Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “Gods,” the young pilgrim whimpers.

  “Oh yes.” You hike her robe up her hips, your questing hand finding her quim. You smile. The faithful of the monstrous god never wear undergarments. Your finger slides up and down her groove, teasing her patiently.

  The young pilgrim shudders despite your spell of holding. Her hood falls back, revealing long black hair.

  “But given the choice,” you continue softly, “a Scylla will always go for women. We can fit far more eggs. And if it has more than enough prey…”

  You let your words trail off. She doesn’t need it explained. The scene taking place before you is more than enough.

  The Scylla, having investigated each of its victims, peels back its writhing mass of tentacles. A gaping hole like a hungry maw opens in its bloated waist. Then, patiently, the Scylla feeds a screaming man feet first into the slimy mouth. The man tries to kick free, but the gray flesh of the scylla’s lower mouth clutches at his feet, undulating, sucking him in like quicksand. The man howls in horror, soon muffled as his face vanishes within the waiting maw.

  “Oh gods!” the girl in your arms whispers.

  “Yes,” you murmur, peppering her neck with kisses. She shudders, and despite the horrors taking place before her. You feel her wetness against your fingers. You grin and slide them in deeper, first one, then two, and finally three, urgently frigging the girl as he body trembles with arousal against the grip of your spell.

  “That is the fate of the men. But the women…”

  Again the girl’s attention is arrested by the pulsing, writhing mass that is the Scylla. One of the women is dragged by the tentacles towards another part of the scylla’s body. A tentacle different from the rest pushes free. The thin, membranous limb is faintly transparent. The woman screams, but to little avail as she is lowered, and the ovipositor pushes inside of her.

  “Yes,” you purr, as enraptured as the girl by the scene, though for a distinctly different reason. “That’s right! We are the ones chosen to carry the mistress’s brood. We are chosen for it!”

  The woman in the scylla’s grasp has begun to moan and buck. You can see the bulge along the ovipositor as egg after egg is pushed into the scylla’s prey. Another man, screaming, is fed into the scylla’s mouth, fed to the bloated monster even as she pumps her young into the woman.

  “Goddds,” the girl you hold groans. Despite her horror she cannot resist your touch. Even as she watches her companions be filled with eggs or vanish into the scylla’s gaping maw she cannot help but cum about your fingers.

  “It’s worth it,” you promise. “Relax. It won’t hurt. You’ll love it. Everyone does.”

  You turn the girl’s face from the scene, pushing her into your immense breasts. Overcome by lust, she kisses the taut flesh of your tits, her lips latching onto your nipple and sucking greedily at your oily milk.

  By the time the last man has vanished into the scylla’s body and the last woman stuffed with eggs and laid by the shore, you’ve removed the spell of holding on the girl. She has become utterly enraptured in the pleasures of your fingers, even reciprocating, pawing at your own nethers in a crude but enthusiastic effort. So tangled in one another, the Scylla merely lifts the both of your into the air, wrapping its tentacles about both your waists.

  Face to face, you wrap your arms about the girl’s body, pulling her against you, mashing your breasts together. Milk is squeezed from your mammoth breasts, oiling the two of you. “Embrace it,” you moan.

  You can see the moment the Scylla enters the girl. Her eyes shoot wide. Her mouth opens in a wide O of pleasure. Then, the first egg enters. You feel it push past her quivering folds, entering her. Feel the small bump as it squeezes through the girl. Then, her eyes grow lidded, her breath comes free in a drawn out sigh as the egg enters who womb, and the curse, the gift of the isle takes hold.

  You smile, pulling her head against the cushion of your breasts once more. “Welcome, sister,” you sigh. Then, you tense as you feel the ovipositor draw out of her, probe your own lower lips, and push into your well fucked depths.

  Your breath flutters as you feel the eggs push inside you one by one. Your overstuffed womb pressing against the girl’s own. In time you shall release these into the lake as well, the Scylla growing yet larger. And you shall lure more men and women into the scylla’s clutches.

  You sigh happily and stroke the girl’s hair. Maybe you could even employ an assistant.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Attack

  These women are trying to lull you into submission with their sweet caresses. You are not going to succumb to their charms. You pull your bodice back into place and quickly tie the laces.

  “Kiss us,” moans one of the plant girls as she reaches for your bodice.

  “We want to make you feel good,” gasps the other plant girl. She grabs hold of your hips and tries to pull you in close for a kiss. You turn your face aside and her syrupy lips make contact with your cheek. You grab her plump breasts with both hands and shove her roughly away. She cries out, “We only want a kiss!”

  You’re not falling for her act. You draw your pistol and sword and brandish the gun at them. There is no recognition in the blank expressions of the plant girls.

  “Stay back,” you warn, “or I will shoot you down.”

  “Touch us,” moans one plant girl, squeezing her lavender breasts.

  “Kiss us,” moans the other, pressing a hand between her pale thighs.

  “I will not warn you again!” You shout, aiming the pistol at the nearest of the plant girls.

  They ignore your threat and grab at your clothing, trying to undress you once more. Syrup leaks from their mouths and drips from their fat nipples. The flowery scent of them suddenly seems nauseating. You fire at point blank range, straight into the chest of one of the plant girls. She staggers back and looks down at the neat hole your shot has punched in her breast. Syrup leaks out from the wound and reveals the white, tuberous flesh of a plant.

  They resume their groping attack without apparent injury. You have no choice but to wield your sword against them. Your sharp blade slices through the vegetable flesh of one plant girl with such ease that her entire arm drops off. She looks down for a moment at her arm still wiggling on the ground and resumes her attack with even more vigor.

  “Kiss us, touch us, feel us,” they chorus.

  But you are not afraid. You feel the confidence of the blade in your hands and you begin to hack at the plant girl, severing fingers, limbs, and hacking into their vegetable bodies. You roar triumphantly as they collapse into wiggling heaps. You step over them and assault the pod that has been menacing you. It slams closed to protect itself and you hack through its hard rind and plunge your blade into its flesh again and again. You are splashed with syrup and panting with exhaustion by the time you have destroyed the pod.

  It feels good. You survey the ruined pod and the mangled plant girls. You wipe the sap from your face, clean your blade on your skirt, and sheath it in your belt. You pause in the courtyard and jot a few notes and a very rough sketch in your family’s codex. You have never encountered one of these creatures before and its insidious behavior should be recorded.

  With your illustration finished, you pick your way through the rest of the courtyard and exit into the bramble maze once more. That encounter has made you feel like a real huntress. Perhaps you will make it through this after all.

  Following the bramble path seems to be getting you closer to the manor once more. Your hope soars as it seems at any twist or turn you might find yourself at the entrance into the huge house. You hear a faint sound and stop to listen closely. It is a buzzing like an insect. It grows louder very quickly and suddenly something whizzes by over the top of the hedges. You glimpse tanned thighs, a striped abdomen and reflective compound eyes.

  You reach a third courtyard within the garden maze, the largest yet, and you are astonished by what you find within it.
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  CONTINUE >

  You think something is not right

  You back away from Marabelle. Your head is still fuzzy with the desire to suck from her luscious bosom, but you know this isn’t right.

  “N-no. I’m sorry. I have to…”

  Marabelle frowns. The expression casts severe shadows on her face as she slowly rises. Her milk trickles down her huge breasts and drips to the floor. Your eyes search for an escape but Marabelle stands between you and the door. A flick of your eyes sees a second doorway at the end of a hall. It must connect to the barn. With few better options, you turn and race towards it. You hear Marabelle say something, but you’re far past listening to her. You grab the knob and twist it sharply. You nearly throw yourself into the next room.

  You are expecting to see hay and cows and stalls. it takes a long moment for your mind to process what you are actually seeing. You take three steps and freeze, aghast.

  At first glance the barn looks like the same you’ve seen scattered across Heimsvak. An arched roof and a spacious single room separated by stalls. Only it’s neither horses nor cows which occupy these stalls.

  Nearly a dozen young are penned within the barn. Each is held in place by a series of straps, which descend from the ceiling, cradling each woman in a web work of leather, holding them vertically while long tubes snake from their gargantuan breasts.

  This titflesh on display is bewildering. The smallest pair of breasts is easily twice the size of Marabelle’s huge mounds. Suction cups latch onto engorged nipples and pumps fill the room with a low thumping sound. The women buck and moan in a chorus of pleasured cries, mouths wide O’s of pleasure while their curvaceous flesh shudders and their eyes roll back in the throes of mindless ecstasy. You catch a glimpse of a pseudocock at the end of a mechanical arm being pumped into a redhead’s slavering pussy, her breasts thrusting forward to meet the eager ministrations of the suction cups.

  The ceiling is a network of tubes like the web of a spider, its epicenter in the middle of the barn. A huge repository, like some monstrous alchemical pillar of steel and glass rises from the floor, narrowing at the top like a bottle into which the tubes feed. Glass tanks line its sides, all of them half filled with the sloshing, creamy bounty of the mindless women.

  “My cows are much happier here.”

  You whirl about, cursing yourself for being distracted. Marabelle stands in the doorway, her chest still uncovered and baring her massive breasts. She gazes fondly at the vast milking room and its human stock, her lidded eyes glowing with pride.

  “When the shadow of the great one first fell across the land, many fled. But only the foolish did. For the faithful, it brought true opportunity. And one only the wise could see. I captured many of my errant neighbors. Poor things were so confused. So helpless. I did what I could for them. They merely serve in a…different fashion.”

  She smiles and stretches out a hand to a bound blonde. The woman moans and nuzzles Marabelle’s hand wantonly as the faux cock rocks her in her cradle, pendulous breasts sloshing as the pumps suckle at her milky teats.

  “It is not so bad as you think,” Marabelle continues as she strokes the blonde’s cheek.

  “My girls have all they could ever want. They never need to think. Need to act. They can simply be here, and do what comes naturally. What feels good. Believe me,” she adds with a sharp look from beneath her lids. “There are far worse fates in these lands. Your mother and sister know this. But I can spare you this, my dear.”

  “My sister would never have allowed this,” you say abruptly.

  Marabelle turns your way and a smug smile slips across her lips. “Your sister? Your sister is not in a state to do much of anything anymore.”

  You shudder at her words even as their potential meaning thunders through your mind.

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Parley

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  The gift of flesh

  “The gift of flesh,” you say.

  The djinn begins to laugh. His booming laughter echoes throughout the tower and makes you regret your decision. But it is too late for second thoughts.

  “I KNEW THIS WOULD BE YOUR WISH FROM THE MOMENT YOU FREED ME!” The voice of the djinn thunders from the roiling cloud. “SO YOU DESIRE IT, SO IT SHALL BE! THE GIFT OF FLESH IS YOURS, PENELOPE! LOSE YOURSELF IN THE ENDLESS PLEASURE OF THE FLESH!”

  “Wait!” You cry. “What does that mean? I don’t want to lose myself!”

  The djinn answers you with more laughter as his cloud spreads to fill the entirety of the chamber in impenetrable smoke. You cough and struggle to breathe. You can hardly see your hands in front of your face. You stumble towards your best guess at the exit from the room and…

  A warm breeze parts the smoke before you and ripples through your chestnut hair. You gasp as you realize you are no longer standing in the decrepit tower. Instead, a palace of white marble, gold, and billowing silk curtains stretches out before you. Arched doorways open onto balconies that spill golden sunlight across the marble floors. You hear sighs of pleasure and feminine laughter echoing through the vast palace.

  “What is this place?” You watch in confusion as a huge bird with a fan of multicolored feathers for a tail pauses before you. The large bird looks at you, blinks, and continues on its way.

  “This is your palace of infinite delights,” says a sensual voice behind you.

  “Welcome, mistress,” adds another, similar voice.

  You turn and find two nearly identical women. They have the same voluptuous golden-skinned bodies, skin glistening as if oiled, breasts plump and capped with brown nipples, and dark pubic hair shaved into trails that reach down to the cusps of their delicate cuntlips. They are sloe-eyed and full-lipped, with matching mysterious smiles. They wear only golden bracelets and golden chokers. The girl on your left has shoulder-length black hair and the girl on the right has shoulder-length blonde hair cut in the exact same style.

  “W-who are you?” You ask, feeling a tug of desire as you take in their flawless beauty.

  “I am Isala,” says the dark-haired beauty.

  “I am Yana,” says the fair-haired beauty.

  “We are your personal pleasure slaves,” they say in unison.

  Isala and Yana do not wait for you to ask them what being a pleasure slave might entail. They saunter up to you, their shapely hips swinging from side to side and their golden, oiled breasts bouncing with each step. They carry with them a strangely spicy scent as they embrace you from both sides. You gasp as their hands begin to caress you and undress you.

  “Hey, wait a second,” you say. “What are you—“

  Isala kisses you with her luscious lips and all your worries are forgotten as her dancing tongue invades your mouth. Isala unbuckles your belt and sets to work on your bodice as Yana takes down your skirt and curls her fingers into your panties to take those down as well. Once your breasts are bared, Isala begins to rub her slippery mounds against your tits, working her erect nipples back and forth against your aching buds. You gasp into her kiss and she nibbles at your lower lip and stretches it out as she pulls back.

  “Ah!” You cry.

  “Isala can be a bit rough,” purrs Yana, pressing her mounds against your back and leaning her lips to your ears. “She is like me, mistress. We are both so eager to show you the first of infinite pleasures.”

  Yana begins teasing your earlobe with your tongue. She reaches around your chest and cradles your breasts. Isala begins kissing your tits and flicking her tongue against your nipples. She moves lower, crouching before you, caressing your hips, and pressing her beautiful face between your thighs.

  You lean back into Yana’s arms as Isala begins to lick your steamy cunt. Your cries of pleasure echo through the palace. You grasp Isala’s silky hair and thrust your hips as your ecstasy rises to beneath her deft tongue. She pushes two fingers into your clutching channel and your orgasm explodes through your body.<
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  “Oh! Ohhhh yes! Oh, it’s so good!”

  “Is it, mistress?” Yana giggles, kissing your shoulder. “It can be even better.”

  She stands you up on your shaky legs and slides her breasts down your back. You are in the throes of your orgasm from Isala’s fingers and talented tongue as you feel Yana gently spreading your buttocks. A moment later, her face presses into your generous bottom and her tongue begins to lap hot circles on your tender asshole.

  “AHH!” You shriek with shocked pleasure, your pucker clenching rhythmically with the contractions of your orgasm. Having a tongue stuffed up your ass might have been embarrassing to you days ago. The new you knows how to enjoy the good things in life.

  You reach back and grab the back of Yana’s head, pulling her face against the soft mounds of your ass. She moans and her moan vibrates up her tongue and into our clenching hole. Your other hand holds the back of Isala’s head and you fuck against her pretty face. You smear your juices all over Isala’s lips and chin as you luxuriate in the pleasure of being served by two gorgeous women at once.

  Once you’ve had your fill of their fingers and tongues, you pull them to their feet and share a steamy, tongue-twisting kiss that moves back and forth between the nearly-identical women.

  “I need more,” you pant. “I need to be fucked.”

  “Of course, mistress,” coos Isala as she writhes against your right side.

  “Would you like to be fucked by man, beast, or monster?” Yana moans, pressing her breasts against your left side.

  “Beast?” You are surprised to hear the taboo broached so casually.

  “Of course, mistress,” giggles Yana.

  Isala presses her lips to your ear and adds, hotly, “No pleasure is forbidden here. We have horses, hounds, savannah cats, and any other beast you could imagine.”