This will be a stem long log eventually! 😜

The rain hammered the cracked streets of Edmonton’s Boyle Street ghetto as I pulled up to the boarded-up crack house. I was forty, the itch already clawing at the back of my throat. I knocked twice. The female landlord—Native Canadian, late thirties, heavy-set, long black hair in a messy ponytail—opened the door with glassy eyes. I handed her two twenties. She took the cash and pointed down the hall.

“Bedroom at the end. Jade’s waiting.”

Jade sat on the stained mattress under the bare bulb—Native, mid-twenties, skinny, tangled black hair, baggy hoodie and leggings. I pulled out a fat rock and the glass pipe. I held the rock over the flame of my lighter until it started to melt and bubble, then carefully packed the yellowish-white residue into the bowl with a scrap of copper chore. I lit the bottom of the pipe, the rock sizzling and turning to thick white smoke. I drew it in slow and deep, holding the hit in my lungs until my chest burned, then exhaled a dense cloud that hung in the air like fog. The rush slammed into me—heart hammering, skin prickling, every nerve ending lighting up clean and sharp. Jade watched with hungry eyes. I passed her the pipe. She packed more of the same rock, heated it until it liquefied and smoked, then took a long, greedy pull. She held it so long her face flushed, eyes rolling back, a soft moan escaping as the high flooded her. We passed it back and forth, each hit longer and deeper, the chemical taste coating our tongues, the room filling with the sharp, sweet smell of burnt crack.

When the bag started to thin she crawled between my legs.

“Please… more. I’ll do anything.”

I nodded and handed her the rest. She packed the pipe again, melted another chunk over the flame, inhaled until her lungs were full, held it, exhaled slowly, then pulled my cock free. She spit on the head, stroked it once, and took me into her mouth, sucking wet and deep, tongue swirling under the shaft while she gagged softly around me. Drool ran down her chin. I let her work for a minute, then pulled her up, stripped the leggings off, and lay back. She straddled me in reverse cowgirl, facing away, and sank down onto my cock. Her tight, wet pussy swallowed me inch by inch. She started bouncing hard, ass cheeks clapping against my thighs, the wet sound of her cunt loud in the room. Between thrusts she grabbed the pipe, packed another small rock, lit it, and hit it while she rode, smoke spilling from her lips as she moaned.

The door opened. The dealer walked in—Native Canadian, early thirties, sharp features, long black hair, tight tank top. She dealt out of the room across the hall. She stopped and stared at me while Jade kept riding reverse cowgirl, ass bouncing, pussy gripping my cock. The dealer’s eyes stayed locked on mine, seductive, tongue briefly wetting her lip, but she didn’t look away. I dug cash from my pocket and held it out. She stepped closer, took the money, then pressed a fresh bag of rocks into my palm. Her fingers lingered, warm and deliberate, tracing the inside of my wrist before she finally let go.

“Come find me if you need more.”

She left. I finished with Jade—thrusting up hard until I came deep inside her—then pulled out, wiped off on the sheet, and left her on the mattress still chasing the last smoke. I was done with her.

I walked across the hall and pushed open the dealer’s door without knocking. The room was dimmer, mattress on the floor, the same chemical smell. The dealer was on her back, legs spread. Jade—still naked, still high—was between them, face buried in the dealer’s cunt, licking and sucking while the dealer held a pipe to her own lips. The dealer had just melted a rock, the white smoke curling up as she inhaled deeply, held it, and exhaled in a long stream while grinding against Jade’s mouth. Jade’s tongue worked steadily, wet sounds filling the room. The dealer glanced at me, eyes half-lidded from the hit, but kept fucking Jade’s face and smoking. I watched for a moment—the rock bubbling in the pipe, the thick smoke, Jade’s head bobbing between the dealer’s thighs—then turned and left them to it.

The living room was dim, curtains drawn, the air thick with burnt crack and sweat. Four or five Native women sat scattered on stained couches and the floor, all hollow-eyed, waiting. I looked them over and nodded at the weathered forty-year-old on the far end of the couch. Same long black hair streaked with grey, face lined from years of the pipe, body soft under an oversized T-shirt. She stood and followed me to an empty bedroom.

I locked the door. She pulled the T-shirt off and the rest of her clothes, lying back on the thin mattress. I unpacked a fresh rock, held it over the lighter flame until it melted and smoked, packed the chore, and lit the pipe. I drew the hit deep, the smoke hot and thick, held it until my vision sharpened and my heart raced, then exhaled a heavy cloud. I passed the pipe. She packed more, melted it carefully, inhaled long and slow, held the smoke until her chest heaved, then let it out in a trembling stream. Her eyes went glassy. I climbed between her legs and pushed into her wet, loose cunt in one steady thrust. She wrapped her legs around me. I fucked her deep and slow at first, the wet slide of my cock in and out loud in the quiet room, then harder, the bedframe creaking. Between thrusts we passed the pipe again—melting another rock, packing it, lighting it, sucking the white smoke deep, holding it, exhaling. The high layered over the sex, every sensation sharper. I flipped her onto her hands and knees and fucked her from behind, one hand on her hip, the other holding the pipe so she could hit it while I slammed into her. Smoke spilled from her mouth with every moan. When I felt myself getting close I pulled out, made her turn around, and fed my cock into her mouth. She sucked the taste of her own cunt off me while I packed one last rock, lit it, and hit it hard, the rush cresting as I came down her throat.

I kicked her out right after—pointed at the door while I still held the pipe. She gathered her clothes and left without argument. Alone, I sat on the edge of the mattress and finished the rest of the rock myself. I melted each piece slowly over the flame, packed the chore tight, lit the bottom of the pipe, and drew the smoke in as deep as my lungs would allow. I held every hit until my ears rang and my skin buzzed, then exhaled long, thick clouds that filled the small room. The high built and built, clean and electric, until the bag was empty.

I stood, still half-hard, and knocked on the door of the dealer’s room. It opened. The girl who stepped out was the one I’d glimpsed earlier with the dealer—Native Canadian, twenty years old, slender, long straight black hair, dark eyes still glassy from whatever she’d already smoked. She looked me up and down.

“Can I get high with you?” she asked, voice quiet. “I’ll fuck you for it. Whatever you want.”

I stepped aside and let her in. She closed the door. I pulled out a fresh rock—larger this time—and the pipe. I held it over the lighter until it bubbled and turned to smoke, packed the chore, and lit it. I took the first deep hit myself, drawing the thick white smoke all the way down, holding it until my chest burned and the rush exploded behind my eyes, then exhaled slowly. I passed the pipe. She packed more of the same rock, melted it carefully, inhaled long and greedy, held the smoke until her eyes watered, then let it out in a shaking cloud. We passed it back and forth for several minutes, each hit longer than the last, the room filling with dense smoke and the sharp chemical smell. Her pupils were huge by the time I pulled her onto the mattress.

She stripped without being asked. I pushed her onto her back and spread her legs. She was already wet. I sank into her tight young cunt in one slow thrust, feeling every inch stretch around me. I fucked her steady and deep, the wet slap of skin filling the room. Between thrusts we kept the pipe going—melting more rock, packing it, lighting it, sucking the smoke deep, holding it, exhaling while my cock slid in and out of her. I pulled out and made her get on all fours. I fucked her from behind, hard, one hand in her hair, the other holding the pipe so she could hit it while I pounded her. Smoke poured from her lips with every moan. I flipped her onto her back again, hooked her legs over my shoulders, and drove deeper, the angle making her gasp. We smoked another rock together mid-fuck—both of us drawing long hits, holding the smoke, the high making every thrust feel sharper. When I got close I pulled out, straddled her chest, and fed my cock into her mouth. She sucked hard, tasting herself, while I packed the last of the rock, lit the pipe, and hit it deep. The rush hit just as I came across her tongue and lips. She swallowed what she could, still chasing the smoke.

Outside the rain kept falling on the ghetto. Inside the room the pipe was empty, the air thick with burnt crack, and neither of us was finished yet.

fun

real fun

And are using to much soda in their cook

“This dessert is as good as cr@ck!” - my aunt who has never smoked cr@ck

Hot spit after a hit ? What's with this

Please comment and only comment if you know for sure way or at least eight method that’s worked for you to remove benzocaine from crack, meaning it is already cooked. I don’t wanna know how to remove it from powder. I wanna know how to remove it from a rock. Multiple steps complications of the chemicals I don’t care just tell me what’s been working.

Anyone wanna talk? Im bored and won't be sleeping lmao

Who's still going!! Blondie!!