Drunk Mother Pinkie


                                            >You didn’t bother to look at the time.

                                            >You already knew you woke up late because you sure never woke up early.

                                            >Walking into the living room, you’re met with a familiar sight, smell, and noise.

                                            >Several women were lying strewn about the living room, all of them looked like they’d just keeled over and died.

                                            >The smell of alcohol and some other odd scent made you cover your mouth and nose in disgust.

                                            >And groaning, snoring, or light giggling was the only audible signs of life left in them.

                                            >”Hey, sport~”

                                            >A pair of hands grab your shoulders and hold on tight, you don’t dare try to push them off because they felt like they belonged to a professional athlete.

                                            >”How about you *hic*… help me out with a little morning exercise, squirt?”

                                            >Her breath reeked of alcohol and you turn away politely.

                                            “Sorry, but no thanks.”

                                            >She pressed a finger on your chest and tried to move it up seductively but it fell as she went limp onto your shoulder.

                                            >”C’mon, you’ll have fun-k, I phromise~”

                                            >From the corner of your eye you see another pair of hands but this time they’re on the athletes shoulder.

                                            >She suddenly starts staggering towards the couch and falls over it and onto the cushions with a, “Whoa!”

                                            >”Nobody touches my cinnanon bun, huh baby?”

                                            >The new hands coil around your head and pull you into a two pillowy mounds and hold you there.

                                            “Mom…”

                                            >”Momma Pinkie ishn’t letting you go until you shay the magic…*hic* word!”

                                            >You sigh and push her away.

                                            “Please?”

                                            >She lets go and stumbles back, stops herself, and boops your nose.

                                            >”That’ll doOo~”

                                            “Mom, you’re still drunk.”

                                            >She throws an arm around your neck and drags you over to the kitchen before pointing at another woman vomiting into the sink, one of her friends holding her hair up for her.

                                            >”THAT’SH drunk, I’m mererely pretending to be drunk…”

                                            >She giggles before sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter.

                                            >”Help momma sober up, honey bun?”

                                            >You turn around and open up one of the cabinets and grab a giant bottle labeled “Pinkie’s Ice Bucket” and open it for her.

                                            >She reaches in before you can take out any for her and takes out a few white pills before throwing them down the hatch and chasing them down with a glass of what you hope is water.

                                            >Mom shivers as whatever was in the pills work its magic.

                                            >Suddenly she slams her head onto the kitchen counter with an “Owie” and a groan.

                                            “Mom?”

                                            >She reaches out and yanks you to her with one hand and give you a peck on the cheek.

                                            >Putting her arm around you again, you help her off the stool and she leads you back to the living room.

                                            >”Hmm. Who’s the prettiest one here? Out of all of them?”

                                            >You look at all the middle-aged adults in the room.

                                            >One of them had frizzy red and yellow hair and seemed like she was teetering on the brink, facing an abyss.

                                            >Another had a hat covering her face and was without a doubt snoring, asleep on the couch.

                                            >Then the woman from earlier was laying on the couch, groggy and groaning.

                                            >You were almost certain one was in the bathroom, vomiting their brains out.

                                            >The two at the sink was preoccupied, the one with glasses swapping places with the pink haired one.

                                            >None of them seemed to be in their finest moment.

                                            >And none of them certainly seemed in any way appealing.

                                            “Probably you, Mom.”

                                            >You feel your face get hot as you realize what you just said, then something pulls you into her face again.

                                            >This time, you feel her lips connect with yours and she gives you a more passionate kiss.

                                            >When she finally pulls back with a “mwuah!” she looks at you with a big smile.

                                            >”That’s my boy!”

                                            >She scans the room, looking at all of them.

                                            >”Pick one, I’m serious! Pick one you really like. Or the best one out of all of them. Or least vomity.”

                                            >You give them all a glance over once again.

                                            >Did you really have to choose?

                                            >Of course you did, Mom always made you do this after every party.

                                            >”If you really like –just- mommy, then that’s ok. Picking me is a little cheaty.”

                                            >But something feels different. Off.

                                            “I don’t know, Mom. What’re you going to do?”

                                            >She chuckled and waved a hand at you.

                                            >”Who do you want to help get sober first? I don’t have enough ice-cubes for everyone!”

                                            >That makes sense, you think.

                                            >You nod your head to the one Mom pushed over the couch.

                                            “She’s not too bad, I guess.”

                                            >In truth, you kind of wanted her out already.

                                            >But at the same time, she seemed like she’d be very nice if she wasn’t absolutely smashed.

                                            >Mom moseys over towards her room, pulling you by the collar of your white t-shirt.

                                            >Now something was REALLY off.

                                            >Normally you were forbidden to go into her room, it was one of the things Mom was REALLY defensive about.

                                            >She’d let you get away with just about anything EXCEPT going into her room.

                                            >As she pushed you in, your eyes were met with pink.

                                            >Just pure pink.

                                            >Pink curtains, bed, dresser, everything.

                                            >This was the definition of Pink as Hell.

                                            >”Dash! Get your ass back here!”

                                            >You can hear someone stumbling over the couch, running through the hall on their way and *slam* the door open.

                                            >”Yeah, Pinkie? What’s up?”

                                            >Mom grabbed her by the vest and led her over and threw her onto the bed.

                                            >You could hear her as she leaned in and whisper-yelled,

                                            >”You’re gonna show my son a good time, Auntie Dashie, don’t you mess this up for him!”

                                            >She sat on top of Dashes belly with her legs supporting her so she didn’t squish the drunk underneath her, Mom then took you by the hands and led you closer to her.

                                            “Mom?”

                                            >She pulled you in for another deep kiss and stroked your head,

                                            >”SHhh, you’re gonna enjoy this.”

                                            >Mom reached down and held her legs up, revealing the blue panties they hid.

                                            >”Go ahead and pull ‘em off! Consider this me making it up to you.”

                                            “Making it up to me? For what?”

                                            >”Missing school, duh! Now go on, I think she’s waiting…”

                                            >You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you lifted up the cloth all the way to her feet and tossed them aside.

                                            >Next, Mom pulled apart her thighs for you.

                                            >”Go ahead and drop the pants, big guy, you don’t have to wear underwear if she’s not!”

                                            >Whatever’s making your heart race is making you unbutton and drop the clothes and you take a moment to soak in what Mom was doing for you.

                                            >”Is he big? I forgot my lube at home-“

                                            >Mom turned around, mouthed something to her friend, and turned back to you.

                                            >”C’mere, this is my favorite part.”

                                            >She pulled a small bottle out and dabbed quite a bit of clear syrupy liquid onto her hand.

                                            >She reached down and wrapped that hand around your stiffness and began to rub, the cold liquid sent a shiver up your spine before a nicer feeling took its place.

                                            >”Does that feel good, buddy?”

                                            >You bit your lip and nodded as she coated the entire thing with the liquid, being extra thorough at the tip which made you moan against your will.

                                            >”I bet it does, who’s a good boy? Who’s a momma’s boy?”

                                            >Suddenly she removes her hand and rubs the rest of the liquid against her friend’s mound.

                                            >It was her turn to moan and the sound of a girl moaning made sure you didn’t lose any vigor.

                                            >She brought her hand back to your tip and pulled with a gentleness you didn’t think was possible for someone so hungover.

                                            >Leading you gently and slowly, you finally find the patch of warm flesh that caused her friend to moan.

                                            >Mom leaned into your ear and began to whisper orders,

                                            >”I want you to push inside her, try not to finish too fast. If you do really well we can try something special after. Really go at her, OK?”

                                            >You nod quickly, wanting to hurry and thrust inside of her already.

                                            >”She can handle it, make Pinkie proud.”

                                            >A surge of warmth runs through your body as you slipped yourself into Dash and the two of you let out moans of pleasure.

                                            >You reached for Dash’s thighs, but the angle of your hands felt odd.

                                            >Pushing into her as Mom wanted, you start to feel a pressure build as more pleasure waves through you.

                                            >Maybe that’s what Mom meant by ‘try not to finish’?

                                            >Trying to find a better grip, you try several different spots before Mom guides you again.

                                            >”Here, try holding onto me.”

                                            >She brought your hands to her hips and your hands finally felt snug.

                                            >Then she pulled your head to hers and you began to kiss, this time her tongue pushed into your lips and you couldn’t find the will to resist and let her in.

                                            >The taste of alcohol and something sweet was strong as the two of you pushed hard into each other’s mouths but not as hard as you pushed in and out of Dash

                                            >Looking down, you could see Mom using one of her hands to rub against or finger her own entrance.

                                            >Every so often as you drilled into Dash, Mom would pull away and whisper nothings,

                                            >”Fuck her harder, I want to feel you from on top of her.”

                                            >”Don’t look at her, look at mommy, I’m the pretty one remember?”

                                            >”You can do better than that, stuff her full of batter!”

                                            >To which you always moaned, “Yes Mom”

                                            >Finally you couldn’t hold in the pressure and felt something hot and sticky shoot out of you and into Dash, she cried out in pleasure with a loud, “Oh YES~!”

                                            >Then the exertion hit you like a hangover hits Mom and you fell forward and onto her.

                                            >You sank deeper into Dash as a result but also landed with your head over Moms shoulder.

                                            >Her hands coiled around you in a warm embrace.

                                            >”That’s my little cinnanon bun, warm and creamy~”

                                            >You felt so out of breath, too out of breath to respond, or move.

                                            >Slumped over her, she reached a hand down and pulled your length out of her friend with a *Shlrk* and pulled you on top of her.

                                            >Feeling concerned about Dash, you glanced over and saw she had slid over to the other side of the bed and was breathing just as heavily as you.

                                            >”Do you think you have enough left for Mommy?”

                                            >You wanted to nod so badly even though you couldn’t, to make her happy, so that she wasn’t left out.

                                            >Closing your eyes, you smiled as two dots connected in your brain.

                                            >You really were like your mom, in that regard.

                                            >”Maybe after a little rest, you did really, really, really good!”

                                            >You shook your head in defiance and tried to push yourself up but got nowhere.

                                            >”Aw, that’s my boy. Here, I’ll do it for you.”

                                            >She rolled you off of her and sat on you.

                                            >Her hand reached down and teased you flaccid length, reviving it.

                                            >”My son’s no quitter, is he?”

                                            >You let out a drawn out sigh and shook your head again.

                                            >”Hmm~ Good.”

                                            >You watched as she positioned herself over your now erect member and felt the same pleasure as before.

                                            >This time, however, it seemed to be more drawn out and longer as she slowly sank your tip and shaft into her.

                                            >She leaned over you and pushed her lips onto yours one last time, much more passionately and lovingly than before.

                                            >Her hands slithered down and gripped yours, and the two of you interlocked in the ancient ritual of handholding.

                                            >She rose up your shaft and then plummeted back to your base, you feel the same contractions you felt inside Dash when her own pressure became too much to contain.

                                            >After a few minutes, Mom threw her head back and moaned, “Anon” as her insides tighter around you and squeezed out the last bit of seed you had.

                                            >You could practically feel each drop she milked out of you, seeping into her and getting lost in her own warm fluids.

                                            >Mom laid on you, not even trying to pull you out of her.

                                            >Then you looked into each other’s eyes, smiled, and laughed.