Kinky Temptation

'Fuck my life,' Emerick muttered into the stale darkness, his voice thick and slurred. The air tasted damp, earthy, and disturbingly like… well, he'd rather not dwell on that.

The elf shifted, trying to push up against the suffocating tightness pressing in on all sides. His leather armor creaked, feeling slimier than usual against his skin.

'Where the hell am I? Dark, cramped, hot as a brothel's laundry room…' He pushed against the yielding flesh around. It gave, then rebounded, trapping him deeper. He grunted in frustration. "Fucking perfect. I'm stuck balls-deep in some giant cunt."

He groped blindly, searching for an edge, a seam, anything. Finally, his fingers caught on something hard and uneven 'Rough-hewn wood? Yes!'

"Gotcha, bitch!" He braced himself and shoved with all his strength. After a wet, tearing sound and a shower of gooey fluid, he tumbled outwards, landing face-first on a cold, hard surface.

He spat, wiping his eyes clear. Torchlight flickered nearby, revealing dank blue stone walls. He pushed himself up, dripping slime. "Bleeding Hells… that's not a memory I needed back."

He stood shakily, looking around. The room he in was a small, cell-like. The 'cunt' he'd emerged from was, unsurprisingly, a large wooden treasure chest sitting innocuously against one wall. Its lid hung open, the inner lining slick and dark.

"Ah yes," Emerick groaned, massaging his temples. A pounding headache bloomed behind his eyes. "The fucking mimic. Amateur mistake. Should've known something that shiny and convenient wasn't treasure. Ugh"

He glanced down at himself, utterly drenched and glistening. "Ballsack's covered in mimic slobber… not ideal, but not the urgent problem right now, either."

He surveyed the cell, no windows, one heavy door. Escape was paramount.

Taking a tentative step away from the chest, he felt a sudden, violent jerk behind. A powerful suction gripped his legs and pulling him backwards. Before he could react, the chest lid slammed shut with a deafening CRACK, clamping down just below his knees.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! Hey! LET GO!" Emerick yelled, twisting frantically. His lower legs were trapped, held fast by the mimic's internal muscles.

The chest rocked slightly, as if chuckling. "Oh, for fuck's sake! Are you serious?! Again? You glorified fucking wardrobe! I just crawled out of you!"

He kicked uselessly at the wood. "This is not funny! Stop being a needy bitch! I'm trying to work here!" The chest just shuddered slightly, its grip unyielding.

Emerick hung half-in, half-out of the chest, his lower thighs firmly pressed against the lid's edge, the rest of his lower body swallowed by the mimic.

'Luckily it's toothless,' he thought grimly, remembering the jagged rows he'd glimpsed during many fights in the past. 'Or my balls would be the hors d'oeuvres right now.'

Emerick strained, pushing with his hands against the floor and the chest's lid, grunting with effort.

Nothing.

The mimic held him fast, its wooden exterior unyielding. "Come on, you overgrown purse!" he roared. "Spit me out!"

His struggles paused abruptly when something cool and slick brushed between his clenched ass cheeks. His breath hitched. "… what the fuck was that?" He twisted his torso, trying to see behind.

Another slow, deliberate pass. Wet. Cool. Impossibly soft.

"Hey! Stop that!" He squirmed, trying to evade the unseen touch. "Get your feelers off my arse, you perverted piece of furniture!"

He felt a tug at his waist. Something wet and strong had hooked itself under the waistband of his leather trousers. It began pulling them down, the pressure slow and inexorable.

"Oh, fucking hell, no!" Emerick yelped, frantically grabbing at his pants. "No! Not the leathers! These cost good coin!" But the mimic's appendage was relentless.

Inch by inch, it dragged his trousers and undergarments down his legs and over his boots, the cool air hitting his exposed skin.

"You thieving, slutty chest!" he cursed.

Suddenly, his trousers were ejected through a small slit near the chest's hinge, hitting the floor. They landed in a soggy heap beside. But his relief was short-lived.

Something thick, muscular, and a deep, unhealthy red color slithered out through the same slit. It uncoiled, dripping clear fluid onto the stone floor.

A tongue – impossibly long, obscenely flexible, tipped with a pointed, prehensile tip. It curled lazily in the air before the elf as if tasting his shock.

Emerick's eyes widened. "Okay, that's… new. And deeply fucking unsettling." He tried to edge backwards, deeper into the chest, but the lid clamped tighter. "Pack it back in! Nobody wants a tongue bath from a footlocker!"

The tongue flickered out, its wet tip brushing his cheek, leaving a trail of slime.

Emerick jerked his head away. "Fuck off! I swear, I'm going to carve you into kindling!"

The tongue merely swayed gently, dripping, waiting.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. The only sound was Emerick's ragged breathing and the steady dripping sound of saliva from the tongue.

"Seriously?" Emerick broke the awkward silence, his voice tight. "Just gonna leave me ass-out and pantless? Real fucking hospitable."

Startled by his voice, the mimic's entire wooden form gave a violent twitch. Its tongue vanished back into the slit with a wet shlurp.

Emerick flinched. "Jumpy much? Fuck me, I..."

The slick, cool tongue slid back between his bare ass cheeks, exploring the exposed skin at an unhurried pace.

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