Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  You hear a hiss and risk another glance at the monstrous woman. The lamia looks displeased, the face you were certain as beautiful seemingly twisted with demonic wrath.

  “Silly thing,” she hisses. “I suppose we must do this the hard way.”

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Parley

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  Parley

  You swallow your fears and take a step towards the Wurllmek. You hold your hands above your head as you shout up to the creature.

  "We mean you no harm! We are sorry for intruding upon your land!"

  The Wurllmek closes and opens its mandibles slowly and a strange hiss escapes from his glistening mouth. Is this how it speaks? Is it answering you?

  "What are you doing?" Kara whispers with concern. "You can't talk to something like this."

  The worm bends down lower, slime dripping from its jaws and splashing all around you. Its rows of black eyes are like shiny buttons sewn to its grotesque face. The mandibles open wider. Kara begins to pull at your arm. She is shouting something, but all you can hear is the hissing sound of the Wurllmek as you realize what a terrible mistake you have made. You stare up into that yawning, wet, pink entrance lined with so many teeth as it falls upon you.

  Kara is right. You can't talk to something like this.

  Your sister screams and leaps out of the way as the huge mandibles slam closed, skewering you on the Wurllmek's chitinous jaws. You try to breathe and you can't. It draws you into its toothy mouth and you disappear into hot, fetid darkness and gutted agony. The last sound you hear, other than the gurgling gullet of the worm, is your sister's screams receding into an eternal distance.

  You have fallen into the jaws of a terrifying monster and perished. Your adventure is at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Pay with your cunt

  The wug’s words ring in your head, travel like a jolt through your body and buries itself deep in your throbbing cunt. How many times have you read the passages in the codex on the wugs? How many times have you flipped to those weathered pages, studying the figures drawn on the pages with longing? The images capturing the depravity of the barns? The words describing the fates of the women entrapped by the amphibious monsters?

  The temptation is too great. Your feet are moving before you know it. You ignore Kara’s cry. Your eyes are fixed on the painted war leader.

  You stop before him, suddenly self conscious. But there’s no backing out now. You swallow deeply. “I offer my cunt.” The war leader’s dark eyes seem to glow and his stomach tints a deeper crimson. “But!” you quickly add. “You cannot cum in me.”

  The war leader flicks his tongue across his rubbery lips and then nods. “Show pussy,” he growls, already beginning to stroke his pink shaft.

  Your heart in your throat, you do as he bids. You pull up the hem of your skirt to bare your panties. You hastily pull them aside lest the creature see the damp sport forming, but his nostrils twitch as your quim is bared to the warm night air, the small triangle of hair pointing to your cunt like an arrow.

  The war leader lumbers forward purposefully. His eyes never waver from your cunt. His cock continues to grow, sliding out of his abdominal slit grotesquely. A sudden uncertainty seizes you. You back up, but the hard trunk of a tree blocks your path.

  The wug halts before you. His sloping head is level with your stomach. Without thinking, you squat, bending your knees until your thighs are well apart and you’re more on the creature’s level. He croaks his approval, the guttural sound echoing in the strangely silent swamp. Then he steps forward. He sheathes himself in you with a sudden motion.

  It happened so quick there wasn’t a second to react. You can only gasp as the cold sensation slides deep within you, his slimy cock easily parting your slick folds and driving deep within your cunt.

  “O-oooh!” Your lashes flutter. You’ve lain with several in your life, but the cold flesh of the wug’s cock is something novel. Your heated tunnel clutches at the cold length. Not long, but the wug’s cock is shaped to part the resistant flesh of your inner walls with ease, and thrusts deep inside of you.

  Then the wug is moving. With a sharp purposefulness he drives himself in and out of your sopping cunt. “A-ah!” you gasp. It’s nothing like your fantasies yet better by far.

  “Show breasts,” the wug croaks.

  Your hands tremble as you undo your jacket. Your breasts pop free, your nipples pink bullets. “L-like this?”

  In answer the wug latches on. You cry out, his wide mouth swallowing a good half of your fat breasts. His tongue rolls across your torrid flesh, brushing your nipples and sending jolts of toe curling pleasure through you.

  “O-oh gods! M-more!” You clutch your diminutive lover, pulling him deeper inside you. The wug grunts around your breast. His webbed hands grab its sister and squeeze and mold it. “Ooooh!”

  The wug pulls back his mouth, smacking his rubbery lips. “Good breasts. Carry much cream.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  The wug nods. He shoves you against the tree, the rough bark catching at your pants and shirt. You hear fabric tear with a ripping sound but all your attention focuses on the hands on your breasts and the cock in your cunt. The strange sensation overpowers you. With a cry you cum, your hands clutching at the wugs back.

  You feel the eyes of the tribe watching you mate with their leader. Several stroke themselves openly. You bask in their attentions. Their desire fuels your own. You rut against the wug, feeling his wedge of a cock drive deeper inside of you.

  “Seeding soon,” the wug croaks.

  You barely hear him over the smack of his hips. “I-I-“

  “Cum!”

  “W-wait! No! Please! Wet-“

  It’s too late. The war leader arches, his mouth opening wide and inhuman pupils dilating. You wail as you feel his oily cum spill inside of you. A rumble rises from the watching wugs. A cry of horror from Kara, cut off sharply. You don’t think about it. Your despair turns to pleasure as the curse of the island takes hold. The wug’s cum filling your womb.

  You collapse in the mud, mewling with pleasure. The war leader pulls back his cock, his cum dribbling from your cunt. You feel something around your neck tighten, and look down at a leash of vine, its end in the hand of the war leader. The wug tugs, and obediently you stand.

  “Come. Come village. Barn.”

  A shudder of joy works through you. “Yes,” you murmur adoringly. “Master.”

  The war leader croaks and pats your head. You glow with his approval, and willingly follow the frog man into the swamp. The rest of the tribe closes in about you. Many taking the opportunity to touch your warm flesh. You spot Kara not far, a collar around her own neck, her eyes filled with the same love as you for your monstrous masters.

  Leashed, you walk onward. And the darkness of the swamp swallows you both.

  CONTINUE >

  Have Kara distract your mother while you strike

  “We have to end this,” you say, glancing at the numerous guards watching from the edges of the vast chamber. “Quickly and decisively.”

  You bump against Kara’s shoulder, keeping your guards up together. Some of the warriors are advancing cautiously towards you and your sister. You mother’s patience seems to be running out, as if she could charge in at any moment.

  “Distract her,” you mutter to Kara. “Keep her busy. I’ll do what has to be done.”

  “I love you, sister,” she says, sharing a long glance and the knowledge that you are both unlikely to survive the next few minutes.

  Kara lets out a high-pitched war cry, charges fearlessly at your mother, and strikes. Your mother deflects the blow without making contact with Kara and your sister rolls out of the path of your mother’s rather ponderous counterattack. Your mother’s enormous arms and muscular shoulders betray her swings and allow Kara, nimble despite her weakened
state, to avoid the strikes. Your mother’s wide swings also smash several of the armored warriors to the ground and cause the other’s to back well off, ceding the fight to you and your sister.

  There are not many spells that would allow you to deal with a foe as large and powerful as your mother without slaying her outright. You hope you remember the incantation correctly for Frozen Moment as you splay your fingers and begin the casting. You feel the magical force gathering in your fingers as your mother’s fight with Kara grows more desperate. Your sister opens several bloody slashes on your mother’s arms and legs, but your mother jabs a fist into Kara’s midsection and ends your sister’s dancing battle. Kara lands heavily on the tiles, perilously close to the edge of the pit. Your mother is atop her in a moment, caging Kara’s shoulders and throat and pressing down hard enough that she seems intent on crushing the life from your sister.

  You see consciousness fading from Kara’s eyes as the spell slips from your fingers. Your mother does not simply freeze; she stops completely, her white hair frozen in the flow of air and the blood trickling from her arms and legs seemingly lacquered to her wounded limbs. Time may be frozen for your mother, but her overall momentum is not. She is overbalanced in her fury to crush the life from your sister and as you watch she begins to tip forward. Frozen with a snarl on her face, her violet-flecked full of hate for her own daughter, your mother tilts past Kara’s head and plunges into the black hole.

  For a moment, you feel as frozen as your mother, staring as the giantess disappears into the void. Then you feel the explosive release of magical energy that signals your mother’s destruction by the very god she worships. A moment later, the temple begins to shake around you. Stonework begins to plummet from the ceiling high above, landing on the tiles with the force of cannon shots and sending the warriors scattering from the chamber. Fissures begin to open in the floor and the pit begins to grow larger.

  Just as Kara starts to slide over the edge, still gasping for breath, you grab your sister’s hands and pull her back onto the tiles.

  “We have to go,” you cry, yanking her to her feet.

  She spits blood, nods with determination, takes two steps, and collapses to her knees. You pick her up and together you begin to run from the crumbling throne room. You gather your things as quickly as you can, but there is no time to dress. You see the massive throne tip over and crash through a new hole in the floor. Massive cracks begin to appear in the walls and reaching up to the ceiling. Masonry dust fills the vastness of the chamber like smoke and billows out into the hall as you and Kara flee for your lives.

  Path after path is cut off by collapsing tunnels and fissures opening in the floors. Walkways and staircases, filled with fleeing warriors, handmaidens, and unspeakable monsters, crumble before your eyes, plunging those fleeing the temple into the ever-widening pit. By good fortune or by fate, you and Kara manage to avoid such a fate and run from the temple just as it gives a final heave and sinks into the ground. The roof of the black edifice sags inward, crushing any who might still be alive, still slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the ground as dust rises in a massive column.

  Panicked monsters and slaves are fleeing through the dust-choked streets of Rhilath. The illusions of the city are fading in the aftermath of the temple’s destruction, leaving a barren landscape of rubble. As you and Kara reach one of the exits of the main plaza, you are greeted by an almost orderly formation of horned warriors, misshapen orcs, and cringing gertlings.

  You and Kara stand there supporting one another, waiting for this large group of armed monsters to take their revenge for the destruction of their temple, your free hands filled with your belongings and your bodies still bare. One of the orcs steps forward and slowly drops to one knee.

  “Surrender,” he grunts, drool spilling from his tusk-filled mouth. “Surrender to wo-men.”

  The other orcs and gertlings step forwards and kneel in surrender. Even the horned warriors toss down their weapons and drop to one knee.

  Other creatures fleeing the city see this large gathering and find other routes of escape. The usefulness of taking this many prisoners is immediately apparent.

  “Put your clothes on,” you say to Kara. She dresses while you step forward and command the attention of the orcs. “We accept your surrender. You will march with us to the southern sea.”

  Some of the orcs and gertlings jabber, apparently translating your declaration to those who do not speak the human tongue. They rise from their knees and look at you expectantly. You cannot help but notice the lust in some of their beady orc eyes. Though they have surrendered, you are naked, and they are used to getting their way with human women. Thankfully, Kara steps forward.

  “Form up!” She shouts. “We march together. Gertlings at the front. You armored things, I am not even certain what race you are, at the rear. Orcs, on the flanks.”

  While she is shouting commands at them, which they obey with surprising alacrity, you quickly pull on your dress and torn bodice, lacing it up as best you can, though it feels as if your breasts might fall free at any moment. You sling the comforting weight of your pack over your shoulders and stuff your pistols into your belt.

  Journeying back across the island with a mixed group of monsters is tense, but in many ways far easier than you expected. You and Kara sleep in shifts, but the monsters, though sometimes looking at you both lasciviously, never do anything untoward. Even the gertlings, rarely obedient creatures, seem completely cowed by the defeat of Zhibbareth. They almost act relieved to have you and Kara to boss them around or send you scouting ahead of your march.

  The horned creatures, apparently naturally solitary, desert your march each time you make camp so that by the morning of the second day there are only orcs and gertlings. You have come to identify the gertlings by their relative heights to each other and the orcs by their unique deformities. The orcs seem to be swamp orcs, a darker green than most orcs that once lived on the mainland, but with mutations apparently caused by their devotion to Zhibbareth. One has numerous red eyes like a spider, another black flesh that sloughs off as if he is decaying, and the largest, the one who spoke to you initially, has a huge scorpion tail with a dangerous-looking barb on the end.

  It is a hot, sunny day on the southern shores of Ctharne when you finally arrive. At first, you think Orsen Castillo has abandoned you, but after a moment you spy Zephyr anchored just offshore. You and Kara march to the head of the group of orcs and gertlings and the boat raises anchor and sails into the shallows. You see that numerous human survivors are gathered on the deck and looking at your prisoners with terror.

  “Kneel,” you command the orcs and gertlings. “Place your hands on the tops of your heads.”

  Not even the largest orc, the one you think of as Scorpion, hesitates to kneel. In their shaggy pelts and loincloths, the orcs and gertlings kneel in the surf. There are ten of the runts with their spindly limbs and fourteen of the orcs. Far too many prisoners to take on the Zephyr and they surely know it.

  Orsen drops anchor in shallower water and climbs down from the boat. He wades ashore, looking warily at the orcs as he approaches you and your sister.

  “This must be Kara,” he says. “Orsen Castillo, at your service.”

  You embrace him, tears in your eyes, for you know this will likely be the last time you will see Orsen.

  “We cannot go with you,” you explain.

  “What? You came to tell me this?” He scoffs. “Why would you do this? Leave these beasts. They can have this land.”

  “No,” says Kara. “We must stay. Our duty is as huntresses and this island is overrun with monsters.”

  “But you must send word to the kings of the human lands,” you continue. “You will take one of these orcs…”

  “I will not!” Orsen protests.

  You motion the scorpion-tailed orc forward.

  “This one speaks like men. He will join you and return to Heimsvak. He will testify to the king of what has happened here, as I
am certain those you saved will do as well.”

  Orsen refuses again. And several more times after that. But you and Kara make him see the sense in your plan of sending him off to Heimsvak with a massive orc on his little ship. You know you are taking a chance, but you help him chain the orc up in the ship’s hold and the scorpion-tailed brute seems willing to obey.

  You watch the Zephyr push off from shore in the afternoon. The survivors watch from the deck as you and Kara wave faintly to them. When the Zephyr is gone, you turn to the orcs and gertlings still kneeling in the surf.

  “On your feet,” you say. “Let’s go. Up to the rise over there. Dry off.”

  You march with the orcs and gertlings up to the bluff that overlooks the sandy beach. You climb upon a boulder to address them. Your heart flutters in your chest as they look up at you expectantly.

  “You and your kind have perpetrated a great evil in service to Zhibbareth,” you begin, your voice sounding small against the crash of the tide. You try to project more, “This misdeed must be answered. Slaughtering you here would avenge what you have done, but leave so many misdeeds unanswered. That is why my sister and I have decided to conscript you. We demand your obedience in the formation of a new force to cleanse this island. You will help us hunt down the monsters that once worshipped at that temple. You will aid us in freeing the humans that were enslaved. If any beast preys upon man or woman on this island, we will slay them.”

  They look at you silently, seemingly in awe.

  “If any of you refuse,” shouts Kara. “Do it now. And we will deal with you.”

  She rests her hand on the hilt of her knife.

  “We will fight,” shouts one of the orcs.

  “We fight!” Agrees another. “Kill monsters!”

  “First,” you say. “We build. Make stone axes and cut down those trees. The rest of you will dig. We will be building a fort here and dugouts for living. This will be our new home until the work is done.