Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “I yield to you,” you say loudly and firmly.

  “What?” Alyssa gasps and tries to pull you away. “You cannot do this, Penelope.”

  “I see clearly now,” you say, shrugging off her hands. “The only way forward is to submit to the superior flesh of this monster.”

  “You will perish,” she says. “Drider’s are cruel.”

  “So be it,” you say, stepping away from her and towards the perplexed drider.

  Alyssa sighs and you sense her departing into the sky. You are alone in the clearing with the huge drider, your heart pounding, your cunt aching, but your decision made. You take another step closer.

  The drider approaches you cautiously, cocking its head to the side and regarding you with its red eyes. You keep your hands up. It speaks to you in a calm but firm voice.

  “Step away from your weapons,” it says and you obey. It lowers itself to almost a squatting position and commands, “Climb onto my back, human. Be careful of my quills. They are sharp.”

  You climb onto the huge arachnid bulk of the drider’s back. The quills poke at you, but only one pierces your leg. You pull back with a hiss of pain and blood beads at the small puncture wound. You lean against the drider’s humanoid back.

  “You may put your arms around my neck,” he says. “I move quite quickly in the forest and you will fall off if you do not.”

  “Okay,” you say, lacing your arms around the drider’s muscular shoulders and feeling the strange, hairy brush of his mandibles. He moves without warning and you have to cling tightly to him as he scuttles rapidly through the dark forest. He bounds easily over fallen tries and leaps through the lower branches. Your pulse races as the forest whooshes by you in the darkness. The drider brings you to a subterranean burrow. Faintly glowing purple lichen gathered in several wooden bowls lights the chambers of the drider’s burrow.

  He brings you to a spot in his burrow where two human figures hang upside down from the ceiling. They are wrapped head-to-toe in white silk and dangle from silken ropes. The drider sets you down and watches as you examine them. You hear a muffled moan from one of the figures.

  “They’re alive,” you say, looking fearfully at the drider.

  “Do you desire to end up as they are?”

  “What are they?” You ask.

  The drider’s arachnid feet click on the stone floor as he moves over to the one that made a sound and grasps it with his human hands. It makes another sound and begins to twist and wriggle, it looks almost like a huge worm all wrapped in the silk web.

  “They are my food,” says the drider. He demonstrates by clamping his mouth to what seems to be the shoulder of the wrapped figure. You hear a muffled scream as the drider’s fangs sink into the silk. He stares at you with his red eyes as he feeds and blood saturates the cloth around his mouth. The dripping blood slows and the drider lifts his mandibles, licking the blood away with a strange black tongue.

  The drider slashes the silk rope binding this figure to the ceiling and the body drops heavily to the floor. The drider kicks it carelessly into a dark crevasse and you hear it thumping and crunching as it plummets deep into the earth. There is a final splash that echoes up from the depths.

  The drider approaches you and grasps your face in his human hands. You can see yourself reflected in his large red eyes.

  “Is this what you want?” He asks. “I will drink your blood if that is your desire.”

  “No, please,” you say, trembling in his grasp. He releases your face.

  “Then you will serve me until I find a mate,” he says.

  “What happens when you find a mate?”

  “I will have another use for you then,” he says. “Until this happens, you will serve.”

  “H-how would you have me serve you?” You are afraid but excited at the same time.

  He waves his hand as if barely interested and says, “Show me your body.”

  You tremble as you unlace your bodice and remove your bra to free your ample breasts. You slide your skirt down from your shapely hips and the drider watches as you remove your panties. Your boots and knit stockings come last. The drider walks slowly around you as you hold your arms folded against your breasts. You try not to look at the dark pit where the drider kicked the dead captive or the live captive still hanging from the ceiling.

  The drider slides his long fingers beneath one of your breasts. He hefts the weight of it and runs his thumb across your sensitive nipple. You gasp. He clicks his mandibles.

  “You are pleasing, human,” he says. “Too weak to make a mate, but perhaps a vessel.”

  He does not elaborate on what he means. His arachnid feet click on the floor as he scuttles over to a pile of straw.

  “Lie down here. Show me how you pleasure yourself.”

  “S-show you?” You gaze at his half-human face. His red eyes glare at you. He says nothing else, but stands beside the bed of straw watching. You get down in the straw and show your body to the drider. He looms over you, not exactly creating an easy atmosphere. But your act of submission holds a certain dangerous excitement. You breathe the scent of human sweat and a hint of urine clinging to the straw. What women or men were here before you? What became of them?

  You squeeze your breasts and pluck at your pink nipples. A moan passes your lips as you spread your thighs to the red-eyed gaze of the drider. You slip one hand down over your warm furrow. You stroke your dewy folds and let a fingertip probe between your cuntlips.

  “Ohhhh,” you moan, thrusting your hips and sinking two fingers deep into your slick pussy. You try to look seductively at the drider and you notice the stirring of some shockingly long appendage beneath his arachnid underbody. You fuck yourself with your fingers as he shuffles in place, revealing a gently bouncing pink cock that must reach nearly two feet in length. It glistens with slime and ooze a cloudy white liquid from its narrow tip. “Oh, gods, are you going to fuck me with that?”

  “Is this what you desire, human?” The drider asks, standing over my body and giving me a good look at his twitching cock.

  “Yes,” you murmur softly. “Yes, please, fuck me. I need it.”

  “Turn over,” says the drider. “Present your cunt to me, servant. I will mount it for pleasure.”

  You pant as you roll over onto your knees and raise your shapely, straw-strewn ass up for the drider. His quills brush against your buttocks as he climbs over you. The narrow tip of his otherwise thick cock probes at your entrance. You reach a hand back, touching his slick cockhead and guiding him to your slit. The drider thrusts his hard, slippery cock deep into your eager cunt. You moan with almost bestial pleasure as you are mounted by the arachnid creature.

  “So warm,” groans the drider, thrusting until his cock hits the limits of your anatomy. You whimper as he pushes against your cervix and your tender inner walls. You bury your face in the musty straw as the drider fucks you deeply. Each stroke stretches your tight pussy as he works his cock in and out and makes your tits sway and slap against the straw beneath you.

  “Ohhhhhh fuck me,” you cry, your pleasure rising by the moment. You push back onto his thick cock, skewering your hungry cunt and taking the drider deeply. His quills poke and scratch at your plump buttocks, leaving red marks on your creamy white ass. The drider’s cock slurps in and out of your pussy and his copious precum drips from your stretched folds. You’ve never had a cock this wonderful; you’ve never been fucked so well. Not even Alyssa could hold a candle to the dominating monstrousness of the drider. You feel your orgasm rising up volcanically from deep inside you and cry, “Yes! Yes, it’s so good!”

  An eruption of ecstasy rises from your depths and grips at the drider’s thrusting cock. You press back, inflicting more scratches against the quills as you desperate fuck against the drider. In the hot throes of your climax, you feel the drider’s huge cock throbbing inside you and your cunt is flooded with his thick seed. It spurts and splashes out of your stuffed pussy and overflows your tender womb.


  “Ohhhhh, yes, fill me,” you gasp. “Fill me with your hot cum.”

  Spurt after spurt pours into your pussy. The drider’s thrusts slow and he gently eases his cock out of your creamy cunt.

  “Never have I met a human who gives herself to me so willingly,” says the drider, stepping back from your dripping cunt. “You will be a very good servant.”

  You turn slowly and face the drider, feeling his cum continuing to drool from your freshly-fucked pussy.

  “Yes, master, I will serve you well.”

  “Master is not necessary,” he says, reaching down and cradling your head. “You may call me by my name. Drizzen.”

  “Thank you, Drizzen,” you say, smiling sweetly at him.

  CONTINUE >

  The mad bride of Zhibbareth

  It is sweltering hot in the upper tiers of the temple of Zhibbareth. The slanted ceiling and oppressive heat and humidity remind you of crawling through an attic searching for a gertling with your mother as a child. You can’t help but smile as you dip your quill into the ink and make another stroke on the page. You are finishing the detail on the long forelegs of the satchel creeper.

  “Mmmmmmmmmm,” moans the woman beneath the huge, spider-like creature. She is a frail, raven-haired nymph you chose from the Exalted Convent. She came willingly with you up into the attic. Surely she had heard stories about the mad bride of Zhibbareth, but to her credit it she did not complain or try to escape. Sometimes they did that when you took them from the convent.

  The stiflingly hot upper level of the temple was chosen precisely for its unpleasant environment. The bag creeper had already affixed its fluid-filled sac to the ceiling while you were away and the moment you entered with the girl it snatched her up with its forelimbs. She barely made a sound as it tore apart her crimson gown, assaulted her pussy and ass with its glistening purple cocks, and stuffed her throat to bulging with slithering tentacles.

  You observed the lovers as they were locked in this passionate embrace. You admired the tenderness of the satchel creeper as it stroked her head and plucked at her nipples. Its cocks were big enough to bulge her abdomen, constantly dripping slime onto the wooden floor, but the creature was never rough. She bobbed in the satchel creeper’s grasp, her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure after the first insemination. The mating continued, the satchel creeper filling the young woman with its seed while you sketched their embrace in exquisite detail.

  You mop at the sweat gathering on your brow and make a small correction to the hooked rear talons of the satchel creeper in the illustration. Those talons bite into the stone of the ceiling, anchoring what must be the considerable weight of the creeper’s fluid filled sac.

  “Ooogggghhggkkk!” The scrawny handmaiden at the mercy of the satchel creeper begins gagging and gasping as the beast withdraws several slithering tendrils from her mouth. Slime oozes from her lips and her mouth hangs open, her tong lolling. Her head rolls from side to side and she groans as the creeper’s huge cocks fuck in and out of her stretched pussy and ass a few more times.

  The creeper’s massive organs retreat from the handmaiden’s well-used holes. The cock leaves the widened ring of her anus with a wet pop and a raunchy spurt of monstrous cum out of her puckering hole. Her cunt pours a continuous stream of slime as the creeper lets her drop from its grasp. She collapses to her knees, moaning with mind-broken pleasure.

  “Watch now, boys,” you say to the trio of gertling servants you keep around to assist you in documenting the mating habits of monsters. “The creeper should pick her up again and draw her into its birthing sac. The larvae will emerge from the human womb under-developed and her body will provide sustenance for them.”

  Ibo and Zebo hop up on their stools and lean over your stack of paints. Glun peeks around your easel. They are wisely afraid of the satchel creature, but share your interest in seeing the sometimes-grisly bad ends of the various women you serve up to the monsters.

  The poor girl from the convent cackles with mad glee as the satchel creeper hooks her beneath her slender arms and lifts her back up. Slime is still dripping from her well-fucked pussy as the girl is lifted towards the glistening sphincter of the creeper’s birthing sac. It pushes her against the opening, head-first, and she is hardly makes a sound as her head and shoulders are pushed into the sac. Yellow liquid oozes from the hole and coats her body as she is thrust inside the fluid-filled sac.

  Her expression of insane bliss slowly blanks as she drifts in the yellow-tinted sac secured to the ceiling by the satchel creeper. If your readings are correct, she will remain in a semi-conscious trance for days before the larvae are born. The sight of the girl floating in a trance inside the gurgling sac gives you a thrill of witnessing something few humans have seen. You dip your paintbrush into a matching, mustard-yellow cover and begin to paint the outline of the birthing sac.

  “Very good picture, mistress,” rasps Glun, glancing from your work to the gruesome scene before you.

  “I only record the beauty of creation,” you murmur, painting the way the golden torchlight catches the edge of the sac and makes it seem to glow. The satchel creeper folds its forelegs tightly across its body like a closing umbrella and undergirds the birthing sac with crisscrossed limbs. Its desire is satiated and its energy is spent; in hours, it will be dead.

  The door to the sweltering chamber opens as you are placing the finishing touches on your painting of the birthing sac. A gust of cool air from the lower levels causes the creeper to stir and let out a displeased chirrup.

  “What is that?” Your mother’s voice thunders as she stoops to enter the small chamber. She is gravid once more with the spawn of Zhibbareth and her huge breasts rest atop the taut immensity of her belly. She seems to grow taller and wider with each pregnancy. Her long, white hair is braided and pulled back from her head and her flesh, though still pale and unblemished, now serves as the canvas for numerous red and violet tattoos that incorporate swirling patterns and ancient, pre-human runes that can drive lesser humans insane.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” You hold up your anatomical sketch and your painting of the inseminated girl. “It breeds and creates prey for its children in the same act. The perfect example of the cycle of life. Glorious destruction and creation. Isn’t Zhibbareth wonderful?”

  “It seems rather unkind,” says your mother, gently prodding the sac with the tip of a huge finger. The creeper chirrups unhappily again and the woman moves slightly in the yellow fluid.

  “She knows only pleasure,” you assure your mother. “It is said to be a dream of her finally conscious act, repeating until the larvae are born and slowly devour her. You should have seen the smile on her face when it took her. Would you like me to fetch another satchel creeper and a handmaiden?”

  Your mother smiles sympathetically and crouches beside you. She rests a huge hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

  “Your experiments, my love, are using up all of our handmaidens. Those women are chosen to serve the officers and heroes of the Great One’s legions.” Your mother gestures at the satchel creature. “This thing is not even used as cannon fodder. Its behavior is too cowardly to be reliable in battle. We do not require more of them for Zhibbareth’s armada.”

  “They are serving Zhibbareth,” you protest. “Each sacrifice they make broadens my understanding of the mating habits. And those acts are as beautiful as any hymn the handmaidens sing in their convent. Her cries of pleasure as she was taken was a song of praise to the God of Monsters.”

  “Yes, of course,” says your mother. “But, we need them alive. At least for now. Soon, the conquest of the mainland will begin and we will have as many humans as you would like for your experiments. Until then, please stop killing them, as much as possible.”

  You sigh, brushing a lock of hair from your sweaty face.

  “I will try, mother,” you say.

  “That is all I ask,” she says and strokes your face lovingly. Her hand moves lower, caressing your pl
ump, paint-smeared breasts and to the roundness of your belly. “You are beginning to grow, you know. Not just your belly. His sons will take longer for you to birth than a human child, but they will be glorious.”

  You smile up at her, feeling the spawn of Zhibbareth stirring within you. It was a glorious act to receive his godly seed. Your mother’s hand continues lower. She runs her thick fingers between your thighs, caressing your marked mound and the hot seam of your cunt. You moan and hitch your hips forward as she begins to rub more insistently.

  “Good girl,” she murmurs. “Would you like mother to tend to you?”

  “Oh, yessss, mommy,” you moan. The gertlings scatter as your mother pushes you back onto the floor. You can hear them grunting and yipping with joy, wanking their little cocks as they watch your giantess mother pleasuring you. Nearby, the creeper lets out a mournful croaking sound, its red eyes dimming to the raunchy sight of you being probed, caressed, and sucked.

  “You are such a beautiful bride,” your mother gasps, her breath hot against your thighs. “Such a sweet, blushing bride for Zhibbareth.”

  You moan at the depraved pleasure, knowing you have at last found your destiny in madness. You may spend eternity wed to Zhibbareth, sharing the fall of mankind with your mother, but your adventure is most definitely at an end.

  BAD END

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  Alone in the dead city

  The twisting edifice of the Great One’s temple looms before you. It juts from the mountainside and stands rooted in the ruins of the city that spread in the mountain’s shadow. It is built of ancient black basalt, each brick engraved with forbidden symbols that remain despite the wear of wind and rain. The temple’s archways, staircases, tiers, and tunnels twist at impossible angles that create a sense of vertigo when you gaze up at the cyclopean structure. It is as vast as any temple in Akrane and yet it seems impossible that it stands composed of such unnatural angles.