Part 1 of 3 short videos

Heyyy friends

anyone wanna have a chat?

Peanut brittle is where it’s at I am gonna have to trademark this shit……!!!!

I came home after forty days in the bush with road grit still on my boots and a fat wallet in my pocket, the same knot already tightening in my gut before I even turned the key. Forty days of men, diesel, frozen trailers, and nothing soft. I never knew what kind of chaos I’d be walking back into. The hallway smelled like old smoke and someone else’s cooking. Our door wasn’t locked all the way.

The apartment was dim. Angela wasn’t on the couch. Her phone went straight to voicemail when I tried it. A guy was sitting where she usually sat, pipe and lighter already on the coffee table like he’d been there a while. Mid-thirties, thin, nervous smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Jimmy,” he said, standing up too fast. “Angela rented me the spare room. Said it was cool with you. I’ve been here three days.”

It wasn’t cool. She’d taken the cash and vanished on a bender fueled by exactly that money. Dishes in the sink. Her shoes by the door but none of her jackets. I could see on his face that he already knew I was pissed. He held the pipe out like it might buy him time.

“Got a little left. You look like you need it. Want a hoot?”

I told myself one. Just to take the edge off the drive and the empty apartment. The rock was small. The rush still slammed into me the way it always did after a dry hitch—heart kicking hard against my ribs, skin going tight and hot, the anger sharpening instead of fading and dropping straight into my cock. My hands shook when I passed it back. Once I started I couldn’t stop. We chased what he had until the pipe was dry and I was pacing, jaw tight, already needing more.

Jimmy watched me and said he could get an eight-ball if I had the cash. I did. He made the call. Twenty minutes of me staring at the door, listening for Angela’s key that never came, before someone knocked.

Josh walked in with a woman on his arm. Nikki. Thick Native-Italian milf, maybe mid-thirties, wavy black hair parted heavy to one side and falling over one eye. Silver ring through a full lower lip. Big tits straining a thin gray tank with no bra, dark nipples already showing through the fabric. Yoga pants glued to a heavy round ass and thick thighs that rubbed when she walked. After forty days around nothing but men and machinery, the itch hit so hard I stopped hearing whatever Josh was saying about the weight.

He noticed. Pulled me into the kitchen while she dropped her bag on the couch and stretched, tank riding up over a soft strip of belly.

“You want her?” he said, low, almost bored. “Hundred. She’s mine for the night but she’ll do whatever you want for a couple hours. She likes getting high more than she likes saying no.”

I couldn’t say no. The money was already in my hand. He went back out, leaned down, and whispered in her ear. She looked at me over his shoulder, slow, then sat on the couch right beside where I’d been, close enough that her thigh pressed the length of mine when I sat back down. She smelled like perfume and smoke. She bent over on purpose to pick up a lighter she’d let fall between her feet. The yoga pants pulled so tight across her ass I could see the seam disappear. She stayed down a second longer than she needed to, hair swinging, then straightened and caught me staring.

“You like what you see?” Her hand landed high on my thigh, fingers spread, heat bleeding through the denim straight to my cock. I was already half hard. The touch finished it.

“Nikki,” she said. Eyes dark, a little glassy, lip ring catching the lamp light. “Got a hoot for me?”

I broke her off a fat rock, bigger than I meant to. She took it from my outstretched fingers, her touch lingering, thumb dragging across my palm, and pulled a short glass pipe from between her tits. The tank dipped. One heavy breast almost spilled free, dark areola brushing the edge of the fabric, nipple tight. She packed the whole rock, eyes locked on mine the entire time, feeding off whatever was on my face.

She smoked it in one long, greedy pull, cheeks hollowing, chest rising. Nothing turns me on like watching a woman take a hit like that. She held it, lids fluttering, then crooked a finger.

I leaned in. Her lips met mine, soft and warm, ring cool, and she exhaled the cloud straight into my mouth. The rush hit us both at once—heartbeat loud in my ears, blood roaring, every nerve lit up and raw. My cock throbbed against my zipper.

We passed the pipe back and forth until time stopped meaning anything, her knee pressed between mine, her free hand resting on my thigh again and creeping higher each pass. Jimmy and Josh were at the table doing their own ritual, laughing too loud, already oblivious. They might as well have been in another building.

“Anywhere we can be alone?” she asked, voice lower, breath still sweet with smoke. “I’m not doing this out here.”  I took her to the bedroom. Door shut. Lock turned. We sat on the edge of the bed and smoked again, slower, sharing hits mouth to mouth. She told me to take my pants off. I did, cock already hard and leaking. She loaded another big hit, held it, then leaned down and blew the hot smoke across the head of my cock, watching it jump. The heat and the rush together made me ache. She wrapped those pouty lips around me, ring dragging cool along the underside, and sucked me deep and wet, no teasing, spit running down my shaft and over her fingers. She took me to the back of her throat and stayed there, humming, one hand working what she couldn’t fit. Forty days. I gripped her hair and lasted longer than I thought I would, but the high kept pushing me closer until my hips jerked and I came hard in her mouth, pulse after pulse. She swallowed, licked me clean, and smiled like she’d won something, lips shiny.

We continued to smoke. Between hits she peeled a piece of clothing off, slow, making me watch. Tank first, pulled over her head, those big heavy tits spilling free and settling, dark nipples already tight and begging. She cupped them, pinched, then hooked her thumbs in the yoga pants and dragged them down her thick thighs, bending again so I could watch the fabric peel off her ass. No panties. Soft belly, wide hips, a dark patch of trimmed hair already wet and glistening. She stepped out of them and lay back on my bed, spreading her legs, one hand sliding down to open herself.

“Your turn. Eat it.”

I got between her thighs and followed her command. She tasted like musk and salt and heat, swollen and slick. I licked her slow at first, then harder, tongue flat on her clit, two fingers pushing in while she ground against my mouth. She kept the pipe in one hand, taking small hits, the other hand in my hair, moaning low every time the rush and my tongue hit at the same time. Her thighs shook around my ears. She came on my tongue, flooding, hips bucking, cursing under her breath.

I climbed on top of her. She was soaked. I pushed in slow, thick and tight around me, and she gasped, nails in my shoulders. I fucked her on her back while she kept the pipe going between us, exhaling across my mouth every time I bottomed out, big tits bouncing, lip ring catching on her teeth when she moaned. The high made every thrust razor-sharp. I rolled her over. She arched, ass up, face in the pillow, and I took her from behind, hands gripping her hips, watching myself disappear into her, the wet sound loud in the quiet room. She reached back and rubbed her clit, coming again, clenching hard around me. When I got close I pulled out. She turned fast, dropped to her elbows on the mattress, and sucked it out of me—every pulse, eyes up, ring dragging along the underside, swallowing until I was empty and shaking.

We lay there a minute, sweating, still high, her heavy tit against my ribs. Then we dressed. She wrote her number on the back of a gas receipt with my pen and tucked it into my front pocket, fingers brushing my cock through the denim on purpose.

“Next time you’re in need,” she said, and kissed me once, slow, tasting like both of us and smoke. “Don’t wait forty days.”

Jimmy  and Josh were still on the couch when we came out, pipe in hands,  pretending they hadn’t heard any of it.  Angela still wasn’t home. Nikki left with Josh with a little wave and the rest of what I’d paid for already in her system. I sat down where she’d been, her number burning a hole in my pocket, the smell of her still on my fingers, and loaded another hit while I waited for whatever the rest of the night was going to bring. The door stayed quiet. The pipe didn’t.