It was well past midnight, and the last echoes of drunken laughter had long since faded from the cobblestone streets of Gloambridge. Annabelle stood behind the bar of the
Midnight Maw
, wiping the last glass dry with a practiced, contented rhythm, humming to herself. The fire in the hearth had died down to glowing embers, casting a gentle orange glow across the dark wood of the tavern. Her brown eyes reflected the low light, and her freckles, faintly kissed by moonlight filtering through the shutters, gave her the look of someone carved from warm dusk and honey.
She was short, strong from years of hauling barrels despite her feminine frame, and her smile--when it appeared--was like sunshine breaking through rain. It was on her face now, the thought of what lay below sparking a familiar warmth in her lips. Both pairs.
She looked at the door. Unlocked. She knew she should fasten the latch, but it was hardly worth the effort. A small town like this didn't need much caution. Besides, she wouldn't be long. With a grin tugging at her lips, she walked to the far corner of the tavern and flipped open the trapdoor behind the wine rack.
Wood creaked under her feet as she descended the narrow ladder into the cellar. Down here, the air was cooler, heady with the scent of old oak and spiced liquor. She stepped off the last rung and padded across the stone floor, barefoot and silent. Under her breath, she uttered the phrase from memory, igniting the arcane glyph on the wall when she finished.
"By tongue. By teeth. By treasures untrue--open for your mistress!"
At the far end, a rack of wine bottles swung open like a door, revealing a secret chamber lit by a single, flickering lantern.
There he was.
A large treasure chest, lacquered and gleaming, sat in the center of the room. As Annabelle entered, the mimic shivered, the illusion faltering slightly as its lid parted to reveal a row of glistening teeth, hungry for something juicy. A long, sinuous purple tongue slid free, tasting the air. Tasting for
her.
"Hello, Seymore," she cooed, her voice soft as silk. Her fingers slowly began to unbutton her blouse. "Did you miss me?"
The tongue flexed in the air like a cat stretching, six feet long and dripping with anticipation.
Annabelle undid the knot at her hip, and her skirt slipped off her in a whisper of fabric, joining her blouse at her bare feet. Pale skin gleamed in the low light. Her bra and panties followed, discarded without ceremony onto the cool stone.
She stepped forward and stroked the mimic's lid. "You've been a good boy, haven't you?"
~~~
Outside, the night remained quiet until the crunch of boots on gravel broke the silence.
Three adventurers approached the tavern's front. The elf was tall and graceful, her lavender hair falling long and straight past her shoulders. She wore fine robes marked with arcane sigils, and her violet eyes scanned their surroundings with amused detachment.
Beside her was a rugged human ranger, tall, sun-weathered and stoic, with a bow strapped across his back and two daggers at his hips.
And then there was the bard. A human man, flamboyant in style with rings on every finger and a lute slung over one shoulder. His smile came easy, especially when it found the inn's sign--a painted mimic with a lolling tongue.
"The Midnight Maw," he said, amused. "I see what they did there."
The elf hummed, stepping up to the door. It creaked ajar as she pushed. "It's open. Odd, at this hour."
The ranger glanced up at the moon. "Innkeeper might be cleaning up. Worth checking for a room."
They pushed the door open. The tavern inside was quiet, the lanterns dimmed. No one in sight.
"Hello?" the bard called. No answer.
Then the elf froze. A sound drifted up through the floorboards. A low moan, feminine and sweet, rising in pitch.
The ranger raised an eyebrow, reaching for his bow. "Trouble?"
"Could be," she said, but the glint in her eyes betrayed more curiosity than concern. "We should investigate."
The bard snorted. "You mean peep." He too was well aware of what these sounds might truly indicate.
"I mean
protect
," she said with mock offense, already moving behind the bar. Her fingers found the trapdoor handle as if she'd always known it was there. With a grin, she slipped down the ladder.
~~~
They descended one by one, the scent of wine and sex strong in the air. As they stepped through the false wine rack, they stopped dead in their tracks.
Annabelle lay on a bed of furs, flushed and moaning. Her legs were spread wide, toes curling against the stone floor. Her breasts bounced with every panting breath, nipples stiff from stimulation.
And between her thighs, the mimic's tongue moved with a skill that defied logic. It was thick, flexible, and moved in slow, deliberate circles that made her back arch.
"Oh gods, yes... just like that..." she moaned, oblivious to the intrusion.
The elf's breath caught. The ranger turned away, ears burning. The bard, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe with wide eyes.
"That's...
creative,
" he whispered.
The tongue thrust deeper, sliding into her pussy with a slick, wet sound that made the mage's thighs clench involuntarily. Annabelle cried out, body trembling. The mimic rumbled beneath her, focused only on her body.
The tongue pumped, rhythm building. Each thrust drew a shudder from Annabelle, her hands pawing at her breasts, pulling and pinching. Slippery, purple muscle vanished between her thighs, more than her little body seemed capable of holding. Her pussy dripped, soaking the furs beneath her.
She gasped. Her body tensed.
