Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “Ha!” You strike out left and right, wading into the water, keeping the writhing limbs at bay. You hold aloft the potion, ready to throw once you’re close enough. The Scylla draws back before your attack, her tentacles writhing for you, turned or gashed by your flashing steel.

  You’re nearly close enough to hurl the potion at the monster when something wraps round your ankle. You scream as your leg is torn from beneath you, pulling you beneath the waters. You drop your sword by reflex. A stream of bubbles escape your lips as you’re dragged through the corrupted lake.

  You’re pulled, gasping back above the surface. You hack and cough, hanging upside down like a snared rabbit. Then you feel more of the rubbery limbs wrap about your arms and legs. “N-no!” You struggle in the scylla’s grasp, but the monster knows its business. A thick tentacle wraps tight about your chest and squeezes the hard won air from your lungs. You gag and gasp, the potion falling from your nerveless fingers to plop uselessly into the lake.

  The Scylla towers over you. Her womanly guise glowers from atop the mass of writhing tentacles which draw you near. Holds you tightly as they part, and the pale curved flesh of its ovipositor reveals itself.

  “No!” you gasp as you’re turned away from the monster, tilted up and baring your dampened groove. A tentacle slides beneath your panties and tears them away. “Please! Don’t! I didn’t-ah!”

  You cry out as its ovipositor pushes at your cunt. Its limb for breeding was made for reluctant mates. Its tapering shape pushes past your resisting muscles. You shudder. It’s not supposed to feel so good to be filled like this! But gods help you it does. Inch after inch is pushed into your quivering insides, filling you as nothing else ever has.

  You feel a pressure at your cunt. You yelp and try to struggle but its tentacles bind you like iron bands, and with a cry, you feel the Scylla push the first of its eggs inside you.

  You feel the pearl of the monster’s child down every inch of its journey. You shake and moan, and then, it pops past and into your welcoming womb.

  You sigh, eyes growing heavy as the curse of fertility takes hold. Horror turns to adoration for the monster that has you in its grasp. You purr as another egg pushes its way through the gate of your puffy cunt lips.

  “O-oh yessss,” you moan. “Please! Fill me. Give me ah...Stuff me full of your eggs. More. More!”

  The Scylla complies without comment. Twitching as another egg is packed into your body, you cum about its lurid breeding tool. Gasping, moaning whorishly, wantonly attempting to grind against the Scylla as it breeds you with almost mechanical disinterest, you give yourself fully to the monster. When one of its lazily moving tentacles brush your face, you stick out your tongue and run it up the length of the rubbery limb.

  Too soon the last egg fills you, your stomach stretched obscenely outward. You moan in protest as the Scylla’s ovipositor recedes, popping free of your sopping cunt. Then, you feel it prod your backdoor, and your breath catches. A cry of almost animal delight escapes you in knowing your breeding really has just begun.

  CONTINUE >

  Leave the cave

  “I cannot remain here,” you say, already starting purposefully towards the exit. “I must reach my family and find out what is happening on this accursed island.”

  You have never seen things so clearly. Rhilath, the former capital city of Ctharne, is on the far northern coast of the island. It fell into ruin long ago, succumbing to the generate worship of the old gods. If there is a new evil rising on this island, it is surely rising from this cursed city. That is where your mother will be. It is probably where your sister will be found as well. You have to get to Rhilath and confront whatever power is rising.

  Perhaps… you could even make a deal with such a power. Swallowing that bit of slime has given you a fresh perspective on the nature of the monsters invading your world. It is certainly possible to strike a rewarding deal with a powerful monster, even if it means making certain sacrifices.

  You glance at the moaning, writhing men and women still trapped in the protean. You know you should feel guilty about leaving them behind, but you do not. They seem content with their fate. Why should it be your concern to save them?

  The protean slides along beside you as you walk to edge of the tunnel. Bright daylight spills into the tunnel, revealing a wide, grassy plain and a softly flowing stream.

  “If you are trying to reach the Dead City, there is a better path than you will find on your map,” says the protean. “Go northeast and you will find the old wizard’s tower.”

  “A wizard?” Learned sorcerers. They gain their magic like you, from books and study, rather than the instinctual, baser magic of sorcerers.

  “Yes. I knew him once, long ago. He might have even created me.” The protean giggles softly. “I do not concern myself with such things. The wizard was old even then and only human. He long dead, but something else has taken up residence in his tower. Something that might help you on your journey.”

  You can think of no reason why the protean would attempt to trick you at this point.

  “Thank you. And farewell.”

  You step out into the light. She waves to you as you walk away.

  “Farewell, Penelope,” she calls. “Say hello to your mother if you happen to see her.”

  You wave dismissively over your shoulder.

  Walking northeast, you depart from the low, rolling hills, grassy plains, and sparse woods and enter a dark landscaped that looks as if a great plow has churned the earth. A foul wind howls across the blighted landscape. You let down your chestnut hair and the locks of it blow free, curling across your face.

  In the distant sky, you see a cloud of dark birds circling. As you cross over another hill you spot the corpse of a hideous, giant humanoid sprawled on the ground.

  You stop to sketch the fallen creature in your sketchbook. You draw the lines of its fallen body with its scavenger-pecked face and decay-bloated limbs. One gray eye stares up horribly at the birds circling above. A bit of movement by the giant’s foot catches your attention. You almost jump when you realize the four-eyed beast that has been pursuing you since you left the beach is sitting on its haunches and watching you. It licks its chops and reclines onto its side, tucking its muzzle against its furry legs. Its four eyes stare at you for a moment before slowly closing.

  You finish your sketch quickly and stuff your family’s book back into your pack. You are glad to leave the beast behind and glad to be upwind from the stench of decay. Crossing another windswept hill, you soon spot a ramshackle tower in the distance. As you approach, you see that it is much larger than it at first seemed. It rises into the bleak sky higher than any building in Akrane. Its twisting structure appears impossibly precarious, as if frozen in the midst of toppling over.

  A single small doorway yawns open ominously. Without a second thought, you step inside.

  CONTINUE >

  Refuse and fight them

  Your jaw clenches. You are not agreeing to anything with these freaks. They are menacing monsters that just look mostly human.

  “Then we fight,” you say, repeating the words of the bartender. Your hands go to your weapons on your belt and you draw a flintlock and your sword. The flash of the silver blade surprises the men in the tavern and gives you a momentary opportunity. You point your loaded pistol at the nearest man and squeeze the trigger. The report is deafening and a tongue of flame and smoke fires out of the pistol’s barrel. The man at the bar crumples instantly and does not move.

  The three remaining men are upon you before you can even swing your sword. One grabs your arm and pries the kirana from your fingers. The old man swings his fists and hits you in the side of your face. It’s a weak, off-balance hit, but the pain shocks you and you reel back a step. The bartender comes over the bar top holding a rusty spear. He thrusts it forward, stopping just short of plunging the tip of the spear into your soft abdomen.

  “One more move and I’ll skewer you, girly,” says the bartend
er. “We’ll be eatin’ you for months.”

  Your mouth opens and closes in mute horror. You raise your trembling hands in surrender. The bartender grins, showing off his rotten teeth and crooked jaw. The old man and the other man from the bar close in around you, stripping off your jacket and quickly tearing open your blouse. The chuckle lecherously at the sight of your breasts cradled by the cups of your bra. The man from the bar walks behind you and strips your skirt off your hips. He tears your panties down, ripping them completely off.

  “Get her down in the cellar,” say the bartender.

  “No, please,” you moan. “Let me go.”

  “Too late for that,” laughs the man from the bar. He shoves you in the back, your bare breasts jiggling as you try to cover your naked body. The old man smacks your bottom and you stumble behind the bar. The bartender hooks his fingers into an iron ring set in the floor and hauls open a trapdoor. Fetid breath washes hotly over your face as the man snarls over your shoulder, “Down the stairs, ye stupid cunt.”

  The bartender prods you with his spear. You have no choice but to descend a rickety staircase into the damp, cool, and very dark cellar. Your heart sinks even further once they light a torch and reveal a filthy bed against one earthen wall of the cellar.

  “Had to keep my wife down here,” says the bartender. “But someone told the goat and she got took from me. So I have a nice bed for you.”

  “And all of us will get to share,” says the bar patron.

  “Even me,” adds the old man. The other two look at him and he sputters, “What? I may be old, but I’m ornery and my pecker still works.”

  They are not giving you any say in the matter. The bartender seals the trapdoor and the three men close in around you.

  The old man presses his quivering lips to yours and thrusts his rancid tongue into your mouth. His rough hands squeeze your bare breasts and pinch at your nipples until you are whining in pain against his kiss. The foul muscle of his tongue swirls in your mouth and he slurps messily at your lips.

  The bar patron gets down on his knees and thrusts his scruffy face between your shapely thighs. You cry out into the kiss as his fingers spread your quim and his tongue thrusts into your hot channel. The stink of their bodies is eye-watering, the taste of the tongue in your mouth nearly enough to make you gag, but worst of all is how good it feels. The freak sucks at your cuntlips and thrusts fingers deep into your slick sex. He lashes your clit with his tongue and you whimper into the old man’s mouth.

  “So sweet,” moans the man sucking at your pussy and sending another hot pulse of pleasure racing through your body.

  You open your eyes and look past the old man to the bartender, who is stripping off his clothes to expose his scabby, unwholesomely gaunt body. Your eyes widen at the sight of his cock. It is extremely long and slender, a glistening pink that reminds you of an animal’s penis. His bollocks are hidden beneath a bestial thicket of fur that spreads along his inner thighs.

  “Get her on that bed,” says the bartender. “My prick hasn’t had a woman in too long.”

  “Yeah, she’s a sweet one,” says the man between your thighs, his face smeared with spit and your juices.

  They grab your arms and throw you face down onto the haphazardly-built bed. You try to push upright, but the bartender pushes your face down into the musty bedding and presses his cock against your slick entrance. You cry out as the hot tip of his manhood enters you. His slender cock sinks into your pussy, driving so deep that it prods against your womb and you feel his furry balls against your clit. He holds you hip with one hand and pounds hard and fast into your quim.

  “Ahhhhh!” You cry, lifting your head as your body shakes with the slapping impact of his hips on your buttocks. Your growing pleasure fills your heart with despair. Your cunt ripples and squeezes against his thrusting cock. Suddenly the other man is on the bed beside your head, a similar bestial cock grasped in his hand. He grabs your head and pulls your mouth to his prick. You try to turn away, but he forces the foul-smelling fuckflesh into your mouth.

  Taken roughly from both ends, you cry with horror around the cock in your mouth as your pleasure explodes through your body. Hot waves of treasonous pleasure ripple through your cunt. You gasp around the cock in your mouth, trying to keep your eyes closed so you do not see the hideous faces of your attacker.

  “Squeezin’ me tight,” groans the bartender, working his hips and pumping his cock in and out of your pussy. “Ohhhhhh, by the goat! By the old gods!”

  His cock throbs inside your shuddering quim and you feel the hot pulse of his seed against the cusp of your womb. His cock slides in and out of your creamy pussy with lewd slurps as he spurts more and more cum inside you. The curse that hangs over the island opens the way to your fertile cove for the sperm that swarms your velvet channel. You feel a hot burst of ecstasy and you know, in that glorious instant, that your womb has been claimed.

  “Yesss!” You cry with new pleasure and begin to slurp eagerly at the cock in your mouth. “Mmmmmmm!”

  Warmth and contentment wraps your body. You whimper with disappointment as the bartender slips his spent cock out of your creamy pussy. Your disappointment does not last long as the old man soon mounts you from behind, stuffing his cock into your creamy pussy as you moan around the cock in your mouth. You thought this cellar was hell when they brought you down the stairs, but now you understand that you are in heaven.

  CONTINUE >

  Pleasure the lamia

  You cannot deny your arousal. As the lamia writhes in need before you so too does the warmth of lust simmer and burn deep in your belly.

  “Stop squirming,” you command.

  At once the lamia stills. Her scarlet scales quiver with the effort but her ringed eyes stare at you with desperation for approval. A feeling of power rises in you, a sensation both as heady and potent as your lust, and you stride towards the lamia, strutting almost, basking in her desirous gaze. You come to stand over her face and, after a moment of hesitation, you reach down and move your panties aside, baring your puffy quim.

  “Lick me,” you command.

  With a will the lamia lurches up and buries her face in your snatch. You gasp, head thrown back, grabbing the snake woman’s hair as her forked tongue plunges into your cunt.

  “Nnn!” you groan. Your knees give way, and you flatten the lamia’s face beneath you, your thighs enclosing her head. “D-deeper!”

  The lamia pulls free her tongue long enough to lick your juices from her ruby lips and purr, “Yesss missstresss,” before throwing herself into her task once more.

  She’s good. Very good. Her forked tongue teases open your folds, and her fangs delicately rub against your mons. Your heart hammers at the debasement of it, but you can’t stop. You pant, rolling your hips against her face, burying her beneath your plump form.

  “Th-there. Deeper. Deeper you slut!” you gasp.

  Soon enough you feel your muscles tense. You gasp, crying out as you cum, soaking the lamia’s face in your juices.

  As you kneel there, panting, the lamia’s squirms her head out from beneath you and gazes up lovingly at you.

  “Mistress?” she hisses.

  “Yes,” you say breathlessly.

  “May I cum now too?”

  You consider it, amused by the desperate pleading in the snake woman’s once so powerful eyes. Instead of answering you stand. You place your foot on her chest. “Remove my boot.”

  With slavish devotion, the lamia tenderly unlaces your shoe and draws it off your foot. You nudge her cheek with your toe and the lamia grasps your sock, slowly curling it back, unveiling inch by inch the pale flesh of your leg. When it at last comes off you wiggle your toes in the now open air.

  “Suck them.”

  Eagerly the lamia leans forward and wraps her lips about your toe. You gasp, your cunt clenching as your sensitive flesh is gently scraped by the lamia’s sharp teeth. Her lips stroke your toes tenderly, tongue lathing the tingling sole of your fo
ot, her eyes never breaking her reverent gaze.

  You let her worship your foot for a moment, then pull your toes free. Obediently the lamia falls back. Smirking, amused, you brush your big toe against her lower lips.

  The lamia trills like a startled bird.

  “Oh?” you say teasingly. “Do you like this?” you say, running your toe up and down her moistening slit.

  The lamia groans, her serpentine lower body slowly writhing in the mud. “Sssss….Yesssss…”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Tell me, missstresss…”

  “It’s because you’re a whore,” you say, a thrill racing through you as you talk down to this once menacing monster. You lean forward, pressing your foot down on her pelvis, relishing how she sucks in a startled breath and starts panting. “Nothing but a slut who deserves nothing more than to kiss my feet. Isn’t that right?”

  “It issss misstresss,” the lamia gasps wantonly, her serpentine hip grinding her folds against your toes. “Please! Deeper misstresss!”

  “You’re pathetic,” you say, voice growing husky as you stroke her. “Look at you. Wallowing in the mud. Getting your gold and pretty red scales all filthy. All so I can get you off with my toes. Is that what you want?”

  “Yesss! Pleasssse!”

  “Disgusting,” you say, your voice quivering.

  Moisture drips down your legs from your burning cunt.

  “Which is the potion?” you say. “Give it to me, and I’ll let you cum. You can’t until I tell you. Hand it over.”

  With shaking hands the lamia fumbles one of the bottles from her belt. She holds it up to you with a quaking hand, the yellow liquid sloshing within the flask, frayed rope crisscrossing the neck of the bottle. You snatch it and raise it up, scrutinizing it critically.