They used to call me "Purple Haze" in high school.
Not because I was some burnout. I mean, I was--but that wasn't the reason. It was my eyes. Rare condition. Deep violet, the kind that made girls gasp and boys cum in their jeans. And yeah, I leaned into it. Dyed my black hair with hot pink streaks, wore it in pigtails like a slutty rave girl who got lost in a weed dispensary. Added some tattoos. Some piercings. Built a body that made people forget how to talk.
Now I'm 24. And I'm a sexed-up stoner genius with a greenhouse full of Sticky Fingers--my own strain of weed. High THC. Gorgeous purple buds. And a secret ingredient that makes everyone who smokes it instantly, obsessively, desperately horny...
For me.
Because that ingredient? Is me.
Sweat from my tits. Squirt from my vibrator. Drops of cum collected after I edge myself while watching lesbian porn on mute with horror movies in the background. It's a ritual. The plants drink it in. The smoke binds to your bloodstream. And then? Your brain gets a signal:
Find Luna. Fuck Luna. Fill Luna.
And baby, that's when the fun starts.
⸻
It started with Derek--my stepbrother.
Tall. Muscled. Dumb in the best way. The kind of guy who wears gym shorts year-round and always smells like fresh sweat and Axe. Not really my type--until he walked in on me grinding a fat nug of Sticky Fingers on the kitchen counter.
"Yo," he said. "That smell is crazy. You holding out on me?"
I handed him the pre-roll. Glittery. Purple tip. Smelled like me after three orgasms and a mango smoothie.
He lit up.
One hit.
His eyes rolled back.
Two hits.
He stared at me like I'd just crawled out of a wet dream in slow motion.
Three hits.
And I was pinned to the couch, legs spread, thong pushed aside.
"You smell..." he groaned, nuzzling my neck, "so fucking wet."
I moaned, tugging his cock out of his shorts. Thick. Long. Heavy in my hand. He sank into me, slow at first--then deeper, faster, harder. My tits bounced with every thrust, my nails dug into his shoulders, and I came so hard I squirted down his thighs and soaked the couch cushions.
He stayed the night.
We did it again at 3am.
And again at 7am.
He left walking crooked, saying he had "some stuff to figure out."
⸻
Next up?
My stepmom. Sharon.
She came over to check on me that afternoon. Heard about Derek's "weird behavior." I told her he was fine. Then offered her some tea and a "mellow little joint I'd been working on."
She took one hit.
Her eyes fluttered.
She giggled.
"Your top's so cute, baby," she whispered, stroking the strap. "Your nipples are poking through."
"I don't wear bras," I shrugged, smirking. "Too much effort."
"Fuck," she murmured, licking her lips. "You're so pretty."
Ten minutes later we were in my bed.
Her mouth on my tits.
Her tongue circling my clit.
Her fake nails tapping my inner thighs as she fingered me like a woman on a mission. I came once on her face, then again when she rolled over and made me eat her ass while I fingered her pussy from behind. She tasted like vanilla lotion and wet dreams.
"Don't tell Derek," she moaned as I rode her thigh and came all over her stomach.
⸻
Later that week, I got a visit from Camille--the girl next door.
She's always been "curious." We used to kiss during slumber parties. She'd beg to see my tits in the pool. The usual suburban bisexual awakening. Now she's hotter than ever. Thick thighs, tiny waist, tits that looked fake but weren't.
I invited her over for a horror movie night.
Handed her a Sticky Fingers joint.
