Note: Both of the characters depicted in this story are consenting adults. Maren is 27 and Fang is hundreds of years old (an adult for its species).
Note 2: Fang, while not humanoid, is a sapient creature who is able to fully consent to this scenario. There's also a language barrier element, but I've made it as obvious as possible that sex means the same thing to mimics as it does to humans and Fang is enthusiastic about getting Maren off.
~*~
Maren admittedly thrived on the attention she received for her magic. Being her town's only sorceress and gaining notoriety for regularly healing folks of nearly all ills came with a degree of perquisites. The townspeople would often give her baked goods, the most delectable cuts of meat, her favourite spices, and even the odd bundle of spell ingredients from those who at least knew of the basics needed for her craft.
However, such carefree gift-getting had led to a peculiar situation. It was likely that the person who had sent a box of old spellbooks to her home had no idea what they had done, so Maren wasn't about to go looking for a culprit. As she was looking through the books for potential rarities, one of them turned out to be a mimic. She had always been warned as an apprentice against allowing one into her home, but she hadn't really been given much choice.
The creature whom she had dubbed 'Fang' was quite the hellion. It had made a game of transforming into one of Maren's possessions each day, waiting for her to come by and attempt to use it before pouncing out to frighten her. And it wasn't like she had come upon a young mimic; they could turn into fewer things. The options were endless for an adult like Fang which made it far more difficult to predict.
So, every day for five months, she had found herself being surprised and warbled at in an ambiguous voice speaking one of the immortal's languages. One of the fifteen out of thirty-four dialects that she didn't know. Of course.
But true to Maren's nature, her irritation with Fang faded as its tricks grew repetitive. She found herself being slowly endeared to the creature and being able to laugh with it whenever it popped out of her hairbrush or a dinner plate. She would even go so far as to say that Fang was a friend. The mimic was fun to have around and had become a welcome addition to her home.
As some things are ought to do in life, Maren and Fang's relationship underwent a very sudden and unexpected escalation one late afternoon. The sorceress hadn't seen Fang all day. She briefly wondered if it had managed to get itself stuck under something or if it had gotten sick and was hiding out somewhere alone.
Maren finished preparing a potion for a client and decided to actively look for the creature once she was done cleaning up. She entered her storage room which was a vaguely organized mess of chests, haphazard book piles, and ingredient barrels. The scroll chest from which she had gotten the potion recipe was right where she had left it.
The box was quite large, its rounded top coming up just past her waist. She had magically altered its colour from its original drab, worn brown to a bright purple like the rest of the scroll chests. The plan had been to colour-code things and then put them away with their matches, but the fun part was about as far as she got.
Maren lifted the lid to the chest only to shriek and fall back as she was met with a gaping, wet maw full of sharp teeth. She fell hard onto her backside, the scroll she had been holding flying out of her hand and falling out of sight behind some barrels. Barely concealing a hiss of pain, she looked up just in time for Fang to start chortling at her.
She gave an indignant huff. "And to think I was just getting worried about you."
Fang rocked from side to side, still laughing as drool dripped down the sides of the chest.
Maren shook her head, but a smile made its way to her face.
"It was a good one. I admit that," she said. "If anything, you're good for keeping me on my toes."
Something came over her then. Her attention focused in on Fang's large mouth. Particularly on its long, tendril-like tongue, waving about as the mimic continued to revel in its successful prank. The muscle twitched and undulated, slick with saliva. It was thick and fleshy like—well, Maren's face heated at the comparison her mind conjured. Even more embarrassing was the sudden pulse of need between her legs.
Was she seriously lusting after Fang?
The mimic seemed to notice the change in Maren's demeanor as it stopped laughing. It's mouth hinged nearly closed. A questioning, concerned warble following a brief silence.
"This is...this is going to sound insane, but—." Maren slid her pants and underwear down her legs, tossing them to the side. With a pounding heart, she spread herself before Fang. The fingers of one of her hands teased her warm, wet folds. "L-lick me?"
Fang jolted out of a supposed surprised stupor brought on by the sight of Maren touching herself in front of it. The mouth opened once more as the mimic shook and rocked excitedly. A noise that sounded a lot like a gravelly "Hell, yeah," in near-perfect English fluency left Fang before it extended its tongue out towards her.
Maren gasped at the first over-enthusiastic lick over her pussy, her toes curling from the shock of pleasure. The strokes were quick and immediately mind-blowing. She couldn't help but start to moan. Fang pressed hard against her, alternating between stripes and circles. Her body shuddered and jolted each time her clit was dug against. A puddle swiftly began to form beneath her; a mix of her profuse leaking fluids and the mimic's drool.
Somehow, Maren managed to get herself up onto her knees. She removed her shirt, quite thankful that she had chosen to forgo a bra that day. Fang's tongue passed back and forth between her legs, continuing to drag the thick length over her dripping cunt. She cried out as she felt the mimic begin to tease her ass. The wet tip lolled around the ring of muscle and pushed in shallowly.
