By Hegre
The first time I saw her I saw her from behind. I was standing in the cue in the lobby of hotel Splendide in northern France. We were both cueing to check in. The Splendide was an old chatau rebuilt into a small hotel. Even from this angle I could see she was a very attractive young woman. I saw her shoulder-length black hair. I saw her feminine curved back. I saw her ass.
It was huge.
Not fat, just large and sexy.
I saw the smooth skin the colour of dark chocolate. I could eat her up! Then I heard her speak. She was American! I had been traveling around French countryside for two months now, and I remembered how much I missed someone from home.
Her name was Tisha Taylor and she spoke no French and the hotel staff barely spoke any English. I speak French fluently, so I offered my services as a translator. After having checked in we just kept chatting. We were the only English-speakers at the hotel, and we hit of at once. We sat around talking all the time. We talked about France, US politics, movies on all sorts of subjects. It was nice having someone from home to talk to after traveling around in Europe for months. But to be honest it also felt great for an ordinary guy to spend time with a smoking hot girl nearly half my age. For all the interesting talks we had, I could have sat through them without hearing a word. Tisha’s face was strikingly beautiful. Her hair was naturally jet-black, as were her eyes. Her nose was wide, but not very. But her mouth! Her red lips were thick as a thumb, the upper lip even fatter than the lower. She could make me gasp just by pouting. When she talked I would stare at her lips moving, completely hypnotized. Thankfully Tisha just thought I was a good listener.
The morning of the third day I found Tisha in the lobby. She was sobbing and wiping tears away. Tisha told me she had planned to check out, take the bus to the airport and fly home to the USA. But a volcano had an eruption, on Iceland of all places, and all traffic on the airport was banned. Strange but true. I tried to calm her down and told her the travel insurance would cover the re-scheduled plane ticket and the rest of her stay at the Splendide. She was aware of that already, but she wanted desperately to get home today. "You understand, It’s my birthday today!" she sobbed. I congratulated her, but I nothing I said comforted her. She wanted desperately to be with her friends and family at her birthday. To make matters worse, our cell phones were out of range. It was her 21st birthday, so it was a very important day to her.
Then it dawned on me what I had to do: "Well. You have to celebrate your birthday, even if you have to do it here."
She looked surprised and confused. "Since we don’t know anyone else here, it ‘ll have to be just the two of us. My room is one of the largest in the hotel, so we’ have the party there. Come to my room at around eight. I’ll order the cake and everything. Don’t you worry about a thing!"
It took her some time to accept the new plan, but she saw that it was the best option she had. "OK. I’ll phone my people on the hotel’s land line phone and tell my folks I’m sorry and I love them. You are the nicest person I have met all summer!"
Tisha came right on time. She said she was sorry she didn’t have anything nicer to wear, but she hadn’t planned to celebrate her 21st in France. "There is no dress code in my hotel room, so relax", I assured her.
Anyway, I had absolutely no problems with her tight white top, black miniskirt and flip-flops she was wearing. She looked divine – no, that’s the wrong word. She looked hot! I
showed her the cake I had ordered at the local bakery. It was a covered in whipped cream and had an American flag and 21 candles on top. I had also bought a bottle of Taitinger champagne. It felt like the right thing to do since it was her 21st and we were in France. I cut the cake for us and poured us some champagne. She took the spoon and tasted the cake and cooed at the sweet taste. Then she looked at the flute glass with the bubbles in front of her.
Suddenly she seemed unsure and started fingering her fat lower lip with her index finger.
"What is it, Tisha, don’t you like champagne?"
She smiled in a shy, but at the same time playful way: "I don’t know. I’ve never tried champagne before – or any other kind of alcohol. It’s my 21st birthday, remember?"
Now I was surprised: "But you must have had something before, even just a can of beer? Everybody does."
Tisha shook her head: "Not everybody. My father is the sheriff in my home town. He knows all the sheriffs in the whole state. He told me he would pay for my university education if I stayed off drink and drugs until I was twenty-one. I would be stupid to drink."
I was dumbfounded. Then I laughed and joked: "But you snort a couple of lines of coke in the weekends, right?"
She laughed and shook her head. "But now I’m 21, legal everywhere, so let’s drink to that!"
She lifted her glass and we toasted. I looked at her when she had her first sip. Did she like it? "Strange taste, it kinda tickles."
"Is it OK by you if I put on some party music on my iPod?" We had been sitting there chatting for about half an hour. Tisha emptied her glass and walked over to her purse. God, she looked good wriggling her tush as she walked away from me. I hated to see her leave, but I loved to watch her go! Tisha took out an iPod from her purse, turned off the jazz I had tuned in on the radio and hooked her gadget on to the room’s sound system. "It’s mostly R’n B, mainly Beyonce. Are you cool with that?"
I nodded and Beyonce started singing "Girl from Virgo". I pointed at her empty glass and asked her if she wanted a refill.
"Why not? The taste is growing on me and many people have 21 drinks for their b’day. I can at least treat myself to a little wine."
I filled her up.
As she slowly drank her second glass in small sips, I could see the tipsiness creeping in on her. She giggled cutely into the glass. She smiled more, she laughed more. She mouthed the words of the songs and moved with the music. When she was finished she immediately asked for a refill. That glass definitely made Tisha pickled. Her giggles and laughs became even more frequent and her smile wider and a bit silly. On her last sip she sort of missed a little and bumped the glass into her lower lip. I found the way the glass hit her pillow-like lip erotic.
"I wanna dance. Do you?" she asked. I had to pass on that. I’m very white when it comes to dancing. "OK. This is too slow..."She hiccupped. Really cute.".. for dancing."
She held her forearms out to the side and giggled as she walked over to the iPod. Then she started fidgeting with the little gadget. She seemed to have some trouble pressing the right buttons and finding the right song, and she giggled all the time and mumbled that she was clumsy.
Mm, I thought. She is getting really inebriated already, and she is only on her third glass. The champagne must have gone to her pretty head in no time. Let’s see what a fourth glass of champagne will do to her, and poured her another glass. "Crazy right now" blared out of the speakers and Tisha started dancing.
I don’t know if you have seen Beyonce’s dance to that song. But I can tell you, Tisha was every bit as bootylicious as her. I couldn’t move my eyes from her dancing, particularly her big, round ass shaking and wriggling vigorously. She came over and grabbed her glass and sipped from it between the most energetic moves. After a couple of song she danced over to the table and half flopped her ass down on the couch. She was glowing now, partly from sweat and partly from being lit on champagne.
When she was nearly finished with the champagne Tisha wanted more cake. She grabbed for the cake server twice before catching it and started cutting. She laughed a silly laugh and the server wobbled all over the cake before she could make the cut. The piece she cut was far too big and the cut was far from straight. "It’s a piece of cake!" she laughed when she understood the pun she had made.
When she finally managed to get a little bit more serious, she started transporting her cake over to her plate. Again it took a lot of fumbling, giggling and whoops’es before most of her cake made the trip. She smiled with her big, fat lips at the cake. Then she reached for her little spoon, but she only pushed off the table. She bent down to pick it up but fell off the couch and stood on her knees laughing her head off. Wow, I thought. After less than four glasses?
"I think …. Am I …. (giggle) …… I think I’m perhaps …(giggle)." Tisha was definitely trying to say something. "Am I drunk now?" she managed to ask before she couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. Her brain was obviously floating in champagne by now, and I was surprised she hadn’t noticed before. Any court of law would rule her drunk.
"You’re probably well tipsy by now. Are you feeling the champagne?"
Tisha became serious and sat there on her knees with her mouth open, thinking of how she felt. "I’m soo clumsy and silly, right. And I feel warm all over. Maybe a bit light-headed, you know?"
"Yeah, that the wine. Champagne is silky smooth going down and bullet fast going up. Do you feel OK?"
Tisha admitted she felt great. I took her arm and helped her up on the couch. "I hope my friends didn’t plan to feed me 21 drinks tonight. My ass would have been WASTED under the table after just a shot!" She laughed at the thought.
"Well, champagne isn’t that strong. Let’s see how much the champagne has affected you." Tisha clapped her hand childishly and giggled in delight about my idea. I found a pen and asked her to follow the pen with her eyes without moving her head. I started moving the pen from side to side and she started moving her head from side to side. "Don’t move your head, you silly girl!" Tisha laughed at her mistake and tried to stop moving her head. She did pretty well for a drunk girl. But she had her mouth open all the time, and had the facial expression of someone stupid trying to concentrate really hard.
Tisha didn’t seem to mind being inebriated one bit, happily chatting, eating and drinking. Tisha was normally thoughtful and warm. The champagne made her flirty and playful. Eating cake became more and more difficult as the wine made her clumsier and woozier. She gave up eating with a spoon and ate cake with her fingers. I loved seeing her using her hands to eat the whipped cream, licking her fingers with her fat, swollen lips. I still wonder if she knew how erotic the finger -licking was, or if she was too toasted to understand what she was doing to me. I’m sure she didn’t drop that whipped cream on her cleavage on purpose. The cream just fell off her fingers just as she opened her mouth to eat it. It landed straight between her bulging breasts. She looked down at the white cream on all that brown flesh. "Whoops!""
Whipped cream on chocolate.
She giggled at the sight. Then she leaned forward to give me a better view and said with a huge smile: "Look what I did. Clumsy me spilled cake on my boobs!"
I just sat there, gulping like a fish on dry land, unable to say a word. "Can’t let your lovely cake go to waste." she said sensibly, and put her hand between her breasts and tried to scoop it off. She managed to get most of it off, and true to her word licked the cream from her hand. Then she looked back down, swayed a little bit and giggled at the almost invisible cream left behind. "I know, we just wash it off!", was her new idea.
Tisha took her glass and poured champagne into her cleavage. It splashed on her tits, and down the tight crack between the breasts. The champagne didn’t really make anything cleaner, including my thoughts. I finally came to my senses and offered her a tissue for her to wipe her cleavage.
"It’s difficult to eat like this. I love how it makes me feel , but the champagne makes me too tipsy to eat without making a mess."
I got an idea: "Here, let me." I spooned up some cake from her plate and offered it to her. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, ready to be fed. I was in hog’s heaven even if her swaying made it slightly difficult. Being in balance with your eyes shut gets harder after some glasses of wine. That’s probably what Tisha found out too, because she opened her eyes after the first spoon. "Come on, try what it’s like using your fingers!" I couldn’t resist, and took some cream on my fingers and offered it to her. I’m not sure if it was necessary for her to lick my fingers that much, but I never thought of protesting. After a little bit more cake she was full, I guess, so she concentrated on talking and drinking.
"Do you know what else is really funny when you’re drunk like you are now, Tisha?" I asked her teasingly.
She just said "yeeaah" with her mouth open and her eyes swimming. She didn’t protest on being called drunk. She already knew it to be true or didn’t really notice. "After spending the last two days with you, I know you are a smart young lady. But now all the champagne has made you dumb as a doorknob!"
Now she protested: "I’m not stupid!" She pouted at me.
"Yes you are. The alcohol has made you so drunk you make Jessica Simpson seem smart. Just try to spell your name."
"OK (giggle) T – H …. no, T – I – T ……" Then she understood what she just said: "I said tit!" She laughed at her own mistake.
"Now, can you tell me what you get if you subtract two from eight?"
Tisha became really excited: "I know! It’s ….. nine! No ….." She got that vacant look again:"It’s subtrasion …. Three?" She was trying to calculate in a fog of champagne."I don’t know," she giggled. "I can’t think …"
I smiled and told her: "That’s right. You can’t think very well because you’re drunk."
Tisha wiggled her finger at the nearly empty bottle on the table: "Bad bottle, you made me stupid like Jessica Sissom …. Simpsnon … well, Jessica."
All good things come to an end, including the bottle of Taitinger. Tisha pouted and gave me her best puppy eyes. At this time her eyes were swimming. "I want more! I want another bottle." She was really drunk by now, so had to be the responsible one: "Are you sure? You’ve had far too much wine already."
Her hiccup confirmed what I just said, but she kept on insisting: "What do you mean, too much? I love it, I wanna party!" She lifted her hands over her head in a victory gesture. OK, it’s her birthday after all. Her 21st, no less. I phoned downstairs for a bottle of their best champagne while Tisha was in the couch giggling with anticipation and glee. She clearly wanted to get drunk out of her mind.
Fine.
The bell boy who came up to my room tried to look as if he didn’t notice the young giggling beauty on the couch trying to hide the fact that she was blotto. She whopped with glee when he closed the door after himself and ordered me to open it. It popped open with a little bang and a squeal of happiness from black beauty. "I want to fill the blasses … glasses!" she slurred and I let her.
She had very little control as she grabbed the neck of the bottle and turned it on its head. By pure luck she hit the glass, but she failed to stop pouring when it was filled to the rim.
"’Whopsy!" she shouted out, "I’m flowing over." I offered to help her with the second glass, but she promised to be more careful. She held the bottle with both her hands and took wobbly aim for a long time. She giggled like a loon before she started pouring. In spite of the time and care the pouring was very unsure and she spilled twice before the glass was full. She hiccupped just as she was finished. "See, I’m not drunk at all!"
When she finished that glass, she held it upside-down over her gaping mouth and emptied it of every drop, while she was swaying drunkenly in her seat. When she reached out to pour herself a fresh one, I stopped her. "Look, you’re too drunk to pour!" I told her.
"Ok," she said and sat back in the couch. "I’ll just drink from the bottle then." She lunged forwards and took the bottle and hugged it between her breasts and laughed triumphantly. Her fat, luscious lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle and she lifted it over her head and started chugging.
It was a very sensual sight; her fleshy lips greedily sucking champagne from the bottle. Perhaps she would drink herself under the table without the help of friends and twenty-one drinks? I’m not going to pretend I didn’t find her inebriated state arousing. I also have to admit that by now I had a realistic hope to have her naked, delicious body for my enjoyment by the end of the night. Her mind was pretty much sunk in bubbly champagne already.
Dancing while you’re drunk and chugging champagne isn’t easy, but it was exactly what Tisha was doing. She was still doing fantastic things with her curvy body, but her balance was off and she staggered all over the floor. My jaws dropped when she chugged, but mostly missed her voluptuous mouth and the champagne flowed down her neck, into her cleavage and drenched her tight top. Tishia didn’t care, she just kept dancing.
But I couldn’t stop gawking at her top.
Like I have already mentioned, her top was white. Everyone who has ever seen a wet T-shirt show knows what happens when white fabric gets drenched; the top had turned almost completely see-through! She was obviously not wearing a bra, but there was no need. Her breasts had the firmness and perkiness only youth can offer. They were not unusually large like her booty, but they were big enough. The brown colour showed thru the soggy top, and her nipples looked almost black.
Beyonce was singing "Naughty girl". What Tisha was doing could barely be called dance anymore, but neither she nor I cared anymore. But dancing alone while you’re that wasted can only end one way, and Tisha’s fall came when she tried to chug even more bubbly. She took a couple of supporting steps backwards, but ended falling on her best cushioned asset. First Tisha looked surprised and confused, then she opened up and laughed loudly. There was a full-size mirror near the door leading to the corridor, and Tisha had landed in front of it. She saw her own reflection and found it incredibly funny. She pointed at herself and slurred: "Look, I’m drunk! Can’t even stand up."
She proved her last statement by trying to do exactly that and falling over again. This time she fell forward, face first into the mirror. Her lips left a lipstick imprint on the mirror at knee height. I wonder what the cleaning lady made of that when she came in the next day?
Tisha swayed back from the mirror and saw her upper body close up: "I’m soooo drunk. Oh, I can see my boobies!" She pushed her breast forward and admired their reflection. To my surprise started playing with them, lifting them up and letting them fall down again. So, gravity affects them after all. Then she pressed them together, something she found very funny. She looked coyly over her shoulder at me and slurred: "Ain’t they sexy? The top is wet and you have already seen my tits, so …".
She just took the top and peeled it off in one yank!
She stood on her knees admiring her half-naked body, and I can’t blame her. Words can’t describe how beautiful she was topless. After some seconds that will be etched on my mind forever, she turned to me and lost her balance. She started rolling around on the floor, completely lost in intoxication.
After a while she ended up in front of the table. She hoisted her upper body up so she could see the top of the table. Her face was glowing in drunken happiness: "Cake!", she said, and stretched out her hand and took a handful of whipped cream from it. Then she fell back on the floor.
"If you want cake, you have to get down here and lick it off!" she said. Then she put cream on top of both her breast that was looked almost impossibly firm pointing to the ceiling. The sight of the white wiped cream on her brown boobs may have been the sexiest sights my eyes have ever seen.
Despite of this I wasted no time getting off the sofa and doing exactly what she ordered.
Her breathing became heavier as I licked, sucked and kissed her breast. "The other one too!" she panted. I happily switched to the creamy left tit. I ate greedily as Tisha panted and moaned under me. I could feel the nipple swelling and getting harder. Speaking of hard, I hoped the fly of my trousers could handle the pressure. When I came up for air, Tisha sucked on her finger and moaned. Her voice was hoarse: "You got me drunk and naked (giggle) you got to lick my boobies. Now I want you to eat me out!"
I pulled her snakeskin-tight miniskirt off, then her G-string followed immediately. Then we parted her fleshy thighs to heaven.
In the morning I wrapped her body in a blanket carried her over to her own room. I wondered if what I had done the night before was wrong. I concluded that throwing her a birthday party was the right thing to do. Getting drunk was her own choice, I never forced her to drink anything. She had taken to champagne like fish to water.
About the sex …. she had been so groin-achingly sexy, topless and so inviting on the floor. I defy any straight man to resist that temptation. Maybe that’s flippant, but there it is. As for Tisha’s opinion, I had to find out. I found her in the lobby this time too. She stood there with her luggage as she had twice before. She looked a bit worse for wear, who wouldn’t have been hung over after drinking like that the night before? But she still looked radiantly beautiful, though.
I walked over to her, but before I could say anything she burst out: "The ash cloud has lifted. The airport has opened up for international flights for today. I’m leaving now."
I told her that was great news, then I went straight to the other important matter: "Tisha, I have been thinking of what happened last night, and …"
She broke me off: "It’s Ok, man. You gave me cake with candles and wine for my birthday and you had your cake and ate it", her smile had a hint of sarcasm. "I loved being drunk. The champagne made me behave really badly," she blushed at the thought, "but it was fun! I’ll party a lot in the future, that’s for sure. And as far as I can remember, you were a great lay."
Then she picked up her luggage, gave me a kiss and whispered:"Dream of me …"
The End.
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