Humorous on Knotty Biscotti

Easter Eggs

Fri, 10 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Rachel emerged from Frankie’s bedroom—their shared bedroom any night Rachel wasn’t up late working—and smiled, surveying the bright, sun-soaked living room of their apartment. The afternoon sun was wonderful! The open curtains allowed the room to grow very warm and Rachel was glad she was only wearing a t-shirt and her gym shorts. Too hot for much more, she thought as a blush joined her smile.

“Still waiting!” Frankie’s voice carried mock irritation with a hint of genuine excitement.

“Keep your eyes closed!”

“They’re closed! Jeez, Rach!”

Rachel padded into the kitchen, nearly silent on her bare feet, then took a seat opposite Frankie, her best friend of nearly eight years, girlfriend of nearly five months. “Okay, open.”

Frankie opened one eye, grinned, then opened the other. Resting on the table between the two women was her first prize: a large egg made of pink plastic. “An Easter egg hunt.” Frankie laughed and looked back up at Rachel.

“This is how you make it up to me,” she said evenly, letting a pinch of amusement come through.

“Okay! Easter egg hunt!” Frankie sounded like a kid at Disneyland. She opened the egg, revealing only a slip of paper inside. She faltered for a beat, then recovered and read the note in a singsong lilt. “You hid something in this spot thinking that you were so smart / Start right here, where you nearly made me act like a tart.” Frankie snorted, failing to stifle the laughter.

“I’m a research journalist, not a writer! Go!” Rachel’s command was less commanding than she’d have liked as she was laughing too.

Frankie darted across the hardwood floor to the desk and Rachel sat on the edge of the kitchen counter to watch. Seconds later, Frankie was holding up another plastic egg, this one a rich purple. She twisted it open, confusion clear on her expression. Rachel imagined she was surprised by the weight.

“What is…” Frankie trailed off as understanding dawned. She put the egg down and held up a purple lace bralette, crop-style with racerback straps, and a matching set of lace boyshorts. “OH! Fashion show!” Frankie declared, giving Rachel a wicked grin.

“Yep, fashion show,” Rachel agreed, making a ‘shoo’ motion with her hand.

Silence from the bedroom, then a squeal of surprise. “Rach!”

“C’mon, Frankie! Fashion show!” Now Rachel was almost imitating Frankie’s earlier tone.

Frankie emerged from the bedroom wearing nothing but the lingerie. The bralette did wonders for her modest breasts, but the boyshorts, oh they were doing exactly what Rachel had been hoping for. They hugged Frankie’s hips, snugged tight against her mound, and when Frankie turned they left her ass completely bare. The shorts had a heart-shaped cutout that framed Frankie’s behind perfectly.

Rachel squirmed on the kitchen counter. Not yet, she told herself. She hadn’t counted on how hot it would be watching Frankie being so casual about this.

“Another clue!” Frankie giggled, reading it in the same voice as the last. “Where you hog all the space and steal the remote / If you look down low, you’ll find your next note.” Frankie glanced up, wheeled around and gave her behind a firm swat. “To the couch!” She ran across the room, knelt on the cushions and stuffed both hands between them.

Rachel stared. She’s doing that on purpose! She’d planned to watch Frankie from behind while she searched, but she hadn’t planned on Frankie in this position. Back to Rachel, knees spread wide, Frankie’s ass-cheeks hanging out of the boyshorts were even more tempting than Rachel had imagined.

“Found it!” Frankie announced, holding up a brilliant yellow egg in triumph. She opened it with a flourish, then squeaked. Rachel was thrilled at Frankie’s startled expression. “Is this…” Frankie’s eyes widened as she held up a tiny strip of orange and black fabric.

“Fashion shooooow,” Rachel teased, motioning to the bedroom again.

Frankie returned a moment later and Rachel couldn’t contain the gasp. This outfit was another two-piece. Sort of. The top was a leopard-print bandeau-style micro-kini with studded leather trim. It was barely wide enough to cover Frankie’s areolae, and her nipples stood out prominently beneath the fuzzy fabric. Around her neck was a matching choker, about an inch and a half tall, edged with the same black leather and tiny silver studs.

The bottom was a nearly invisible g-string with a leopard-print triangle covering Frankie’s crotch and very little else. Frankie’s auburn curls peeked out around the g-string’s almost laughable coverage. The afternoon sun caught them just right, made them almost glow, and Rachel’s toes curled. She hoped Frankie hadn’t caught that. “Very cute! You like it?” she asked, knowing her voice didn’t sound as casual as she wanted.

Frankie shuffled, adjusting what little she could. “Rwar!” she responded and made a little ‘claw’ motion with her free hand, but she seemed just a touch less confident. “Next clue!” she chirped after a moment. “Where you found the cream cheese, why was it there?” Frankie shot Rachel a look and Rachel couldn’t help giggling. “Go have a look, no tricks, I swear!”

Maybe moving a bit more cautiously, Frankie watched Rachel for a moment, then entered the bathroom. Rachel had to hop off the counter to follow. When she reached the bathroom door, Frankie had already retrieved a powder-blue plastic egg from the shower caddy. She eyed Rachel sideways, twisting it open.

Rachel’s tongue-tip grazed her lower lip. “Fashion show,” she said softly. When Frankie had disappeared into the bedroom, Rachel allowed herself a trembling exhale. Almost there.

“Rach?” Frankie asked, sounding uncharacteristically shy as she emerged from the bedroom again.

“Oh,” was all Rachel could manage. It was better than she’d imagined.

Frankie was wearing a black leaf-pattern lace bodysuit that hid nothing. Her nipples strained against cups so sheer Rachel could count every one of the little bumps scattered across Frankie’s areolae. The bodysuit was held in place with a string of pearls acting as a halter neck; the sides and back were almost completely cut away. Most beautifully, the bodysuit ended just below Frankie’s hipbones. Another string of pearls looped between Frankie’s legs, connecting the front and the back of the outfit. A few of the pearls were completely lost in Frankie’s pubic hair and the strand nestled perfectly between Frankie’s outer lips.

“Rach?” Frankie asked again.

Rachel swallowed. “One more,” she responded, handing Frankie an orange plastic egg.

Frankie opened it carefully. Like the first, there was only a slip of paper inside. “I never imagined this would bloom / Now follow me into your room. Love, Rachel”

Rachel was guiding Frankie before she’d finished reading the note. She walked Frankie backward through the bedroom door and onto the bed, then lay between her legs. One hand stroked the inside of Frankie’s thigh while her other carefully explored the bottom of the bodysuit. She had to search for a moment before she found the clasp that released the string of pearls, but the way Frankie twisted and moaned, Rachel was sure she didn’t mind.

Pearls removed. Rachel’s hands urged Frankie’s thighs open just a little more. She breathed deep, drunk on Frankie’s scent already, then took her long-awaited lick at Frankie’s pussy. Frankie’s reaction was intense and immediate. She groaned, her thighs pressed against Rachel’s hands, and she arched her back. “Yummy,” Rachel purred and pressed closer. She loved the feeling of Frankie’s labia against her face. The warmth, the smell, the way Frankie tasted, it was all so perfect. She drove her tongue deep, wiggling and rolling and curling inside Frankie. She nodded, pressing her chin against the base of Frankie’s pussy, then drew her tongue back out and made a loud, smacking sound with her lips.

She moved to return to her place between Frankie’s thighs when she felt Frankie’s hands on her head. “Babe, wait.” Rachel paused, confused, until Frankie removed Rachel’s glasses. “Poking me,” Frankie gasped, then directed Rachel back down.

Now that everything in the world was a blur except for Frankie’s glistening folds, Rachel was even more eager. She licked and sucked at Frankie’s cunt. She ground her nose into Frankie’s clit. She pulled back a little and pressed her tongue-tip against Frankie’s anus. The moan and shudder this drew from Frankie gave Rachel a thrill she felt through her whole body.

Finally Rachel returned her whole attention to Frankie’s clit. She licked it roughly with her whole tongue, bit at Frankie’s dense pubic curls, then bit her clit just as two fingers slid deep inside. “Fuck, Frankie. Cum, please? Please, cum. Please, Frankie! Cum for me!” She pounded her fingers faster and deeper, watching Frankie’s face for that moment. When she saw it, she moved down again, caught Frankie’s clit between her teeth and flicked it rapidly with her tongue-tip.

“Rach-Rach-Rach-Raaaaach!” Frankie’s orgasm crushed them both.

The clock-radio in Frankie’s room displayed 6:19pm. Both of them had been in and out of sleep for the last few hours. When they were awake together, they made love again. Now it was just Rachel. Frankie was, as usual, cuddled against Rachel’s naked body, her head on Rachel’s shoulder, a puddle of drool forming between her cheek and Rachel’s breast.

“I love taking care of you,” Rachel whispered in the fading light of the day.

Knotty

Fooling Around

Fri, 03 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

“Frankie? D’you know anything about the Easter eggs I bought last week?” Rachel already knew the answer, before Frankie’s bedroom door opened, revealing fragments of colourful foil wrapper on her floor.

“Easter eggs?”

At least she sucks at lying, Rachel thought, rolling her eyes.

“WHAT DID I PUT IN MY MOUTH?” Frankie howled as she bolted to the washroom, focused entirely on the toilet.

“Did you mistake a foil wrapped grape for a foil wrapped chocolate egg?” Rachel had to cover her face with both hands to keep her wild giggles in check while she watched her girlfriend—her best friend since high school—dry-heave into their toilet.

“Why would you do that? Who wraps a GRAPE?” The look of betrayal was too much—Rachel worried she would pee herself if she started laughing now.

“Frankie? Where’re my black pumps?”

Frankie looked up from her spot on the couch. “Oh, yeah, I put ’em in the hall, they smelled!”

Rachel frowned, then shrieked when she opened the door. Her pumps were there, but the right was lying on its side, displaying a swath of lumpy, yellow-brown paste. She retched. “Fuck! I’m meeting my adviser in 20 minutes!”

Frankie appeared at her side, then knelt to study the fouled shoe. “What? It’ll wipe right off.” She ran her index finger along the sole of the shoe and popped the lumpy brown paste into her mouth.

“FRANKIE!”

“Chunky peanut butter,” Frankie replied, wicked mirth in her eyes.

Frankie emerged from the shower, only a little disappointed that Rachel had been too tight for time this morning to join her. They weren’t quite five months into their relationship and Frankie never tired of touching, of kissing, of worshipping her lover.

She towelled herself off then reached for the antiperspirant Rachel had bought her. She considered her figure in the mirror before rotating the base and deciding she would begin with her modest-but-full boobs. She lifted her left breast carefully and smeared not antiperspirant into the underslope.

Frankie shrieked, dropped the stick and stared at the thick white smear beneath her breast for a moment before she could identify the scent. “Cream cheese?”

Rach, babe, you’ll never top this, Frankie thought as she worked the bullet vibe into the cushion of Rachel’s desk chair. .50 Cal Bullet, the box proclaimed. External use only! it admonished. World’s most powerful bullet vibrator! Frankie liked that one best.

Rachel would probably know right away something was weird with her chair, but Frankie didn’t expect the prank to run long. It was Wednesday; every Wednesday since the start of the new semester Rach had spent the entire evening sitting at her desk, earbuds in, working on her term paper long into the night. Long after Frankie had given up and gone to sleep. Wednesdays were the only night of the week Frankie was sure she was sleeping alone. Rach never wanted to risk waking her up by sneaking into bed at 3am, or whenever the hell she finally stopped working.

Not this week, babe. Frankie brought up the app on her phone, set a two-minute delay after the vibe sensed contact, then plugged her phone in to charge. It was already at 2% battery.

“Shit, I’m late!” Rachel dropped her backpack by the front door, shrugged out of her jacket and left it on the floor in the entrance of their dingy apartment, and ran toward her desk.

Frankie gave her a bewildered look. “What? I made dinner.”

Rachel kissed Frankie on her way. “I’m sorry, babe, Bowen tonight! Video. All yours after!”

Frankie quailed. Dr. Bowen was Rachel’s faculty adviser. They’d missed connecting after her peanut-butter/animal-poop prank but they must’ve rescheduled for a virtual check-in. Tonight.

“Cool!” Frankie replied, trying to sound less than half as terrified as she felt. She waited for Rachel to sit on her chair, open her laptop and log in before bolting for the bedroom.

Her phone wouldn’t power on.

The charger wasn’t plugged in.

FUCK!

Frankie rushed back to the combined office/dining room/living room of their shared apartment. “Rach!” she hissed, only to be cut off by a sharp finger held in the air while Rachel put on her most casually friendly expression.

“Hey, Dr. Bowen, thanks so much for making time for me, I’m so sorry I was late on Friday.” She glanced angrily in Frankie’s direction for a heartbeat.

Rachel’s adviser responded with something Frankie couldn’t make out from her spot at the edge of the room, but it sounded positive enough. She took another step and Rachel’s finger appeared again. Sit your ass down, that finger said. You are on my shit-list right now, that finger said.

Frankie sat on the couch, eyes wide with growing panic.

Dutifully, as instructed by the app before Frankie’s phone battery died, the .50 Cal buzzed to life about 50 seconds into Rachel’s video call with Dr. Bowen.

Rachel squirmed. She squeezed her thighs together. The vibrator did what it did very well. Even through Rachel’s yoga pants and panties, it was very effective. Rachel shot Frankie a look as she tried to carry on a conversation with Dr. Bowen.

Frankie rose from the couch but was chastened again by Rachel’s threatening finger. She sat down, mortified, her stomach clenching.

“…but how do I earn that trust?” Rachel was asking—her voice was a full register lower than normal as she squirmed in her seat. Dr. Bowen responded with…words. Frankie watched Rachel work her flats off, kicking them away beneath her desk while she ground herself against the seat.

Frankie knew that motion. She unbuttoned her jeans and slid her hand down the front. Rachel was incredible! Frankie couldn’t imagine how she could keep a neutral face and (mostly) even tone while Rachel rocked her hips, drawing quiet creaks from the desk chair as she pressed ever harder. She locked her ankles together, then spread her legs wide. She clenched her toes then splayed them, eventually working her socks off without the aid of hands. Every minute or so she would glance over at Frankie, giving her a look that mixed anger and lust.

Frankie was equal parts terrified and aroused. She wasn’t even trying to hide it; she had worked her jeans down and was roughly stroking her clit beneath her plain cotton panties.

“…commitment to facts,” Dr. Bowen was saying when Rachel began her soft, hiccuping sound that Frankie recognised so well. “Are you alright, Rachel?” he asked suddenly and Rachel’s cheeks flushed.

“Fine! No, yes, I’m fine! I’m just—whew! I’m tired! And hungry! I’m sorry, no, my, um, my…roommate made dinner? It smells really good, I can’t wait to eat,” Rachel was almost shrill as Frankie watched her toes splay, then clench, then splay again. Frankie’s own climax was barrelling down on her as she watched her girlfriend struggle to appear casual.

“Well, okay,” Dr. Bowen said, sounding unconvinced. “Wednesday then? We’ll sync on Wednesday and see how everything is going?”

“YES!” Rachel gasped, kicking her feet out beneath her desk, causing her chair to roll back a few inches on the parquet floor.

Frankie heard sounds from Dr. Bowen. They might have been confused or awkward or completely convinced; she had no idea. Frankie was past understanding, instead simply watching Rachel—watching her girlfriend—orgasm on her webcam, in front of her faculty adviser.

This was the hottest thing Frankie had ever seen. She finger-fucked herself so vigorously she was sure Dr. Bowen could hear her. She slapped her glistening pussy, whimpering with each forceful thrust. Eyes on Rachel, she pinched and twisted and stroked her clit, watching her girlfriend denied the same relief. When the video call finally ended, Frankie was on her knees between Rachel’s legs before Rachel could even scowl.

The clock-radio in Frankie’s room displayed 1:15am. Rachel blinked slowly, combing Frankie’s hair with her fingers while Frankie drooled on her bare chest. “Babe?” Rachel asked softly, unsure if Frankie was still awake.

“Mmm?”

“Y’know you screwed up, right?”

“Mmm.”

“Cool.” Rachel smiled in the darkness. “Here’s how you’re gonna make it up to me…”

Knotty

Valentine's Spice

Fri, 13 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

“Hey everyone! BooBuster is telling me dinner’s waiting on me so I’m gonna stop the stream here! Thanks so much for hanging out with me today! We’ll do another one again soon!”

The chat flared to life, they wanted BooBuster on cam, they wanted her to wave, they wanted to know what was for dinner. Hazel—TwitchWitch to her fans—laughed, waved and shut down the streaming program.

“I didn’t even choose that name!” Lena said, drily, from the doorway to the little room they’d set aside for video editing and Hazel’s recent streaming kick.

“You love it,” Hazel brushed past Lena on her way to their modest dining room, going up on her tiptoes to kiss Lena’s lips at the same time.

“You love it,” she countered, but she was laughing softly now, “because it lets you say ‘boob’ on every video without getting demonetised.”

“Shush! What’d you make me?”

“Oh my GOD, babe! What’s in this?” Hazel scooped another forkful of risotto primavera into her mouth, making sounds of absolute joy.

Lena beamed. She adored Hazel’s praise, it gave her a little flutter in her belly every time; maybe a little more than a little flutter. “Same old recipe, Haze,” she replied, though she immediately knew that wasn’t quite true. “No, actually, I added a bit of that weird spice you left on the counter. It wasn’t labelled but I took a little taste and it’s pretty good. Maybe that’s it?”

Hazel looked simultaneously uncomfortable and confused. She was feeling good. Really good. Like, not-eating-dinner-with-your-girlfriend-on-Valentine’s-Day good, more like after-dinner-with-your-girlfriend-on-Valentine’s-Day good. She tried to tamp down those … feelings for the moment. “What’re you talking about? I didn’t buy any spice.”

Lena paused, her mouth full of the creamy pasta and perfectly steamed veggies. She thought, chewed more, then swallowed. “Yeah, y’did. At the farmers’ market last weekend.” The look on Hazel’s face was unreadable now, so she went on, getting herself another forkful of the risotto at the same time—to hell with being polite, this really was the best risotto she’d ever made, “In that weird, eggplant-shaped bottle? Or mushroom? Whatever it is, the weird one.”

Hazel’s eyes went wide. “Babe,” she said softly, then swallowed and broke into wild laughter.

“What?” Lena couldn’t decide if she was relieved or annoyed by Hazel’s reaction. But she also couldn’t understand why she was getting another forkful of risotto.

“That’s not spice! Oh shit! You put magical aphrodisiac in our food!” Hazel’s giggles left her nearly breathless.

Lena squirmed awkwardly in her seat, she caught herself stroking her crotch through her jeans and glared down at her risotto. “Haze, did you buy ground mealworm from a spinster because she told you it was magic?” She tried to sound like she was scolding Hazel, but the growing need between her legs was betraying her.

“Dunno,” Hazel replied as she stood up from the table. “But I’m hornier than I’ve ever been. You?” She giggled again, but this time it was something…more sultry.

“I’m always horny for you,” Lena murmured, feeling her face grow hot. She was already unbuttoning her jeans under the table.

Hazel made a ‘mmm’ sound in agreement as she walked around the table. She was taking her time, doing that sexy-walk that always made Lena want to grab her hips and squeeze. When she finally reached Lena’s side of the table Hazel ran two fingertips over Lena’s lips. “Mmm, look at you…” she purred, looking down at Lena’s thin silk blouse. Lena couldn’t take her eyes off Hazel, off Hazel’s hips, specifically. The blouse—Lena’s favourite because it was Hazel’s favourite on her—wasn’t tight exactly but it was tight enough that Lena’s nipples, stiff little peaks, were standing out proudly beneath it. Lena rarely wore a bra and just now she was very glad of it.

Hazel took Lena’s hands in hers, gave them a gentle squeeze then tugged her out of the chair. They crashed into each other, Lena’s lithe, runner’s body colliding wonderfully with Hazel’s soft, beautiful curves. Their lips parted before their mouths met, tongues thrusting deep, exploring with desperate hunger. When Hazel broke the kiss to gasp for air, Lena lightly bit her lip, then laughed at Hazel’s expression.

“Getting rid of these.” Hazel’s voice was thick with lust as she carefully removed Lena’s glasses and set them on the table. “I won’t need ’em where I’m going.” Lena struggled frantically to get her jeans off. Hazel came to her rescue, steadying her until they were cast off. A second later, her panties followed while Hazel unbuttoned Lena’s shirt. She threw it back over Lena’s shoulders then descended on Lena’s nipple, sucking the achingly erect tip deep into her mouth, petting it with her tongue.

“Fuuuuuck, Haze,” Lena groaned. Her hands had first moved to her crotch, desperate for release, but she quickly changed her mind and instead took the opportunity to yank Hazel’s yoga pants and cotton panties down, exposing her ass to the cool apartment air. Hazel moaned her approval as she continued suckling and grabbed both of Lena’s ass-cheeks with her hands. “Stop, stop-stop-stop!” she hissed suddenly and Hazel released Lena’s tit with an audible pop, a thin trail of drool connecting her lower lip to Lena’s bud.

“Here,” Lena followed up instantly, and gently pushed Hazel to the table. The table creaked beneath her weight as Lena half-guided, half-lifted her onto the surface. “There, perfect.” Lena knelt, opened Hazel’s legs wide, and buried her face in Hazel’s fat, glistening pussy. She lapped all around Hazel’s entrance, drinking down the creamy arousal and moaning far louder than she intended. Satisfied, she pushed her tongue deep inside, wiggling against Hazel’s walls as she sucked. Hazel began rocking her hips and Lena moaned again at the pure joy of having Hazel’s mons squishing against her nose.

For her part, Hazel tried to move the dishes, glasses, and cutlery aside, but when Lena started eating her out, she was lost. “Baaaaabe,” she called out, trying and failing to get a grip on Lena’s short hair. “God-FUCK, that feels good!” Hazel’s voice was high, trembly and loud. She wasn’t normally loud but her senses had been turned up to eleven. She tore off her sweatshirt and hurled it toward the bedroom, causing the table to shake and groan again. “Fuck, babe, fuck meeeee! I’m gonna–suck my clit! Please! Fucking, please!”

Lena was more than happy to oblige. She pulled back, trailing saliva and pussy-juice in long ropes from her chin. “I gotcha, Haze.” And then her mouth was on Hazel again. She wrapped her lips firmly around Hazel’s pearl, then gently pinched it with her teeth and flicked her tongue over the tip, drawing exactly the sort of whimpering sobbing shudder from her girlfriend she’d been expecting. Hazel wasn’t using words now, just cries and gasps and grunts as she barrelled toward her climax. Before she reached it, Lena slipped two fingers back into Hazel’s dripping hole and began pumping. She knew exactly where to find Hazel’s g-spot and she petted it relentlessly.

Hazel screamed and locked her ankles behind Lena’s back as she started cumming. Her head swam and she rocked ever harder against Lena’s fingers pounding into her while Lena’s tongue and teeth did their magic on her little pearl. She made a sound that was a thready ululation as she heard utensils clatter to the floor, then the bread basket. Lena finally offered some mercy, no longer thrusting, just staying there with her fingertip pressed against Hazel’s most sensitive spot. Her thighs twitched, her pussy throbbed around Lena’s fingers, and she sighed deeply.

Hazel’s vision blurred—and then the third finger entered her. Lena was picking up the pace again; growling, the sound vibrating through Hazel’s crotch in a way that she’d never felt before. “Oh, fuck, yeah, do it, just like that! Keep—”

She didn’t get to finish her thought, there was a voice in the hall, just outside their door. “Hey, keep it down in there!” Both women stopped for a beat, then Lena began thrusting even harder, faster, the wet sounds of their sex getting ever louder while the table wobbled. Something small and metallic bounced across the floor.

Lena finally released Hazel’s clit with a soft ~~pffah~~ and pulled all three fingers from Hazel’s slit. Hazel squirmed in protest, trying to wiggle across the table to chase Lena’s fingers—and then the table went. Food, glasses and plates crashed across the floor.

“Holy shit, Haze, are you okay?” Lena stood over her, her fingers, mouth, cheeks and chin covered in Hazel’s sex juices, her thighs glistening with her own slick, and she had such a look of concern on her face that Hazel burst out in a fit of giggles.

“Get down here and sit on my face!” she ordered, desperate to drink Lena’s nectar.

“I’m gonna call the Super!” another voice shouted from the hallway.

Lena grinned, stood over Hazel’s head, then lowered herself down. Her pussy was just below Hazel’s chin and her face hovered over Hazel’s well-used cunt. She began licking Hazel clean, from clit to ass-cheeks, making loud, animal sounds of pleasure.

Hazel gripped Lena’s perfectly toned ass cheeks again and pulled them apart, exposing her delicate little rosebud. She felt Lena shiver with anticipation. Hazel lifted her head and placed a wet, lingering kiss there, then moved her right hand. Two fingers slid easily between Lena’s sloppy folds. Hazel’s thumb began circling Lena’s clit. “Y’ready?” Hazel asked, her voice gravelly. Lena simply licked harder, and further down. “Good.”

Hazel began licking a circle around Lena’s asshole, gently nudging and probing at the beautifully puckered ring. She didn’t know how long she carried on like that, but before long she was also finger-fucking Lena’s pussy, stroking her clit with increasingly wet and firm thrusts, and when she heard Lena’s plaintive call for release, Hazel relented. Her tongue bore down on Lena’s sphincter, wiggling and worming and pushing harder and harder until she was finally inside. She curled the tip and pulled back out, then worked her way back in again as Lena’s first cataclysmic orgasm arrived.

Orgasms chained—Lena convulsing, squirting over Hazel’s breasts; Hazel shuddering, her juices trailing down her legs, it became a blur of lust and bliss and connection. Their cat, Egon, emerged once, only to flee when Lena kicked over a chair in the throes of ecstasy. Voices continued—occasionally—to threaten calls to the landlord, to bylaw enforcement, to the police, but no knock at the door interrupted them.

They lay entwined amid the ruin, bodies sticky and sated, the whole apartment reeking of sex and spices. Egon had finally emerged from safety and sniffed the air warily.

“That was apocalyptic,” Lena murmured, nuzzling Hazel’s neck.

“You were outta control,” Hazel whispered back. “I kinda liked it. I’m telling that nice old lady at the market she really knows her stuff.”

Knotty

Creepy Cabin Lust

Fri, 24 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

“Hey everyone!” Hazel beamed into the camera she held at arm’s length. “TwitchWitch again we’re on another spooky adventure!” She walked backward down a narrow path toward a cabin surrounded by dense woods. “Of course I’m here with my producer, the original BooBuster!” She turned the camera on Lena who was carrying two bags of groceries and a cardboard box of Merlot.

“I didn’t even choose that name! You just like that it sounds like ‘boob’!” Lena grumbled gently. Hazel’s chaotic enthusiasm was the thing Lena loved most about her, and Lena loved a lot about Hazel.

The camera whipped back to frame Hazel’s ebullient smile, “We’re all the way out in – "

“The middle of nowhere,” Lena called as she appeared in-frame behind Hazel, carrying the supplies to the front door of the cottage.

“– the woods,” Hazel continued, undaunted, “spending the weekend at this reportedly haunted cottage to commune with the dead! And make s’mores.”

“Mostly s’mores,” Lena called again, nearly dropping the box of wine trying to unlock the door.

“It’s so weird, I’m not getting anything,” Hazel had circled the interior of the cabin three times, camera in one hand and K2 in the other, while Lena prepared dinner. The EMF detector hadn’t even flickered. Lena finished the dishes as Hazel added the bedroom and the bathroom to her exploration.

Outside, the weather had turned unexpectedly. Lena remembered weather reports calling for clear skies all weekend. Rain hammered the tiny windows and wooden walls as the wind buffeted the whole structure. A beast seeking a way in.

“Babe,” Lena called from the couch. “How about you take a break, huh? I got a fire going.” Hazel would be disappointed if she didn’t find any ’evidence’ but Lena really wanted an evening with her girlfriend.

“We should greet them! The spirits get testy if we aren’t respectful,” Hazel announced as she returned, the camera and EMF detector nowhere to be seen. She cleared a space on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“You’re thinking of my supervisor,” Lena teased as she moved to the floor as well.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite each other, with a small incense burner between them and a glass of wine each, the women began Hazel’s welcoming ritual.

“We’re hoping to communicate with anyone who may be here,” Hazel began, glancing around the dark corners of the room. “My name’s Hazel. This is Lena. We don’t mean any disrespect.” She shot Lena a warning look. Don’t scoff, it said. They won’t like it, it said.

“You’re welcome here,” they intoned together, a script Lena knew well. “You’re welcome here,” they repeated, and once more, then sipped their wine. Suddenly, an exceptionally powerful gust crashed around the cabin, throwing the front door wide and startling both women.

Hazel’s was jubilant! “Hello? You’re here? Thank you for that sign!”

Lena laughed as she ran to the door, making sure it was latched and bolted. “Babe, it’s a miracle this place is still standing! The wind blowing open a door isn’t a sign from beyond.”

Hazel offered a patient smile, “Well explain this!” She held up her forearm for Lena’s inspection. “Look! Goosebumps! It’s freezing all of a sudden!”

Lena smirked and pulled Hazel into a gentle embrace. “I’ll give you goosebumps.”

Giggling, Hazel draped her arms over Lena’s shoulders, “But the spirits are watching!”

“Well, they can like and subscribe,” Lena murmured, her lips meeting Hazel’s. Their kiss deepened as her tongue entered Hazel’s mouth. Hazel responded eagerly, pressing her hips against Lena’s and running her hands down Lena’s sides, tugging her shirt out of her jeans.

Lena moaned into Hazel’s mouth, kissing her with a desperate passion as she slipped both hands down the back of Hazel’s leggings.

“Babe!” Hazel pulled back, eyes wide enough to see the whites. “D’you feel that?”

Lena hesitated to admit it, but she had felt a strange tingle; probably the storm, the atmosphere, Hazel’s unwavering belief in the supernatural. Still, she had felt something. A little electric shock pulsing over their skin, not painful, just a pinch.

“Static discharge? From the storm?” she guessed, grasping at rational explanations, though she knew she was just throwing out words.

“They like us!” Hazel’s hands crept up Lena’s back beneath her shirt as she called out to the ‘spirits’, “Thank you! For letting us know you’re here!”

“C’mon, babe!” Lena murmured softly as she squeezed Hazel’s perfectly shaped ass. “It’s just us.” But even as she said it, her voice lacked the usual certainty.

Hazel claimed Lena’s lips with a fierce, hungry kiss, tearing her shirt over her head and tossing it aside. Her tongue invaded Lena’s mouth with urgent need as her hands unhooked the back of Lena’s painfully practical “granny-bra.” Hazel’s tongue tangled with Lena’s in a wild, drowning hunger, her lips trailing down to her neck before she grasped Lena’s full, inviting breasts. She squeezed once, then yanked Lena’s bra off, exposing thick, dark nipples to the cool night air. “Babe,” she breathed over Lena’s skin, her lips moving lower, to the sensitive curve of Lena’s left breast, where she suckled with teasing, possessive intent.

Lena gasped as an incredibly cold fingertip trailed down her bare back. “Haze?” she whimpered softly.

Hazel smiled impishly, releasing the nipple just long enough to say, “It’s just us,” then quickly unbuttoned Lena’s jeans and tugged them down around her knees.

The cabin shuddered, the wind buffeting it again and Lena was sure she’d heard voices – more than one – sighing happily beneath the gale. She opened her mouth to say something but lost her words as Hazel’s lips pressed against the her pubic mound, then further down.

She could feel Hazel’s probing tongue pushing against her panties; her treasures beneath.

“Haaa~,” Lena gasped, burying her hands in Hazel’s hair. She’d intended to speak but Hazel had exposed her pussy and began licking eagerly, back to front, curling her tongue inside with each pass.

Frigid, invisible fingers began teasing Lena’s nipples.

Lena tightened her grip on Hazel’s hair, and Hazel took it as encouragement. She lapped harder, faster, soft moans of delight escaping her lips as she explored Lena’s depths.

“Haze,” Lena gasped, her mind foggy with lust and a touch of panic over the hands now playing with her tits. Ghostly, icy hands that only heightened her arousal.

MmmHMMM! Hazel moaned into Lena’s pussy, sending a thrumming wave through Lena’s most sensitive parts. She moved her hands to Lena’s behind, giving each cheek a rough squeeze pulling her lover’s crotch firmly against her face.

Lena made a sound that might have been the start of Hazel’s name or just a wordless whimper, but she was silenced by a kiss. Their unseen companion, one of them, at least, claimed Lena’s mouth. The lips against hers were like ice, but the tongue that sought out hers was warm and full of passion.

She lost herself then, sinking into the wonderful feelings of riding her girlfriend’s face while ghostly hands played with her breasts and a ghostly mouth gave her a wildly passionate, longing kiss.

Other ghostly hands were on her thighs, on her back, and as one of those icy fingers grazed her labia then began probing gently at Lena’s asshole, she broke. Whimpering and trembling and squeezing her thighs as tight as she could against Hazel’s head while the first, of many, orgasms crashed into her.

Lena lay tangled in the blankets they had pulled onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of blissful disbelief. Hazel kissed her softly, then got up and ambled int the kitchen. “Shit, the batteries are dead!”

Lena blinked slowly and pushed herself up on an elbow, a sleepy smile lingering on her face. “What? Babe, were you recording that?”

Hazel blushed prettily and let out a shy laugh. “I tried to! I didn’t think you were gonna, y’know, but yeah, of course I set up the tripod before we did the ritual.”

Lena groaned softly, a warm flush spreading through her. “I’m on a sexorcism tape.”

Hazel giggled as she rejoined Lena on the floor, curling close again. “I’ll edit it very tastefully! It’s gonna be our first million likes.”

They stayed there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. The storm had passed and the night was silent all around. As Lena drifted off to sleep she thought she heard a voice from somewhere very far away.

Thank you for letting us in.

Knotty

Pumpkin Spice

Fri, 17 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

Lightning split the night sky, casting the rain-slick sidewalk in stark relief, startling pedestrians with the ferocity of the crack. It was close, no doubt one of the taller buildings that loomed over the street like shadowy sentinels. The rain hammered mercilessly against the windows of The Perkatory Café, as if the storm were a living thing trying to claw its way inside.

The door swung open on hinges that sounded to be in pain as Lydia stumbled in, being chased by the vengeful storm. She’d covered her head with her ancient satchel and as she forced the door closed – against the objections of the storm – shaking the rain from it to the floor.

“Hey Lydia!” Rowan called from behind the counter. The chaotic barista was only an employee but Lydia couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t working. The tall barista had their sleeves rolled up, showing off intricate sleeve tattoos on each arm, patterns of densely packed sigils they swore made the coffee better.

The café itself was cozy like the witch’s cabin in Hansel and Gretel. Everything slightly too warm, too inviting, it felt ominously homey. Behind the counter, the shelves were overburdened with a collection of mugs, no two alike, and everywhere one looked were glass jars holding lit candles. The chalkboard above the counter read:

Try Our Haunted Latte! Taste The Moans!

Lydia squinted at it, wrinkling her nose as she considered. Rowan, Lydia concluded. They just couldn’t help themselves with the bad jokes. “That’s filthy.”

Rowan seemed to appear behind the counter, directly in front of Lydia, a self-satisfied grin on their lips. “That’s what I was going for,” they said. “Want one?”

“Haunted?” Sceptical.

“Or filthy,” Rowan shrugged, teasing.

Sighing in defeat, but happy to be out of the storm and talking to her favourite coffee-slinger in the world, she said, “Surprise me.”

Rowan gave their favourite customer a slow once-over. Probably reading the energy clinging to me from the rain, Lydia thought, not unkindly. “Haunted it is.” They turned to the espresso machine which made a low, contented hum.

The latte arrived in a mug the size of a cauldron. It was steaming, golden-brown, and the foam moved! It formed a spiral that shimmered and pulsed; a heartbeat.

Lydia regarded Rowan, raising her eyebrows,“That’s not … normal, right?”

Rowan shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Lydia raised the cup to her lips. Rowan had a knack for brewing exactly the right temperature for Lydia. She closed her eyes and took her first sip. Heat, sweetness, spice and … something else. Something velvety smooth and teasing that slid over her tongue and down her throat like a promise.

The tension left Lydia’s shoulders, and her cheeks flushed as something deep inside sighed.

She sipped again, the air shimmered. Lydia’s thoughts were drifting to … bodies. She opened her eyes slowly to find Rowan smiling at her, expectant, and Lydia’s cheeks flushed more. She was thinking about touching, teasing, tasting … not Rowan, not anyone, really, just the idea of …

The espresso machine exhaled a long, steamy rumble.

Lydia blinked in surprise, struggling to ignore the heat not just in her cheeks now but also further down. “Did the machine just … purr?”

Rowan laughed softly, “He does that sometimes.”

“He?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s Obadiah. Former barista. Real nasty accident with the steam wand. He’s still committed to customer satisfaction, though!”

Lydia laughed, “Rowan!”

The slowly throbbing spiral in the foam shifted; now there were faint lips, curling in a smile. Lydia stared, gobsmacked. The lips dispersed back into the pulsing spiral, and the warmth surged again. In Lydia’s mouth, over her chest; like hands caressing her lips, her breasts, down her arms, her hips…

“Rowan," Lydia kept her voice perfectly even, “don’t panic, but I think your latte’s touching me.”

Rowan’s eyes flicked up. “He’s friendly.”

“He’s fresh!”

The espresso machine let out a hiss that sounded like laughter.

“You can tell him to stop,” Rowan offered, but Lydia shook her head quickly and took another sip as she sat at the bar. The over-warm, over-cozy air in the coffee house felt thicker somehow, there was a sensual charge that made the tiny hairs on Lydia’s arms stand up. Lydia sat perfectly still, clutching her mug like a life-preserver in a sea of cinnamon-scented lust.

“Okay,” she said, mostly to herself. “It’s fine. Totally fine. It’s not even real, just the caffeine and the storm and—”

The chair beneath her shifted. It didn’t move, it caressed her butt.

“Rowan?”

The barista’s head appeared above the counter. “Hmm?”

“My chair’s grabbing me.”

“Oh. Sorry, he gets really touchy at night.”

“He?”

“Obadiah,” Rowan said, as if discussing the weather.

The espresso machine gave a low, throaty groan and Lydia was sure she could feel something delicately caressing her ankles. She tried to stand, but warmth pulsed through her and her legs already felt weak. She bit her lip trying to focus on anything other than her growing need.

A couple at the corner table laughed too loudly, another had started kissing passionately, heedless of the other customers. At a booth near the back two women had opened their male companion’s shirt and were licking his chest.

“Okay,” Lydia said, breathless. “This is weird.”

“Define ‘weird’,” Rowan was stirring a drink with uncommon focus. Lydia thought their voice might be a little higher pitched that normal.

“Everything’s vibrating.”

Rowan their face a little flushed as well. “It’s supposed to do that.”

Lydia squirmed in the very friendly chair. “Excuse me?”

Before Rowan could answer, the lights flickered. The speakers pulsed with static for a second, then the lo-fi jazz was replaced with something sultry and full of bass.

Soft, amused, distinctly masculine, a voice that seemed to come from nowhere said, You missed me, didn’t you? Lydia jumped. “Nope. Nope. Note a bit. Don’t know you, latte ghost.”

You do, the voice purred. Every lonely night you wished someone would warm you up… I was listening from the grinder.

“Gross,” she gasped, still trying to ignore her building lust. “Also kinda hot?”

You smell like rain. I loved customers like you.

Rowan was bent over the counter now, their head hanging low as they supported themselves on their elbows. “He’s been like this since October ‘07. The night he w-went out miii–” they gasped then went on, “mid-doppio. T-tragic.”

The steam wand was hissing constantly now, filling the café with humid warmth, fogging the windows. Out of the billowing clouds appeared a shape. A torso outlined in mist, eyes glowing faintly amber, a smile like a burn mark.

Every breath Lydia took made the air taste of espresso and something darker. She wasn’t scared. She was aware. Aware of skin, of pulse, of sounds filling the café; sounds normally reserved for bedrooms. Shy, curious sounds, sounds of discovery, of exploration. Laughter deepened, sighs lengthened, limbs tangled under tables.

Lydia gasped, her toes curling inside her very sensible flats. “Is this happening?”

Rowan, red-faced, grinning, tried to shrug as they squirmed behind the counter. “It’s an i-immersive experience.”

A decorating pen in a half-full frothing pitcher clattered in approval. Lydia half-laughed, half-gasped. “You should charge extra for this!”

“Please don’t give him ideas,” Rowan groaned, looking like they may be about to lose their footing.

Steam filled the café like fog at a séance. A bar stool toppled with enthusiasm. The couple who had been kissing a moment ago were now standing, facing each other, hands down one another’s pants. One of the two women at the back had disappeared, the other broke her kiss with the man long enough to look down in horror, “Stop it! You’re vegan!”

Don’t fight it, the ghost murmured. I just want to feel alive again.

Lydia’s laughter melted into a shiver. Unseen hands pulled her panties to the side, ghostly fingers finding her sensitive bean, sending a thrill straight to her core. “Buy me dinner first?” she giggled wildly.

Done. As Lydia felt a new sensation between her legs, one that immediately brought to mind other lovers, other places, she was dimly aware of a charcuterie snack box leaving the display and approaching her, completely unsupported.

Dawn came slowly, softly, filling the day with new promise. The storm was gone, the windows were still fogged, but the café was empty save for Lydia and Rowan. Everyone else had departed in groups of twos or threes during the night.

Lydia was on her third mug of black coffee, sitting at the bar once again, Rowan leaning against the bar nursing their own strong, black brew. “That got steamier than usual,” they said, giving Lydia a playful grin.

Lydia snorted into her mug, “I’ll help clean this up before someone calls the health inspector, but you owe me!”

The espresso machine released one long, satisfied hiss. Rowan hip-bumped Lydia gently as they started preparing for the morning rush.

Knotty