“You won’t need your panties.”
I blush and giggle some more. I can’t stop giggling, snorting into my fifth martini like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world. “Guhh-hhhuh-urp-ood,” I belch at you.
One more should do it, you think. I’m already well on the way to being sloppy which is exactly what you wanted.
You direct me to eat a little to give the fourth martini a chance to really settle in. By the time it does I’ve got whiskey glazed salmon sauce smeared across my mouth and cheek and my nipple is back to playing peek a boo. You reach across the table to tweak it before putting it away. I gasp and giggle again. “Stuuhhooppp HIC! You-we’re *hic* I’m - *hic!* - thas myyyyy nibble *urp*”
“I know it’s your nibble,” you tell me patiently, “but you still have one drink left before she can come out to play.”
I very much want all my parts to come out and play. With one hand in my pussy and one hand holding the glass, I guzzle the last martini and set it down on the table too hard. It tips onto its side and rolls a little.
“Yuuuhhhhoooouuuu *hurk* gomme duhhhh-*hic*- duh-hrunk.”
“That’s what you wanted me to do,” you remind me. “Let’s take the long way to the car.”
You wait until I’m swaying in a circle in my seat, dopey smile on my face, hiccuping and belching as the last of my brain cells fall into the pickling vat. Then, you help me stand and keep an arm around me as you parade me through the restaurant, barely able to walk, burbling nonsense.
“Let’s go home for dessert,” you suggest.
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Fantasizing about being taken to a fancy pants restaurant wearing a fancy dress because you’ve always wanted to eat here and you thought it would be perfect for your plan to humiliate me.
You recommend a fancy martini to go with my fancy meal. Since I’m feeling so fancy and sophisticated, I say yes.
The martini comes with the appetizers. It’s extra dry, with extra olives - an inside joke, but one that makes me feel even fancier. I sip it as I eat but before I know it, it’s empty.
You suggest having another. We’re about to have a heavy meal, after all, I probably won’t even feel it. The second comes with the salads. You tip the rim of my glass against my lip to finish it before I even touch my salad.
I giggle, feeling a little flushed and lightheaded for some reason. You order me a third to go with the entree. My tongue and lips are a little tingly from the first two so the third goes down easier. I giggle again, sliding down in my seat a little, my fancy dress riding up around my thighs even as my tits attention to escape the front. I accuse you of “drying to get me dry- I mean - drunk.”
You patiently explain that of course you’re not trying to get me drunk. You’re just trying to take me out for a fancy dinner where I can feel fancy.
Speaking of “fanshee,” you order me a fourth just as the first three hit my bladder. “Scuuse me,” I tell you, lurching up from my chair. You watch with a bemused look on your face as I wobble for a moment. “There! ‘Tol you I wuzznt drunk yet.”
I hadn’t said that but you’re nice enough not to point it out. “That means you can have two when you get back.”
I snicker and giggle as I sway my way to the restroom, but for some reason I don’t think to pull my panties down. I sit there, weaving only a little, shocked that I had peed my panties after only three drinks. You’d told me martinis weren’t very strong because they’re so few ingredients but I’m feeling…
I burp, loudly. It echoes off the bathroom walls and I laugh. “I think I’m a lil drunk!” I inform the rest of the one-person restroom. I burp again, tasting martini and Cesar salad dressing.
I decide I can’t go back to the table with wet panties so I pull them off and shove them in the trash can, giggling to myself as I wash my hands. My fancy dress will hide the fact that I’m not wearing panties, hopefully. I burp one more time before pushing the bathroom door open.
The trip back to the table is more difficult than the way from, and I stumble at the very last moment, causing you to chuckle. “Here are your two more,” you say, extending your hands to illustrate the two martini glasses sitting in front of me. One of them splits so I see five, then back to three. I reach out to grab the third one, but miss.
I giggle and try again.
It goes down realllllly smooth this time. I hum a little and close my eyes as the booze warms me up from head to toe and makes everything fuzzy and fun.
And fancy!
I take another few big sips because it seems very full and I don’t want it to spill. “S’delish…lish…lish… HIC!”
Heads turn to our table and I duck my head. “D’lishous, hip!”
“Oh, glorious,” you say, clapping your hands together. “You still have half that drink left, it’s bad form to leave drinks unfinished.”
That’s right. It’s rude, you’ve always told me that. I drink down the second half more quickly, tucking the nipple that had popped loose back into my dress.
“Oh!” I exclaim, suddenly remembering, “I los’ my pannies.”
You smirk. “You’re not going to need panties.”
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