You twitch to feel her hand on your hip, sliding down on your ultrasensitive flesh, following the delicate contour of your quivering rear. Her fingers cradle your swollen testicles and gently weigh them.
“Mmm,” she hisses. “So full. So full for me.”
“A-all for you mistress!”
“Did I say you could speak, husband?”
She flicks your ball. You cry out, your breath shuddering into your throat. “F-forgive me, mistress.”
Seratus hushes you, gently stroking your hips.
“Oh my dear husband. I do. Poor thing.” Her hands slide along your ribs and beneath you. Her hands follow the heavy swell of your breasts and cradle them in her palms. She pinches your nipples. “I know this is hard my sweet. But ssssoon, I will lay my eggs. Then, you shall put more within me. Again and again. Forever. You would love that, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh yes!” you babble as your torrid nipples throb from her attention. “Yes, mistress. Eagerly. Forever.”
“Forever. And ever.”
“Yes!”
“You’re MINE.”
“Yours!”
“My sssSLAVE.” Her fingertips deftly twist your nippers and pull your tender buds downward as if she is milking a cow.
“Your slave!” You cry.
“My ssSLUT.”
“Your slut!”
She laughs, her voice echoing in the room.
“Good.” Her fingers slide back to your hips and follow the contour to your tender ass. You gasp as you feel her fingers slide against your puckered hole, then delicately massage it, easing it open. “Then you shall be rewarded.”
Idly, she reaches into the treasure pile and retrieves a golden dildo. You cannot guess where it came from, though you know it was your mistress’s favorite before your tongue took its place. She puts it to your lips and you at once suck. She is so KIND to permit this. Your cheeks hollow as you eagerly deepthroat the golden cock, lathing it with your tongue in readiness. When she’s satisfied, Seratus removes it and presses it against your backdoor.
You groan at the pressure at your backdoor. It is no small implement. But of course, it isn’t. It was once your mistress’s after all. She only DESERVES the best.
“Relax.”
Her voice comes with a compelling, soothing quality it always does. Immediately your muscles ease, and with a gentle push she inserts the golden cock inside your tight rear. You moan as you feel its gilded length stretch your bowels. Your nipples tingle where the diamonds pierce them. Your cock throbs with renewed need.
Seratus pushes it in as far as it will go. Then, the lamia slowly draws it out, out until only the tip remains inside. Then, she pushes it back in.
Oh but it is such sweet torture as she fucks you. Always slow. Never fast. Just the way you LOVE it. Easing the cock in and out. You rock to meet it, but at a word from her stop, as still as a table as she continues to gently fuck you.
She halts. You remain on your hands and knees, the false cock deep in your bowels. Seratus glides before you and lies back amid the gold. Her arms rest on piles of coins, her sinuous form sliding down like some wanton dragon atop its hoard. She smiles, and you see she has your leash in hand. No longer does it connect to your collar though. Instead, it hooks to the studs in your nipples.
She tugs the leash, and your arch towards her, your nipples tightening with exquisite pain.
“Come, husband,” she purrs. Her hand brushes before her slit. “Fill your dear wife.”
“Yes.”
You crawl to her. You climb up the treasure pile, a fortune spilling between your hasty fingers, unnoticed. Only one thing matters. You straddle her and she looks up at you with amusement. She gives again your leash a tug, pulling your nipples sharply. You gasp, line your cock up, and plunge inside her.
A wall breaks. All reserve is abandoned. With a frenzy you fuck her. Your long hair whips about as you madly rut her. Your mind whirls and your skin is red with arousal. You pant as you thrust into her, feeling her inner walls clamp down as you pulls out, grip you as you enter her again. But you can’t come. You can’t until she says so.
You start babbling. Begging. Pleading for her to let you cum. “Mistress. Please. Please.”
She smiles, the piercing pupils of her eyes looking at you with amusement, hooking your eyes like a fish. And she mouths through her panting, “No.”
She cums. Twice. Three times. You lose count. You’re mad with need. The urge to cum is painful. But you can’t. Only SHE can. Only SHE deserves you. You deserve to SERVE. The golden cock in your ass fills you. Her walls squeeze your torrid rod, your nipples send sharp bolts of pain down your spine.
Seratus hangs her head back, dark hair spilling like a crown among the gold. Her lips are parted, fangs on full display. She arches, screams with her orgasm, and then deflates.
“Stop.”
You do. Your arms are thrust on either side of her. Your whole shapely form quivers, your eyes filled with desperate pleading. Her thin breast heaves. She slowly tilts her head, delicate red brushing her cheeks. She smiles.
“Cum.”
You explode inside of her. You throw back your head, your scream of helpless ecstasy filling the corridors of the reassure room and echoing through the ruins. Your cock pumps your seed into her. She receives it with every appearance of satisfaction.
You come down, slowly. Your shaking arms cannot hold you up and you collapse against her form. Panting. Your breast heaving and your balls shriveled and aching from their release. Your head is cushioned against her smooth tits. Your own squish against her, the throbbing of your nipples echoing through your body like the memory of pain.
You feel her hand upon your hair, stroking it like she might a pet. “Mmm. I’m too good to you, husband,” she says.
Even in the depths of your exhaustion, mental, physical, and sexual, the warm glow of her words suffuses you. “Y-yes.”
“I hope it was good,” Seratus purrs. “For you won’t again for a week.”
The thought fills you with an icy dread, but you cannot support it for long. Still joined by your softening cock, you rest your head against her belly, feeling the swell of your young moving like marbles beneath her scaly skin.
“Yes,” you murmur. “Mistress.”
BAD END
<< START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX
Save your mother
After all you have been through to reach Rhilath and end this nightmare you are left looking at your mother, giant, but afraid, and pleading you for help. Your childhood flashes before your mind’s eye, those moments when she picked you up after you fell and brushed you off, those songs she used to sing beside your bed at night, the way she held you close during a storm, and saying goodbye to her at fifteen when you went off to live in Akrane. You see now how she loved you and you see her goodness remaining her golden eyes.
Before you realize what you are doing, you have guided the invisible hand of your spell to grasp your mother by her arm. She gasps in surprise as you lift her up, suspending her over the pit. You hear a weak cry from Alyssa as the floor gives way and the charred succubus plunges into the blackness. You did not want to see her end this way, but you cannot abandon your mother, even after all the evil she has wrought.
Your magic hand carries your mother over to you and you drop her heavily on the floor beside you. She bends over, huge breasts dangling as she pants to catch her breath.
“Th-thank you, Penny,” she says. “I did not deserve it. But I see now… I see… he is a lie.”
There is a thunderous crack of breaking stone and the entire ceiling begins to cave in. Your mother rises to her feet and together you run for the nearest exit. A warrior, staring in awe as the huge temple begins to collapse in on itself, is leveled by your mother without hesitation. You hurry down the hall as the roar of falling stonework becomes deafening and the tunnel fills with dust. You race through the maze of tunnels as the temple shakes violently and rains dusty and stones down on your
both.
“He is leaving me,” cries your mother in a moment of relative quiet. “I can feel him revoking his blessing. It… it is as if a great weight is upon me.”
She staggers. You push her forward.
“Keep moving! Do not look back! Do not think about that false god!” You shout at her, shoving her forward and keeping her going through the crumbling tunnels.
You shove your way through the chaos of fleeing warriors and escaping monsters. Having your giantess mother with you certainly helps. She even commands a confused bunch of warriors to clear the way for you both. You stumble out of the collapsing temple as it seems to give its final heave and crumble inward like a lanced boil of stone. Smoke and rubble spills out into the city and those fortunate enough to escape stagger away from the choking clouds of dust.
“We must leave this place,” says your mother. “Once the shock of losing Zhibbareth fades they will begin to turn on each other.”
As if to prove her point, a bat-winged creature of livid flesh that seems to be mostly a drooling mouth launches at your mother and latches onto one of her huge breasts. She roars with pain, grabbing the creature's glistening body and tearing it free. She hurls it to the ground and stomps on it with a crunch of breaking bones. A red bite mark remains on her pale breast surrounding her nipple.
You summon a cloak of confusion with your magic. It makes you seem like fragmented images as you move through the crowds, startling and frightening escaped slaves and wild monsters alike. You wish you could stop to help some of the people, but there are too many of them and it is too great a risk to stop amid this chaos.
A nearby hill provides a vantage point to watch the carnage unfold. Monsters are turning on monsters and taking out their depraved desires on the unfortunate humans. Your mother seems shaken by the events that have transpired. You can only imagine what it would be like to have the full favor of a god and feel it revoked. Even losing the little bit you had was disorienting.
“There is a boat waiting for us on the southern shores,” you say to her, stroking her shoulder. “It is a long walk, but I am sure we can make it together.”
The crossing of the island is arduous, but your mother has an uncanny sense of the threats that the island still harbors. You tell her about your journey, about Orsen Castillo and your letter from Kara, and she tells you about the rumors of a great evil rising that she chased to Ctharne. She talks about the beast with four eyes and how she seduced it for the voice that was whispering in her head. She warns you about man-eating pitcher plants, venomous tentacles hiding in a fallen tree, and the scuttling insect creatures that are following you through an underground cavern. It makes you feel like you are a kid again and she is trying to train you in the ways of a huntress.
Beside the campfire at night, she seems impressed with your extensive additions to the family book. She lies on her side, immense so close to you, watching you make notes and further descriptions of some of the monsters you encounter in the temple of Zhibbareth. She begins to snore before you are finished. You gently drape your jacket over her huge breasts. It almost covers them.
In the morning, a deep sadness has come over your mother. She confesses that it is because of Kara. That she is lost somewhere on the island and probably dead. That she once communicated to her in dreams, but can no longer reach her.
“We can find her,” you say. “Zhibbareth is gone and we can search her out. Together.”
She nods in agreement, but you know her well enough to know that she is unconvinced. Early the following morning, as you begin to hear the sounds of surf through the noise of the forest, your mother bids you to stop.
“I cannot go with you, Penny,” she says.
“What? Mother, we will take the ship to Heimsvak, you can… you…”
You see the tears in her eyes. “I am a giantess, cursed by a dead god. My daughter is lost on an island overrun with monsters. I must find her, or at least what has happened to her, and I must rid this island of its lingering evil.”
“That is not possible,” you cry, but you see that she has made up her mind. You fight back tears of your own and firmly declare, “I will stay with you. We will find her together.”
“You know as well as I do that the odds of surviving this island are low.” She puts a huge hand on your shoulder and squeezes hard enough to hurt. “You must go, to continue our family’s legacy, and I must remain to try to repair the damage I have done.”
No matter what you say, no matter how desperately you plead, your mother refuses to continue on towards the coast. She grows angry when you refuse to leave her behind and begins shouting at you and weeping, “Go! Go, Penny! Leave this place!”
You cannot bear the anguish in her voice any longer. It is the despair of a mother realizing the guilty of possibly killing one daughter and risking the life of another. You leave her in the darkness of the woods and step out into the bright daylight. As you stagger onto the southern beaches of Ctharne, your eyes are red and your cheeks are stained with tears.
The zephyr is anchored just offshore. You wade out into the water and call out to Orsen Castillo. The handsome captain emerges onto the deck, along with several other survivors gathered from the island.
“So good to see you, Penelope,” he calls, dropping a rope ladder over the side so you can climb up. “I do not think I could have waited much longer. Did you achieve your goals?”
“If you mean defeating the great evil that threatens all of mankind, well, yeah. But my mother and my sister are both on the island and I don’t know if I will ever see either of them again.”
Orsen surprises you with an embrace. You are used to being attacked by monsters and the hug comes as both startling and, after a moment, very welcome. You wrap your arms around him and hold tight, fighting back further tears.
“It’s time to go home,” you croak.
The Zephyr hauls up its anchor and you stand on the railing, watching the island of Ctharne recede with each passing moment.
“You look terrible,” murmurs Orsen, standing beside you. “You should get some sleep.”
You let out a long sigh as the distant mountains disappear over the horizon. It will be much longer before the plume of smoke from Rhilath disappears.
“Right,” you say. “A little rest.”
You let Orsen show you down into the swaying depths of his small ship. He gestures for some of the other survivors to move aside and offers you up a hammock. It only takes a few seconds and you are asleep, snoring softly in the crowded hold, dreaming that you will be reunited with your mother and your sister.
CONTINUE >
The dark tower
You find yourself in the laboratory of the wizard’s tower. That it is a wizard’s is abundantly clear with even a cursory glance. Bookcases line the walls and are stuffed with leather bound volumes, spines stamped with faded golden letters. Nearby is a table loaded with burners, curving alembics and a web of glass tubes suspended above, and into the floor is worked a series of arcane symbols and circles radiating outwards in dizzying patterns.
You sniff the air, finding it curious there is no dust. But there is an air of neglect about the place. The quiet of the grave hangs like a pall over the dark tower. Not helped is the silent darkness which encompasses much of the ground floor. Glancing about, you spot a number of glass spheres set in alcoves. Recognizing them, you speak a single syllable of magic.
The glass globes spark and fizzle, then slowly begin to emit a low glow. The faint light spills across the chamber, glinting off the glass of the alchemical tools on the workbench. The runic designs carved in the floor are lined with a greenish glow beneath this mystic light, and the massive skeleton of the wyvern hanging on the ceiling casts deep shadows across the ceiling and the winding stairs.
The lamps glow, radiating outward from you and along the walls. Then they reach the end, and reveal a chair and the figure in it.
You suck in a breath at the sight of the mummified corpse. The protean was r
ight about the wizard. Tattered robes of scarlet and gold hang loosely around the mummified corpse. A white beard stretches from the corpse’s chin to his knees, the wisps of hair hanging from below the conical hat he wears like tattered cobwebs. Leathery skin clings doggedly from his bones, and gold rings glint from his fingers.
Yet your shock passes soon, and something more draws your attention. For the corpse clutches something in his lap. An urn.
Even from across the room you can feel the power pulsing from that urn. It thrums in your veins like the drums of the blackest jungles, a silent pressure pushing at your brain. You swallow, throat suddenly dry.
Slowly, you approach the wizened corpse.
As you do you feel something more. A protective ward. You raise a hand and feel the spell. It’s decayed, but still there, doubtless why the dead man has lain undisturbed. It takes little more than a word of power to snap the protective shield. You feel the aged spell dissipate like unraveling thread.
With that spell vanished the air of power grows stronger about the corpse. No. Not the corpse. As you draw yet nearer your eyes go to the urn it clutches. Here lies the source. It’s an ancient thing. Like the canopic jars the ancient lords consigned their remains within.
Reaching forward, you touch the urn. Power jolts through your arms and makes you gasp, but it passes quickly. You shake your head to focus and ease the urn from the corpse. The bony fingers clack, scratching the urn as if desperate to retain its grip. When you pull it free, the hands collapse, the corpse slouching and bony head lolling to the side. You grimace, but soon return your attention to the urn.
It’s old. Very old. Not even you can decipher the writing on the side. A wax seal showing a series of right angled lines wraps around the narrow neck, and looking at the mouth of the container you find a cork of wax. Curious, you pull it out.
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 4
