“So it will be,” you intone. “We proceed to the undercroft!”
You, Yassa, and Elizabet walk ahead of the other scouts, huntresses, pathfinders, and lore-keepers down to the steps to the dank chambers beneath the great hall. Food and curing pelts are kept down here and the smell of pickled meat is in the air. You unchain the door that opens into the natural underground cavern beneath the great hall and Yassa sparks a torch. Several of the other women light torches as well and you step into the cool, dark space that seems endless.
“Bellana, step forward,” you say, calling out to one of the huntresses who came with you from Ctharne. “Bring your son to us.”
A pale, dark-eyed woman with a dark braid of hair woven with red threads steps forward. She is lean, almost to the point of gauntness, but there is something beautiful about the hardness of her face. She cries out, “Enry! Enryyyyyyy!”
Her voice echoes in the darkness. She has to call several more times before you hear a shuffling and the huge mycobull steps slowly out of the darkness. It stands half-again as tall as any of the women, its shape roughly humanoid, with extremely pale flesh, like that of a mushroom’s stalk, and a wide-brimmed cap of slightly floppy red atop its head. The underside of this cap sports find gills that emit musky spores that drift in a cloud around it.
You and the other women cover your noses and mouths with your hands. The mycobull has a strange, almost peaceful face with tiny black eyes and a lipless line for a mouth. Its arms, however, bulge with fibrous muscles and its forward hunch gives it a menacing posture. The mycobull is certainly male, with a thick cock of white flesh dangling between its legs.
“Mmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa,” he keens, approaching Bellana. Tears wet her eyes and she strokes its face.
“Enry, you have been chosen,” she says. “You will make yourself a brother or sister today.”
You motion to Elizabet and she steps forward. The mycobull watchers her come closer. His reaction is unreadable even as she slips out of her ascension gown, revealing her firm breasts, lean body, and slender hips. You note that she has been purified by Yassa, hairless, her mound marked with a red-painted stag’s head that resembles the shape of ovaries. You also notice that her delicate folds glisten with arousal. She is excited for this moment!
Yassa steps forward holding one of the fertility collars the handmaidens were forced to wear on Ctharne. She lifts Elizabet’s golden hair and places it around Elizabet’s slender neck. The charm clicks shut and the young scout moans softly, certainly feeling the tingling of the magic take hold in her body.
“May you take the seed and nurture it,” you say solemnly and the others murmur in agreement.
You drive your torch between two stones. Several others follow suit, creating a circle of living, golden light to illuminate Elizabet and the mycobull. You and the others step back. Bellana and Yassa remain at your side. Elizabet stands before the huge monster, her nostrils flaring and her eyes widening as she inhales the spores of the pale beast.
She reaches out a trembling hand and caresses the arm, up to the shoulder, and cradles the stalk-like face of the mycobull. It makes a sound almost like a whimper. She leans onto her tiptoes to kiss his face, but he suddenly picks her up in his massive arms. His fungal cock swells and pulses with corruption. He lifts her as easily as a doll and impales her tight pussy on the throbbing hardness of his cock. She wails with pleasure that echoes through the cavern. He works his hips, fucking her steadily, but not roughly, making her pert tits shake with each thrust.
“Ohhhhh, yes,” she moans, ecstasy on her face as she is taken by the massive creature.
“When you know the true blessing of his seed, you will feel it,” you say. “You may return to us. Until then, you will remain with Enry in the undercroft, serving his needs.”
“Y-yes,” she cries, her body arching in his arms. “Yes, fuck me. Breed meeee!”
The mycobull grunts, slamming her down to the floor, pushing her legs up as he moves atop her and fucks her even deeper. She wails in pleasure. His huge cock slides in and out of her as her copious orgasmic fluid sluices onto the floor beneath her.
You place a hand on Bellana’s shoulder. She is staring, wide-eyed, somewhere between adoration and horror on her face.
“He will enjoy this,” you murmur. “No harm will come. It is an honor.”
“Y-yes,” she says. “Yes, huntmother.”
The mycobull bellows with pleasure, throwing back his head as his huge cock throbs visibly. Pale seed overflows young Elizabet’s stretched quim and she croons with ecstasy. You cannot tell if her pleasure is simply the natural ecstasy of being fucked by such a massive cock or the sound of insemination. It doesn’t matter. Tradition says that Elizabet must spend at least a night with Enry and she seems quite eager to continue.
With a gesture, you and the others file out of the cavern, locking the door behind you as a new huntress is made.
It is the new way you have created.
THE END
<< START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX
Magic
There is no time to talk things out with these freaks. You do not want to kill them and you’re not sure you could take all four of them anyway, so you’ll have to rely on your limited spell casting experience. You remember a spell you once read in the family codex that was in Gerbric, something about turning your foe into a mouse.
You bring your hands up and splay the fingers of both into casting posture. “Radabra Ilyabra, Solaman minimox!”
There is a faint puff of smoke from each of your fingers. The men stop running towards you, blink, and begin to laugh. They roar with laughter and hold their bellies.
“Ya tryin’ to put a hex on us, girly?” The bartender laughs.
“She thinks she’s a sorceress!” One of the men from the bar barks with annoying laughter.
His companion opens his mouth to say something, his eyes go wide, and suddenly he shrinks down to the size of a potato. Not even a big potato, a rather small potato. He scampers out from under his coat, as naked and ugly as a hairless rat.
The spell didn’t turn him into a mouse, it shrunk him to the size of a mouse. His companions follow moments later, their clothes collapsing into piles and the naked, tiny men crawling out from beneath tent-sized sleeves and towering boots. They may be the size of mice, but they are not nearly so swift. You scoop them all up and deposit them on the warped countertop of the bar. Your breasts jiggle in your bodice as you lean over the counter and look at them.
It is hard not to laugh as they cling together. Their pale, flabby bodies are unhealthy, one of them seems to have the stub of a tail, and all four of them have strange, slender penises and furry testicles. You nudge the bartender in the chest with your fingertip and he moans with fear.
“Well, looks like I am a sorceress,” you laugh.
“Please, milady,” pleads one of the men. “Don’t squish us! We only do what the goat commands!”
“You are going to tell me all about my sister,” you say. You lean your face close to them. “She has golden eyes like mine and her hair is all white. Did she come through your town?”
“Y-yes,” says the terrified bartender. “We didn’t hurt her though. We chased after her and she… she had a bow that she shot with one hand. She killed Fordan.”
“No, no,” says another one of the men. “I’m Fordan. She killed Harbrek.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t Fordan?” The other man from the bar suggests.
“Do you know which way she was headed?” You interrupt.
“Up to the high hill,” croaks the old man. “Only one way down to the cave and that’s through the temple. Even if you can get around it, the forest fools your mind, magic or something, and you end up back at the temple.”
“And that’s where the goat is?”
“Yes,” says one of the men from the bar. “And he has all our women there. And his daughters. He keeps ‘em, he does. Raises ‘em up and has babies with ‘em too.”
> “Ew,” you say, wrinkling your nose.
“We weren’t always like that,” says the old man. “That’s what my dad told me, but he died long ago. Before the goat came.”
“How long has he been here?” You ask.
The men all agree the goat has ruled as long as they can remember. The bartender explains, “He’s everyone’s ‘pa except for old Fordan here.”
“I’m Fordan,” repeats the man who claimed to be Fordan earlier.
“I don’t care what your names are,” you say. “How do I beat this goat creature?”
They exchange looks with one another.
“Nobody can beat the goat,” says the tiny bartender. “Someone would have by now. He gets in your head and tells you what to do and you’re a girl so you’ll just end up like all the others.”
“One of his brides,” says one of the men from the bar.
“Having babies,” says another.
“He has a weakness,” croaks the tiny old man. He looks up, his one good eye trained on your breasts straining in your blouse. He runs his pink tongue over his lips. “I’ll tell ya if ya turn me back.”
“Not going to happen,” you say, not mentioning that you have no idea how to turn them back. You think it wears off after a few hours, but you’re not completely certain.
“Alright.” The old man takes a step towards you. “Stuff me down your blouse.”
“What?” You laugh.
“Put me down in those glorious milkers,” he says. “Just a few minutes. I ain’t known the touch of a woman in thirty winters. Stuff me down those soft beauties. Please. I’ll tell you how to beat that goat, surely.”
“He doesn’t know,” scoffs one of the other men.
“Yeah, put me down your blouse instead,” offers one of the others.
If these shrunken fools truly know a way to beat this so-called goat, you had better find it out. You can think of better ways to persuade them to talk than stuffing one of them down your shirt.
What do you do?
Accept the tiny old man's offer
Threaten them to get the information
Repay the ogre with your breasts
You lean forward and allow the weight of your ample breasts to strain the laces of your soaking wet bodice. Premble eyes your creamy cleavage as you run your hands up your hips and around to your breasts. You cradle and squeeze your soft mounds through your bodice.
"How would you like these to repay you, Premble?" You ask, giving your tits another squeeze. "Don't you want my big, warm, soft tits wrapped around your cock?"
Premble watches you squeeze and playfully lift your breasts within the confines of your bodice. Your twin mounds shudder and lift with each squeeze. The ogre seems almost mesmerized by what you are doing.
"Naughty girl," titters your mother inside your mind. "Tit wanking an ogre? What a positively lewd decision! And I love it! Have fun, dear."
"Yes, mother," you reply with your mind.
"I... I want... herald, I feel breasts?"
"Ooh, want to feel me up first? Alright, big boy, you can have a nice, good feel. Let’s get comfortable somewhere.”
The ogre takes your hand and almost pulls you off your feet in his haste to take you deeper into his cave. You arrive in a room that seems to be a kitchen, with a crude clay oven and an oversized wooden table and chairs. The ogre plops down heavily into one of the chairs and even sitting down he is above your eye level.
“I think these need to dry off,” you say, plucking at your blouse. “I’d better get out of them.”
“Yes! Yes!” The ogre claps his hands together like a child about to be shown his favorite toy.
You remove your waterproofed backpack and your weapons first and set them aside. The ogre licks its lips as you discard your heavy leather jacket and begin to unlace your bodice. Your bra has been rendered nearly transparent by the water and your erect nipples are plainly visible straining inside the cups. The ogre groans with desire, rubbing its hand at the huge bulge in its lap as you wiggle out of your soaking wet skirt and slip off your panties to reveal the tiny patch of hair and the throbbing rune above your cunt.
“Oh, herald, so beautiful,” groans the ogre. “Make me happy.”
“I think you’re going to get a lot happier,” you say, winking at the ogre as you unclasp the bra and free your big, soft breasts. You are still soaking wet and your fat pink nipples are almost painfully hard because. You pout your lower lip and saunter closer to the ogre, saying, “I’m so cold. Especially these big, soft breasts. Do you think there is some way you could warm them up? I don’t—Ahh!”
The ogre scoops you up easily and sits you on his lap. You feel the huge bulge of his cock beneath your ass as he takes hold of your breasts with both of his enormous hands and begins to squeeze and caress them with surprising gentleness. His big fingers catch each of your nipples and he gives you a double pinch. You gasp and wince as pain shoots from your nipples through your body. The giant chuckles.
“Not so rough,” you scold. “Or this herald is going to take away your fun.”
“Very gentle, promise,” he says and pulls your tits against his big, ugly face.
He moans with pleasure as he smothers himself in your soft mounds. You press them against his big nose and rub them back and forth against his mouth. He sticks out his fat tongue and runs it over your breasts, smearing saliva across your nipples. He sucks at a nipple at first, but opens his huge mouth wider and sucks an entire breast into the warmth and wetness of his mouth. The touch of his teeth gives you pause, but he is true to his word and is very gentle.
While Premble is sucking your breasts, you fumble in his lap and manage to untie the rope he is using as a belt. You work the laces of his trousers and you feel his hot, hard cockflesh against your fingers and beneath your bottom. You wiggle against him, rubbing the soft mounds of your ass and your crack against his cock as he soaks your breasts in ogre spit.
“I think it’s time you feel these around your big cock,” you say, squeezing your breasts and slapping them back and forth against his face.
“Ohhh, yes, herald,” he moans. “So hard for tits. Let me feel.”
He releases you from his huge hands and you slide off his lap and onto the floor. His cock is massive and misshapen, with half of his cockhead bulging out like a mace and the other half tapering, his shaft is covered with thick veins and strange lumps. You stroke him in your hands, amazed by the massive size of his bollocks. You hold your breasts in your hands and lean forward to rub them against his cock. The precum leaking from his fat cockslit helps to lubricate your mounds as you rub them over his tip and guide his cock between them.
“Ohhhhhh so warm,” he moans. “And soft. Like pillow.”
His cock more than fills the cleavage between your breasts. You squeeze your softness tight around his lumpy hardness, using your hold body to rock up and down and wank him between your mounds. His cock warms your breast. Your nipples rub against his flabby legs and belly as you move up and down his shaft. You look up at him, panting with effort and grinning as you ride your body up and down his lump fucktool.
“Ohhhh, so good,” he moans, resting a hand on your shoulder.
“Yeah? You like it?” You squeeze him tighter between your tits, seeming to urge more of his precum out in a steady, oily trickle. You can’t resist dipping your head down and running your tongue over his lopsided lollipop. His precum has a sweet taste, almost like thin honey, and you give his slit several licks as you massage him with your breasts.
“You make seed shoot out,” he moans, his tongue hanging at the edge of his mouth. “So nice. I shoot out seed. Ohhhhhh!”
There is no avoiding it. You work him faster and faster between your tits, panting with exertion until his purple-capped cock bursts and sprays out a geyser of white cum. It splashes over your breasts, spatters your face, and drips between your mounds in a hot, gooey flow. The pungent musk of his seed fills your nostrils and the last few throbbing pumps p
our out in a warm flood that spills over your tummy and down to your thighs. You feel cum in your hair, on your shoulders, and even dripping down your back.
“Oh, herald, you please me so good,” chuckles the ogre.
“Well, you’ve made quite a mess,” you say, scooping some of the cum off your breasts and watching it drip from your fingers. “I don’t suppose you have a wash tub?”
“Better,” he says, standing up awkwardly and tucking his cock back into his trousers. “I show you spring. You take bath. I dry clothes.”
He grunts and walks you to a warm spring of mineral-rich water. You sink into the steamy water, the tension melting from your muscles. Premble watches for several seconds and you almost invite him to join you, but he walks off mumbling something before you have the chance.
You recline in the pool and play with your clit until you have the satisfaction you craved while you were pleasuring the ogre’s massive cock between your breasts. You grind your hand against your clit and pump three fingers in and out of your pussy and, as you are cumming, you hear your mother laughing in your head.
Premble brings you your clothes and once you are clean you get dressed. You find the ogre in the kitchen and he presents you a parcel of salt-dried fish for you to take as a gift.
“How thoughtful,” you say. “The Great One will not forget the way you honor his herald.”
“Thanks,” says the ogre, smiling sweetly. “You honor me with your mouth.”
You lean up on your tiptoes and give him a kiss on the cheek. Premble leads you through a winding tunnel that slopes gradually up to the surface. You arrive at a rocky expanse of open land facing a dead-looking forest.
“Beyond those trees,” says Premble, “is Field of Holes. Beware the Ullek. It eats everything, even heralds.”
Ullek? That triggers a memory, some creature you have researched before, but it was not called an Ullek. Something similar. You thank Premble with a hug around his huge neck and a kiss on the cheek.
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 53
