Chapter 3

Weeks drift by, marked by a strange, unsettling stagnancy. We see our neighbour. At the gym. In the elevator. A brief nod in the hallway, a cursory hello in the parking garage. The usual neighbourly interactions are devoid of electricity. It’s as if we are all holding our breath, waiting for something to shift, for the other shoe to drop. Or at least I am I guess.

It’s... weird.

We’re back to the comfortable routine of our lives, Emma and I. Dinners at home, movie nights, weekends spent exploring the city, making love with a ferocity that both thrills and leaves me aching for something more.

One Sunday afternoon, I’m assembling a turkey sandwich in the kitchen when I hear the front door open. I wander into the living room to find Emma sprawled on the sofa, her face buried in a throw pillow.

“Hey, you’re back.”

“Hey...”

“So, still no resolution with Mr. Davis?”

She groans, rolling over to face me. “No. It’s a complete mess. He’s threatening to go to the school board ... to the press even, says the entire faculty is ... I don’t even know...”

Her voice trails off, and she buries her face in the pillow again.

For the past few weeks, she’s been dealing with a particularly difficult parent at the elementary school where she teaches. Mr. Davis, whose son is in her third-grade class, has taken issue with the school’s curriculum, claiming it is “inappropriate” and “promoting a dangerous agenda.”

The situation has spiraled out of control, with angry emails, heated PTA meetings, and even threats of protests outside the school. Emma, though not directly involved in the incident, is caught in the crossfire. The whole situation is ridiculous, but it has clearly taken a toll on her.

“It’s going to be okay, Em,” I say, moving to sit beside her on the sofa. “Those parents ... they’re just overreacting. It’s a phase. They’ll get over it.”

“It’s not just him, Mike,” she mumbles into the pillow. “It’s the whole ... atmosphere. People are scared, angry ... It feels like everything’s falling apart.”

I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close. “Hey, it’s just a bunch of loudmouths trying to stir up trouble. It’ll blow over. You’ll see.”

“Easy for you to say.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping further. “You don’t have to deal with their constant emails, their threats, their holier-than-thou judgment...”

“Listen, if it gets any worse, just ... go to the principal. Or the superintendent. Besides this Davis guy is a jerk, and the school board will see right through him. You’re a fantastic teacher, and everyone knows it.”

She leans into me, “I hope you’re right.”

I can tell she’s not really listening. Her mind is elsewhere, caught in a loop of worry, replaying every conversation, every accusation.

I hold her for a while, gently stroking her hair, trying to soothe her with the warmth of my touch. As she begins to calm down, an idea strikes me. I carefully reach for my phone and quickly type out a text.

Mike: Hey man, u still got some of that homegrown? The stuff u were talking about other day?

After a couple of seconds, I see three dots.

Marcus: I do why are you asking?

I glance down at her and sigh quietly before replying.

Mike: Just feeling a little stressed. Could use something to take the edge off.

Marcus: Whoa. U sure? U never seemed interested before.

Mike: I know. But tonight’s diff. We want to relax a bit.

Marcus: We? U mean even Emma?

Mike: Yea, she’s had a rough day too.

Marcus: Strong stuff. Not for the faint of heart.

Mike: we can handle it.

Marcus: Alright ... I’ll swing by later tonight.

I put my phone away. “Hey, Em ... remember back in college, that time we snuck onto the roof of the dorm and smoked that crazy weed with Josh and Lisa?”

She frowns, thinking back. “Yeah ... Didn’t we end up eating an entire bag of chocolate chips?”

“Yep,” I laugh. “You guys must have gone through like five bags. I thought you were going to puke.”

She grins, remembering. “It just ... tasted so much better when we were high.”

“Good times, huh? Feel like taking a trip down memory lane?”

“Seriously, Mike? You want to get high? Now?”

I shrug, settling back into the cushions. “Why not? It might be fun. It’s Sunday. We have nowhere to be. And ... Marcus said he’s got some really good stuff. Homegrown. Apparently, he’s quite the botanist.”

“I don’t know, Mike ... Things are kind of ... intense right now. I’m not sure getting stoned is the best idea.”

“Come on, Em,” I encourage, giving her a playful nudge. “It’ll be like old times. We can order pizza, watch some dumb movies, and just ... unwind for a while.”

“It’s been so long,” she says softly, her gaze drifting towards the window. “I don’t even know if I remember how to...”

“It’s like riding a bike,” I press, grinning. “Once a stoner, always a stoner.”

She finally caves, a small smile spreading across her lips. “Alright, fine. But if I start seeing pink elephants, you’re the one dealing with it.”

I laugh, putting on a stoner voice. “Duuude, chill. It’s all good.”

She swats me playfully on the arm. “Oh, God, you’re such a dork.” She stands up, stretching, and heads toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna grab a quick shower. Be back in a few.”

“We’ll just, like ... ride the cosmic wave, man ... Embrace the vibes...”

She just shakes her head and leaves.

Night falls, and as promised, Marcus arrives with a small wooden box tucked under his arm. Inside, nestled amongst a bed of dried lavender, are a dozen perfectly rolled joints, each one emitting a faint, earthy aroma.

We start with a simple dinner, the conversation light and easy, mostly revolving around work and the latest news headlines.

After dinner, I clear the table while Emma heads into the kitchen to wash dishes. Then, Marcus and I settle into the living room, him on the sofa, and me in one of the armchairs.

He opens the wooden box, the scent of weed filling the air, and raises an eyebrow at me.

“So, you guys are stoners now?” he asks a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Just a little something to take the edge off,” I say, shrugging. “It’s been a while ... actually. Back in college, we used to ... well, you know, experiment a bit. But it was never a big thing.”

“Seriously? I never would have pegged you for a pothead. You always seemed so ... straight-laced.”

Emma emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Everything okay in here?”

“Just reminiscing about the good old days.” I pat the cushion beside me. “Come on, take a load off, Professor.”

She sinks down beside me with a tired sigh, and I notice how she avoids Marcus’s gaze, a lingering awkwardness still hanging in the air.

“Here you go.” he passes us each a perfectly rolled joint. “This is some of my best stuff.”

He lights his own, taking a long, slow drag, and I watch as he exhales, a stream of blue-tinged smoke curling upwards towards the ceiling.

I light mine, the familiar smell triggering a flood of memories, and pass it to Emma.

The first inhale catches in my throat, sending me into a coughing fit. Emma is struggling too, her face turning a delicate shade of pink as she struggles.

We spend the next few minutes coughing and sputtering, our lungs protesting after years of abstinence, while Marcus laughs and offers helpful advice on how to inhale properly.

“You guys are hilarious,” he says, grinning. “It’s like watching a couple of newbies all over again.”

Emma leans back against the cushions, her eyes closed, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Feeling it yet?” I ask, nudging her gently.

She nods, a soft laugh escaping her. “Yeah, I think so. It’s been so long, I almost forgot what this feels like.”

Marcus leans back, a satisfied look on his face. “Welcome back to the club, guys. Just remember, pace yourselves. This stuff is strong.”

Soon, the familiar warmth begins to spread through my limbs, a gentle wave of relaxation washing away the day’s tension.

“Damn, Marcus, this is ... really good stuff,” I say, sinking back against the cushions.

“Blueberry Kush,” he replies, taking another drag. “Grown with love and care, right on my balcony.”

“You’ve been growing this whole time?” she asks, her voice tinged with surprise.

“Always have,” he replies, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Never liked buying from ... you know, outside sources.”

She tilts her head, curious. “Why? Is there really that much difference?”

“Oh, yeah. When you grow your own, you control everything—the quality, the strain, the effects. It’s like comparing a home-cooked meal to fast food.”

“Whoa, whoa, sensei,” I interrupt, grinning. “No need for a TED Talk. We’re just trying to relax out here.”

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head. “Just educating the masses.”

“I’ll be right back,” Emma says handing me her half-smoked joint and disappearing into the bathroom.

I take a long drag from mine, then another from hers, a wave of dizziness hitting me. A coughing fit erupts, shaking my entire body.

“Easy there, Snoop Dogg,” he chuckles. “Didn’t I warn you? Try to pace yourself.”

“Hey, it’s been a while,” I gasp, waving a hand in front of my face. “Lost my touch.”

“No rush. Take it slow though.”

A few minutes later, Emma reemerges from the bathroom. She reaches for her joint, her brow furrowing as she notices how much shorter it is.

“Sorry, babe,” I mumble, sheepishly. “Got a little ... carried away.”

“Don’t worry, got plenty more.” Marcus pulls out another perfectly rolled joint, handing it to her. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She takes it with a smile. Instead of returning to her armchair, she settles onto the sofa beside Marcus, close enough that their thighs are touching.

I watch, a strange mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling in my gut, as she lights the joint and takes a long, slow drag, her eyes fluttering closed as she holds it in.

“So,” Marcus asks. “What’s new with you guys? Anything exciting happening?”

“Not much new on my end,” I say, shrugging. “Work’s been busy as usual. But Emma’s been having a rough time at school lately.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at Emma. “What’s going on?”

She launches into a brief explanation of the situation with Mr. Davis and the other disgruntled parents, their accusations about the curriculum, the threats of protests, and the general atmosphere of fear and anger that had descended upon the school.

“That’s insane,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief when she’s finished. “That guy, Davis, he sounds like a real piece of work. Don’t let him get to you, Emma. You’re an amazing teacher. Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Emma smiles, a genuine one, and leans into him slightly, her shoulder brushing against his. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Her gaze flicks to mine for a fleeting moment, a spark of something mischievous dancing in her eyes. It’s a look I haven’t seen from her in weeks. A sudden rush of heat surges straight to my groin, and I can’t help but grin like an idiot, my heart hammering away in my chest.

Her lips curl into a slow sultry smile that makes my blood run hot.

We settle back into a comfortable silence, passing the joints back and forth, the smoke curling around us. I’m acutely aware of her proximity to Marcus, the way her leg brushes against his, the easy familiarity between them.

I watch them, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within me, as the weed works its magic, loosening inhibitions, blurring boundaries.

Something is shifting, I can feel it.

“God, I needed this,” Emma sighs, leaning back against the sofa, her eyes closed.”You were right, Mike. This definitely helps.”

“Told ya.”

“It’s like ... my brain finally stopped buzzing for a minute,” She tucks her legs under her, her body relaxing further into the cushions. “It’s ... nice.”

“Sometimes you just gotta hit the reset button,” Marcus adds, his voice mellow and relaxed.

The conversation drifts effortlessly from topic to topic, meandering through a haze of laughter and half-formed thoughts. We talk about a teacher at Emma’s school who’s just gotten engaged, a seemingly mismatched couple whose union baffles everyone who knows them.

“Ah, newlywed life,” Marcus says, a wistful smile touching his lips. “Such a strange and wonderful time. It’s all champagne wishes and caviar dreams until reality sets in. Then it’s all about whose turn it is to take out the trash and who forgot to buy milk. They are in for a rude awakening.”

Emma laughs, her hand resting lightly on his leg as she leans towards him, her body language speaking volumes.

As the night wears on, we burn through our joints and spark up new ones. The edges are all soft now, and we’re laughing a little louder, a little more open, the unspoken tension of the past few weeks fading with each exhale of smoke.

Emma keeps stealing glances at me, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of lust and mischief.

It’s a look I know well- a look that used to mean one thing: Take me to bed I am horny.

But tonight, as her gaze flickers towards Marcus, sticking to his impressive bulge beneath his jeans like a magnet - I know what she is really craving.

My heart kicks into high gear, a cocktail of excitement and nerves churning in my gut.

I keep smoking, taking long, deep drags trying to quell the nervous energy coursing through my veins.

Marcus chuckles, “Whoa, Mike. Seriously pace yourself. You’ll hack up a lung at this rate.”

“Just ... I-It’s alright,” I wave him off.

My mind races, trying to predict where this night will take us, what uncharted territory we’re about to explore. The only sounds breaking the silence are the crackling of the joints and the distant hum of the fridge, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the haze of uncertainty hanging in the air.

“I’m ... kind of hungry,” Emma announces suddenly.

Her voice is a little slurred, soft, a little breathier than usual, and I can’t tell if it’s the weed or something else that’s making her cheeks flush and her eyes shine.

“Want me to order some pizza?” I ask, reaching for my phone.

“Hmm...” She taps her lips, considering. “Maybe ... Or maybe...”

“What are you in the mood for?” Marcus asks with a gentle smile.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, looking at the ceiling. “Something ... tasty...”

“Ice cream?” I suggest. “We’ve got that cotton candy stuff you like.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Definitely not ice cream.”

“What is it then?”

“Chocolate. I need chocolate. Like, right now.”

“Chocolate? Why so suddenly.”

She shrugs, her voice taking on a playful whine. “I don’t know. Just want to taste some.”

“Any preference? Milk chocolate? Dark? Truffles? Brownies...” Marcus asks.

“I don’t care,” she giggles. “Just ... chocolate. Lots and lots of it.”

Marcus turns to me. “Got any stashed away, Mike?”

“Might be some in the fridge,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “ I think there’s a half-eaten bag of Hershey’s Kisses in there.”

“I will grab them.” Marcus starts to rise, but Emma’s hand darts out, snagging the back of his pants, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wait.”

He turns, a questioning look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t ... I don’t want... those, “ she murmurs, her eyes fixed on his crotch.

“Then what do you want, Emma?”

Instead of answering, she leans back against the sofa, her legs parting slightly, her skirt riding up her thighs. Her eyes meet his, bold and inviting, making my heart stutter. Slowly, deliberately, she raises her hands, fingers tracing the outline of his crotch through the fabric of his jeans.

“I was hoping,” she purrs, her voice dripping with sultry confidence, “for something ... bigger. Something a little more ... appetizing.”

The air crackles with sudden, undeniable tension. My face heats up, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. I’m rooted to my seat, eyes glued to the sight of her hand on him, her fingers teasing his length through the denim.

It’s happening. Again.

Marcus holds my gaze for a beat, a silent question passing between us. Then, his eyes shift back to Emma and, with agonizing slowness, he unbuckles his belt.

He pops the button on his jeans, and as he pulls down the zipper, I can see he’s going commando. His dark cock springs free, already semi-hard and massive.

I remember how it looked that night, stretching Emma’s pussy, filling her completely. His soft, veiny flesh is humongous, a promise of the monster it will become when fully aroused.

Emma’s eyes widen, transfixed. “Oh my...” she breathes, voice barely audible.

Marcus grins, shedding his shirt and pants. He steps closer, his cock swaying gently with each movement.

“How about this for a treat, sweetheart? Like what you see?”

She leans in, fingers reaching out to stroke him. “Oh, I love it,” she purrs, voice thick with desire. “It’s ... perfect.”

I see the tension leave Marcus’s shoulders, relief washing over his face. He’s been craving this, I realize—her enthusiasm, her hunger. And now, he’s gotten it.

“Why don’t you give it a little taste then?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving hers. “Go on ... satisfy that sweet tooth.”

Emma turns to me, her expression unreadable. I’m frozen, mind spinning, body a chaotic mix of arousal and anxiety. She holds my gaze for a moment, then smiles—a slow, sensual curve of her lips that sends a shiver down my spine and sets my heart pounding.

Never breaking eye contact, she leans in, lips parting, tongue flicking out to wet them. Time seems to slow as she lowers her head, and then, with agonizing deliberation, she plants a wet, sloppy kiss on the head of Marcus’s cock. Her lips linger, tasting, exploring.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the sight too intense, too overwhelming. But the sounds—her soft moan, the rustle of her movements, the obscene, wet smack of her mouth on his cock—they’re impossible to escape.

Each noise sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me, my cock aching, straining against my pants.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, but I can’t move, can’t touch myself. I’m paralyzed, trapped in this surreal moment, a voyeur to my own wife’s hunger.

My heart hammers in my chest, a wild drumbeat echoing in my ears. The room is filled with the heavy silence that follows her kiss, a silence that seems to hum with anticipation, with the promise of more.

When I finally open my eyes, I see Emma looking up at Marcus, her eyes gleaming with lust and mischief. She’s waiting, eager, ready for whatever comes next. And so am I, caught in this whirlwind of emotion, desperate to see where this night will take us.

I watch, transfixed, as my wife transforms before my eyes. Gone is the hesitant, uncertain Emma, replaced by a woman possessed, consumed by a hunger I’ve never witnessed before.

Her lips envelop the head of his cock, her tongue swirling, tasting, her movements both eager and surprisingly skilled. She licks up and down the entirety of his shaft, her small hands framing his thick base, a stark contrast of light and dark that sends a shiver of pure lust through me.

She takes him into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch, but even she, with her enthusiasm and determination, can only accommodate a portion of his massive length. I see the frustration on her face, the way her jaw works as she tries to take him deeper, the way her eyes water as she struggles to contain him.

Even though this isn’t the first time she’s taken him in her mouth, she still struggles with his size and girth.

The emotions hit me in waves—excitement, jealousy, disgust, a raw, primal lust that makes my skin prickle. It’s a kaleidoscope of conflicting sensations, each one vying for dominance, each one pulling me in a different direction.

He holds her head gently, keeping her down on his shaft longer than she can manage on her own, and the wet, sucking sounds that fill the room, the sounds of her struggling, of her being pushed to her limit, send a fresh wave of arousal through me.

I see the frustration on Emma’s face, the way her jaw strains, her eyes watering, as she fights to contain him, to conquer a force that’s clearly beyond her experience.

Finally, he pulls back, his cock glistening with saliva. She looks up at him, her eyes watering, her breath coming in ragged pants.

“Relax, sweetheart.” He speaks softly. “You can take more. I know you can. Remember what I told you the first time? This isn’t some toy, Emma.” He chuckles softly. “This is a real dick. And you gotta work for it. Relax your throat. Open up. Let me in.”

She nods, her eyes glazed, her body moving as if in a trance.

“Good...” He smiles. “Now ... first, you gotta get me nice and wet, you understand? Spit on it. Lots of spit. Get it all nice and slick. Show me how much you want it.”

She leans forward, gathering saliva in her mouth, and lets it dribble down his shaft, her eyes never leaving his. It pools at the base, a glistening bead, then slowly, erotically, drips down his length, tracing a wet path.

Her tongue follows, lapping at the drool, tracing a wet, glistening path from the base to the tip, lingering on the swollen head before swirling around it.

“Fuckkk ... Spit some more ... Work that tongue, Emma. Use those lips...”

“Mmmmm ... hhhmmm...” Emma hums around his cock, her lips vibrating against his thick shaft. She’s licking him like an ice cream cone, her tongue working tirelessly exploring every inch of his dark flesh.

“Mmmmmmpppphhhh ... ahhh...”

“That’s it ... that’s it ... use that tongue. You’re doing so fucking good...”

The words are crude, patronizing, demeaning, yet the sheer filth of it all, the way his voice fuels her eagerness, the desperate need in her eyes—it’s too ... much. She licks the ridge of his glans, her tongue darting out to trace the band of foreskin.

“Mmmppp ... mppphhh ... shhh...”

I watch, mesmerized, my breath catching in my throat as she devours him. The sounds filling the room—the wet sucking, the soft moans, the rhythmic lapping of her tongue against his flesh—are driving me crazy. I clench my fists, my body a tight coil of tension, knowing I’m seconds away from losing it, from erupting right here in my chair.

“Godddd...”__ She pulls away with a gasp, her chest heaving. “Did you ... did you get bigger?”

Marcus chuckles. “How’s that even possible?”

“I don’t know ... but you definitely feel...” She trails off, shaking her head. “You definitely feel bigger.”

She strokes his cock slowly, deliberately, coating it with a generous amount of spit. More pre-cum beads at the slit, a shiny pearl against the dark, engorged head. She rubs the head against her lips, smearing it, then darts her tongue out to taste it, a low hum of approval.

“Like the taste?”

“Mmmhmm...” she hums, eyes closed, savouring it.

“Okay, now. Open up for me, sweetheart.” He watches her with a dark intensity, his voice low, commanding. “Relax your throat and breathe through your nose ... Just the way I showed you.’’