(lobitomx1) Lola Foxx, Sandra – Next Day And Party Goes On! (lobitomx1)

Title: “The Morning After and the Party That Keeps Going”

The morning after the wildest party of the year, Lola Foxx woke up with a pounding headache and a stranger’s arm draped over her waist. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through the cracked blinds. Last night’s events came flooding back to her in a hazy blur – the endless stream of champagne, the loud music pumping through the speakers, the grinding bodies on the dance floor.

Carefully, she lifted the arm off her and slid out of bed, trying not to wake the tattooed man beside her. She gathered her clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor and tiptoed out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the dimly lit hallway, Lola encountered a series of half-clothed partygoers passed out on the carpet – a couple tangled in intimate embrace, a lone girl curled up in fetal position, a guy drooling on himself. The odor of sweat, booze and smoke hung heavy in the air.

She made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping under the scalding spray. Rivulets of makeup raced down her face as she washed away the remnants of the long night. When she emerged, toweling off her lush curves, she collided with another party guest on their way out.

“Woah there, sexy,” the man slurred, grabbing her bare waist. Lola flashed him an icy look, snatching up her clothes and shoving past him.

Toweling off her lush curves, Lola emerged from the shower to nearly collide with another partygoer on their way out. The inebriated man grabbed her bare waist, slurring, “Woah there, sexy.” Unamused, Lola shot him an icy look before snatching up her clothes and shoving past him.

In the crowded kitchen, Lola grabbed a bottle of WKD from the overflowing fridge and chugged it, welcoming the cleansing burn down her throat. Her friend Sandra slinked over, disheveled curls cascading over her shoulders.

“God, I feel like death,” Sandra groaned, massaging her temples. “Remind me to never drink absinthe again.”

Lola snorted. “Yeah, its’ not exactly known for playing nice with others. If you can even remember the rest of the night, considering you had your tongue down that guy’s throat for half of it.”

Sandra blushed, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Ah, you know me. Can’t resist a taut tattooed torso. By the way, you playing tonsil hockey with the bass player made for some damn fine foreplay.”

Lola rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “In my defense, you started it!”

They clinked their bottles together in a toast as the two friends laughed, the communal pain of their collective hangovers, if only for a moment, forgotten in the midst of their jovial camaraderie.

Laughing over their shameless antics and shared embarrassment, Lola and Sandra momentarily forgot their hangovers in the midst of their jovial camaraderie. As their laughter faded, they noticed an unnatural silence fall over the hectic house. The guests had finally retired for the night, leaving their marks in the debris strewn about. Empty cups and discarded clothing littered every surface, a consequence of the houses’ revelry and shared release.

The lounge looked like a war-torn battle scene. Beer cans were scattered across the coffee table like fallen soldiers, crushed under stilettos and bootprints. A broken bottle grinning jagged teeth near the couch, and an abandoned joint smoldered between positives where it fell from some drunken enthusiasts fingers.

Sandra shook her head, her glossy hair falling over her shoulders. “We’re really gonna have to clean up this mess. The owner could come back at any moment.”

Lola sighed and finished the last of her energy drink. “Guess we better get started then. Better to get it over with before that bass player wakes up. He looks like he could be trouble.”

The girls set to work, Lola collecting empties while Sandra gathered discarded clothing. As they tossed items into black garbage bags, they cataloged the debauchery of the night in between fits of giggles. The tourniquet beside the ashtray, the half-eaten drug gummy dropped near the coffee table. Fun أهداف_of tat was their gold-staked ring purchase of empty condom wrappers littering the bathroom floor.

Three torturous hours later, the girls collapsed on the freshly vacuumed couch, nursing bottles of water. A car pulled up outside, and they tensed, wondering if the owner was back. But it was just their ride home.

Lola stood on wobbly legs, grabbing her purse. Sandra followed suit. At the door, they paused, looking around at the now pristine living space.

“It’s almost like last night never happened,” Sandra remarked.

Lola smirked. “Oh, it happened. Trust me, I still feel that bass player’s tongue in my throat.”

They laughed and embraced, the remnants of their wild night captured in their inside jokes and knowing looks.

Arms around each other, Lola Foxx and Sandra stood at the door, gazing back at the formerly ruined abode which now gleamed under the midday sun. Their rows of empty bottles and methane told a story of last night’s perseverance: Lola still felt the obese player’s after stroke against her paradox.

“So,” Sandra began, “when’s the next party invite? My ragers endorsement promo code won’t reste for long.”

“We’re young, wild and free,” Lola retorted, “Ask us again in a few years when were responsibility adults or monthly news and we’ll probably whine and bitch about how hangovers hurt and the millenial generation is damned.”

Meandering down the front yard towards their waiting friend, Lola and Sandra’s laughter reverberated off the window, dissipating into the clear-blue afternoon sky. The partyofficial local never knew what hit its house.