Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  You had not even considered such a risk. There are certain magic precautions you could have taken, but you have not taken them.

  “Ohhhh, be careful,” you cry, riding up his cock until it slips from your slick folds.

  “Ahhhhhhh! Here it comes, my sweet!” He cries, grabbing hold of his cock and aiming it at your tummy just above your mound. Hot ropes of thick spunk launch from his glistening, purple cockhead. He wanks himself furiously, panting with pleasure as he spurts his seed all over your abdomen and dripping down into the hair of your mound. You cry out at the warmth of it, massaging some of the jiggling liquid into your supple skin. It has a strong, manly musk you recall from your few times having sex before this.

  “The gods have smiled upon me,” pants Bog, stroking and smacking his softening cock against your thighs and sex. “You are a blessing.”

  “And you have a nice penis,” you say, leaning forward to kiss him. “Very nice.”

  Bog produces several handkerchiefs and a small basin of water to help clean you up. Very little of the mess landed on Bog, so he is finished cleaning quite quickly and sits back to watch you mopping up his spunk. Your face is hot with shame as he watches, but being watched is also exciting. You even wiggle your round ass a little for his benefit, earning a soft smack from one of Bog’s ringed hands.

  Once you are clean, you dress in fresh clothing and enjoy the day’s journey with no further discomfort. At times, Bog has you sit on his lap or he caresses your body while you are sitting beside him. You rather enjoy this and late in the afternoon you spend a very long time kissing him and describing various monsters from your family codex that he thinks are fairytales.

  “Why do so many of these fantastical creatures try to implant eggs in women?”

  “I am not sure,” you say. “There are several theories on that, mostly to do with humans being the dominant species in the known world. Before, there were many races, but we have mostly forgotten them and so these monsters turn to humans as their breeding stock.”

  “Fascinating,” he says, lighting up his pipe of cherry-scented tobacco. “Are these monsters of the old gods?”

  “Most have some connection, yes,” you say. “The old gods were considered the fathers and mothers of monsters and since they slumber many of the monsters have gone extinct. But there are many more that still prey upon humans.”

  “As breeding stock,” says Bog, puffing on his pipe.

  “I mean ‘prey upon,’” you say, looking up at him as you caress his hairy chest. “There are many fiends who feed upon the life force or even the flesh of humans for sustenance. Some feed upon more abstract things such as human desire or human suffering.”

  “That’s what you are,” he says, tracing the contour of your shapely hip and resting his hand on your lightly jiggling ass. “A succubus here to prey upon me.”

  “If I were a succubus,” you laugh, stroking the bulge in his trousers, “you would already be drained of your life force.”

  He pulls you into a kiss.

  “Perhaps we should try again,” he says and kisses you again.

  “I’m hungry,” you say, pushing him away. “And not for your life force. Isn’t it time for supper?”

  “Hmm, usually I am the one asking that,” he chuckles. He parts the curtain on the carriage and opens the window.

  “Langk!” Bog shouts. “Langk! Fetch us supper!”

  It is not long before Bog’s muscular and rather handsome manservant brings you trays of food, warm stew, and fresh-baked bread. Where this food is coming from is a mystery, but you are more interested in the food itself.

  You return to your bench for dinner, eating well and drinking a bit too much wine. Throughout the meal, Bog insists on playing footsie with you until you are giggling and telling him to stop. After dinner, Langk returns to the carriage to clear the plates and provide you with a cup of sweet custard and fruit. You make eye contact with Langk and you can see the well-built manservant is admiring your curves in your lazily dressed body. Your cleavage is on full display and the hem of your gown is halfway up your thigh.

  “Ma’am,” he says, nodding deferentially.

  “Go on, Langk,” snaps Bog with annoyance. “Get out of here. Leave me alone with lovely Penny.”

  Once Langk is gone, Bog begins licking custard off his spoon and looking at you lasciviously. You giggle and lick a dollop of the sweet custard off your fingertip. You let your gown fall open, your plump tits revealed and your fat nipples swollen from all his earlier sucking. You bring one foot up on the bench and spread your legs, giving Bog a show of your quim and your glistening cuntlips.

  “There you are, my lovely.”

  He fidgets with his buckle and unbuttons his trousers. To your surprise, he takes out his hard cock and begins to stroke himself.

  “Oh, my, how rude!” You giggle.

  He grunts, resting one hand on his portly belly stuffed full of dinner as his other works up and down his cock. He is hardly making an effort at seduction, but you enjoy the sight of his staff at full hardness, gripped in his hand and slowly purpling at its fat tip. A clear drop of liquid oozes from the slit at the head of his cock and rolls over his fingers.

  “Touch yourself, Penny,” he groans, working his hand up and down his cock. “Let me see how you give yourself pleasure.”

  Your face is flushed a shameful crimson as you stroke your pussy by the light of the swaying lantern. With both of your heels on the edge of the bench, knees folded, and shoulders leaned back, you give Bog a perfect view of your pink pussy as you thrust two fingers into your slick sex. You gasp with each thrust of your fingers, your other hand pinching your nipples as you fuck yourself for the fat-cocked merchant’s benefit. Your gaze flicks from his eyes and back to his straining cock.

  You drive yourself to the brink with pleasure. You moan and arch against your hand. You imagine that thick cock inside you again. You pluck painfully at your nipples.

  “Ahhhhh! It feels so good!” You squirm on the seat, your juices pouring over your fingers and the heel of your hand bump against your clit with each soft squelch of a thrust. Your body tightens, your breasts shudder as your pleasure mounts, and suddenly ecstasy bursts deep inside your honeyed cunt. Your spasms grip at your fingers and clench the pink divot of your asshole.

  In the throes of your orgasm, Bog grunts and rises to his feet. He stands over you, wanking furiously, precum dripping over his fingers.

  “Ahhhhh! My beauty!” He spurts his seed onto your face, all over your heaving breasts, and even in your hair. As your orgasm recedes, you smile up at him standing over you with his cock slowly going limp in his grasp.

  “You’ve made such a mess,” you giggle, rubbing your fingers through all the cum on your tits.

  “That I did,” he chuckles.

  You help each other clean up and get dressed. The two benches fold into a single bed for you to sleep. You share a long, sweet kiss with Bog and nuzzle against his plump body as you stretch out on the bed. He begins snoring almost immediately. You wonder if you made the right choice giving yourself to him so wantonly. In the darkness of the carriage, listening to him snore, you wonder if behaving like your mother was a wise decision at all.

  The following morning, the caravan rests by a stream and you have some opportunity to bathe, though you know Bog and some of his caravan drivers are spying on you. He has a sumptuous breakfast prepared for you when you have dressed.

  A small pouch of coins awaits you near your plate. You feel the weight of the gold and a thrill that your transaction with the merchant has been completed. There is a small amount of guilt, but also excitement about your new opportunities selling your body. You have often struggled with money. Could this actually be a career for you? It works for Velora.

  “As agreed, 50 gold zeks.” Bog grunts and reaches under the table. He lifts up another leather pouch bulging with coins. “I think you will admit yesterday was not so bad. Would you like to continue our arrangement?”

>   What do you do?

  Accept Luckfen's offer reluctantly on day two

  Accept Luckfen's offer eagerly on day two

  Refuse Luckfen's offer

  Refuse Luckfen’s offer

  Boggen Luckfen’s kindly face, sweet wine, and the golden zeks he is offering are not nearly enough to convince you to be his whore. Spending so much time with Velora had convinced you the lifestyle did have its appeal, but this gluttonous, lecherous merchant has convinced you otherwise. Inwardly, your anger simmers, but outwardly you offer him a shy smile, meet his gaze, and quickly look away.

  “I think we should remain acquaintances for the rest of this journey,” you say.

  “Oh, no,” he says, crossing to your bench and putting a heavy arm across your shoulder. “You are just inexperienced. I know it can seem strange to give your beautiful body to a much older man, but trust me, my dear, I know many pleasures you have not yet even imagined.”

  His finger curls at your collar and he plucks your top out from your neck, exposing a hint of your cleavage. You smack his hand away and slide out from under his arm. You scoot into the corner and pull your feet up onto the bench to protect yourself behind the wall of your knees.

  “I said no,” you say, trying to sound firm. “I mean it, Mr. Luckfen. We will ride together, converse politely, but from this point forward, make no more mention of buying my affection.”

  “Only leasing it,” he says. When your anger does not soften he shakes his head and clucks with disappointment. “Very well. We will play games and I will tell you about my business. But you, my dear, must tell me about that giant book you carry. Why does a girl your age carry around such an ancient tome?”

  “I will tell you, but only at the end of the journey.” He begins to object, but you interrupt him. “And only if you behave yourself.”

  You do not expect him to be good, not after his previous behavior, but Mr. Luckfen is a perfect gentleman for the remainder of your journey with him.

  There is still much traveling left. You take your meal with him, even enjoying some of your conversation and the various travel games he has developed over his many journeys. The weather grows hotter and wetter. On the morning of your fourth day, you awake to the steady drum of rain on the roof of the carriage and pattering against the windows. Distant thunder rumbles ominously.

  “We will be there by afternoon,” says Luckfen. “Here, Penny, I have squeezed you some perlis juice.”

  He passes a small glass to you and you sip from the sweet, cloudy orange juice. The beautiful Lakelands are gone and the caravan passes through jungle and salt marshes. The wagons slow as they carefully traverse the narrow wooden bridges spanning the impassible muck.

  It is not long before you feel the sea. The air is already salty and damp from the marsh, but you feel the vast openness of an ocean just beyond the terrain. The carriage emerges from a mangrove thicket, wheels clattering over planks covering the muddy road, and you lean up to the window that peers forward from the carriage. Through the ripples of rain trickling over the glass, you see the jungle open wide and the breakers of the Ilwent. The grim sea recedes into the rainy curtain in the distance. But before you, closer than you might have expected, is the ramshackle gate of Estermar.

  You have arrived at your destination.

  CONTINUE >

  Magic

  You wrack your brain for any spell that might aid you against this towering man-beast. He seems too large and too powerful for any of the simple attack spells you could muster. The Giant of Siarcus. Yes, of course, that spell will put you on an even footing with this domineering beast.

  You speak the words as you recall them and soft green feathers of magical energy reach out from your fingers and curl back to illuminate your body. For a moment, you seem to be floating higher and higher, but you realize it is your perspective changing as you grow larger. Your clothing slips off your growing body and you have just enough time to shed your backpack before your widening shoulders damage the straps.

  The goat rises from his throne in obvious shock. He stumbles back a step, his huge cock swinging between his furry legs as he stares in amazement. You grow taller and taller, until your head bumps against the cross beams of the roof. You can see the bird nests on the beams and can even see the sloping shingles of the outer roof through the holes in the ceiling. You must be nearly twenty feet tall, which makes you two or three feet taller than the goat.

  Suddenly slightly more than equal, a smile spreads across your face as you gaze at the goat. He seems to overcome his shock and he steps towards you, his hands outstretched.

  “What a beautiful creature.” His words spring into your mind. “What beautiful children we would make. You could teach your daughters the ways of your magic.”

  Rather than attacking you, the goat walks right up to you and embraces you. He tilts his snout towards you and kisses you on the lips. His tongue is hot and long as it slides into your mouth. His hands caress your naked flanks and you cannot help but feel the hot thump of his cock against your thighs. Momentarily taken by his seductive kiss, you do not stop his wandering hands from moving around to your backside and squeezing your plump buttocks. His cock rises to full hardness and pushes between your legs to rub against your slick groove.

  “My blessing and your knowledge,” he murmurs against your lips. “Together we could make new gods.”

  He thrusts his hips and fucks his cock between your legs, grazing his shaft against your delicate folds. You shudder with pleasure, breaking the kiss as his bestial lips descend on your neck and then your shoulder. He continues to squeeze and fondle your bottom. He fucks teasingly along your swollen folds.

  His pink tongue flicks at one of your nipples, sending a hot twitch of ecstasy through your pussy. He presses his snout to your soft mound and suckles at your thick nipple. Your juices are dripping down your thighs. You ache to feel his cock inside you.

  “Be the queen of my brides,” murmurs the horned goat. “I the father and you the mother. We would create an invincible force.”

  Your rational mind knows that to give in to what the goat is asking will doom you to a lifetime spent on this cursed island. It could condemn your sister and mother to even worse fates. The rational response to the goat’s enticement is clear.

  And yet your body craves his touch. You long to feel his cock inside you and want to prove yourself worthy of becoming his queen.

  What do you do?

  Give in to father goat

  Beat him senseless

  Husband of the lamia ending

  You wake slowly to the morning and stretch wearily. Your every joint cracks and you wince in sympathy, but such is the price of your mistress’s attention. You flush, recalling last night and all its joys. How you eagerly licked out her scaly cunt until she came at least three times. How she whipped your plump bum a pretty red with her tail.

  But such fond reminisces must wait. You take up your apron from its hook and quickly don it. You pause, a shudder of pleasure coursing through you as it rests against your throbbing nipples. The new diamond piercings have stopped to hurt, instead developing into a pleasurable dull throb.

  They are but the newest of your decorations. A fine silver chain rests on your wide hips. Your golden collar now sports a ruby inset like a single scarlet eye in your throat, and on your wrists, clamped tight, are golden vambraces like a pair of shackles. Decorations, your mistress said, for her most precious jewel.

  You hurry about your tasks. Since arriving in the old castle it has been your PLEASURE to clean for your mistress. Your cock throbs DELIGHTFULLY in the ring which binds it, for of course, you could never think of cumming. It would be a sin to waste your precious seed. Your cum belongs to your mistress’s new clutch of eggs. She’ll be back soon. And she is mere days away from giving birth. Gods it has been so long. But patience. Patience.

  Your skin is tender with need. Every brush of your apron, every breeze down the musty corridors has your breath catch and
goose bumps tingle up and down your skin. You work feverishly. You MUST be finished for mistress. She deserves PERFECTION. You’ve made your way to the crypts, in the midst of cleaning your mistress’s new throne room when you hear the silken sound of her scales.

  You freeze, start up and erect. Through the door Seratus slithers in a ribbon of scarlet scales. The lamia glides across the newly dusted floor. You hold your breath as her piercing eyes slide over the throne and alcoves. The nooks of the catacombs where she has chosen to make her nest. Her fingers glide over the throne of cushions gathered at the top of the dais. The treasures from these ancient tombs have been plundered and lie in a glittering pile in the corner. From here Seratus found the diamonds which stud your breasts and the chain which cinches your waist, and the ring which encases your cock.

  Her finger glides across the gold. Your breath hitches, watching the slow, teasing motion of her finger. It slides back and forth, checking for dust. Your cock throbs in its binding. Your ass clenches and your hands fist at your side. You ache for her touch. You stare longingly at her long serpentine form.

  You jump with a yelp as her tail snaps across your plump bottom. Seratus smiles in amusement and takes her finger from the treasure pile, grinding an invisible piece of dust between her fingers.

  “Well done my husssband,” she purrs.

  “Th-thank you.”

  “You deserve a reward.”

  You cannot get more aware of her. Of her presence. Her sweet, dry smell like some desert herb. You lean towards her, silently yearning. “Y-yes!”

  She smiles. Then points to the floor. “Down.”

  Her eyes seem to pulse and your body shudders. You drop to your hands and knees.

  “Spread.”

  You thrust your hips apart. Your cock sways beneath you, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. Your wrinkled asshole is on full display. You shake as Seratus slithers forward. Her scales rasp against the stone. She slowly circles you, surrounding you in a ring of her red coils.