The Need For Weed (Book 2 of "PotErotica")

By Kethandra Wilde

Two decades after college, their marriage was passionate, satisfying.

Then a weed-thin teen, tall and pretty, moves into their spare room - his man cave - cutting off access to his marijuana stash and tempting him with progressively more revealing outfits and behavior.

When her voluptuous and flirtatious mother shows up, desire, temptation and opportunities multiply.

Welcome to PotErotica.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

"Good morning."

I almost dropped the square paper container of General Tsao’s as I jumped. By the light of the open refrigerator, I could see Weed standing with a half-smile, leaning against the doorway. The thin sleepshirt covered our young houseguest to near mid-thigh, which still left a mile of tan, slim legs. Her pretty face was scrunched up, squinting against the light. She sounded groggy. The microwave clock said 2:08 AM. Morning indeed.

She shuffled across the vinyl floor and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. Her body was relaxed, almost collapsing against me, still sleepy. My wife was petite, slender, but my arms seemed to reach almost twice as far around Weed's taller, skinnier frame.

"You smell like sex."

She was my height or a hair taller, so my face buried against her neck as she leaned into me. She smelled like pot. Weed. My pot. Mixed with a sweet, girly musk. I had no idea how to respond to her observation.

"Damn. You really smell like sex." She drew a slow sniffing breath along my jaw, repeating the exact words, stretching them out with more deliberate emphasis. I shivered. It felt electric. Her pixie nose dragged up to the corner of my mouth, still tracing the scent. Her mouth was close to mine, the sweet, pouty lips I had fantasized about so many times recently. Fantasized about those lips kissing mine, about the suggestion of them sealing around the end of my glass pipe.

The tip of her tongue flicked out, sampled the skin near the corner where my lips joined, where she had last sniffed. I held myself motionless.

"Yes." She whispered, lips vibrating against my skin. "nothing else tastes quite like that."

I moaned. Not much more than a whine. Weed leaned in, her thighs and stomach hard on mine. My arms responded without permission, wrapping even further around her. Lips kissed, tasted along my jaw, feather light, weighty with promise. "Mmm. Nice and fresh."

She pushed her tiny hips in harder, found my swelling shape. "I always wondered how Aunt Carrie tasted. I wanna ‘nother sample."

Her body dragged lower against me until her slim form slipped below my arms. Dropping to her knees, she leaned close, mouth open. Air hissed in between my teeth at the feeling of heat that reached me through the light flannel my pajama pants.

The refrigerator cast light over one side of Weed's face, showing the concentration there as she fished a hand through the open fly and pulled me free.

She cradled me in delicate, long palms and fingers, allowing hot breath out between her lips, millimeters away.

Then her tongue was on me as her big eyes came up to find mine. I knew what she must be tasting, after so recently feeling Carrie moving under me, while I pictured instead this slender waif in her place.

"Mmmm."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Dec 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463435830

Book preview

The Need For Weed

Kethandra Wilde

Copyright @ 2019

All characters are over the age of 18

My need for Weed began in late August. Weed was her nickname, and had been from when she first sprouted upward as a young girl, taller than all her classmates of any gender. She'd stayed rail thin over the years, though active and successful in volleyball and track.

Weed's mom, Eva, was my wife Carrie’s best friend, tall like her daughter but buxom in a way Weed would never be. Weed would be attending the local university, the same school where an inexperienced, nerdy me had met two lovely inseparable girls, one tall and one short, Eva and Carrie, a couple decades ago.

Since Eva and Edith (No wonder the poor girl used a nickname: what parent after the first half of the 20th century names their child Edith?) lived hundreds of miles away, when the university notified them of a last-minute repair needed to Weed's dorm room, on the day she was to move in, Carrie insisted her best friend's daughter stay with us.

We were happy to have Weed stay the week with us until her dorm room would be ready though I agreed before I realized Carrie saw Weed staying in our basement spare room - the closest thing I had to my own man-cave. My combination office and smoking lounge, no tobacco allowed beyond a rare cigar with a friend. The basement was where I smoked pot. Weed.

Now, I had a tall gangly-gorgeous eighteen-year-old inhabiting the space, inhibiting my most private habits. Getting high and masturbating.

Now, a curious, too-mature young woman kept me from my stress-reducing, engrained habits.

Now, a willowy, waify wonder wandered my home, with a face that went from pensive pout to room-brightening grin in an instant, wearing increasing more revealing clothes.

Day one had been a whirlwind of decisions after the burst pipe made her designated room unlivable. Weed was a grumpy, frustrated teen in sweats, stuck off-campus at night while her new classmates explored dorm life.

Day two she'd been gracious. Gone most of the day for orientation, she returned bright-eyed but tired, in skinny jeans that exaggerated already long legs and slim hips and a white t-shirt which bulged in two overly rounded mounds that seemed obviously all bra. Carrie received a hug of thanks first. Pulling back from mine, Weed - my height, or a hair taller - looked me in the eye and said, I know I took over your space. If you need me...if you need access to anything, please let me know.

By day four the bra was gone, at least when she 'got comfy' in the evening. Loose shorts left miles of smooth shining legs exposed as she helped clean up after dinner, then curled under her when she joined us for a movie.

Day five, I learned how her legs got their shine, after Weed came home early and surprised me while I was blowing a hit of smoke into the ventilator fan of her basement bathroom. Fifteen minutes earlier than that and she would have caught me pumping my cock, my computer screen filled with an image of a tall, thin model with open, pouting lips and inviting eyes that reminded me of our young guest.

I wondered how you were getting along, without access to…your space. She made a small frown, her brows knitting. I really do appreciate the sacrifice. Thank you.

It's no problem, We...

But, you know what else I'd appreciate? She cut me off. A hit of whatever I smell right now.

Hands on hips, she tilted her head, waiting my response. She was young, but an adult and I had heard Eva comment that she trusted the girl to be moderate with drugs and alcohol. The way Weed held the lighter to the pipe, the deep inhales held without coughing, made it clear she had smoked at least a few times before.

She chattered on about school, her tongue loosened by the pot. She used the bathroom to change into her comfy clothes after ushering me out, raising her voice to continue her monologue through the door. She wore the same loose shorts from yesterday and a longer night shirt that covered them. When she first opened the door, I thought she was naked under the top; all I could see below were those long, toned legs.

Would you hand me that lotion, please?

I found the large pump bottle on the shelf that doubled as a nightstand.

Thank you. Her eyes had an extra twinkle that might have been just the weed. She propped one bare foot up on my desk and began applying the lotion to her leg, moving up from the ankle with long, smooth strokes. The position revealed the shorts underneath, ruining the