Take A Seat

A Short Story by Bo Blackstar

[f/monster, mimic, fantasy, thief in over her head, mimic, negotiating with aggressive furniture, bad end but like a weird one]

Castle Bleak had not always been called such. In another age it had been known as Castle Breakwater, the jewel of an island kingdom unchallenged on the seas. When the inhabitants of the castle, and indeed all people on the capital island, simply vanished without apparent cause, it took other names. Fearing a curse or some divine retribution, people stayed away from the abandoned isle and its eerily quiet harbor. After a few parties of investigators, explorers, and looters seemed to vanish as well, the severity of the place’s reputation deepened. Over time, Castle Breakwater became Castle Bleakwater, and then just Castle Bleak. Considered cursed, haunted, or at best a haven for some bizarre illness, the place was left to rot. Shielded from interference by superstition and its unsettling history.

Adda Shae had never cared much for superstition. When she heard the old tales of the abandoned castle, the brash young “scavenger” had a somewhat different takeaway than most. For Adda, the talk of ghosts and magic was just so much blabbering. What mattered was that there was a castle, the capital of a once-wealthy seafaring kingdom, and hardly anyone at all had bothered to try and loot the place. Their foolishness would be her fortune! Of that, Adda had no doubt.

When no one was willing to take her to the island, Adda had simply procured a one-person boat from the nearest active harbor and set sail herself. She could pay for it when she got back, if anyone made a fuss. The island was by no means hidden, actually just visible from the mainland. Nor were the surrounding seas especially choppy. Adda couldn’t help but laugh to herself, salty seawater spraying across her sun-kissed skin, a refreshment on what seemed a simple pleasure voyage. Her long, black hair was tucked into a tail which waved in the wind. Only a few times did she need to exert herself managing the boat, which was thankful. Adda was on the shorter side, and a youth spent running away from conflict had left her shapely legs the only real toned part of her physique. Those legs were hugged tightly by the young woman’s patched trousers, no belt needed as they fit snugly over her broad hips. The appeal of Adda’s posterior had led a few of her streetwalker friends to suggest she could make good money selling herself, if she flaunted it right. That option had always seemed too much like work, however. Adda craved the thrill of hunting for the next big score, which was always exhausted by her ensuing celebrations within the month. Sometimes within the day.

When her lively brown eyes caught sight of the island’s derelict docks, Adda steered toward them without hesitation. A few sunken ships and collapsed piers made the area a little tricky to navigate, but the treasure hunter was plenty deft enough to pull in and tie off without issue. It was a credit to the builders that more of the harbor hadn’t simply fallen into the sea by this point. Adda made sure she had everything she needed. An old, moth-chewed jacket was worn open over a small white shirt that easily covered her minimal bust while leaving a bit of her belly bared. Into the jacket were sewn a dozen pockets, some on the inside of the sleeves near the cuff, either holding the tools of the trade or merely as places to stash something. A small dagger was strapped to her thigh, another hidden in her boot, and most important of all were the three empty packs she slung over her shoulders to carry the first load of loot from the castle.

Adda walked up the docks, humming happily to herself. The only other sounds were the creaking of wood, the lapping of the water, and the whisper of the wind. Not even the call of a bird disturbed the scene as the young woman marched merrily onto the silent island.

The main road was easy to follow, as worn by time and weather as it had become. It led past a bit of woods long ago regrown from logging. Then some fields and farms retaken by the wilderness. Then through the heart of a decrepit, empty town. All along, Adda seemed oblivious to the unnerving silence. No chirp of insects. No scurrying of rodents. No rustle of any living thing in the bushes. It wasn’t that Adda truly failed to notice, of course. It was simply that she didn’t care. What concern was it of hers? Her only concern was well in sight, as the road continued up to the very gates of the castle.

The gates themselves were closed, but that was no obstacle. This wasn’t Adda’s first break-in, and scaling a castle wall is a lot easier when its covered in vines and no guards are there to watch. She undid the rusted locks from the inside, and with considerable effort managed to push the gate open enough for her to pass through later with her huge bounty of treasure. After that, the spoils of Castle Bleak were at her disposal.

At first, in her excitement, Adda snatched up the first vaguely-valuable looking items, some silver candlestick holders and the like. Then it occurred to her than there was far, far better loot waiting deeper in. She could come back for the candlestick holders. The halls of the abandoned castle, vacant and oddly pristine, gave Adda the peculiar feeling that the inhabitants were not actually gone. She imagined that instead they were simply in the next room, or waiting just around each corner, always so close and yet never seen. It was an odd fantasy, and one that the acquisition enthusiast had to keep reminding herself was utterly silly. She picked up a few things along the way, stashing this or that piece of forgotten jewelry into one of her packs, but there seemed only one proper place to visit first in a castle.

The throne room.

It wasn’t hard to find. A vast chamber, lined with broad columns depicting oceanic heroes and victories. A lot of empty space for the courtiers to stand around and watch the day’s proceedings pass by in utter dullness. And then, at the end of a long, deep blue rug that ran the full length of the room, was a small dais upon which sat the throne of the vanished monarch of Castle Breakwater.

The throne itself was impressive, but struck Adda as kind of silly. A large chair of some heavy, pale wood, taller and broader than was necessary. Handles like those on a ship’s wheel stuck out of the rounded back, and the fortune seeker giggled at the idea of someone trying to “steer” the castle and dumping the monarch onto the floor. It was cushioned, too, in the same deep blue of the rug, and by the look of it the upholstery had remained unmolested by bugs since the last day it held a royal keister.

As she had been told, Adda had an ass befitting royalty. She dropped her packs to the floor and did a little twirl in front of the dais, giggling to herself and flourishing with her jacket as she pulled it off and dropped it on top of the packs. Then she turned to face the vast, empty chamber. “My lords and ladies!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the dusty hall. “On this most auspicious of days, I present to you… your new queen!” After a dramatic bow, she hopped up onto the dais and plopped herself upon the cushioned throne.

It was remarkably comfortable. “For my first decree,” she bellowed, keeping up her goofy royalty voice. “I hereby rename our kingdom to Addaland! Our new flag is just a big picture of my face, so that you all can fawn over me even when I’m not around! And every Tuesday is Pasta Day! And every Wednesday is Leftover Pasta Day, which all must acknowledge is somehow way better!”

Adda amused herself by barking out a few more ridiculous decrees, laughing herself nearly to tears. She was finally calming down when she spotted something over by one of the large pillars, hidden from view until one happened to get on this side of it. It was a tall chair of dark wood, discarded and broken, a sigil carved into the back near the top, where it would be visible above the sitter’s head.

It was a throne.

“Eheh… Huh. That’s… weird.”

The throne beneath her suddenly jerked, as if struck by something heavy, and Adda clasped her hands to the arms of the chair to stabilize herself. And that was what doomed her. Thick lengths of the throne’s pale wood slapped over her wrists, forming cuffs that held the tomb robber in place. “What the hell!?” Adda cried, and tried to pick herself up out of the chair. The cushions seemed to hold her, and as the whole of the throne started to warp and move she felt it recede beneath her bountiful backside and sort of “gulp” her into the depression. The rounded back started to fold forward over her, its odd handles bending inward and creating the impression of horrible, inhuman teeth.

“No! Help!” Adda screamed. “I don’t care if nobody’s there, just HELP!” She kicked and squirmed, managing to pull herself out of the pocket that was forming under her, but after less than a foot of freedom something yanked her back by the waistline of her trousers. While she struggled and watched in horror, the throne continued to change. It sank lower onto the dais, and Adda realized there was movement beneath her boots as well. The entire dais was part of the creature! The shape of a chair was lost, that of a twisted maw filled with odd, grasping tendrils made of wood and upholstery taking its place. The squirming limbs circled around Adda, capturing her more thoroughly as her prison folded in around her. Then, the fortune seeker realized that the living throne was oddly warm. And, with greater discomfort, she noted it was starting to get… wet.

“Nope!” Adda yelped. Salivating chairs was over a line. With plucky determination and practiced dexterity, she wrenched one of her wrists free from the arm of the “chair,” and immediately grabbed the dagger from her thigh. “Ha-HAH!” she barked proudly, jabbing the tip of the blade up into the looming seatback above her.

It thunked in, leaving a small divot and nothing more.

“No!” Adda shrieked, nearly hysterical with outrage. “Fuck you! You’re not really made of wood!” She continued to strike in a maddened frenzy, aiming for cushion, but met with no better results before her arm was recaptured by the encroaching, dampening “flesh” of the mimic. The growing moisture slicked her shirt, making it cling to her skin and drag across her now rather visible nipples while she writhed desperately in the living maw, seat-flesh seeming to suckle at her posterior, the closing of the trap starting to bend her forward.

The dagger was pulled from her grip, and a slick tendril that no longer resembled wood or fabric, but rather purplish flesh, held the thing in front of her. Adda stared at it, confused, and then the tendril jabbed it into her shoulder, just a nick.

“Ow! You little shit!”

The butt of the weapon was bonked on her nose before it was tossed away, right into the pile with her jacket and packs that were supposed to be bursting with treasure on her way back to the boat.

“What, you’re intelligent?” Adda balked. “Well then screw you! Let me go, you stupid chair! You’re the dumbest-looking throne I’ve ever seen! I wouldn’t let my goat sit on you!” A malleable bar of “wood” smacked itself into Adda’s face, and when she bit it out of spiteful reflex it pulled her tight against the enclosing back of the throne, holding her and stifling her tirade.

Dripping with saliva now, the throne-mimic became even less chair and more mouth. The cushion beneath Adda became a rough, bumpy tongue, which pushed up between her thighs and began to lap across them hungrily. She thrashed and groaned, but at this point is was futile. The lovely looter’s eyes darted all around, looking at the vacant room through the looming handle-teeth of the mimic, searching for any sign or opportunity for escape.

Nothing.

That cushion-tongue continued to lick at her thighs, also grinding and sliding against her mound, and Adda blushed at the offense. Insult to injury, she guessed. All along her back and butt, creeping forward around her hips and shoulders, the shifting flesh of the creature pulled and suckled at her. She panted, hair matted to her face and shoulders with sweat and mimic-spit, trying desperately to think of something clever. Those thoughts were derailed by a pinch behind her leg. Adda’s eyes went wide as she watched another shift happen. Tiny, white-wood teeth appeared in the creature’s flesh, sawing closer. Panic set off a new bout of vigorous thrashing and muffled screaming from the young woman, but she got nowhere. The little teeth slid across her. Adda closed her eyes tight and prepared for the sensation of being torn apart.

But it never came. It was more like the scraping of a dog’s claws, and what’s more it was localized to a few very specific spots. Like the backs of her trousers and shirt, shearing the garments open.

“Hmm… Muh?”

Muscular action slid the shredded clothing away from Adda’s body, leaving her bare save for her boots. More disturbing than the sudden exposure of her naked flesh to the shapeshifting monster, she couldn’t tell where her clothing actually went.

“Ruunm du fuuuuh? Nnnm…”

Adda was confused, but that confusion was thrown together with deepening horror and a disconcerting arousal as the thick tongue of the throne-mimic returned to its grinding licks, the moist muscle sliding with more intent against her now-naked vulva. Purplish tendrils reached forward, searching and feeling their way around her torso, until some seemed to settle over her humble breasts. Still the bulk of the mouth sucked and tugged at her, and now the terrible maw began to close once again, bending Adda until she was so far forward that her knees were nearly flush with her shoulders. While Adda moaned and sputtered her distressed befuddlement, the mimic’s tongue applied more sliding pressure to her mound, a ridge of the malleable flesh actually starting to part her petals and rub across her stiffening pleasure button.

What the hell is happening right now!? Adda’s mind raced. Why!? No, seriously, WHY!? Maybe… Maybe it doesn’t want to eat me. Maybe I’m gonna be fine. Yeah… Yeah! No problem, just get through this, it’ll get tired like that fat night guard, and I’ll be on my way with-- I CHANGED MY MIND THIS IS NOT OKAY!

A new pressure appeared, some novel organ of the mimic’s manufacture, and Adda groaned as it pushed its way into her warmed-up slit. It was hard, stiff like wood but with a fleshier texture. It delved into her, Adda clenching and shaking her head against the intrusion. She felt it shifting inside her, altering its dimensions until it filled her… perfectly. Length, girth, shape… all custom-tailored to Adda’s sex.

Well now that’s just cruel, she thought. Then it started thrusting. “Nnnngh! Hnn mrrnmm…” Adda whined, the saliva-soaked fortune hunter moaning over the bit in her mouth while the mimic violated her. Thoughts of escape, likely or not, gave way to simply trying to adjust to the bizarre experience, Adda twisting and flexing her body against the intrusion, though her movements were limited. At least, she started out trying to move against the smoothly pistoning conquest, that fat tongue still grinding against her clit, but after a while it was no longer clear if Adda was moving against the mimic, or with it.

Another novel pressure, and Adda’s eyes went wide again as her backdoor was invaded. Her ample hips bucked and squirmed in the slowly sealing maw of the throne-mimic, but there was nowhere for her to go. Another custom-made monstercock began to thrust up her ass, working in alternating rhythm with its partner around the front. Bent as Adda was, the bumpy cushion-tongue of the mimic was able to slide across her chest as well, its attention stiffening the pert peaks of her little tits and adding another flavor of stimulation. She writhed and strained for a while more, but finally Adda pouted and slumped in the maw of the mimic. Her hips rolled with the motion of her two-pronged violation, and her breaths gradually became quicker and shallower in her fleshy, hungry prison. The master-crafted rods switched things up, twisting and grinding in between more bouts of smooth, even thrusting, and at this point Adda just moaned and nodded her approval. Eventually, the treasure hunter tensed, toes curling in her boots and muscles pulsing around the intrusive throne-flesh, a muffled wail sounding in her throat.

The monstrous throne rumbled rhythmically around her.

Don’t you laugh at me, you pervert, Adda thought dizzily, head spinning. Then, she felt something new. A space opened up beneath her behind, and with sickening slowness the muscular mouth of the mimic began to pull her in.

No! Adda’s limbs twitched, but she was too far gone to make any meaningful resistance. No… Of course. Of course it’s going to eat me. It must be starving on this island totally… without… food. WAIT!

With a new rush of urgency, Adda started slapping her hand against the flesh of the maw, tapping it rapidly, pausing to rub for a moment and then tapping again, desperately trying to get the creature’s attention. Deeper she slid into the throne-throat, the tighter passage squeezing her wide hips, the handle-teeth at last closing around her. She kept grunting and trying to pull her face from the bar of “wood” in her teeth, tapping frantically, praying that somehow it would understand.

Her slippery descent halted. The bar was pulled from her mouth.

“I can take you out of here!” Adda screamed, gasping for breath. She was trembling, perched at the precipice of being consumed. “There’s nothing here to eat, right? I have a boat! I can take you to the mainland! More food!”

For a minute, nothing new happened. Adda remained in place, and the rods in her holes ground and twisted around inside her lazily, making her groan and pant while she waited for a decision. The length that had been in her mouth like a bit was pushed back to her lips, and she pulled her face away. It was pressed in again, and the young procurer of goods frowned.

“What, why? What do you want?”

The woody length slid across her lips, and another little gulp pulled her inches deeper into the creature. With a meep, Adda opened her mouth and bit down on the odd gag again, the rest of the stiff length securing it in place. Slowly, the twisted maw opened back up, unfolding and at last straightening Adda out. It formed a kind of bed, the massive tongue still sliding appreciatively between Adda’s thighs and up across her belly. The mimic continued to leisurely molest the young woman, apparently still considering the proposition. She suffered the suspense with heaving breaths, rolling hips, and an expression twisted with frustration and arousal.

It went on too long. Adda’s body and mind were wracked by the ongoing stimulation, and when the monster started to shift again she barely noticed in her addled state. When she was finally able to think straight again, Adda took quick stock of her situation, and then groaned.

“Seriously?”

She was wearing a sturdy harness secured over her entire upper torso, and from that was a thick line connecting her to the thing she was lying on. A massive, heavy sled. The mimic.

“What, you can’t do some freaking wheels, at least!?” Adda complained. The harness tightened uncomfortably. “Agh! Okay, fine! Sheesh…”

And so, the naked young woman began the arduous task of dragging the sled-mimic back out of the castle, through the town, and down the road, all the way to the docks. As she lugged it, the sled seemed to make periodic, odd groaning sounds, and she could swear these noises echoed strangely. But, Adda was too tired and had too far to go to consider the possible implications. She passed out once it was loaded onto her boat, and woke up on a plush bed, unrestrained. Adda considered sinking the boat, but didn’t know how she would actually go about doing that. Also, being stranded on an island nobody ever visited seemed like a bad idea. What also seemed like a bad idea was leaving empty handed.

Over the next day, three full sacks and a bundled-up quilt, all filled with gold, silver, and jewels, were piled onto the little boat alongside the massive mimic. Then, dressed in some silk clothes pillaged from the castle, Adda sailed home. She tried not to think too hard about her cargo.