Emma Pillsbury witnesses an altercation between Marcus, a particularly burly Black football player on the high school team, and another student. She takes them to the principal's office, who decides to punish Marcus with a two-day detention. Upon his return, Marcus finds himself in Emma Pillsbury's office. He blames Emma for his punishment. She retorts that he knocked the other student to the ground, but Marcus tells her that it was the other student who had insulted his mother and sister. He tells Emma that she is simply racist and doesn't like Black people. She declares that this isn't true. Marcus suggests that to prove it to her, she come to the "Black is Better" party organized by the Black members of the football team. Emma tells him that she is a member of the school staff and cannot go to a student party. Marcus retorts that she is making up a false excuse. After hesitating for a moment, Emma Pillsbury agrees to go to the party but says she'll only stay a short while. Marcus says nothing but suspects that Pillsbury isn't likely to return to her husband, Will Schuester, anytime soon. The characters Tina, Quinn, and Rachel are to appear in this story during the party. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

Chapter 4: The Test

The hallway air felt cooler after the thickness of the bedroom, the bass from the stereo below a dull throb in the floorboards. Marcus kept his hand on the small of Emma’s back, a possessive anchor as she walked stiffly beside him, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the muffled sounds of the party. “What got you the most back there? Was it watching Tina suck cock, or was it the size of it?”

Emma’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She swallowed, her throat clicking dryly.

“It’s a simple question, Mrs. Pillsbury.”

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered finally, her voice thin as paper.

“Yeah, you do.” He stopped walking, turning her to face him. The corridor was dim, lit only by a flickering sconce. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Or a god. Which was it?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. She focused on the logo of his jersey, the stitching of the number. “The… the size,” she admitted, the words shaming her even as they left her lips.

A slow, knowing smile spread across Marcus’s face. “Figured. That was William. He’s been fucking Tina for a couple months now. She started coming to our study sessions, ended up preferring his… tutoring… to whatever her boyfriend was offering.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “All the guys on the team are packing. Some more than others. Me?” He paused, letting the implication hang. “I’ve got a little more than William does.”

Emma felt a dizzying drop in her stomach. Her mind flashed an involuntary, absurd comparison to Will, to her husband’s kind, familiar touch. It felt like thinking of a childhood toy while standing before a roaring engine.

Marcus watched the conflict play out on her face. “Your husband got a dick that big, Mrs. Pillsbury?”

She shut her eyes tight, a definitive silence her only answer.

“Alright then,” Marcus said, the smile not leaving his voice. He took her elbow again. “Let’s keep moving.”

He led her past a closed door where rhythmic thumping echoed, toward a bathroom at the end of the hall. Steam and the sharp, astringent scent of cheap body spray leaked from the partially open door, mixing with the deeper smells of male sweat and soap. Marcus pushed the door open wide.

Emma froze.

The bathroom was a riot of steam and motion. Quinn Fabray, pristine head cheerleader, queen of McKinley High’s social scene, was on her hands and knees on the wet linoleum. Her pleated skirt was bunched around her waist, her white panties a torn scrap around one ankle. Behind her, a player she recognized from the living room—Jake, she thought his name was—was driving into her with a brutal, piston-like rhythm. His hands were clenched on her hips, his dark skin gleaming with sweat under the harsh fluorescent light.

And his cock. It was monstrous. Thick and dark, it plunged into Quinn’s stretched, glistening pussy with a wet, slapping sound that filled the tiled room. Each thrust buried him to the hilt, making Quinn’s body jolt forward. He had a fistful of her blonde ponytail, yanking her head back so her neck was a taut, graceful line.

“You like that, you fucking snow bunny?” Jake grunted, his voice guttural. “You like getting your tight little white pussy split open?”

“Yes! God, yes, don’t stop!” Quinn screamed, her voice ragged, her face a mask of delirious pleasure. Her eyes were screwed shut, her lips parted in a continuous, broken moan.

Emma’s hand flew to her own mouth. A violent, shocking heat exploded between her own legs, a sudden soaking warmth that bloomed through her cotton panties. It was visceral, immediate, a primal punch of arousal that stole her breath. She’d never watched porn; the clinical, absurd angles of it had always repelled her. But this was raw, human, deafening. The animalistic sounds, the crude words, the sheer, obscene physics of that huge cock pistoning into that slender, willing body—it was the most disgusting, most electrifying thing she had ever witnessed.

At that moment, Marcus’s large, warm hands settled on her hips from behind. He pulled her back gently until she felt the solid wall of his chest. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice a hot, intimate whisper.

“You’re enjoying this,” he stated, no question in his tone. His hands slid around to press against her lower stomach, pulling her back harder against him. She could feel the hard, unmistakable ridge of his erection pressing against the cleft of her ass through their clothes. “I can feel it. Your heart’s hammering. You’re wet, aren’t you?”

Emma trembled, a full-body shudder of confession. She gave the tiniest nod, her eyes still locked on the spectacle before her. Quinn was coming now, her back arching violently as Jake fucked her through it, his insults turning into growls of his own release.

Marcus watched her for a second longer, then reached past her shoulder and pushed the bathroom door closed, cutting off the sight and the sound. The hallway was suddenly, profoundly quiet.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough. He took her hand, his grip firm, and led her away from the door, toward the staircase that led to the second floor.