Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Rhythmic pleasure pulses through your body and you scream, “YESSSS!”

  In the throes of your ecstasy, the queen awakens. Her buzzing resumes, surprise shows on her face for a moment and then she grabs you with both her human hands and bucks beneath you. The pleasure you are experiencing is so intense that the fear of death only heightens your ecstasy.

  The queen smiles, though her brow is still furrowed with anger.

  “You want my clutch, human? Then you shall have it!” She flexes her abdomen beneath you and pushes her fleshy nozzle deeper into your clutching cunt. Your eyes go wide as the tip of her appendage pushes into your cervix and invades your womb. There is a sharp pain that dulls to a receding throb that matches the pulses of your pleasure.

  “Oh, yes, give it to me,” you moan, out of your mind with ecstasy. “Fuck meeeeee!”

  The queen laughs triumphantly and you feel her fleshy nozzle bulge and ripple inside your pussy. One-by-one, she begins to inject her eggs into your womb. You lose count of how many she is spurting into your deepest cove, but each spasm as she injects another is accompanied by a powerful mutual throb of orgasm. You collapse into her arms, holding tight to her as she fucks her clutch of eggs into your welcoming womb.

  When she is done, you slide off her abdomen and lick the copious slime from her retreating pink nozzle. It slowly disappears into her abdomen as her slime continues to ooze from your stuffed cunt. Your belly bulges with her eggs. You gaze up at her, joy on your face and tears in your eyes.

  “Thank you, my queen,” you moan.

  “I am glad you found me so irresistible,” she buzzes and caresses your face. “Rest now, warm little human, for soon my eggs will hatch.”

  It is not long before you feel those eggs stirring inside you. Slime oozes steadily from your cunt as if each egg produces another gush of the fluid that drains from your well-fucked pussy. A pool of the musky fluid spreads beneath you on the ground. You squat above it and moan with a mixture of pleasure and distress as contractions begin.

  The queen cradles your shoulders and watches as the first wriggling larva drops from your cunt. It is as white as fresh milk and beautiful and you love it. She scoops it up and carries it to the honeycomb, spitting golden liquid into one of the cells and lowering the larva gently inside. She seals it up and returns to collect the next larva that is beginning to pushes its way out of your orgasmic cunt.

  She gathers them all up and places them in cells with the honey she spits from her mouth. Finally, you collapse with exhaustion, a contented grin on your face.

  “Rest now, little one,” she coos, lifting you into her arms and carrying you to the comb. She kisses your sweaty face and strokes your hair. “I will give you a safe place to rest and something to eat.”

  She lowers you into one of the vacant cells and leans over it to kiss you on the lips. Sweet liquid pours from her mouth and into yours. Honey! You gulp it down until you are sated and slide down deeper into the cell. She extrudes something white from her fleshy nozzle and uses this to cover over the top of your cell.

  “Rest until I have another clutch for you,” she buzzes one last time and leaves you to sleep contentedly.

  CONTINUE >

  Attack

  You stuff your flintlock pistol back into your belt. There is no point brandishing it when facing a creature like this and you drew it purely out of instinct. Instead, you quickly swing your backpack off your shoulders and open the alchemy case.

  “You think that will save you?” The protean laughs and surges towards you.

  You have to leap suddenly to the side to avoid her attack and this flings a number of glass vials and brass capsules out of your pack. Your heart sinks, but not to despair. You scramble among the loose vials as the slime closes in on all sides. You grab the Unction Wort, which would not be your first choice, and you still have the lye granules. You search for catalyst. There! Salamander Tongue Powder! You avoid another slurping lash of glistening green tendrils and leap at the vial of Salamander Tongue Powder.

  “You cannot escape me, little one,” giggles the protean. “I know how weak you are, Penelope.”

  “Weak?” You have a grin on your face as you roll onto your knees and pop the stopper off the vial. You empty all three vials into your hands. The strong reaction begins to produce pink foam. It only causes a slight burning sensation for you, but the strongly acidic body of the slime will be annihilated.

  “No! Noooo!” The protean retreats from you. She isn’t quick enough. You hurl two handfuls of sputtering, spreading foam. The foam is grows in quantity exponentially, spreading rapidly across the gelatinous protean and dissolving the monster wherever it touches. The protean begins shrieking in agony and clears away from the men and women being molested.

  The path ahead is cleared in moments and the slime is so badly hurt she disappears up the ramp and into a vertical tunnel above the chamber. She leaves all of her prisoners behind her. You gather your alchemy components quickly and pull your backpack over your shoulders. You help the men and women to their feet. They are groggy and clearly weak from lack of using their muscles, but they are not undernourished. You can only imagine what they have been eating trapped in the slime.

  Some of the men and women begin to sob. Others pick themselves up and begin to help one another.

  “Come on, all of you,” you say. “She will be back. You cannot remain here.”

  “My husband,” moans one woman.

  Others embrace each other or marvel in horror at their changed bodies. Most of the women seem pregnant and slime drops from their cunts in a sickening parody of birth. The slimes are alive and retreat from their mother as they are birthed. But proteans cannot interbreed with humans, so this protean was only using these poor women as incubators for her offspring.

  The grotesque reality of their predicament threatens to overwhelm the survivors with despair, but you and a few of those who recover quickly begin to urge them out of the chamber through the exit tunnel.

  The tunnel opens onto a rocky, windswept slope down onto a grassy plain. One of the men seems to know the area and he leads the group down to the stream to help everyone clean off the lingering filth of the protean. You wash up as well and breathe deeply of the fresh, island air. You watch them bathing and seeming to recover some of their humanity. Then you step away from the group and take out your map.

  “Yemoleth is the closest village,” says a tired-looking brunette as she looks at your map.

  You find Yemoleth on the map and see that it is far to the west.

  “I am looking for my family,” you say. You point to the city of Rhilath. “I think they were heading to the old capital.”

  “The Dead City,” says the woman, twisting her damp hair in her hands. “You should not go to there.”

  “I must. What about this settlement here?” You point out a town called Lyokk which is not far to the north of your current location. It is along the way to Rhilath.

  “Lyokk is gone. Destroyed by the devils. My uncles used to live there. The Keeper still dwells in the manor. Beware the Keeper and their garden.”

  You try to ask her more about this Keeper, but the woman seems to slip back into a daze and wanders away from you. The men and women tell you they are going to Yemoleth to see if the village survives. They want you to come along, but it is too far out of your way.

  “Good luck to you,” you say. “If I find my family, I may come and visit.”

  They say a friendly goodbye, but the feeling remains that you will likely never see them again. Yemoleth, like everywhere else on this island, is surely cursed with evil. You wave a last farewell and set off to the north.

  Before long, you find a surprisingly nice road paved with stones. They are overgrown with weeds, but otherwise intact. The land rises and falls and rises again in low, wide hills that vary from grassland to scattered forest. You reach the town called Lyokk. True to what the woman said, it has apparently been destroyed. It is as if all of the building
s have been smashed flat by giant fists. There are a few rotten corpses, mostly picked clean by scavengers.

  A small hill overlooks the remains of Lyokk and atop this hill you can just make out a vast, dark manor house. It seems built in a more modern style than most of the structures you have seen since your arrival on Ctharne. It almost reminds you of a building from Akrane. You see no doors on the manor, but there is an entrance to a garden surrounded by a high stone wall. Strange foliage tops the wall. Even from this distance, you can tell that this garden is far from natural.

  You are gazing so intently up at the garden that you do not notice the beast until it is almost upon you. It is the same beast that has been on your heels since you left the ship behind. The hideous creature snarls and snaps its jaws, its four eyes blazing with rage. Its deformed, wolf-like body bulges with unwholesome muscles.

  “Gods!” You cry, staring at the beast and its slavering jaws. Somehow, even worse than those pitiless jaws, is the glistening pink cock erect beneath the furry body of the creature. The beast seems even angrier than before, even more savage. Fear flutters in your chest and you feel a powerful urge to flee for the apparent safety of that garden wall.

  The creature snarls again, its pink tongue hanging from its mouth and saliva dripping from its huge teeth. It is easy to imagine those jaws tearing out your throat, and yet…

  You do not bolt. You linger for a moment, emboldened by your triumph over the protean. You are armed. You are a huntress. Perhaps it is time to face down this creature that has been pursuing you since your arrival.

  What do you do?

  Run for the manor house!

  Turn and confront the beast pursuing you

  The abandoned brothel

  The rains pelt you for more than an hour, leaving you cold and annoyed. You never imagined an island situated near the tropic could become so cold, yet your breath is steaming before your face and you are shivering in your wet clothes. Your nipples are so hard they hurt as they rub inside your bra.

  "I do not know how much longer I can keep this up," you speak aloud to keep yourself centered.

  "Don't whine," replies your mother's voice. "It is only a few hours to Shadowfell Chasm. And a few more hours after that to the outer settlements of Rhilath."

  "Hours upon hours," you say, shielding your face from the rain with a raised arm. "This is no whining, mother. I am too cold. I may need to build a shelter."

  Almost as soon as you have spoken those words, the rain dies down to a soft patter among the mossy trees. You lower your arm. The warmth begins to return as the sun breaks through the overcast sky. Despite the sunlight, a fresh mist rolls through the forest, bringing with it the familiar, intoxicating scents of desire. The cloying fog that shrouds so much of the island is almost comforting now. Certainly better than the rain.

  You clear a particularly dense patch of forest and a widening of the path ahead reveals an ancient and dilapidated two-story building.

  "An inn?" You murmur.

  "The Great One provides," says your mother.

  You're still not so sure about that, but you approach the solitary structure. There is a strange spicy scent in the air, stronger than the cloying aroma of the fog, and growing stronger with each step you take towards the inn. The building, though fallen into disrepair, was clearly once quite nice. It is a large, two-floor inn decorated with carved doors and shutters and wooden cut-outs of nude nymphs frolicking. A sign above the door is carved in an unfamiliar language. The silhouette of a woman embracing a man beside the words is clear enough: this was once a brothel.

  You run your fingers over the carvings on the door. The wood is strangely warm and the spicy scent is alluring.

  "Something is amiss with this place," your mother warns. "The building is not what it seems."

  "A trap?" You ask her, drawing back your hand in caution.

  "Perhaps, perhaps not. There are many forces at work on this island that even I cannot understand. It feels as if... there is a great distance beyond that door."

  "It might be a portal!"

  You have heard of such things described in ancient texts; gateways that open from one place to another, created and maintained by magic far beyond your own abilities. The elves used them before they were driven from Heimsvak to the deep jungles of Sulmeian and the gods and denizens of the underworld were said to traverse the earth using such portals.

  You touch the door again and you think you can feel the magic at work beneath your fingers.

  "I am going inside," you say aloud.

  "Be cautious, my daughter," says your mother. "If it carries you far away, I may not be able to reach out to you."

  "I am a herald of the Great One," you say, straightening up. "I have bested the Wurllmek. What do I need to fear?"

  Before your mother can offer an answer, you pull open the door with a creak of its ancient hinges. A strong aroma of spice and something else, something deeply erotic, wafts out through the open door. A heavy curtain of ready silk blocks any light from escaping out of the doorway.

  You press through it and feel a moment of vertiginous realignment, as if the world turned upside down for a moment before rolling back over.

  You find yourself in a room lit with a warm, golden glow from numerous brass lanterns. You are standing upon a red carpet that reaches across a polished wooden floor. The walls are papered in red patterns with depictions of women and roses. Red silk cushions upholster the ceiling, so that when you look up it seems you are looking down at an enormous bed. The room is appointed with numerous couches and a decorative fountain with a statue of a bathing nymph and water strewn with rose petals.

  There is an archway on the far side of the room covered with red silk curtains like those that covered the entrance. These part and you are surprised to see several beautiful women emerge. Their faces are painted exquisitely and they are wearing the height of Akrane's fashion in lingerie of lace, silk, satin, and velvet. Each is more beautiful than the last, ten women in all, and they fan out to either side of the archway, smiling invitingly as you take in the sight of their luscious bodies.

  These women must be whores and the last woman to pass through the archway is clearly the madam. She stands half a head taller than the others, her hair a perfect, feathered mane of lavender-tinted blonde hair. Her skin is exquisitely creamy, her body toned, yet her breasts more than ample. She wears corseted crimson lingerie, panties, stocking, and garter with the confidence of a second skin. Her high-heeled ankle boots further enhance her height and sculpted physique. Her eyes have a violet edge to them. They flash as she gazes at you.

  "Hello," you say, trying to sound confident and probably failing.

  "Welcome to the Palace of Crimson Silk," says the woman, gesturing invitingly to the rows of beautiful women flanking her on either side. "You are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of..."

  Her words trail off and she frowns. She raises and eyebrow and prowls slowly closer to you, her heeled boots thumping on the strip of red carpet. She gazes directly into your eyes, her own eyes seeming almost to glow with violet light.

  "I see you," she says. "You are not a normal human."

  "I am a herald of the Great One," you say, straightening up under her gaze. Her doubt disappears and she smiles once more.

  "Of course, yes the 'Great One.'" The sarcasm as she pronounces "Great One" is obvious.

  She claps her hands lightly together and four men enter through the curtained archway. You try not to stare in surprise as each is a perfect specimen of manliness, with oiled muscles and dangling cock and balls wrapped in a golden band. But each man has the head of a giant bird. One is a raven, another a finch, one a redbird, and another a streaked broadbill. The men carry tridents and march forward to flank the madam.

  "These... men won't be necessary," you say. "I am not coming here to start a fight."

  "Oh?" She turns around, showing you her firm, round derriere as she strokes her fingers over the chiseled chest of one of her guards.
"Well, you are much nicer than the last emissary the Great One sent here. Some horrible fat man. He demanded my service. I sent him off to the Field of Holes." She glances at you over her shoulder, a mischievous smile on her lips. "I don't suppose you ran into him."

  You remember that slime-covered staff and the medallion.

  "I found what was left of him," you say.

  "Ah, well, I'm certain he was delicious." She turns dramatically, drops onto one of the sofas, and crosses her legs. "So why have you come here, oh herald of the Great One?"

  "What is this place?" You ask, marveling once more at the decorations.

  "I told you when you arrived, it is the Palace of Crimson Silk." She leans forward, her bust straining at her corset. "I am its proprietor. You may call me Alyssa. Weary travelers have a breast on which to lay their weary heads." She gestures with her manicured fingers at the heaving mounds of her breasts. You feel warm all over and a powerful throb in your pussy. "You know, I can give you a place for your head as well."

  "Who are these people?" You ask, indicating the rows of whores and bird-headed guards.

  Alyssa rises from the sofa, staring into your eyes.

  "Oh, they're my souls," she says. Her transformation is almost instant and disarming. Her proportions become far more voluptuous, her eyes flare with violet light, dark horns curl from her forehead and over her lavender hair. Her creamy skin takes on a lavender hue, leather violet wings rise from her back, and a thick tail of purple flesh drops down her shapely thigh. Her smile is no less enticing, but now clearly predatory. "We succubae collect souls. That should be nothing new for a herald of the Great One."

  She chuckles at your obvious astonishment.

  "Oh, don't feel bad for them," she says, petting one of the whore and whispering something in the woman's ear. The woman moans and thrusts her fingers down her panties, fucking herself with her fingers. Alyssa nibbles at the woman's ear for a moment before returning her attention to you. "The souls I take serve as my slaves in the abyss and provide me with my power elsewhere."