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弱電波

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Short story #4

You really are the perfect wife. Every time I get home, it’s a surprise waiting to happen. I never know what kind of mood — or mess — you’ll be in.

Sometimes, you’re completely sober, your sweet little ass swaying in the shower, singing like no one’s listening. Then you spot me, give me that look, and ask me to join you. I step in, and your body’s all slippery and warm against mine, pressing closer and closer. We make out and tease each other under the water, locking the world outside.

Then there are those nights when I find you tipsy in the kitchen. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips taste like wine, and your words spill out so fast I can barely keep up. You tell me about your day, giggling between sips, while I keep your glass full like the good husband I am. Most nights, I let you finish cooking, but sometimes… sometimes I can’t help myself. I hoist you up onto the counter, yank down those cute little panties, and bury my face between your thighs. You gasp and claw at my hair, the bottle still in your hand as you finish it off while I eat you good.

But my favorite? The nights when I come home to the sound of your drunk-ass laughter echoing through the house. I find you on the couch watching tv, a half-empty glass in one hand, your head wobbling. And I can’t never tell if it’s the show or your buzz that’s so damn funny. You try to stand up, but you flop right back down, laughing even harder.

I pick you up, and your body melts against mine, all warm and tipsy. Your breath reeks of booze, and fuck, you’ve never looked hotter. You half-heartedly push me, mumbling something about finishing your show, but your arms are useless. I pin you down on the couch, and the moment I’m inside you, all your drunken protests turn into desperate, needy moans. "Don’t stop" you whimper, legs wrapped around me, pulling me deeper as you scratch at my back like you’re trying to keep me there forever.

And then… there are those quiet nights. The ones where I come home to find the house dark, except for the glow of our bedroom light. I open the door, and there you are — passed out naked on the bed, hair a fucking mess, a bottle still clutched in your hand. The hum of your toy buzzes faintly as I pull it out and slide myself in. You’re already soaking, your body ready for me even if your mind’s too drunk to catch up. Your eyes flutter open just enough to see me, and you slur "I’m drunk" before you moan, legs spreading wider.

I fuck you hard and fast, and even in your haze, I know you're enjoying it as much as me. ________________________________

So tell me — what state will I find you in tonight?

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Youre not high. You're pregnant with weed. If you don't keep smoking the baby will die inside you.

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I always put videos on in the background while I’m working, so I have something to look at if I need a brain break and and so my computer doesn’t go to sleep if I sneak off for a bit. Usually it’s livestreams from aquariums or zoos or national parks. Lately I’ve been putting on POV walking tours of Tokyo, they’re usually really long so they make good background and and I am planning to go there next year so I find them interesting.

Today I’ve been watching one of Akihabara and I’ve noticed 1) lots of maids on the street trying to advertise their cafes by handing out fliers and 2) beer vending machines—way more than I expected (I remember seeing them last time I was there ~15 years ago but I thought they were rare).

So: drunk maid? A whole drunk maid cafe or just a single maid who gets stressed about lack of customers and starts buying beers at the machines to relax?

Perhaps when she gets drunk she starts attracting more customers and the cafe evolves into a drunk girl cafe…not like a hostess club, customers don’t come to drink, just to watch cute drunk girls sway around and be flirty in silly maid type costumes.

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so hot when girls are shamelessly drunk with their bellies out and burping as they please

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the feminine urge to chug an unholy amount of vodka and wait in excitement for it to hit you like a truck

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A year ago she’d been one of the top medical students in her class. Through the fog of arousal in her mommy brain she could still remember a few important things from her training. Estrogen and oxytocin. Those were the two hormones pumping through her drastically altered body that were responsible for making her feel so horny and feminine.

It was because of them that her days had been reduced to lying in bed and lazily rubbing her belly, clit, or thick brown nipples. These hormones had made her libido shoot through the roof, made the massive dildo her husband had given her the only thing that could keep her sane until he came home and she be fucked senseless by the real thing.

Occasionally she thought about the life she’d left behind, where she would have been the ones delivering the babies instead of growing them in her giant belly and feeding them with her hugely swollen tits. A part of her felt that she had wasted her potential, that she had devolved into a foggy-brained pregnant slut, a waste of all the intelligence and opportunities she’d ever been given. But with each day that passed that part of her was getting weaker, being replaced with a sense of contentment and docility that seemed to grow in step with her thickening body. Girls like her that were good at making babies should keep making babies. She would know, after all, she’d been a doctor.

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Cowboy19x

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Ugh where are the needy boys who get drunk off eating pussy??

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masturbating with friends is peak living. of course you can bring yourself to unholy ecstacy right next to me, dude. please aim towards me when you cum though

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new bikini!

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I love being drunk and high omfg

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Short story #3

“I’ll keep you sober until you start to shake, then get you so drunk you can’t speak.” _______________________

Our game began hours ago when I placed the bottle on the table. “No touching allowed.” Your eyes sparked with defiance, but as the minutes ticked by, that fire shifted. Eagerness crept in, your body itching, craving the familiar buzz.

And then it started. Slow, measured sips turned into greedy gulps. Before I knew it, you were chugging like a desperate, needy lush.

I plucked the bottle from your hands and leaned back on the couch, swirling the amber liquid inches from your face. “You want more, don’t you?”

Your wide, pleading eyes told me everything. Nervous, maybe even afraid I’d take it away from you again. You nodded, biting your lip, a picture of need.

“You know what you have to do.”

I raised the bottle, took a long swig, but didn’t swallow. You didn’t hesitate. Climbing onto my lap, you kissed me frantically, hungrily, pulling every drop of your favorite poison from my lips.

The bottle slipped from my fingers as I felt your hands clawing at my shirt. I kissed your neck, feeling the shiver on your skin, and hearing the desperate gulps of your throat as you tipped the bottle back.

“I need to get so drunk” you gasped, words slightly slurred.

“Don’t worry, beautiful” - my hands sliding down your sides - “You will. And when you do, I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

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Short story #2

"Do you want to see a magic trick?" It was the last thing you said before snatching the freshly opened bottle from my hand and darting to the other side of the room.

You raised the bottle, your lips curling into a playful smile as the harsh liquid touched your tongue. But you didn’t stop at a sip. You tipped the bottle vertically, leaned your head back, and performed a move I’d never seen before.

Your throat seemed to relax, and suddenly the liquid poured straight into your stomach, bypassing any need to swallow. Tiny bubbles rose through the liquor as it drained rapidly. You raised your free hand, signaling for me not to interrupt. I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. I was mesmerized.

The bottle emptied faster than I thought possible, and when it slipped from your fingers, you let out the sexiest, breathiest gasp I’d ever heard. For a moment, you stood there, your gaze locking with mine, your expression daring me to respond.

Then the alcohol hit.

It started subtly: your head tipped forward, your shoulders softened. But within seconds, your posture collapsed entirely, and you stood there swaying, utterly undone.

“Goooodddd…” you murmured, your voice thick and languid - a string of drool slipping from your lips and disappearing into your cleavage.

You tried to steady yourself, but the alcohol was relentless. Your movements turned clumsy as you stumbled sideways, barely catching yourself. Your glassy, unfocused eyes met mine, and you attempted a smile - though your lips struggled to obey.

"Come here," I said, my voice low but commanding.

You took a single step before your knees buckled, and you crumpled to the floor. Crawling was your next choice, but even that was an effort. I could see how much the alcohol was affecting you, making each movement heavier, slower.

You were the most intoxicating thing I’d ever seen.

I moved to meet you halfway in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste of alcohol was strong and heady on your tongue, making me crave more.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” I growled against your ear, my voice barely more than a heated whisper. “And after that, I’m going to come in your mouth. You’ll wash it down with another bottle.”

Your eyes widened, an startled look crossing your face. “I-I don’t… I don’t know if I can…” you slurred, your words barely coherent.

“You can,” I said, scooping you into my arms and carrying you to the bedroom. “And you will.” - inspired by my favorite Hachamachee story -

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Be a good girl, drink everything in that fridge and then let me play with your tits.