Hi all, I know I don't publish much, and I apologize for that, but there are several reasons for that;Firstly, and this seems obvious, I raise three children alone, which inevitably keep me busy and moreover, my outrageous passions push me to spoil them more than the others in order to make them accept my way of life. Secondly, I work a lot; my vices being exorbitant, it is necessary for me, if I want to maintain them while maintaining an expensive lifestyle, to submit to the most profitable activity even if it does not correspond to my values. Thirdly, I have a rich social life and not only in the festive sphere; I have many friends, multiple cultural activities, and of course, even if I am known to give in easily to drink, nobody suspects the extent of my perversions. Fourthly, I have little time to indulge in my libations and it is more important for me to live them than to talk about them, especially since in most cases they are so small compared to my expectations that I do not find it useful to talk about them. It is already difficult for me to find the time to maintain my addictions that I hardly create new ones. I understand that for some of you, reading a short story about a lonely woman who goes to a bar and mumbles about ordering her first drink might excite you or at least arouse your curiosity; however, for me, this is my daily life; I don't see anything exceptional to tell. So, I concentrate on writing about my most intense and extreme adventures, but I regret to say that they are not my ordinary. As I said before, I am addicted to drunkenness, extreme drunkenness; I dream of nothing else than to have one day the means to do nothing else but drag myself on the ground from bottle to bottle, but for the moment, I have to deal with my obligations. Moreover, I have to admit that I often start writing but I rarely finish what I start, not only because of lack of time, but also because I don't know how to moderate my thirst and between the moment I start typing on my keyboard because I am still lucid enough to do so, very often, as soon as I get halfway through the story, I start searching for my words, missing the keys of my keyboard, thinking about other things... That's why I often abandon the stories I've started to write to, in the best case, concentrate on my beverages. In the worst case, I go in search of a Buddy bar to brighten up my decay. By the time I get home, I'm in such a state that turning on my computer is no longer an option. So, I take advantage of this day to tell the end of my three weeks of carnival; three weeks of incessant orgies and at the end of which I managed to reach the level I like so much. I am both happy and proud to announce that a few days after writing to you, I woke up on my living room carpet; I was so drunk when I woke up that I couldn't get up, I crawled on all fours to the coffee table to find a drink. I threw several empty bottles on the floor before finding one to revive me, it was difficult for me to reach my lips with its neck, and the first few sips made me feel like a salvation. I tried to sit up afterwards but I fell backwards, so I continued to drink. After about ten days of drinking myself into the ground on a daily basis, I could no longer feel the effects of alcohol. Sure, everything told me I was drunk, but I didn't feel it; I didn't feel light but heavy, I didn't feel full but thirsty, I didn't feel numb but sore. My body needed alcohol and let me know it; my trembling muscles were rigid, my insides were twisting, my eyes were burning. I needed to go back to partying, to get full again. I didn't remember anything from the previous evening and that amused me, of the outfit I had put on I only had a skirt so short that I didn't know what it had hidden when I had left the house. My bare chest was covered with dirt, as was the rest of my body; I closed one eye to look around to see if I could find a bustier, but from my blurred vision I could see nothing that looked like a blouse. But I couldn't find anything and this thought pleased me, I must have been driving with my breasts in the wind, totally drunk, and probably I must have even reached my vehicle, thus undressed, like a gutter slut. I am usually very modest and even in my most inebriated states I have a great control over myself; when I have reached a certain level of alcohol, I like to have acted like the most rogue of the whores; it excites me to wake up like this; dirty, soiled, stinking... It sleeps in me the one that I call the Chemsess (contraction of Princess and Chemsex) and I know it, it is without limit, it has fun to destroy all that I build; she's the kind of woman who would break down the door of the board of directors of the company I work for, dressed only in a ponytail plug, bottle in one hand, joint in the other, face covered in white powder and announce to those meditating assholes that I won't be coming to work today because I have to go suck dick. This woman sleeping inside me is much worse than I will ever be and she starts talking to me as soon as I finish my first bottle of the day; she pushes me to let her appear, she makes me take a pill or two, just for fun, she brings out from my memory images of previous evenings that I didn't remember. She gnaws at me and the visions she gives me revolt me as much as they excite me; hearing her talk to me is like watching a gore porn video on the net, it's exciting but you know you'll never do it; except that she and I share the same body. This Chemsess is a selfish Diva eager for pleasures, she is a sociopath who enjoys the crimes she can commit, her pleasure is more intellectual than physical; when she gets fucked in the dirty toilets of a dingy bar, what pleases her is not to be penetrated, it is that the man she is stuffing is masturbating in the sperm of the one who preceded him. She is vicious and devious, she knows how to manipulate men to get what she wants and what she wants is to submit them, to destroy them. She likes to see the macho men who beg her to spend a moment with her; she has given them so much that they only think about her, they want her and she doesn't care. So, when I found her soiled on the floor of my living room, I knew that she had been there the day before, I knew that she had made herself happy, I knew that she had provoked fear in these fathers of good families that they had openly judged and criticized her, but she also knew that each one of them wanted to fuck her, each one of them, looking at their boring wives, thought that they deserved better than their wives, they deserved to have their balls licked by me, to have a finger in their asses while I crush their glans against my glottis. As I write to you, I feel it there, inside me, close by, refusing to be locked up again. I promised myself I wouldn't drink today, at least not more than I should, I'm working tomorrow and after a whole month of allowing her to exist every day and night, I'm consumed with lack of alcohol, lack of sex and excitement. I am actually shaking with excitement as I write to you. It's hard for me to restrain myself, to not get high and just drink slowly as I try to write an anecdote that just the mention of it makes me want to relive it. So, I was almost naked and filthy in my living room, unable to get back on my feet; pushing the bottle in front of me, I dragged myself to the stairs, I was totally soaked, I knew it, but I wanted to leave as fast as I could; I couldn't wait to join some males bubbling with testosterone. Every three steps I wobbled as I tried to drink, sometimes I slipped backwards and had fun. I knew that when I showed up at the carnival, I would already be ready to go to the pot, no need to heat up the crowds, my condition would leave no doubt about my availability. When I got to the landing, I headed for the bedroom, where my stash of cocaine was. Crossing the few meters that separated me from my night table was torture; I was dying to drink, but without anything to hold on to, it was impossible. On the stairs, it was easy, because it was enough to put my elbows on the steps higher than me, but on a flat ground, the thing became complicated. When I got to the foot of my bed, I couldn't stand it anymore, I gathered my efforts to throw an elbow on the mattress to help me get up and finally bring the bottle to my mouth. I drank greedily, too happy to have succeeded, too impatient to bring out my precious Chemsess, I drank too much; much too much... The bottle slipped out of my hands, I felt the alcohol brutally taking away all my strength, I felt on the verge of losing consciousness. In a reflex of survival, the hand that held the bottle a few seconds ago harpooned my nipple and twisted it with all its strength to prevent me from sinking into a coma. I was staggering on the spot, twisting more and more this nipple which was already hurting me, I was at two meters of my miraculous powder and I was about to faint, it was out of question, I refused it. It was in desperate efforts that I was able to reach my night table. I did not even take care to crush a little the white substance, I snorted it directly, small pebbles fell from my nostril, but I counted on the fact that it had at least enough powder to maintain me a little lucid. Very slowly then, I ground the little crystals into powder and snorted them. I filled my sinuses with the powder until my face was numb, until I was sure I wasn't going to pass out anymore. My face was burning and sweating profusely, my heart was pounding, an intense buzzing sound deafened me; but my night was saved. I was still too drunk to stand, but now I had to run fresh water over my body. After my face, it is skin of all my body which began to burn me and to sweat abundantly. One hand in front of the other, one knee in front of the other, I walked across the landing to the bathroom. A part of me felt myself dying, consumed in a heat worthy of the flames of a furnace, the other part rejoiced at what was happening to me, it whispered to me that I was at the doors of the overdose, that I was going to die there and that everyone could come to make themselves cum in my corpse. As I progressed, I had images of my body, both dead and conscious, being used as a ball pit by the most horrifying individuals. It was terrifying and I couldn't tell you why, but at the same time, it turned me on. It was at this moment that the Chemsess chose to bring back to my mind moments when I was in a similar state, men had been ejaculated inside me; in clubs, dark alleys, under bridges, in bus shelters or behind garbage cans. And then, suddenly, the epiphany, the revelation, me, wallowing on a carnival float last night, in the rising sun, in a freezing morning, my body numb, and three men surrounding me and laughing, their beer cups in their hands, and one fucking me. We are in a deserted square, the man finishes and I start to slip, another one grabs me, puts me back in place, spins me around, puts his beer next to my head and sodomizes me, I can only see his beer a few inches from my eyes... I remember being a late night cum bin; I was cold, very cold, so I had already lost my shirt. How much had preceded them? Where was I? I didn't care, I was starting to undulate, to moan, he put his hand in front of my mouth to shut me up, anyone could have made us stop by screaming from his window. I bit him, he immediately let go. Before he had time to hit me, I grumbled with all the energy I had left that he was the one who was fucking better, that I wanted more, that he had to push his cock deep inside me, that I wanted to feel the birth of his testicles right up against my anus. His penis suddenly stiffened in my rectum, I felt it swell more, his rhythm became more virile, more powerful; leaning on the palm of one hand, I straightened up, grabbed his beer and started to drink it. The beer trickled down the corners of my mouth, cascading down the tank, only a tiny fraction finding its way to my chin and then my breasts. I was rolling my hips, I felt him holding back from cumming, his penis had its little spasms of one who can't take it anymore. Then with my rolling eyes, I looked at his friends and announced that I needed someone else to take me while I sucked this wonderful stud. He let go of the mashed potato and chuckling, pulled his cock out of my rectum, spun me around again and grabbed my head to shove his device down my gullet, but I refused, demanding that someone else fuck me while I did it. Being intractable on me subject, he ordered to his buddy to take me, his buddy laughed, dithered, but while massaging the purses of my stallion, I claimed, contemptuous that this third Mister carries out. What he finally did; he made a soft cock enter me, but a promise having been made, I pulled on my stallion's balls to slide his penis down my throat, and when my jaw came in contact with my wrist, I released my grip to slide my hand between his thighs to drag his pelvis to me until my nose was planted in his bushy pubis. I sucked him to choke, my throat emitted rales of asphyxia and this deprivation of air made my head spin; I adore that one strangles me, but when one chokes me with a cock, it is jouissif. With alternating stomach depressions and burps, I pumped my stud as deep as I could manage; I regularly had hints of beer foam rising to my windpipe, nearly drowning, but instead of releasing my grip, I pushed my head even further forward. This very exciting memory allowed me to reach the shower cabin, my skin was burning so much that I had the very real sensation that it was decomposing. I had to hold on to the pipes to reach the mixer tap, turn it on, and when the water started to flow over me, as cold as it was, it barely soothed me. I rolled onto my back so that the water could reach my face, which was the part of my body that was hurting the most. I do not know how long I remained under the water but it was long, enough so that the burn finally calmed down and that I was able to make slide the skirt until my ankles. Everything turned around me, I wanted to drink but I had nothing more in my reach, my gestures were heavy and anarchic, I let myself urinate, and my throat was so dry that I could not swallow any more the little saliva that I had. I found myself opening my mouth to take in some water when the stream cut off. It was my son, in his pajamas, standing over me; I couldn't understand anything he was saying; I felt like I could hear all the words, I knew them, but I couldn't put them together. He slid me out of the shower, dried me off, pulled me to the sink, helped me onto a stool and began to put on my makeup. My head was wobbling, I was trying to whisper things I didn't even know I was saying, reaching for things around the sink. Then he brought a bottle to my lips, and as I drank, "mmm's" of happiness and desire came through my nasal passages still clogged with powder. It is delicious to drink alcohol when the cocaine has deprived your salivary glands of any action; the alcohol penetrates directly through the tongue, cheeks, gums, we feel it seeping, burning us, consuming us. I am staggering on a stool of my bathroom, totally naked and my son is making up his slut of mother as a carnival whore. I hear the screams of pleasure from the Chemsess who is gradually taking possession of my being. Then he swings me around, leans me forward, elbows in the sink and leaves. When he comes back, he is holding a light outfit, a kind of spider woman cosplay for games between adults. It's a simple, very short dress, made of transparent tulle, with a spider web print on the front and stripped in the back. He starts by pulling my head through, then one arm and then the other. He then helps me up, and miraculously I am standing, thanks to him on one side, and leaning on the sink on the other, it's true, but I am standing. Slowly, we leave the bathroom, he escorts me up the stairs and I do my best not to fly off head first. Once at the bottom of the stairs, we cross, not without encumbers the living room, he brings me to my office, sits me on my seat, and while I take advantage of my state, he prepares me some lines of coke; I know that I already took too much, but I do not want to disappoint him, then, I carry out, I absorb what he prepared me, but my nostrils are encumbered, nothing passes. He then pushes me back in my seat, grabs a nasal spray, puts a good dose in each nostril, it burns like hell, but I manage to swallow the powder that was clogging me and am ready to snort again. I lean forward, slide the straw into my nose and while my son holds me by the shoulder while directing the mirror under me, I have new flashes; I see myself snorting amidst techno music, men shaking me, kissing me, groping me, the waiter puts a shot in front of me, with perfect timing, the plop of the glass on the counter in my memory coincides with the shot my son is serving me; I have no doubt about the content of the glass, it is my vodka/GBL mix. Rest assured that at this point I don't need any solvent to go wild, I'm already overexcited and ready for anything. But I grab the glass and drink it in one go. My taste buds still dry pump the industrial stuff, the taste is atrocious, but it quickly goes to my head, it makes me go backwards in my seat, I ramble and my mind disappears in the limbo of my dreams. It's the new plop, sound of a shooter hitting my desk that brings me back to myself, I'm thighs apart, a hand slipped to my crotch, I feel good, I want to be on a carnival float, in the early morning, with at least three men to myself. My hand leaves my clitoris, grabs the glass, and I swallow it, the taste is even worse than the first one, I go forward, my head violently hits my desk, but a third ploc is heard, I raise my head, I drool, I want to say that I have enough, but mechanically, my hand grabs the glass again and forces me to swallow it. It is too much, I almost collapse on the ground but my son catches me, he pushes me back to the bottom of my seat. I hallucinate, purple lights twirl around me, I don't see anything else, when a new ploc is heard, I nod my head to refuse, I try to pronounce some words without success. My son approaches then, promises me that it will be the last one, but that, as it is the last one, we are going to make it well; he slips a pill in my mouth, I ignore of what it is, but I cannot fight any more, I let me make, and when he slips the glass between my fingers, I drink it... I don't know what happens next, but as I remember it, I'm often in the doorway, holding on to the doorframe, holding a cigarette in one hand and a dildo in the other. At the time to bring the cigarette to my lips, I make a mistake of hand, and it is the battery-operated machine that I embrace. It is dark, my skirt is pulled up to my hips, the door of my car is wide open, and my son leads me towards it. After a few steps, I am behind my steering wheel, I hear a noise of empty bottles behind my seat, my son reappears, and slips a half full bottle between my thighs, he puts my hand on it. Then he disappears before reappearing from the other side, he programs the GPS, wishes me a good evening and gets out of the car. I take a few sips of alcohol to give me strength, press the button to start the engine, I press the pedal and crash into the hedge, I missed the exit of our yard by more than two meters. I am aware of it, but cannot release the pedal, my door opens, it is again my son, to reassure him, to show him that I am well, since I cannot speak any more, I drink some more, he smiles. He opens my window, telling me that a little air will do me good, slips a new pill into my mouth and with a knowing look tells me that I am going to have a wonderful night and that he is looking forward to it, because in two years, as I promised him, he will be able to accompany me. I drink a little more to make the pill pass, I reverse with a rare authority, I throw myself out of our alley by winding on the roads; the dildo is always in my hand, it is besides the last time that I will see it, I sink in the night with for company my ethylic deliriums. The rest of this story is just a collection of hazy memories that I may tell you one day, but not tonight, I didn't keep my promise, I got drunk while writing, I'm supposed to wake up in four hours to go to work and all I want to do is drink like the previous days; I know there's no carnival anywhere and I'll have to wait two weeks before St. Patrick's Day; but I have a visceral need to get fucked tonight, fucked while too drunk to know who's doing it, want to get drunk without knowing how I'm going to get home...
