clung to her curves, the blouse unbuttoned just enough to draw your eyes to her cleavage, and the skirt riding up her thighs as she shifted in the driver’s seat. You couldn’t help but steal glances, your mind replaying the sight of her bare ass in the moving pod, her slurred invitation still echoing in your head.

At the restaurant, Bambi was a force of nature. She ordered a bottle of red wine before you even sat down, her laughter loud and infectious as she flirted with the waiter, then turned her full attention to you. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” she said, leaning forward, her auburn hair catching the candlelight. “I’d be a mess without you today. All that heavy lifting… those muscles of yours.” Her eyes lingered on your arms, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

You grinned, feeling the heat of her gaze. “Just doing my job, Bambi. You’re making it pretty easy to stay motivated.”

She laughed, a throaty sound that sent a jolt through you. “Oh, honey, you have no idea how motivating *I* can be.” She sipped her wine, her lips leaving a faint red stain on the glass, and you felt your jeans tighten again.

Dinner was a blur of sizzling steaks, her foot brushing against your leg under the table, and her stories about her ex-husband’s failures—both in business and in bed. “He never knew how to handle me,” she said, her voice low, almost a purr. “I need someone who can keep up, you know? Someone… younger. Stronger.” Her eyes locked onto yours, and you knew exactly what she meant.

By the time the check came, Bambi was tipsy again, the wine bottle nearly empty. She insisted on paying, flashing a black credit card with a wink. “My ex’s money spends so much better without him,” she said, giggling. As you walked out to the car, she stumbled slightly, and you caught her, your hand lingering on her waist. She pressed herself against you, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re too good to me,” she murmured. “Let’s go back to my place. I’ve got a bottle of bourbon that needs opening.”

Back at her house, the air was thick with tension. Bambi kicked off her heels and poured two glasses of bourbon, handing you one as she leaned against the kitchen counter, her skirt riding up just enough to tease. “To new beginnings,” she said, clinking her glass against yours. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, and you could tell she was slipping back into that uninhibited state you’d seen earlier.

You took a sip, the bourbon burning down your throat, and set the glass down. “Bambi,” you said, stepping closer, “you sure you’re up for this? You’ve had a lot to drink.”

She laughed, setting her glass down and closing the distance between you. “Oh, I’m up for it, darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.” Her hands found your chest, fingers tracing the lines of your muscles through your shirt. “You know what I want,” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear. “And I know you want it too.”

Before you could respond, she kissed you, her lips soft and urgent, tasting of bourbon and desire. You kissed her back, hard, your hands roaming her body, slipping under her blouse to feel the warmth of her skin. She moaned into your mouth, her fingers fumbling with your belt. The kitchen counter became your stage, her skirt hiked up as you lifted her onto it, her legs wrapping around your waist.

“Fuck me,” she gasped, her voice raw with need. “Right here, right now.”

You didn’t hesitate. The bourbon, the heat, her curves—it was all too much. You pulled her blouse open, buttons scattering, and buried your face in her chest, kissing and biting as she arched against you. Her hands were in your hair, pulling you closer, her moans growing louder as you pushed her skirt higher, finding her already wet and ready.

The night dissolved into a haze of passion, the kitchen counter just the beginning. By the time you both collapsed, breathless and spent, the bourbon bottle was half-empty, and Bambi was giggling, her hair a mess, her lipstick smeared. “You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else,” she said, her voice husky as she curled against you on the living room floor.

You smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Good. Maybe I’ll stick around Florida for a while.”

She laughed, her hand trailing down your chest. “Oh, honey, you’re not going anywhere. We’ve got a whole week to make this spring break unforgettable.”

And as the days unfolded, you found yourself caring less and less about privacy, about what anyone thought. Bambi’s house, the beach, even the backseat of her Mercedes—everywhere became a playground for your drunken, lust-fueled adventures. Each night, she’d push you further, her inhibitions melting away with every drink, and you were more than happy to keep up with her, your stepmom’s friend turning your spring break into something wilder than you’d ever imagined.

B)

The steak house was a sultry cocoon of dim lighting, dark wood, and the heady scent of grilled meat and aged whiskey. Bambi had insisted on driving, her sleek black 1980 Mercedes cutting through the Texas dusk as she chattered, her earlier drunken haze replaced by a vibrant, almost feral energy. The yellow floral outfit hugged her curves, the blouse unbuttoned to tease her cleavage, the skirt riding up her thighs as she shifted in the driver’s seat. You stole glances, your mind replaying her bare ass in the moving pod, her slurred invitation echoing.

At the restaurant, Bambi was a whirlwind. She ordered a bottle of red wine before you sat, her laughter loud and contagious as she flirted with the waitress—a young, stunning brunette named Kaylee, with a tight black dress that clung to her lithe frame, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, honey, you’re too pretty to be working here,” Bambi purred, leaning forward as Kaylee poured the wine. Kaylee blushed, giggling, and lingered a bit too long at the table.

“You’re sweet,” Kaylee said, her voice soft but playful. “You two look like you’re celebrating something.”

Bambi smirked, her auburn hair catching the candlelight. “Just freedom, darlin’. And this fine young man helping me out.” Her hand grazed your arm, her nails lingering. “Join us for a drink later, Kaylee. You look like you could use some fun.”

Kaylee bit her lip, glancing at you, then back at Bambi. “Maybe I will,” she said, winking before sauntering off, her hips swaying.

Dinner was a haze of sizzling steaks and flowing wine. Bambi’s foot brushed your leg under the table, her stories about her ex-husband’s failures—business and bedroom—growing louder, sloppier. “He couldn’t handle me,” she slurred, her third glass of wine nearly gone. “Need someone… younger. Stronger.” Her eyes locked on yours, then flicked to Kaylee, who was back with another bottle. “Ain’t she just a doll?” Bambi whispered, loud enough for Kaylee to hear.

Kaylee laughed, pouring herself a glass after Bambi insisted. “You’re trouble,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she sipped. The wine hit her fast, her movements looser, her giggles more frequent. By the time the check came, both women were tipsy, Bambi’s hand on your thigh, Kaylee leaning against the table, her dress riding up slightly.

“Let’s take this party back to my place,” Bambi said, her voice thick with bourbon and desire. She flashed her black credit card, paying for the meal and leaving a generous tip. “Kaylee, you’re coming with us. No arguments.”

Kaylee hesitated, then grinned, her eyes glassy. “Fuck it, I’m off in ten. Wait for me.”

Back at Bambi’s house, the air crackled with tension. Bambi kicked off her heels, poured three glasses of bourbon, and handed one to you and one to Kaylee, who’d changed into a tight tank top and shorts, her hair loose around her shoulders. “To new friends,” Bambi toasted, clinking glasses, her eyes darting between you and Kaylee. The bourbon burned, and Kaylee coughed, laughing as she spilled a little on her shirt.

“Oops,” she giggled, peeling the tank top off, revealing a lacy black bra. Bambi’s eyes lit up, and she stepped closer, her own blouse slipping off one shoulder. “Look at you, sugar,” Bambi murmured, her fingers brushing Kaylee’s arm. “You’re gonna make this night wild.”

You watched, pulse racing, as Bambi pulled Kaylee into a kiss, soft at first, then hungry. Kaylee moaned, her hands tangling in Bambi’s hair. You set your glass down, stepping closer, your jeans already tight. Bambi broke the kiss, turning to you with a wicked smile. “Don’t just stand there, darlin’,” she slurred, grabbing your shirt and pulling you in.

The kitchen counter became your playground. Bambi’s skirt hiked up as she perched on it, pulling Kaylee between her legs, their lips locked again. You moved behind Kaylee, your hands on her hips, kissing her neck as she gasped. “Fuck, you’re both so hot,” Kaylee mumbled, her words slurring as she leaned back against you, her hands fumbling with your belt.

Bambi’s laughter was throaty, her hands roaming Kaylee’s body before reaching for you. “Show her what you can do,” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear. You didn’t need more encouragement. Kaylee’s shorts hit the floor, and you lifted her onto the counter beside Bambi, their bodies pressed together, drunk and needy.

The night blurred into a frenzy of skin and moans, bourbon fueling every touch. Bambi and Kaylee fed off each other’s energy, their giggles turning to gasps as you took them both, the counter creaking under your weight. By the time you collapsed, breathless on the living room floor, Bambi was curled against you, Kaylee sprawled across her, both women flushed and giggling.

“You’re gonna ruin us,” Bambi murmured, her voice husky as she kissed your chest. Kaylee nodded, her hand trailing lazily over Bambi’s thigh. “Worth it,” she slurred.

You smirked, brushing hair from Bambi’s face. “Good. ‘Cause this spring break’s just getting started.”

As the week unfolded, privacy became a distant memory. Bambi’s house, the beach, the backseat of her Mercedes—everywhere was fair game. Kaylee joined you more than once, her shifts at the steak house forgotten as the three of you drowned in lust and liquor, turning your spring break into a drunken, decadent blur.

This blog contains nudity, adult themes and sexual situations that is intended for mature adults and is pure fantasy. It contains works of fiction and artwork, and does not condone drug use sex under the influence- all of which can be harmful in real life.