Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and
Wouldn’t you love to love her?
Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and
Who will be her lover?
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.”
