I started off my life as Chloe. My second year of college, and I’d never had sex, nor even bought a toy. I’d heard online of a mysterious place that only appeared when the need was greatest. “Curiosities” it was known by, but nobody knew where it was.
On my way home from class one day, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sign. I didn’t mean to step inside. One moment I was hurrying past the alley, headphones blasting, the next my hand was already on the door. The sign hung crooked, paint flaking like dead skin. I couldn’t stop myself and entered. The bell gave one tired jingle, and suddenly I stood on warped floorboards that creaked under my sneakers. Dust floated thick, sweet with bruised peaches rotting in the sun. Shelves crowded every inch, leaning close, whispering. My fingers found it before my eyes did.
A dildo, long and thick as my forearm, glossy black silicone with a swollen knot in the center, ridged and fat, bigger than my fist. The knot shifted colors when I turned it, violet bleeding into oily green, then a wet crimson pulse. Warm, warmer than my own palm, like it carried a hidden heartbeat. It hummed once against my skin, faint, insistent. I should have dropped it. Instead I clutched it tighter and drifted to the counter.
The woman there never looked up. She wrapped the toy in black tissue, tied it with coarse twine, and slid the package across the scarred wood. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” the woman said. “Look at it. It already chose you.”
She didn’t charge me for it, simply sending me home. I grabbed the toy, bolting into the gray afternoon, package jammed under my arm like stolen fire.
Back at my apartment, chaos ruled. My roommates were already three beers deep, yelling over video games, bass rattling the walls, someone microwaving fish that stank up the hallway. I shoved the wrapped toy under my bed, deep among dust bunnies, and pretended to be normal. Dinner, dishes, small talk about nothing. But that night, as I lay staring at cracks in my ceiling, the humming started. Low at first, a vibration seeping through my mattress springs, straight into my spine. It felt like eyes on me in the dark, warm, patient, hungry.
Night two was worse. My roommates never shut up, doors slamming at 2 a.m., laughter echoing down the hall, music thumping so hard my headboard shook. The hum deepened, syncing with my pulse, making my thighs clench under my sheets. I pressed my face into my pillow, but the sound burrowed deeper, teasing places I never named aloud. One wrong noise from me, one gasp, and they’d pound my wall. “Chloe, you good in there?” The apartment walls were paper thin. No privacy, no space to even touch myself without feeling exposed. The toy waited beneath my bed, colors probably shifting in the shadows, knot swelling just to mock me.
By night three, sleep was impossible. My roommates crashed a party in the living room, bottles clinking, voices slurring, someone puking in the bathroom at 3 a.m. The hum rattled my teeth, slick heat building between my legs until I woke soaked, my nipples tight against my tank top, shame burning hotter than want. I dragged the package out at dawn, while they were finally passed out drunk on the couch, snoring loud enough to cover my heartbeat. I locked my door, shoved my dresser against it like a barricade. The apartment finally quiet for the first time in days, but I knew they’d wake any minute, hungover and loud.
I needed to feel something before I lost my nerve completely. I tore open the second box I’d hidden in my closet for months, the one I’d bought on a drunk dare and never worn. The lingerie spilled out like liquid sin, sheer black plastic so thin it caught every draft, black stitching sharp along every seam. I stripped slow, peeling off my sweatpants and tee, my skin prickling in the stale air. The top slid over my head first, snapping taut across my chest, fabric so transparent my nipples pressed through immediately, perky circles hardening from chill and thrill. The bottoms eased up my thighs, waistband cinching my hips, crotch panel molding to my shaved lips like it was painted on. No bra, no panties. Just this glossy cage hugging every curve, biting just enough to remind me I was alive. I stepped in front of my bedroom mirror and stopped breathing.
Fuck. I looked lethal. The plastic gleamed under the cheap overhead light, black stitching carving lines across my tits, my waist, the swell of my ass. My nipples stood proud, dark against the sheer, begging for teeth. The panel between my legs clung so tight every fold showed, wet already, a dark patch blooming where I ached. I turned sideways, watched the stitching bite into my hips, watched my ass lift like it had never belonged to quiet little Chloe. My pulse hammered in my throat, my cunt, everywhere. For thirty seconds I was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, powerful, filthy, ready to ruin myself.
Then the toy hummed louder from the bed, like it knew. My roommates were twenty feet away, snoring on the couch, but they’d wake any second. One moan, one wet sound, one cry, and they’d be at my door. I’d never live it down.
I’d never forgive myself.
I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers. 4:47 a.m., and the cabin was booked. Remote, no signal, buried in snow. I threw on my oversized hoodie, zipped it to my chin, yanked on baggy jeans over the lingerie that still bit deliciously with every move. Coat, boots, bag. Toy wrapped tight, buried deep. I tiptoed past the living room, stepped over empty bottles, and slipped out the front door before anyone stirred.
I drove north until the city disappeared, snow starting the second I hit the dirt road. The cabin waited, small and alone, radiator clanking like bones. One room. Huge window facing pines swallowed by white. White shag rug thick enough to swallow screams. I locked the door, double-checked, finally alone.
I stripped in the middle of the floor, my hoodie and jeans kicked aside. The lingerie gleamed under gray blizzard light, plastic slick with sweat from the drive, my nipples straining hard against the sheer front. My knees hit the rug soft, fibers brushing my shins like a lover’s whisper. I unwrapped the toy. It uncoiled in my hands, knot huge now, violet-green-crimson swirling faster, heat radiating into my palms.
I spat slick down the length. Spread my knees wider. Reached back. The tip nudged my ass, unyielding, too much. My body clenched, fought, but the hum turned to a roar inside me.
EVEN DEEPER
I pushed. The stretch tore a gasp from my throat, burning sweet, knot catching then yielding in a rush that cracked me open. It sank deep, filling every empty inch, and orgasm hit like lightning, no hands, no warning. My hips bucked wild on the rug, a cry ripping free that echoed off the walls with no one to hear. When the wave passed, the toy lay beside me, slick with me, and another waited on the shag, identical, knot already swelling bigger.
I reached for the second without thinking. Slid it into my pussy, knot popping past resistance with a wet snap. Filled front and back, stretching me to breaking.
YOU’RE MINE NOW
The hours bled away. Each time I tried to slow, to breathe, they grew. Knots ballooned to softball size, colors strobing violent. A third appeared, then a fourth, coiling around my thighs, nudging, demanding. I took them all, pulling each out myself when the stretch became too much, only for a larger one to take its place.
LET IT SPLIT YOU OPEN
The lingerie clung, black stitching biting into skin that glistened with sweat and slick. My nipples stayed hard, visible, aching. The blizzard outside never let up, gray light bathing the white shag in cold fire. I lost count of how many times I came, how many times I pulled a swollen knot free with a filthy pop, how many times a bigger one slid home.
At some point I crawled toward the bathroom door, legs trembling, whispering “No” to the empty air. They swarmed, gentle but merciless, wrapping my thighs, forcing my knees apart.
SWALLOW THE NEXT ONE
I did. Again. Again. Until my voice cracked and my body shook and the only word left was
“Yes.”
The final knot was monstrous, colors screaming crimson-oil-violet. I pulled the previous one free, slick strings stretching long before snapping, then fed the new one in slow, watching my reflection in the window as my body took it whole.
GOOD GIRL, TAKE THE WHOLE FUCKING THING
The orgasm that followed wiped every thought clean. When it ended, the toys were gone, the original swallowed forever inside me. My body hummed with its absence, fuller than full. I stood on shaky legs. Walked to the window. Snow piled thick against the glass, world muffled and gone. My reflection smiled first. My posture shifted, chin lifting, eyes gleaming with quiet command. The quiet girl who’d hunched in baggy clothes lingered deep inside, watching, small and unseen no more.
“I’m Knotty,” I said to the glass, voice steady, new. “And I’m nothing but naughty.”
My old clothes lay in shreds by the door. I’d cut them with cabin scissors sometime in the blur. I flung the pieces into the storm off the porch.
I drove back when the snow thinned, the feeling of the toy still in my ass. My apartment waited, my roommates not even noticing I’d been gone. I showered cold, water sluicing over skin that still pulsed with the knot I’d never remove. I changed into glossy black latex catsuit, tight as a second pulse, creaking soft with every breath.
I left, walking down the road with no destination in mind. As I walked, I saw the sign again: Curiosities. I had a sudden urge to walk in. The building accepted me, putting me behind the counter. The bell chimed sharp. A new girl pushed inside, cheeks flushed from city chill, eyes darting with that same buried ache I’d worn like a bruise. She wandered straight to the case, fingers hovering over the newest knot, already shifting colors.
I leaned on the counter, latex gleaming under the lights, confidence swelling inside like the knot that never left. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” I said. “And look: it already chose you.”
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