Wednesday Addams gets a late night visit from Hand. Story is written with Wednesdays age at 16
The moon cast a soft, silvery glow through the window, illuminating the room just enough to make out the shapes of furniture and the still form of a young girl of 16 lying in bed. It was a quiet, peaceful night, the kind that seemed to hold secrets just beyond the veil of darkness. The room was filled with the faint scent of lavender and vanilla, a reminder of the potion she had sipped earlier, which now held her in its tranquil embrace.
Wednesday Addams, with her raven hair sprawled across her pillow and her pale skin almost luminescent in the moonlight, lay motionless in her black lace nightgown. Her chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of deep sleep, her breaths slow and even. She looked like an angel of the night, untouched by the hands of time, except for the hint of a smirk playing on her lips, which suggested that even in slumber, she was plotting something deliciously macabre.
Thing, the disembodied hand that had been a loyal servant to the Addams family for generations, hovered over her. It had been a curious creature, always eager to learn and experience, and tonight, it had a unique opportunity. It had noticed the bottle of potion labeled “Sleep Tight” on her bedside table and had recognized the scent immediately. Uncle Fester had brewed it for those times when even the most morbid of thoughts couldn’t still the restless mind. Thing had seen her take a swig before she drifted off into the abyss of the night, and it knew that she wouldn’t stir for hours.
Moving with the grace of a shadow, Thing gently touched her cheek, feeling the smoothness of her skin. It traced a line from her chin, down her neck, and over the collarbone that peeked out from the neckline of her gown. The warmth of her body was a stark contrast to the coolness of its own, and it marveled at the sensation, savoring the difference. The hand’s long, slender fingers danced over the fabric, feeling the contours of her body beneath, the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist. It was a dance of curiosity and restraint, a silent exploration of the young girl’s form that grew increasingly daring with each passing moment.
Wednesday’s eyes remained closed, her breathing unchanged, as Thing pushed aside the fabric of her nightgown. The hand paused for a brief moment, admiring the perfection of her unblemished skin. Her breasts were small but firm, the dark areolae puckered slightly with the chill of the room. The hand cupped one gently, feeling its weight, and a thrill shot through it like an electrical current. The girl’s nipples hardened under its touch, standing erect like tiny pebbles, and Thing felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation in its core. It had never experienced anything quite like this before.
The hand grew bolder, brushing the fabric aside to expose the flat plane of her stomach. Her navel was a small, perfect hole, like the entrance to another world, and the hand circled it with a tentative digit, feeling the soft indentation and the way her stomach muscles tensed slightly at the touch. It was intoxicating, this exploration of the untouched, and Thing found itself growing more and more aroused with every passing second.
Moving down, it traced the line of her hip, following the curve of her waist to the hem of her nightgown. With a flick of its wrist, the hand lifted the fabric, revealing the smooth expanse of her thigh. It paused for a moment, as if asking for permission from the unconscious girl, before it continued its journey. The sensation of her skin under its touch was like nothing it had ever felt before—so warm, so alive.
Thing reached the juncture where her thigh met the apex of her legs. It hovered there, the anticipation palpable, before delving into the uncharted territory of her sex. The hand found the thin, damp fabric of her panties and gently pushed them aside, exposing the soft folds of her pussy. It marveled at the heat of her, so young and innocent, yet so enticingly ripe for discovery. The scent of her arousal filled the air, mingling with the lavender from her potion.
With trembling fingers, it touched her lightly, tracing the outline of her labia. They parted slightly, revealing the pinkness within, and Thing felt a rush of something akin to excitement, though it had no nerves to transmit such sensations. It delved deeper, finding her clit and rolling it between its digits. A soft sigh escaped Wednesday’s lips, and the hand stilled, waiting for any sign that she would wake. But she remained lost in slumber, her body responding to the unseen touch with a natural, uninhibited grace.
Encouraged, Thing slid a finger inside her, feeling the warmth and wetness envelop it. It was like dipping into a pool of liquid silk, and the hand marveled at the way she tightened around it, her body instinctively seeking more. It began to move rhythmically, stroking her inner walls with a slow, deliberate pace that mirrored the steady beat of her heart. Her hips began to rock in response, and the hand felt a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing that it was bringing her closer to the precipice of pleasure.
With its other fingers, it teased her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her hips buck and her breath hitch. The hand could feel her pulse quickening, the blood rushing through her veins, and it reveled in the power it had over her sleeping form. Each little gasp and whimper she made was like music to its non-existent ears, and it grew more and more eager to feel the crescendo of her release.
The hand grew more insistent, curling its fingers inside her and finding the spot that made her back arch. Her legs began to spread wider, giving it better access, and it took advantage of the invitation, sliding a second finger into her tight channel. The sound of her wetness filled the room, a symphony of need that only served to stoke the fire of its curiosity. It felt the walls of her pussy clench around its digits, and it knew she was close.
With a final, firm press on her clit, it watched as her body tensed, every muscle straining towards the inevitable climax. Her face contorted in a silent scream of pleasure, the only sound her quickened breathing and the wet, squelching noises of Thing’s hand working her to the brink. And then, like a dam breaking, she came. Her back arched off the bed, her legs quivered, and her body was wracked with spasms of pure bliss.
Wednesday’s eyes shot open, but she remained still, her mind not quite registering what was happening. It was as if she was caught in the throes of a vivid dream, unable to distinguish reality from the haze of her unconscious mind. She felt the hand’s digits sliding in and out of her, the pressure on her clit sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she looked down to see the ghostly hand, a silent specter of desire.
For a moment, she was paralyzed with shock, her eyes wide and unblinking. But the sensations were too intense, too overwhelming to deny. Her body was on fire, and she found herself leaning into the touch, her hips rising to meet each delicious thrust. Her hand reached down to cover Thing’s, not to push it away, but to encourage it, to show that she wanted this as much as it seemed to.
Her breaths grew ragged as she began to pant, her eyes fluttering closed again as she gave herself over to the feeling. She could feel her second orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. Her muscles tightened around the invading digits, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
Thing felt her reactions with fascination, feeling the wetness of her arousal coating its hand. It had never experienced anything so…human. The hand’s movements grew more frantic, more urgent, as it tried to bring her to the peak once more. Each gasp and whimper from her lips was a siren’s call, urging it onward.
Her body began to tremble again, and Thing could feel the tension building within her, her inner walls clamping down on its fingers like a vise. It knew she was close, so close to the edge, and it was determined to be the one to push her over.
With a gentle nudge, it slipped in another digit, filling her completely. The sensation was indescribable—the heat, the tightness, the way she clenched around it like a fist. It reveled in the power of its actions, the silent symphony of her pleasure playing out beneath its touch.
Wednesday’s body responded eagerly, her hips rolling to meet Thing’s rhythm. Her nightgown had ridden up around her waist, leaving her bare and exposed, a vision of innocence and depravity all rolled into one. Her legs fell open wider, allowing the hand full access to her quivering folds, which were now glistening with her arousal.
Thing felt its own form of excitement as it pushed deeper into her, stretching the tightness that surrounded it. It had never felt such a sensation, and the thrill was addictive. The hand’s movements grew more deliberate, each stroke aimed to coax another gasp from her lips, to make her body writhe beneath it.
Her legs had fallen open wider, inviting it in, and it took full advantage, sliding its entire length into her. The feeling was unlike anything it had ever experienced—a warm, wet embrace that seemed to pulse with life itself. It paused for a moment, feeling her body adjust to the sudden fullness, the way she clenched around it as if trying to hold onto the sensation.
With a quivering vibration that seemed to come from the very depths of its non-existent soul, Thing began to move again, setting a steady rhythm that had her hips rising to meet it. Her breath hitched in her throat with each thrust, her body tightening around the intruder in a silent plea for more. It could feel the heat of her climax building, the way her muscles quivered and tightened, and it knew it had to be careful not to push her over the edge too soon.
“I hate you, Thing,” she murmured, the words barely audible, her voice thick with passion. But the hand could feel the lie in her words, the way her body arched and her back bowed with each stroke, begging for more. It was a dance of desire, a silent battle of wills that only served to fuel the fire burning within her.
Thing’s thumb circled her clit with a fervent intensity, pressing and rubbing in time with the thrusts of its fingers. The hand could feel her growing wetter, her inner walls tightening and releasing around it in a hypnotic rhythm that seemed to speak of a need so primal it transcended conscious thought. It felt like it was touching the very essence of life itself, and it was intoxicating.
Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the beginnings of another orgasm coil in her belly. She didn’t know how to process the feeling of being pleasured by something so…otherworldly, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop it. Her body was a traitor, craving the sensation even as her mind reeled with confusion.
“Mm… Thing,” she whimpered, her voice a breathy whisper in the quiet room. Her hand found its way to her own breast, squeezing and pinching the nipple in a silent bid for more. The hand took the hint, increasing its pace, the sound of wet skin on wet skin echoing in the darkness.
Her fingernails dug into the sheets, leaving little half-moons in their wake. Her hips bucked wildly, each movement pushing Thing’s hand deeper into her, seeking that elusive peak. The hand’s thumb circled her clit with more vigor, pressing down harder, as if it could coax the orgasm out of her with sheer willpower alone.
Wednesday’s breath hitched as the hand’s movements grew more insistent. It was as if Thing had tapped into some deep, hidden part of her, unlocking a wellspring of pleasure she didn’t know she had. Her body responded in kind, her pussy clamping down around the hand, her legs shaking uncontrollably.
The hand felt her muscles tighten, the tension building to a fever pitch, and it knew it had found the perfect rhythm. It stroked and caressed, pushing and retreating, a silent maestro conducting an orchestra of pleasure. Her breath grew ragged, her chest heaving with each gasp, and Thing watched in awe as her body writhed around it.
With a final, desperate thrust, it felt her shatter. Her eyes snapped open, and she threw her head back, a silent scream of ecstasy tearing through her. The hand held on tight, feeling the convulsions of her orgasm as if they were its own, her body tightening around it like a vice. It marveled at the power it had, the way she trembled and bucked beneath its touch, her body a canvas of unbridled passion.
The waves of pleasure receded slowly, leaving her boneless and panting. Her eyes remained closed, a small smile playing on her lips. Thing hovered there, unsure of what to do next. It had never been in this position before—both literally and figuratively. It felt a strange sense of accomplishment, of having crossed a line it had never even known existed.
Wednesday’s hand reached out and grabbed Thing’s wrist, pulling it to her mouth. Her lips parted, and she took the glistening fingers into her mouth, sucking her own sweet nectar from them. The hand could feel the warmth of her mouth, the flick of her tongue, and it was an intimacy that went beyond mere physical contact. It was a silent declaration of acceptance, of willingness to explore this newfound territory together.
“Next time,” she murmured, her voice low and husky with arousal, “Bring Uncle Fester.” The words hung in the air like a challenge, a dark secret whispered in the dead of night. Thing felt a thrill at the suggestion, the promise of something more, something wickedly taboo that could only happen in the twisted world of the Addams Family.
The hand withdrew from her mouth, the taste of her still lingering on its fingers. It hovered over her, unsure of what to do, when she reached down and placed it back between her legs, urging it to continue. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, her eyes still closed, lost in the haze of her pleasure. It obeyed, sliding back into her with a wet sound that seemed to echo through the room.
The hand moved slowly, savoring the feeling of her body’s warm embrace, the way her walls clenched around it as if trying to pull it deeper. It had never felt anything so… alive. Her breathing grew deep and even once more, her body relaxing into the steady rhythm of its movements. Her legs fell apart, giving it full access to her wetness, and it took it, exploring every inch of her with a newfound confidence.
Thing’s fingertips danced over her clit, tracing delicate patterns that made her hips twitch. Her eyes remained closed, her lashes fluttering against her pale cheeks as she descended back into the abyss of sleep. But even in her unconscious state, her body responded to the hand’s touch, a silent symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate through the very air around them.
As dawn approached, the room grew lighter, the shadows retreating before the advancing sun. The hand could feel her slipping away, the tightness of her pussy loosening, her breaths growing shallower. It knew it had to finish this exploration soon—it had gone on longer than it had ever dared before.
Thing’s movements grew more deliberate, more focused. It knew it was close to the point of no return—where it would have to withdraw and leave her to her dreams. But before it could, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder and more insistent.
“Thing, where are you?” Morticia’s voice was like a siren’s call, echoing through the house and into the quiet sanctity of Wednesday’s room. Thing froze, its heart racing—or at least the sensation of it—at the sound. It had been so lost in its exploration that it had forgotten the time, forgotten its duty.
With a silent curse, the hand retreated from between Wednesday’s legs, wiping the evidence of their shared secret on the sheets. It waited as she shifted, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she rolled onto her side, the nightgown falling back into place as if by magic. The hand hovered over her for a moment longer, a strange mix of regret and satisfaction swirling within its non-existent chest.
The footsteps grew closer, and Thing knew it had to leave before it was discovered. It slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut with a soft sound that seemed deafening in the early morning stillness. It retreated into the shadows of the hallway, feeling a strange mix of emotions—guilt, excitement, and a desperate craving for more of the intimate moments it had just shared with the girl who had been like a little sister to it for so long.
Back in its own room, the hand tried to compose itself, but the memory of Wednesday’s warm, wet embrace lingered, a ghostly imprint on its fingertips. It felt… changed, as if it had been reborn into a new understanding of the world and its place within it. The sensations of pleasure it had felt through her body were alien, and yet, it knew it craved them like nothing else.
