Stories Hub / NonHuman / All for a Cup of Coffee

All for a Cup of Coffee

by RaistlinMajere 09/19/23

--- Chapter 1 : Stuffed Omelette ---

Darkness. God I wished the darkness would just stay forever. Darkness was good. It was safe and it didn't hurt. Unlike the bastard thing called consciousness. But that's the cost of drinking bull blasters, irish trashcans, and soooo many shots of fireball. Needless to say, I didn't make smart decisions last night.

What? You can't judge me like that. It was my bro's bachelor party and I'm his best man. If I didn't get wrecked and force him to keep up with me, what kind of best man would I be? That was the only solace I could find: that Ricky was no doubt in as much despair and pain as I was.

My stomach began to churn as I became aware of the spinning room. I can't fathom what kind of dick would put my bed on a swivel but they were going to get an ass kicking. I quickly rolled onto my side, just in case if something decided to escape the wrong end. I pulled the annoyingly scratchy pillow into a more comfortable position under my head and nuzzled deeper into it.

Wherever I had passed out, at least I had made it into a bed. I could feel the sheets around me. I was naked underneath them too. That was a double bonus. I rarely got blackout drunk and managed to not only make it to bed but also get out of my clothes so I didn't tangle myself up.

I laid there for a while, unwilling to do anything that might bring reality down on me. I tried to will everything away again, for the calming nothingness in the darkness to take me once more. But it just wasn't meant to be. Redbull doesn't sit happy and quiet in one's bladder so I knew I had two options. Either I could brave the light and sound and danger of the real world, or I could piss the bed. Despite my complaints, I wasn't that far gone yet and couldn't bring myself to lay in a piss soaked bed.

One eye was where I decided to start. The one that was pressed into the pillow. It opened a crack with no issue and so I slowly eased my face up until a shaft of light so bright and deadly it could be used as a weapon of war stabbed through my cornea. It drilled right to the pain center of my brain and all my body could do was release a low groan of regret.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little dramatic. It was a bit of morning sunlight passing through a tiny gap in some blessedly dark curtains. It was still enough to cause severe agony and longing for death in me.

It took another minute for me to work up the courage to open my other eye a crack. Yup. It hurt just as much as the first. I clenched my eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. I wasn't some new-age liberal virgin. I had gotten slammed before and I could take it, especially if it meant some relief for my strained bladder. I forced my eyes open more than just a crack and tried yo discern where I was. It sure wasn't my bed, and I'm pretty certain it wasn't my brother's place.

The walls were paneled in rustic wood that looked old and smoke-stained. The ceiling was similar wood with heavy square beams set across it. The room wasn't large, just my bed and a small table with a single chair set beside the bed. A pair of pants and a shirt that looked like mine were sitting on it. The floor was, quite shockingly, also old worn wood of a darker and dirtier color. A small candle burned down to a nub sat on the table in one of those little metal candle holders.

I did a double take at that. The fuck was there a candle for? My eyes roved around and I noticed the obvious that had escaped my hungover brain. There wasn't a light or a switch or anything electrical you'd find in a normal hotel room. What kind of backwards ancient place was I staying in? I wracked my brain for memories from the night before. The last thing I could remember was the last round of fireball shots we did at the nightclub we had been partying at. Then we hit the dance floor... Again... And then nothing.

Seriously. My memories cut out right there as he and I are stepping up to a couple of hot young things with tiny miniskirts that could barely be called clothing. Like someone flicked a switch, at that instant I found myself in this bed acting like a poster child for bad decisions. That was really damn weird. Whenever I wake up after blacking out, the memories are usually like breadcrumbs. Bits and pieces slowly picked up as I reach for them.

Without anything else to do, I prepared as best I could to fight gravity to the death. The need to be vertical was growing more urgent with each passing minute. I took a slow breath and pushed. My head immediately rebelled and my stomach did a flip. I grabbed my head as my feet came off the bed and I sat upright. The first battle of this war was mine and I wasn't going to cock it up by vomiting all over my bare legs.

I took a minute, sitting there with my bare feet on the chilly wood floor as I rubbed at my eyes and fought with the fur in my mouth. After a bit, I leaned over to the chair and grabbed up my clothes. A pair of stylish slacks and a clean white shirt. A suit coat lay tossed nearby and I left it there. My legs wriggled into the slacks and I tugged them up my ass without getting off the bed. Then, shirt in hand, I made the leap to stand up. I didn't actually leap, I stood gingerly and slowly, keeping a hand on the bed the entire time.

That same hand trailed the wall on my way to the door. It opened with a creak like a banshee and I cringed in pain. Thankfully that was the only sound I heard as I stepped out into the hall.

The hall was dark except for a small window at the end of it and some light coming up from the staircase at the other end. Three other doors sat in the hall, including one ajar at the end near the stairs. I figured that one would be a good start so I tottered over to it.

My guess was accurate and I found myself in a room that was just a smoothly crafted wood bench with a hole. That made me stare but my bladder wouldn't wait so I had to just go for it. The relief was immediate and marvelous, leaving my body feeling better and my hangover now a mere agonizing existence instead of a literal hell on earth. With nothing to flush and apparently my piss gone down a bottomless dark hole, I turned and went back into the hall. From downstairs, I could smell some kind of food and where there was food, there might just be coffee.

Oh dear sweet black nectar of the divine. I needed coffee and I would pay any amount of money for even the smallest drop of burnt, watered down elixir of life. I held tightly to the wall and braved the stairs. They were creaky and wooden, like everything else around here. The steep steps took some real effort and I stopped at the landing that turned right to steady myself. Everything still felt like it was moving and the last thing I wanted was a tumble to my death.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and just gawked. The room was archaic, to say the least. It had the feel of an old pirate tavern from Hollywood's best pirate flicks. I couldn't describe it any better than that. Round tables stood around the room with a mix of chairs ranging from crates to barrels to a few actual chairs. A large stone hearth was built into the far wall, a small fire smoldering in it providing tbe room's warmth. A bar covered the length of the back wall with swinging doors into a kitchen behind it. Bottles of all sizes and colors covered the wall behind the bar with little more than the occasional hand written note on the outside of each.

The most shocking though was what I saw out the windows. To the window beside the bar I saw open water to the horizon like we were on the shore somewhere. Actual mast and wood sailing ships were floating out there. Out the window to my left, next to what had to be the front door, was a stretch of dock lined with other wooden buildings of greatly varying sizes and shapes. I moved closer to that window and squinted against the morning light. The docks and buildings appeared to fill a good portion of the bay, while an even more random and eclectic grouping of buildings climbed up the shore and the rising mountain in the center of the island.

"Am I in Tortuga?" I groaned, turning from the window with a rub at my eyes. I dug my hands in my pockets. I had my wallet, quite empty of money, my house keys, and my phone. It was dead and didn't even blink when I tried to turn it on. Guess a phone call for help was out. I think my charger might be in my coat upstairs, but I was yet to see an outlet so I shoved both things back in my pockets.

There was a squeak of hinges and someone came out of the kitchen through a pair of half-doors on springs. I looked up to see a gorgeous woman standing behind the bar. She stood a head shorter than me, but that's not saying a lot. I'm a tall and gangly guy so most people are shorter than me. It's actually rather helpful in the kitchen because I can see what everyone is doing and better direct things without having to move around so much.

Her hair was a burgundy with enough wild curls that the shoulder length it displayed now was probably only half as long as it really was. Her eyes were a vibrant hazel that set against her tanned, smooth skin quite fetchingly. She wore a frilly white blouse cut low over her immense bosom and held in place by straps that came up over her shoulders from the waist of her knee-length skirt.

God damn did she have curves to fill all of that out in all the best ways too. You could tell she wasn't athletic or skinny, but plump in the way few women can pull off well, and even then its rarely seen outside of true milfs. She had hips that were wide and shapely, betraying the presence of an amazing ass. Her waist and middle were squishy but not fat. Then there were her boobs. Look, I'm a guy so it doesn't matter what kind of boobs they are, I like em. But this woman? Hers were not just huge but shapely and plump, making her blouse's low cut show a goddamn canyon of cleavage. The way that tanned skin looked there was just delicious.

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