Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Gisved looks on impassively as Kisleau’s skinless corpse is torn apart by the abyssal dogs. Bjornssen trembles with despair and bursts into tears. It is gratifying to see the big warrior-king weeping in defeat. He prostrates himself on the stones.

  “We surrender,” he moans. “All for him. All for Zhibbareth. We are beaten.”

  His abject groveling is met with applause from the generals. They are applauding you, not him, but he looks up in surprise.

  “If my daughter is safe,” says Gisved. “I offer the surrender of my kingdom and what remains of my people.”

  “She’s safe,” says your mother. “I saw her myself a few days ago reciting the hymn of the all-seeing doom.”

  Gisved’s lips tighten into a frown. It is the only emotion he has shown.

  “Come, my poor, defeated king,” coos your mother, resting a huge hand atop his head. “This is a celebration of the end of mankind and the beginning of a new and better world.”

  The drums begin to pound and the wine begins to flow heavily. It is a mixture of demonic vintages and priceless wines looted from the cellars of Heimsvak; a one-time celebration of vineyards that no longer exist. Your mother gluttonously pours wine into her mouth from a huge golden chalice and lets it flow over her breasts and drip onto Gisved.

  “Stand up, Bjornssen,” you command the defeated king. He lifts his head from the floor and looks at you with confusion. You swig potent hell-brewed mead and pass your goblet to him. “You drink with my mother and I tonight. You are the guests of honor.”

  Despite the grim circumstances, both kings drink heavily, perhaps seeking comfort in the strong drink. A feast is served in honor of the two men and they do not even bother to wonder about the meat they are eating. They toast and smile as they drink more and more, forgetting their worries as your various monstrous generals laugh at Bjornssen’s bawdy jokes and hang on every word of Gisved’s haunted tales of life in the mountains of Lapontin. You and your mother dote upon them and before long they are sitting in your laps like children in the laps of their mothers. You kiss Bjornssen’s head and stroke his chest protectively.

  It is nearing midnight, when you feel the presence of Zhibbareth in your mind. It is the signal you have been waiting for.

  “We should retire upstairs,” you say to Bjornssen. “There is a bed waiting for us?”

  “For… us?” He looks at you with drunken surprise.

  “Oh, yes,” you coo. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a king.”

  “Come along, Gisved,” says your mother, climbing the stairs beside you and taking the hand of the drunken Lapontin king. The lights are low in the bedroom, revealing two gargantuan beds purpose-built for tonight’s festivities. Bjornssen is completely under your spell as you lead him to one bed and Gisved totally obedient to your mother.

  You coo softly, nuzzling your face against Bjornssen. He winces as you stroke his injured ribs, but his hiss of pain becomes a gasp of pleasure as your huge hand massages his trousers. You feel an admirable hardness straining beneath the fabric.

  “Oh, my handsome warrior king,” you coo, letting your breasts press against him through your gown. “One more drink?”

  “Y-yes,” he says, seeming tiny compared to your giant body. “For courage.”

  “For courage? I like that.” You chuckle softly as you take the vial out of the golden box. The glass tube is filled with black liquid. You remove the stopper and pour it into a cup of wine. You stir it gently and pass the cup to Bjornssen. Your mother hands a similar concoction to Gisved. You exchange a glance with her and a knowing smile.

  “Drink up,” says your mother to Gisved.

  The pale, slender man tips back his cup and gulps down its content. A moment later, Bjornssen chugs his own cup. You kiss him, tasting the sweetness on the fallen king’s lips. His tongue thrusts against yours and you moan with desire. The taste in his mouth is so wonderful, so inviting.

  “Zhibbareth,” you gasp.

  Bjornssen pulls back, wide-eyed, perhaps sensing something is wrong. Gisved pulls back from your mother in alarm and actually gets off the enormous bed he is sharing with her. He loosens his collar and looks from you to Bjornssen.

  “They have poisoned us,” croaks Gisved.

  “Bitch,” gasps Bjornssen, grabbing a handful of your gown.

  “Not a poison,” you say. “It was an elixir to open your body up to the one true God of this earth.”

  Bjornssen tries to pull away and you pin him down to the bed with one giant hand on his chest. Gisved runs for the door and collapses to his knees, retching out thin strands of black liquid. Your mother scoops him up and tosses him back into the bed.

  It is too late for them to escape. The two kings writhe upon the beds and suffer agonizing transformations as they are inhabited by the living will of Zhibbareth. Their flesh bulges and rips their clothing, their faces distort as their skin blackens, and their arms and legs become twined masses of tentacles that drip with black slime. Their cocks swell immensely until they are large enough to satisfy you and your mother.

  “All hail Zhibbareth,” you mother murmurs, not even waiting for Gisved’s transformation to complete before taking him into her mouth and sucking lustily.

  You watch her slurping and bobbing her head on the writhing black column of the Great One’s cockflesh. Beside you on your bed, Bjornssen’s transformation is nearly complete. He resembles a huge, one-eyed black octopus with an immense cock dangling from his body.

  His singular red eye gazes upon you and he launches himself at you, warm tentacles tearing away your gown with ease and binding your bulging breasts. Tiny black mouths open on two of the tentacles and they latch to your nipples, sucking greedily at your cream as this fragmentary creature of Zhibbareth guides its bulging cock to your hot quim. You feed his writhing member into your pussy. You arch and moan with pleasure as the tentacles wrap around you tightly and the blackened octopus begins to thrust in and out of your cunt.

  You and your mother are soon both being vigorously fucked; you on your back, caressing the avatar of Zhibbareth and your mother on her hands and knees, her huge ass mounted by the creature as its black cock squelches in and out of her slippery cunt. The sounds of moaning and slurping and beastly panting fill the room as your God claims his two brides on the night of his triumph. You know his plan well. In your womb and the fertile womb of your mother these fragments of Zhibbareth will sow their seed and form two sons. One will rule the north of this world and one the south. Two princes for two queens. And they will provide you with armies to lead into the underworld.

  It may take many years, but the depths of the abyss will belong to Zhibbareth as well.

  You feel the glistening cock begin to shudder and Zhibbareth’s hot cum gushes deep inside you and triggers waves of ecstasy. You feel the formation of an heir to the Great One inside your womb. Your adventure long ago reached an end. You do not care. The world belongs to the two queens of Ctharne and their dark god.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  The drider’s mate ending

  You mend the chain shirt with precise pinches of the calipers, repairing the damage inflicted by that awful warrior that struck Drizzen with an axe. The chain mail protected your beloved, of course, and you and Drizzen feasted on the foolish warrior. The man was half-orc and claimed to be a warrior in service of the Great One. Threats of retribution were on his lips as he died and you drank his blood. You did not pay such threats much mind at the time, but in quiet moments you worry that your home here in Drizzen’s burrow may be discovered by the Great One’s numerous minions.

  Your ovipositor throbs with need. You have a full clutch of eggs swelling your abdomen and still Drizzen has found no vessel for your eggs. Perhaps, you think, you should join him on more hunts.

  The sound of scuttling at the burrow entrance informs you that your beloved has returned. You scurry to me meet him, your bare gray breasts bouncing and your mandibles spread in
a smile that most would find horrifying. Drizzen enters the burrow and you see a wrapped figure across his back.

  “You’ve caught another feeder?” You ask. “We still have two hanging—“

  “No, my beloved Drazuna,” says Drizzen, taking your hands and kissing you. “I have found a vessel at last.”

  He tosses the bound figure to the floor and you hear a muffled, but distinctly feminine moan. The tightly-wrapped woman struggles within the webs that wrap her body. You slice open her bindings without hesitation, exposing a plump, dark-haired human woman clad in rags.

  “Noo,” she moans at the sight of you. “No, gods, please help me!”

  You help her by pulling away the last of the wrapping. Your sharp claws tear open her filthy clothing and expose her soft breasts and plump thighs. She tries to twist away beneath you and you pin her arms down with your powerful forelegs.

  “Do not fight it,” says Drizzen, leaning over the young woman. “This is an honor. You will carry the eggs of Dazuna.”

  The woman mewls and fights against you as your ovipositor curls from beneath your segmented abdomen. The tapered and drips with milky white slime as you press it to the furry entrance of the woman’s cunt. She tries to twist away as she feels your ovipositor at her sex. You savor that moment as her body’s heat radiates against your ovipositor. You thrust the tip into her, stretching her pink folds and opening her tight channel. You push the tip deeper. The woman gasps and her eyes seem to roll back in her head so that they are showing only white.

  The feeling as your ovipositor reaches the woman’s womb is a pleasure like none you have ever felt before. All those eggs filling your body begin to release. Slime and eggs pump into the depths of her cunt and stuff her warm, human womb. You push more and more into her as her belly begins to bulge just above her pelvis.

  “Ohhhhhhh,” you moan and shudder, spurting more eggs deep into her womb. You pull the ovipositor slowly out of her slime-stuffed cunt, a few gooey eggs dribbling out. You scoop them up and push them carefully into the woman’s anus one at a time. She groans as you stuff your ovipositor into her bowels and begin to squirt more of your eggs into her ass.

  Beside you, Drizzen’s cock has grown to full length and he begins to rub it against the woman’s face and her heaving breasts. You kiss your lover, locking mandibles and swirling black tongues together. The last spasm of pleasure pumps the last of your eggs deep into the woman’s ass. She is bloated with your clutch, her human body distended by the quantity of eggs stuffing her pussy and ass.

  “I have longed for this day for many moons,” says Drizzen as you scuttle out of his way.

  He turns the helpless woman over and mounts her from behind. She seems so small and pale beneath his beautiful black body. He rams his pink cock into her pussy. Her head jerks up and she makes a strange gagging sound as Drizzen thrusts faster and faster and sends the woman’s fat tits swinging beneath her.

  “Yes, my love,” you moan, watching him and playing with your human breasts and nipples. “Fuck her human cunt. Flood my clutch with your seed!”

  “So tight,” groans Drizzen. “Cannot hold back!”

  “Do not hold back!” You cry, pressing against him and kissing him as he buries his cock deep into her cunt and empties his seed onto your eggs. You reach beneath him with your human hands, helping to ease his cock out of her flooded pussy. You stroke him with both hands and keep him hard as you guide Drizzen’s cock to her stretched ass. He pushes past her ring and into her egg-filled bowels.

  “So good,” he moans. “Even tighter than her cunt. This vessel is ripe for our clutch.”

  “She is so fat and ripe,” you agree as he plunges his cock in and out of her ass. She moans and drools, driven mad by being used as your vessel. Just as well, the madness will spare her the unfortunate end she faces.

  “Cumming,” gasps Drizzen.

  “Yes! Fill her ass too!” You stroke his shaft and feel it jerking in your grasp as he pumps his cum into her bowels.

  “So good,” he gasps, pulling his cock out of her creamed ass. His member slowly retreats into his carapace.

  You kiss him and stroke his chest. “Thank you, my love. Thank you for bringing this gift to me.”

  “To us, my love,” he replies.

  Together, you spin the egg-filled woman in your webs and wrap her tightly. You carry her to the hatching room and seal the entrance with a plug of your webbing. In a few days, your young will hatch and devour the meal you have left for them.

  “May there be many more vessels to carry many more clutches,” you murmur, exhausted by the egg-laying and the web-spinning.

  Your evil life has begun. Your former life is forgotten. Your adventure is at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Attack

  You fumble for your weapons despite the haze of musk the wug exudes. Your fingers wrap around the grip of your sword and you draw it, the kirana flashing like a sliver of moonlight in your hand.

  But it’s too late. Too late.

  You never could have dreamed the immense bulk of the primal wug could move so quickly. The monster is unconstrained by its brethren’s upright gait. It lunges at you, wide legs propelling it through the air. You scream as the monster slams against you, bearing you down to the mud. Your sword flies wild, spinning end over end to sink blade first into the muck, hilt quivering in the air with a ringing sound like a bell.

  You gasp, desperately trying to struggle from beneath the immense wug. But the monster merely shifts his weight, pinning you to the ground. A talon hooks into your shirt and with brutish haste it shreds the tough leathers. You cry out as his claws nick your skin, drawing long slices of red which instantly swell with blood.

  He's close. So close. You can feel the heat of his stomach pressing against your bared back. You moan as your breasts throb with a sudden need. The spell of the shaman sinks into you at the proximity of the immense wug, stirring feelings you cannot deny. Lust wells up. Thick, animal desire to be mated. Your cunt slickens and heats with need. Your fingers curl, clawing at the muck as you gasp, feeling the wedge of his cock press against you. You strangle a moan as his length runs down your back.

  The wug rams his nose against your head. You freeze, breath sticking in your throat. Like a terrified rabbit caught by a dog you quiver with fright as the wug sniffs you, your long brown hair stirring and lifted with his breath.

  The wug breathes out, his breath hot and heavy, rancid and stale. But you inhale deeply, your mind fuzzing from the scent. It becomes harder to concentrate. Beneath the wug, he overpowers you with his presence. His age. How old must this monster be? How many women has he mated with over the years?

  You feel one of his claws again hook into your clothes, this time your skirt and panties. You stir, your body moving on its own, lifting your shapely rear for the monster’s benefit. The Deep One grunts. His razor sharp talon slits the fabric with ease.

  You gasp, feeling the coolness of the wug’s body against your own fevered heat. His cock nestles in the crease of your ass. Your head swims, hazed with an animal’s heat. The season to be bred. You feel your insides stir with molten lust. You need to be filled. Need something to calm this need inside of you.

  You arch, presenting the heart shape of your ass to the monstrous wug. He croaks and aligns his cock, and enters you.

  Bliss explodes behind your eyes. “Oooooh!” you moan, feeling his turgid length. Inch after inch, he sheathes himself in you easily. “Mnnnn! Yes,” you purr, stirring lazily in the mud, your eyes lidded with pleasure.

  Your waking mind recedes beneath the instinct of being bred as the monster hilts within you. and you gasp as your fleshy bum is bared to the monster’s gaze. You’re aware of things, but don’t seem to be a part of them. Your panting breaths as the wug begins to eagerly rut you. How your immense breasts swing beneath you. Your voice wails and moans, nonsense words with no meaning other than to express your pleasure at being b
red.

  The drums beat through the night. They pound through your body, matching your pulse. Their tempo rises. You thrust more desperately. Your fingers claw at your lover’s hide, nails catching on barnacles, scraping at slimy mucus. You keen and babble. Moan and gasp.

  The wug does not seem capable of speech. His only purpose is to rut with you. To breed you. To fill you with the seed worthy of a goddess. Yes. A goddess. You imagine yourself, wide hipped and pregnant. Your breasts dribbling cream lapped by eager wugs. Your children. Your tribe. They bow to you. Obey you. Fight for the honor of breeding your cunt. But only one deserves such honor. And he does it with a single minded fixation. He saws into you, driving you into the mud with his length. You move against him, welcoming him inside you. Begging for him to cum even as your orgasms thunder through your hypersensitive flesh.

  “Yes!” you recall screaming. Your hair matted with mud, flying about you wildly. “Yes! Fuck! Make me her! Make me your goddess! Croaha! Breeed me!”

  The drums rise. No break in their frantic drubbing. Your body, perfectly formed, breasts of a mother goddess heaving, hips wide enough to birth a race thrusting, stiffens. Arches. The primordial wug thrusts a last time. He throws back his wide head, his immense mouth flying open with a mighty roar. Cum thunder into your, basting the heat of your inside. Your eyes roll back, your mouth flies open, and bliss suffuses you as the shaman’s efforts and the island’s curse fulfill your purpose.

  Yes. A purpose. Even as the wug begins to move inside of you again, you seem to separate. Your body continues its mad animal romp with the primordial monster in the mud, but your thoughts seem to become filled. Knowledge pours into you with a sudden certainty.

  Croaha. The womb of the earth. Born into a woman. Becoming the carrier of the wug race. Already you feel the wug’s cum begin to solidify into beads of eggs. No normal woman could bring such things to term. But you know you shall.