Cw_dubious_consent on Knotty Biscotti

My Partner in Crime, My Midnight Companion

Fri, 17 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The weekend had started out perfectly. Kelley had taken off work early and driven to the family cabin on Friday afternoon to set up. She’d been planning this, well, all year, really, and she wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

The cabin was deep in Les Laurentides, several hours north of Montréal. The real name of the area was Val des Lumières but among the Hayes family, it was simply “up Val”. She’d stopped in Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts for last-minute supplies—charcuterie supplies, an artichoke dip and a boule that smelled like heaven, and wine, so very much wine.

“To my little sister!” Kelley announced, raising her glass. “My new literary agent!”

“Kel!” Kayleigh giggled, clinking glasses then taking a rather large drink of the grenache-heavy rosé. “It’s April, at least wait until I know if I graduated!”

Kelley giggled too, finishing her wine, collecting Kayleigh’s glass and heading back to the kitchen to refill both from the second cardboard box of the evening. “No way! I hate my agent, if I’m gonna get screwed by anyone—” she cut herself off and glanced nervously at Kayleigh.

Kelley’s little sister blushed, then beamed. “Get over here, Bossy Boots!”

Arching an eyebrow, Kelley returned to the living room with the two full glasses of wine. She sat down carefully and snuggled up to her sister before the wood stove. “I’m bossy?” she teased as she brought her lips close.

“You used to be,” Kayleigh replied softly, then kissed her sister full on the lips while one hand cupped Kelley’s behind. Before long the wine was forgotten, clothing was discarded and the sisters connected in their own, unique way.

The clock on the nightstand glowed 2:22 AM, casting a faint red hue over the bedroom Kelley and Kayleigh were sharing this weekend. Kelley dozed when they first came to bed, but the heat refused to die down. The moment Kayleigh lay down on the decadent mattress, she was asleep. But Kelley, she still needed her sister. She had planned one more treat but the wine, the long drive, and weeks of Kayleigh wrapping up assignments and finishing exams had gotten the better of little Kaybear.

Kayleigh snored softly on her side of the bed, her lithe body barely covered by a thin tank top and panties—she had kicked the duvet off within minutes. Kelley watched her, heart pounding, the strap-on she’d bought months ago—the final surprise, hidden in a drawer—wouldn’t leave her thoughts. The dildo was a monstrous thing, 8 inches long with a tapered tip, a bulbous, knotted centre, then a ribbed and veiny shaft back to the moulded testicular base. Jean-Claw, it was called, a hand-sculpted dildo mounted in a hand-tooled leather harness.

Get over here, Bossy Boots!

Kelley slipped out of bed. “Bossy.”

Kelley retrieved the silk ropes from under the mattress, the simple sight of them fuelling her arousal. The ropes were a regular part of their games but never like this. She worked quickly, securing both of Kayleigh’s ankles to the bed before the younger sister even stirred.

“What—” Kayleigh’s groggy question died as Kelley looped the rope around her wrists, tying them to the headboard with practised knots. Kayleigh squirmed, her small breasts heaving under the tank top, nipples poking up beneath the fabric.

“Shh-shh-shh, Kaybear,” Kelley murmured, her voice the familiar warning tone from childhood: Kayleigh would catch Crinklebone Fever if she didn’t leave Kelley and her friends alone during sleepovers. Kayleigh relaxed, just a little, until her big sister held up a whiffle-ball-gag. As she opened her mouth to speak, Kelley forced it between Kayleigh’s lips and fastened it behind her head. Kayleigh’s eyes widened, the bright red gag distorted her words to wet burbling.

Kelley’s hands explored, yanking Kayleigh’s tank top up to expose her modest tits, pinching the ruddy pink nipples. Kayleigh bucked her hips. Kelley watched her eyes and told herself what she saw there. She hooked her fingers into Kayleigh’s panties, tearing the silly lace things away, exposing the red whorls of dense pubic hair.

“You’ve always been mine,” Kelley growled, moving back and off the bed, giving Kayleigh a clear look at the strange, eldritch phallus her sister wore. Kelley knelt on the bed between her sister’s open thighs, grinning. “You always knew that, didn’t you, Kaybear?” She tightened the restraints on Kayleigh’s ankles, forcing her thighs apart until her wonderful sister squeaked in protest and her pussy lips parted, revealing glistening pink inner folds.

Kayleigh’s muffled cries filled the room as Kelley rubbed the Wendigo cock against her entrance, the knobbly tip teasing Kayleigh’s clit before pressing in. The head breached slowly at first, Kayleigh’s breath coming in sharp, shallow pulls as her body arched and the ropes creaked against her struggles. Kelley pushed deeper, and when the knot finally bore through Kayleigh’s entrance, the younger woman whimpered through her gag.

“Fuck, Kaybear, I can barely get inside,” Kelley panted, her hips drew back then snapped forward, beginning a rhythm. She pounded into her sister, the strap-on’s girth splitting Kayleigh open, juices squirting out with each thrust. Her gagged moans turned to sobs of pleasure as Kelley drove the knot in, revelling in the minute resistance each time she pulled it back out, like she might turn her sister inside-out.

Kelley’s hands mauled Kayleigh’s tits, twisting the nipples as she fucked harder, the bed slamming against the wall. “You’re so fucking pretty,” Kelley gasped. “I love your titties so much!” Sweat dripped onto Kayleigh’s heaving chest. She reached down, rubbing Kayleigh’s swollen clit in tight, rough circles. Kayleigh’s body convulsed, her bound limbs straining, and Kelley knew. She watched her sister come apart, girl-cum gushing, soaking the sheets.

Kelley didn’t stop. She flipped Kayleigh onto her stomach. The ropes didn’t allow enough slack, so Kelley’s little sister was cross-armed and cross-legged, face-down. As Kayleigh mewled in protest, Kelley re-entered her from behind. The new angle drove the strap-on deeper, as Kelley slapped her sister’s firm ass-cheeks red. “Take it all, Kaybear,” she hissed, grinding the base against her own clit for friction. Kayleigh’s face pressed into the pillow, drool soaking it, and Kelley recognised the signs. She drove harder.

Hours blurred into a haze of relentless fucking. By dawn, Kayleigh lay spent, body marked with rope burns and handprints, pussy and ass both raw with loving abuse. Kelley untied her gently, removing the gag to kiss her swollen lips. “I couldn’t wait anymore,” she whispered.

Kayleigh, voice hoarse, pulled her close. “I’d stopped hoping for this.”

Knotty

Sweater Weather

Fri, 07 Nov 2025 00:00:00 +0000

“Mmm, you’ll be wantin’ to stay the night,” the old man says to me and I can smell the blend of fried fish and sour beer on his breath. I give him my most withering look, but he must be too pickled to read my body language.

“Nah, moving on to Stonehaven,” I reply icily as I drop a few crumpled notes on the bar. “That should cover it,” I say, then leave the Reedgrave Inn, I hope for the last time. I step back into the white, almost choking fog that never seems to leave the town of Fenkirk.

Four hours later, the sun has long set and somehow I’m still walking along the county road between Fenkirk and Stonehaven. I was sure I’d be there by now, it shouldn’t have been more than a three-hour walk, even taking my time, but somehow I’m still out here; the sun is down and the Beaver Moon is high in the sky. At least I’m far enough away from Fenkirk to be free of that fog.

I haven’t even seen a single vehicle this whole time. That sets me on edge a little, but it isn’t the first empty road I’ve walked at night, probably won’t be the last. “Not like any of you offered me a ride,” I grumbled to the memories of Fenkirk, but I also couldn’t remember seeing all that many cars when I was there.

And I suppose I wasn’t exactly the friendliest drifter they’d ever met when I was there.

Cresting a hill I come to a stop so quickly I nearly fall over. On the shoulder of the road is a woman, looking right at me, as if she’s been waiting. The tiny hairs on my arms stand up and my world suddenly feels a little less solid.

She’s tall, taller than me — almost six feet, I’m guessing — but that’s in no way her most striking feature. She has long, straight, silver-black hair that shines under the full moon. Her skin is the colour of heavy cream and, somehow she’s close enough for me to tell in the moonlight, her eyes are large, reddish-brown pools. She’s wearing nothing but a heavy red cardigan that exposes her shoulders but covers down past her hips and in spite of myself I catch myself staring.

“You’ve come late,” she said softly, taking a step toward me, her bare feet heedless of the frost already covering the heather that blankets the ground. She offers her hands, and I take them, bringing her fingers to my lips and kissing them like some courtier eager to marry into her favour.

The whole world has taken on a dreamlike haze as I see her approving smile. “Follow,” she commands, and I do.

We are in a clearing not far from the road, but well hidden from it. She is lying on her back on a soft, mossy patch of ground. Her legs are spread wide causing her cardigan to ride up over her hips, exposing herself before me; inviting rather than commanding now.

I accept. Eagerly.

I kneel between her milk-pale thighs and breathe deep. The air is full of frost and heather, fresh earth and moss, blood and salt and sex and I hear myself moaning as my fingers press into the tender flesh of her thighs.

“As you will,” she says to me, both hands on my cheeks now. I can’t place her accent and somehow it feels important but also irrelevant.

I kiss her in the most intimate way possible and I feel her nails scrape against the back of my head. That’s all the encouragement I need.

I lick, first all around, playing with her folds, further down to the musky bridge between her vagina and her anus and I’m gratified by the startled moan of pleasure this draws from her. Butterflies fill my stomach as I look up at her over her mons pubis. She is looking fixedly at me and then my tongue is on her clitoris and her eyes close as her head rolls back. I lick, lapping shamelessly at her, then suck, as if I could draw her nectar from her nubbin, then bite gently. The way her thighs tremble against my cheeks I know I’m doing well.

I want to do well. I want to please her so much.

My finger enters from below, the tiny grove is filled with the wet, tender sounds of our lovemaking as I probe her with my tongue and my finger and as I suckle her clit like it is the source of all life. Time slips. I have no idea how long I stay like that, kneeling between her legs, worshipping at her altar, but when she orgasms I am flooded with a sense of fulfilment I’ve never felt in my life.

Time passes. The moon moves. The woman whispers softly in my ear, “Time for what’s mine.” I’m filled with nervous lust as she begins removing my pants.

Morning arrives far too early. I don’t remember falling asleep but I awake naked, covered only by her red cardigan. I roll over slowly to find my clothes folded neatly not far away. They’re damp with morning frost, but otherwise perfect. They smell faintly of heather I have the sense that they’re cleaner than they were yesterday. I dress gingerly. My inner thighs bear many bruises and other parts of me have been very well enjoyed.

Once clothed, I look around the mossy clearing that had been last night’s bedroom and smile. I pull the red cardigan on over my shoulders then heft my rucksack.

“I’ll try to not be late next time,” I say softly before I return to the road.

Knotty

The Pumpkin Lord's Price

Fri, 31 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Rhiannon weaved through the chaos: mummies, ghosts, an axe-murderer, three sexy nurses, and two witches in addition to herself. She tried to focus on Heather, her forever bestie, but bumped into an inflatable dinosaur, spilling her margarita down the front of her costume. “Aw, noooo!” she blinked, uncomprehending as the cold hit her. A shaky step back brought her to the table, where she knocked a tray of sausage rolls onto the floor. “Oh, nooo,” she wailed, then, somehow, Heather was at her side.

“Hey, RhiRhi,” Heather said gently, wrapping an arm around her. “The party’s kind of winding down. How about I get you a ride home.”

Rhiannon blinked slowly, her cold, wet boobs forgotten. Going home sounded great. Crawling into bed would do her wonders. “You’re the best, thank youuuu,” she slurred, trying to hug her friend.

“No thank you,” Heather responded quickly but kindly, still supporting Rhiannon, holding her phone and deftly avoiding getting margarita on her fairy princess costume all at once.

“Shit, sorry! I made a mess, huh?” Rhiannon looked at herself, then tried to focus on the party as Heather expertly manoeuvred her out.

“It’s fine, let’s just get you home, huh?”

“I’m sorry I wrecked your party!” Hot tears stung Rhiannon’s eyes. “A.J. leaves, I didn’t get that job, my car broke down–”

“That one’s probably good luck,” Heather teased gently.

“That’s what I need,” Rhiannon gasped, excited. “Some good luck. A whole year of good luck. Thaaaat’s what I neeeed.”

Heather had guided her to the front porch. “It’ll turn around soon, babe. Just get a good night’s sleep. Ride’s almost here.”

Rhiannon spied the twelve foot tall figure with the jack-o’-lantern head looming over Heather’s other Halloween decorations. “I really like your pumpkin guy.”

Laughing softly, Heather replied, “Thanks, we call him The Pumpkin Lord.”

“Hey! Pumpkin Lord!” Rhiannon staggered toward the decoration. “Hey! I need some luck! You grant wishes? I’m wishin’ for a whole year of luck!”

“Okay sweetie, let’s just sit and wait for – "

Rhiannon allowed herself be led back toward the porch, then suddenly had a new idea. “He’s huge. I bet he’s really hung!” She tried to turn back, slipping out of Heather’s grasp. “Y’wanna get lucky, Pumpkin Lord? Gimme some luck, an’ you can have whatever you want.” She tried for a sexy pose but ended up falling backward into Heather’s arms.

Rhiannon woke to the sound of leaves rustling, which was strange. She never slept with the windows open and she had no plants. Blinking in the dark – was the power out? she didn’t even see the glow from her clock – and she tried to roll over. Tried, and failed. Her arms were above her head and her wrists would move. Something was wrapped snugly around them. Her ankles too.

Panic shot through her. She jerked hard, but the restraints only tightened against her skin. Vines? She looked up, blinking in the near total darkness. Vines! Fresh and green, coiled up from the mattress, holding her down, squeezing her into the mattress.

“The hell…?”

A rumbling sound cut her off, making her squeak in fright. Half distant thunder, half something massive moving through bushes; menacing, mocking laughter.

From the shadows in the corner of her room, near the foot of her bed, he emerged. Gigantic and only vaguely man-shaped. Instead of a head, he had a jack-o’-lantern crowned with curling vines, grinning with blazing firelight. His carved eyes flared as he looked her over.

“You called to me, witch” he rumbled. He circled the bed, the vines twitching against her skin, tightening as he moved. “You offered yourself. In every way. So I have come.”

“I–I was drunk!”

The ragged vines scraped against her skin as they tightened further and Rhiannon heard the tangled vine-crown he wore scraping the ceiling as the Pumpkin Lord bent over her. “You deny the bargain? You offered yourself in every way.”

Something primal in her quailed. She shivered, looking up at him. She was afraid, yes, but overpowering that was a molten ache low in her belly. She whispered: “What if I deny it?”

“Bad luck. Rot. Misery.” Somehow his carved grin widened. “Should you honour it … bliss.”

The vines snaked up her legs, past her knees, rough and sensual along her thighs. Her heart hammered in her chest, terror and desire blending indistinguishably. Rhiannon swallowed hard, chest heaving. “Yes.”

He bent over her, one clawed hand pressing the vines deeper into her skin until she whimpered. His voice crackled like logs in fire, “Your fear feeds me. Your arousal feeds you. We both win, little witch.”

She felt the bed sink as he joined her. One knee between her legs, the other on the outside. The darkness that shrouded him parted revealing an undeniably masculine body, but constructed from braided roots and vines and not to any human scale. Rhiannon gasped and, in spite of herself, spread her legs a little more. The co-mingled scent of smoke and pumpkin and earth gave her an inexplicable thrill. Already she could feel her need pooling beneath her on the bed, soaking the sheets.

“It has been too long I’ve waited, witch,” he growled, each syllable like an electric current through her body, teasing her desperate sex. The vines crept further up her thighs and – almost tenderly – parted her lips, one even moved further up to caress her clit, drawing a wanton groan from her. “I am honoured to serve…”

“Wha–?” Rhiannon managed, suddenly confused, but then the Pumpkin Lord had revealed … what? Where a man’s cock would be was something unutterably obscene. Pale yellow with stripes so dark green they could have been black, covered from tip to root in bulbous nodules and bumps and ridges, the tip adorned with six wide, knobbly wings. dispersed around the tip of his phallus. A gourd! she thought wildly, nearly giggling before he thrust the monstrous appendage into her.

“Aaaaah~” she gasped loudly, her toes clenched into little fists, almost painfully so, as she tried to ride the Pumpkin Lord. The tip was too big, too strangely shaped, too uneven, as the horrific monster thrust again and again Rhiannon could do little more than whimper and struggle against her bonds. She so desperately wanted to claw at his back, not to deter him but to drive him harder. He pounded her hips, his gourd-cock plunging deep into her cunt and each time he reached his full reach the flared tip seemed to throb inside her, and Rhiannon tried desperately to clench her Kegel muscles on him. She needed to milk him, she needed whatever monster-cum he would pump into her and she needed it now!

“I want every hole, little witch,” The Pumpkin Lord rumbled as he pulled out of her, causing Rhiannon to whimper with shameless need. He trailed a syrupy orange liquid between her cunt and his gourd-cock, she dimly wondered if that was his precum.

“Yes,” she groaned as she rolled her hips, desperately trying to rub herself against his bizarre member. She needed it, she was close, and he could push her over the edge with barely a –

“No,” he seemed to reconsider and Rhiannon nearly broke into tears at the implication. Instead, though, he entered her slippery passage once more, filling her so much she could hardly breathe. “I have no need to rush,” the loamy, pumpkin-ish breath washed over her.

Her body betrayed her, shuddering under his control. Every pull of the vines made her writhe harder, every scrape of their rough fibres pushed her closer to something she didn’t want to admit. Every thrust of that horrible, bulbous gourd-cock filled her with dread. She should have been horrified. She was horrified. But she was also burning, every nerve alive with sensation she couldn’t deny.

His ember-eyes blazed as he studied her, a king pleased with his tithe. “You’ll remember this night,” he promised. “And when the year is sweet, you’ll know it was earned.”

The vines cinched tighter, locking her down completely. She let out a strangled cry that melted into something breathless, wanton, shameless.

“Good,” he growled. “Thank you, witch.”

By the time dawn glowed faint at the window, she was spent. The vines slowly uncoiled, leaving her wrists raw and her thighs trembling.

He leaned down, heat radiating from his carved grin, ember-eyes flickering low. “This year is yours. Next October…” His grin widened. “We will bargain again.”

Her lips trembled, throat dry. Shame should have drowned her, but the word that left her mouth was soft, aching, hungry: “Please.”

Knotty