My wife went out for a friend’s bachelorette party last night, and, as I suspected, things got pretty rowdy. She’d been excitedly telling me about the plans the girls had concocted: bar crawl through their old college neighborhood with the final destination being a somewhat upscale strip club.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” she promised with a smile and a bat of her eyes.
“Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I joked.
She was all dressed up in her going out attire: a tight dress and short skirt, full makeup with sexy dark red lips, stilettos—the whole works that would tantalize any man. She’s honestly out of my league in the looks department, and she knows it.
“Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “It’s just a few drinks with the girls. You already know them all.”
To be honest, I secretly hoped she would indulge in a few too many drinks, as it actually turns me on when she gets a bit too boozy for her own good and acts a bit slutty. Fortunately, she did not disappoint.
As the hours progressed, I got several snaps of from her, each with a different drink in her hand. Rose champagne seemed to be the choice of the evening. In due time, her texts became increasingly misspelled and incoherent. Someone was having fun.
Later in the night, around midnight, she snapped me a video of her and her friends taking shots with the bachelorette, and I could see her eyes were glassy and she was sporting a very crooked smile. Definitely drunk as hell.
She called shortly thereafter to say she’d soon be home and was all emotional as she hiccuped “I love you” into the phone. She kept stammering on about how one of the strippers was hitting on her, but she insisted she was thinking of me the whole time. The conversation turned a bit sexual, and she started talking about how much she loves giving me head. Our conversation was meandering all over the place as she strayed from topic to topic, and she was often interrupted by girlish shrieks from the group.
“I’ll let you get back to the girls, babe,” I told her.
Although she stated she’d soon be on her way home, I sensed she was getting wrapped up in the party and would likely stay longer, so I decided to unwind with a joint and camp out on the couch in anticipation of seeing her come home.
Unbeknownst to her, I follow some of the other girls on Snapchat, and I was able to catch some of the action through the snap stories. My wife was sure having a wild night. At one point, I saw her rubbing one of the strippers thighs as the girls were getting a private dance. She was also dirty dancing with her friends. The most shocking incident, however, was a particular snap of my wife and the bachelorette caught up in a rather amorous embrace and inching toward one another as if about to kiss while petting one another near the bra line. For me, the scenes of my girlfriend gradually losing her inhibitions and acting more like an out of control party slut really excited me. I could not wait until she came home.
“Baaabe, isha am sp horny,” she messaged me in misspelled text. “I wan u duck meeeee so bd.”
I’m not going to lie, the anticipation of taking that dress off her really got me going, and I started beating off on the couch, hoping she would soon be home for some messy sex.
Finally, around 3 AM I heard a fair deal of commotion outside. The girls were dropping my girlfriend off in the front yard. There was a lot of screaming, crying and laughing, a real gong show. Looking out the window, I watched her wobble up the walkway to our front door, hiccuping and dropping her phone as she walked.
She must have thought I was sleeping because she, quite comically, tried to be sneaky while entering the house, but her cover was already clearly blown. She keyed sporadically at the lock, unable to navigate the key properly as she leaned against the door frame for support. When she finally opened the door, she tripped into the coat rack and knocked it down loudly when trying to remove her heels.
“Hi baby, did you have a good time,” I asked from the living room.
In an attempt to save face with me, she tried to hide how noticeably trashed she was, but she reeked of booze and was slurring her way through her explanation of the party, often repeating herself.
“Imma a lil tipsee,” she slurred. “Me ‘an da girlz haada thew shaas. I missed you sooo much,” she said with a goofy grin.
“Seems like you had a wild night,” I replied. “How’s the bachelorette doing?”
“Oh she good,” she muttered somewhat sheepishly. “I think she might ‘ave a bit of a thing fer me.”
After staggering her way to me, she got a bit handsy and tried to messily make out with me with her booze breath, but she clumsily fell to her knees in the living room, and that’s when she began to zone in on my pants zipper. Next, she began to give me some rather slobbery head. She was so drunk I had to grab her hair to keep her upright.
“I know you were a bad girl tonight,” I whispered to her.
“I’m such a bad girl. I’m your bad girl,” she replied with no clear perception of what I meant.
I grabbed her hair more firmly and started thrusting into her mouth a bit as she pawed gracelessly at my balls.
“I love it, babee. Imma so drunk. You can do anyting you wanna me,” she said with a moan. And so I picked her up over my shoulder, took her to the bedroom and tossed her like a rag doll on the bed.
She was so wasted I thought she might pass out because I could only see the whites of her eyes, but she begged me, “fuck your bad, horny slut.” As drunk as she was, she was so wet, and I couldn’t help but eat her out as she stammered in sexual bliss.
After giving it to her every way, she let me finish on her chest as she stared at me in a daze. I cleaned her up, got her water and let her pass out on the bed.
She woke up today with a headache and an upset stomach, trying to fill in the holes from the previous night.
“Thank you for taking care of me last night,” she said. To be honest, I’m not sure what she meant by that, but I’m happy to let things lie and so much look forward to her next night out with the girls.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/jfq1wu/drunken_shenanigans_mf