Knot Safe For Work: Spiritual Guidance (Patreon)

Wednesday lay in bed. The heat she’d felt all day was still inside her, refusing to go away and let her rest. She needed relief, but she didn’t know how to get it and she wasn’t about to ask Weems about what was going on. The dead headmistress being in her head every moment of the day was enough of a violation. She wasn’t about to tell her about this sickly, unsatisfied thing demanding to be felt, an ache she didn’t know how to pop out of her skeleton.

It seemed to be seeping into the rest of her world. Enid, who usually slept like a baby, was tossing and turning. Mumbling. Muttering. As if she were having a nightmare.

Wednesday allowed herself a smile. She could use a good nightmare. They both could. She imagined Enid waking up screaming, covered in sweat, her hair a mess, her lips parted as she panted and panted and…

“Wednesday.” Enid. She wasn’t talking. She was moaning. In her sleep. Her voice pitched. Her breathing heavy. “Willa, please—”

Maybe she’s dreaming of me torturing her. Wednesday bit her lip. The ache felt a little better. A little worse. Not that she wanted to torture Enid or bond with her anymore than they already had or… It was just a nice thought. Being able to treat Enid like that would probably make her feel better.

“Aren’t you going to check on her?” Weems. She was kneeling beside Wednesday’s bed, elbows propped up on the mattress, supporting her chin as she looked down at Wednesday. “She sounds like she’s in an awful state.”

“She’s not a little girl. She can deal with having a nasty dream.”

“Interesting choice of words. Nasty. You think that’s what she’s dreaming of? Being nasty?”

It was an effort to keep whispering. Weems didn’t have to worry about Enid overhearing her, but Wednesday did. “She’s Enid. She doesn’t dream about sex. She dreams about holding hands and then she has a cold shower.”

“She’s a werewolf,” Weems retorted. “She’s closer to nature than you’ll ever be. Being an animal. Hunting. Killing. Mating.”

“Willa.” Enid’s voice again. She sounded plaintive.

“Werewolves go into heat,” Weems said. “They need to mate. It hurts them when they can’t get relief.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Wednesday insisted.

“Willa…”

“No?” Weems asked. “You’re a very empathic girl, Wednesday. More than you let on. It doesn’t register at all upon your psyche that Enid is longing for you, obsessing over you, needing you?”

“She’s… not,” Wednesday reiterated, but it sounded unconvincing, it sounded like something pleasant and false instead of brutal and true. “It’s just the heat. She wants a warm body, that’s all.”

“Then why not give her one? If it doesn’t matter to you at all, what’s the problem with giving Enid a little assistance? Unless there’s more to it.” Weems’ tongue briefly poked between her lips. “Does Wednesday Addams dream of a more romantic encounter? A candlelit dinner? Violin music? Dancing cheek to cheek before the lips gently meet?”

“That doesn’t interest me. And neither do the mating habits of werewolves.”

“And yet you’d rather put up with Enid’s sordid little whimpers than interfere. If it’s all so meaningless to you, why not sate her? It’ll shut her up and all it will cost you is a little sweat.”

Wednesday looked over at Enid’s bed, although something told her she shouldn’t. It suddenly felt dangerous to be looking at Enid—to let the sight of her combine with those needy whimpers, so much like the plaintive whispers Enid employed when she really just had to get her way.

Enid lay there, flat on her back, the covers flung off her body. She’d partially shifted yet again, but this time it wasn’t a sharp set of claws or particular pointy teeth. She had a wolf cock, an erect wolf cock, driving so far into the air that her nightie fell away and left her bare to the waist. Nothing there but that towering erection and the nicely svelte lines of her hips, which Wednesday had to admit were sublime. Even with a lycanthropic engorgement grafted onto her perfection like deranged graffiti added to a lovely portrait.

Wednesday couldn’t look away. Weems wasn’t saying anything, which she should’ve found suspicious, but it was hard to think about anything but that rigid cock twitching in place. Like Enid was having a wet dream as she called for Wednesday. Like the precum dribbling down that foot-long pillar of masculinity Enid somehow impossibly possessed was meant for her roommate.

Wednesday’s lips suddenly felt dry. She stopped herself from licking them; couldn’t have Weems making something out of that. She knew that as an Addams, she had some unusual tastes. Werewolf cock, though, would have to be the strangest thing she found appetizing. If she did like its taste. If she thought it was delicious, even.

“Just staring at it isn’t doing Enid any good,” Weems whispered in her ear. Wednesday white-knuckled her sheets in lieu of jumping out of her skin. “But she’d probably find it as disquieting as you touching her. Then again, what she truly seems to dislike is you not touching her. Poor little alpha. No omega to vent all those throbbing urges of hers on. Oh, well, maybe she’ll meet a nice werewolf on her next summer vacation. She could have a litter of puppies by the next time you see—”

“Shut up!” Wednesday hissed.

Enid’s little mewls went silent and for a moment, Wednesday thought she’d woken her. She pressed herself deep into her pillow, pretending sleep while looking through one slitted eye at Enid.

After a moment, whatever consciousness Enid had managed to summon up deserted her and she slumped against her pillow again, muttering. “I’m sorry it’s so hard, Willa… m’sorry… go away in a minute, I swear…”

Wednesday took quick stock of the situation. Her options weren’t to touch Enid or not. Her options were to take action or to let Weems think up more ways to mock her for her inactivity.

And since Weems was already dead and beyond killing, Wednesday would have to act before—

“The hero of Nevermore Academy, cunningly pretending to be asleep! Bravely avoiding conversations she doesn’t want to have! Enid really does have poor taste in fantasies. Bianca surely would’ve relieved her suffering by now.”

Wednesday threw her covers off. She went to Enid and as if some unholy momentum had possessed her, she couldn’t stop herself once she’d gotten there. She reached out and touched Enid’s prick, finally knowing the heat that coursed through it, that pulsed with each twitch her erection gave.

It was the first time in her life she’d ever touched such a thing—it’d all seemed so conventional once. A boy, a girl, kids, a white-picket fence. Even painting it black wouldn’t make it suit her. But she had to admit, it didn’t seem so conventional now. Enid might be cheery, but she was still no one’s idea of a happy housewife. She was closer to some boorish patriarch with how she could throw her weight around… even when she was always so effervescently sweet about it.

“Is that a shiver I detect going down your spine?” Weems asked, following at a discreet distance. “Or is it something warmer that you’re feeling?”

“You’ll never get me to admit to a burning passion. It’s the men of my family who run hot. The women burn cold.”

“Blue, perhaps, but not cold. Could you let go of that fat cock right now even if you wanted to?”

Wednesday closed her fingers around the turgid shaft, feeling Enid’s pulse race inside her firm grip. “Is contrarianism all you have left? First you want me to touch her, now you’re curious if I’ll leave her hanging. Make up your mind.”

It was so hard. Hard to believe anything of Enid’s could be so hard. Hard, too, to keep her mind on Weems’ comments instead of the feel of all… that. Yet at the same time, it seemed safer to focus on responding to Weems, even if she had to force her attention there, than to truly concentrate on just what she was touching and what it was making her feel.

The red shaft was firm. It barely yielded to the pressure Wednesday put on it and although she didn’t squeeze any harder for fear of waking Enid, she doubted she could cause any real pain even if she squeezed with all her might. From the angle at which she saw it, Wednesday could see the faint pulsing at the base of the underside. When she touched it, she could feel the cum brimming inside.

Precum emerged, seeping down the sides of Enid’s endowment, coating Wednesday’s hand. It was unthinkable that Wednesday wouldn’t yank her hand away and wash it off as quickly as possible—but she didn’t. This was something of Enid’s. That meant it wasn’t unclean or gross… it was something she wanted to understand. What kind of bodily fluids did Enid’s extraordinarily strange body produce? Were they as sweet as the rest of her or more along the lines of the undercurrents of brutality that had shown when Enid fought Tyler on her behalf?

Bending closer, she could almost see the precum surging up to greet her along the inside of Enid’s tapered tip.

“How curious you are!” Weems purred. “Is it just your love of all things macabre and morbid, or is it the fact that it belongs to Enid Sinclair?”

“My curiosity is omnivorous,” Wednesday replied. “I’d be as interested in a boil in the middle of Enid’s forehead.”

“Is that why your legs are clasped so tightly together? I don’t think you need to be quite so rigid. A monstrosity like that probably wouldn’t fit into you even if you were spread eagle…”

“You’re the one who talked me into giving Enid relief.”

“There’s no reason you can’t have a little fun while you’re at it. I should think a bottom like you would delight in being able to worship such a massive appendage.”

“I am not a bottom.”

“Wednesday, please. Inexperienced you may be, but surely you realize a full foot of werewolf cock is not just going to give you a giggly little O like a Hitachi Magic Wand. No, that dick would destroy you. Which is, of course, one of the many things you find so tantalizing about it. If only your mother somehow disapproved, I believe we’d have the trifecta. Sadly, I think Morticia would be quite understanding. If I was that well-endowed, we certainly would’ve had a different relationship.”

“If I take it in my mouth, will you please never talk about doing my mom again?”

“Oh, most definitely. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

I don’t want to do this, Wednesday told herself. I just need to show up Weems. Once she sees that I hate it, then I’ll jerk Enid off and that will be that. I’m not a bottom. That cock belongs in my mouth even less than it does between Enid’s legs—even for me, things can only get so strange.

But even with Weems keeping quiet for once, she still knew what the retort would be if she’d spoken aloud: Is that so, Addams? Then why are you bloody drooling?

Wednesday took the shining glans into her mouth before her lips could betray her any further. Her tongue pressed to the veiny underside. Her eyes closed; she was thankful for the blood pounding in her ears. Suddenly Wednesday wanted to shut out all of her senses except for taste.

There was none of the disgust she’d expected. If this was an acquired taste, she acquired it instantly. Sucking on the cherry-colored cockhead, avidly licking for more, slurping in her desperation to get more tasty precum to leak into her mouth. And when she swallowed, it felt like mineral oil: soothing her throat of a harshness she hadn’t even realized was there.