Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  CONTINUE >

  Incubator for the Scylla ending

  Water tinkles with a silvery sound down the rocks and into the pool. Trees shadow the spring from all around, the natural bowl of the rocks forming a deep pool which the pure water overflows in a series of narrow streams. Flowers bloom rich and thickly among the green ivy which clung to the lips of the spring and frame the cliff from which the water issues.

  You’d followed the sound off the hunting path. You could feel the waters from a distance. Knew that the time was nigh.

  The woman who pushes through the screen of green vines and hanging branches is much changed from the one who first challenged the Scylla so long ago. You wear a ragged leather vest which lies open and pushed back, revealing your milk heavy breasts and dark nipples for all to see. Your hips have expanded, broadened to prepare for your child, and the skirt you wear still is much reduced, torn ragged through travels uncounted. Long red scratches and curious round marks dot your bare legs and arms. Your brown hair hangs in tangles about your face, one streak a bone white color. Your figure has grown much more voluptuous. Little surprise, for you cradle a belly gravid with pregnancy.

  As you approach the spring you see a figure sitting at a small cliff, her small feet dangling above the bubbling waters. You know her at once as the spirit of this spring. The water nymph is small but fair, resembling a maiden eternally on the cusp of womanhood. Her breasts were small and pert, her hips narrow and her face elfin and mild. Pointed ears poked from beneath a wave of golden hair threaded with blue flowers in full bloom.

  She cocks her head at your arrival and rises. The water nymph stepped down from the ledge of the rock, her toes touching the surface of the spring and never sinking even as she put all her weight on them.

  “Welcome,” she says brightly. “My name is Thelia, and I am the nymph of these waters. You look like you could use a rest. Please, feel free to drink at my spring!”

  You smile. “Oh thank you,” you say heavily, stepping over the edge of the spring. “You’re too kind.”

  Thelia smiles a little uncertainly as you sink into the pristine waters with a sigh. “Do you like it?” Thelia said. “I hope so. You look near to popping there!”

  You smile fondly at your immense stomach and stroke it tenderly. “I’m alright,” you say warmly. “It’s nearly time now.”

  The nymph claps her hands delightedly. “Oh how wonderful! Please, take as long as you need in my waters. It should relax…”

  Thelia trails off as you slip a hand beneath the surface and part your skirt, baring your puffy snatch. The nymph steps nearer as you slip a finger into your swollen slit. “Are you…alright?”

  “Mmmmm,” you groan, smiling devilishly as you begin to tenderly masturbate in the nymph’s waters.

  Thelia gasps.

  “A-ah, you shouldn’t…um…”

  The nymph trails off as something begins to push at your cunt. Your breathing has grown short, and the waters around you begin to darken.

  The nymph took a frightened step back, feeling what she could not before, what had been hidden in your human body from her senses. But now, as something large and spherical pushes against your swollen cunt, she begins to tremble. “What…What are you doing? What are you doing!”

  You don’t answer. Cant’. Thelia’s bright eyes shot open in shock, for your swollen stomach has begun to shrink.

  You throw back your head, grabbing the lip of the spring in your throes of ecstasy. Not even being filled with the scylla’s eggs could equal this! Your keening cry disturbs the sacred silence of the spring. You arch your back, your belly shrinking further. You wail, straining, pushing.

  Finally, the egg pops free of you. It slides into the water, a single immense membranous sphere, and within it, something writhed.

  Thelia dances backwards as the egg pulses, straining, then bursts. A cloud of darkness like ink spreads out in the depths of the waters.

  “S-stop that!” Thelia squeals. She grabs her head with a pained groan. “What are you doing? What are you-“

  Thelia screams as tentacles burst from the water. They grab the nymph, binding her arms. Thelia struggles against their monstrous grasp but to no avail.

  Sated for the moment, weak from expelling your egg, you sink into the waters and smile beatifically as you watch the nymph struggle against your child.

  Thelia screams as the tentacles writhe against her, pulling her to her knees over the churning waters. Then, one of the flailing black limbs finds her bared slit. It slithers into her exposed snatch, swelling inside her.

  “What-oh. Oh!” The nymph gasps, the tentacle digging into her virgin cunt. Other tentacle limbs grab at her lower body, molding themselves to her slender hips and pert bum. Thelia clutches at the one which continued to feed into her, her small arms desperately yanking at the tentacle which merely burrows deeper inside of her.

  “Wh…whaaaat’s happening,” the nymph moans. Her eyes flicker, warring for awareness, fighting against the pleasure which stabs into her.

  “Accept it,” you sigh happily. “Accept it, and become more.”

  Thelia's breath grows short and harsh as the tentacle clutches at her insides. She arches, gasping as a second tentacle finds her bumhole and slipped past the tense ring of muscles, filling her from both ends. “Ohhhhh!”

  You meanwhile continue to stroke yourself, watching in glazed satisfaction as the nymph writhes atop the grasping tentacles. You observe how the nymph’s already pale skin whitens more, turning to a pasty pallor. Blue veins crawl up from her waist, outlining her svelte naked figure. The nipples on her pert breasts darken to black, and her hair loses its golden sheen, blackening to the tint of pitch.

  The change is not only in her upper body. You frantically stroke yourself, squeezing a breast which dribbles with thick milk as the nymph’s legs darken. They lose the tenseness of bone and structure, the slender toes smoothing, reforming until her legs are no more than another pair of the writhing tentacles. The invader into her cunt has molded itself to her skin, joining it and swelling her abdomen out until the myriad tentacles once assaulting her have become a part of her.

  The nymph lets out a last tremendous wail, her cry of despair turning to one of hopeless pleasure as an orgasm overtakes her. Her juices spill into the once pristine waters of the pond, and the waters lose their purity, turning the sickly brown of corruption.

  You cum when she does, your final moan echoing hers as the dark waters overtake you. The once vibrant plants which surrounded the pool curl, twisting as the nymph’s corruption spreads about her domain. Sickly steam begins to waft from the pool, suffusing the air in a musky haze.

  The nymph, now a near mirror in miniature of the Scylla which had once given you its spawn, sinks into the water, her myriad tentacles reaching out among the pool. She opens her eyes and you smile to see the white orbs.

  You open your arms. “Come to me.”

  Wordlessly the Scylla wades through the pond. As she nears you feel her tentacles slide over you, exploring your body. You shudder beneath the oh so familiar touch, and as the scylla’s humanoid form leans over you, you heft a heavy breast. “Here,” you say, squeezing your teat and sending a trickle of milk into the water. “Drink.”

  The Scylla sniffs, then lowers her face and begins to suckle at your breast. You croon, stroking her dark hair as your monstrous brood feeds from you. “There,” you murmur sweetly. “There my love. My dear. Drink up. You must be tired. You need your strength. Don’t worry,” you continue, your breath hitching as you feel her rounded teeth grow sharp and prick at your dusky nipple. “I’ll bring you others soon. Those you can feed on and breed. Spread your seed. My sweet one.”

  You recline in the warm brackish waters, your new daughter feeding greedily from your breast. Matronly love and desire fills you as the scylla’s tentacles brush your gaping cunt in their explorations. Your time as a huntress is over, but being the temptress for your monstrous daughter has only just begun.


  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Parley

  You back away from the protean. Her slime closes in on all sides, flowing across the bare stone and rising as more and more humanoids. Fat tendrils of slime lash out at you and you have to leap backwards, breasts jiggling wildly in your straining blouse as you nearly topple over backwards. You get on more certain footing and dash back towards the ramp you fell down the chamber. Already, the protean’s slime is pouring over the ramp in a glistening flood. She is not particularly fast, but she is closing off all of your paths escape.

  “Wait,” you cry out to the protean. “Wait. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Talk about it? I offered you a choice and you chose poorly.” A humanoid slime rises in your path and tries to wrap you up in a gooey embrace. You slip under her reach and dodge out of the way. One of your boots is nearly caught in her slime, but you desperately manage to pull it free before another humanoid extension of the protean can close her arms around you.

  “Please! Wait!” You cry, holding your hands up.

  The slime finally stops advancing. She rises into humanoid shapes all around you, effectively encircling you, but leaving you enough room to maneuver. You try to catch your breath, knowing you might need as much energy as possible to make those moves.

  “Maybe,” you gasp. “Maybe we can strike… some other deal.”

  She ripples with annoyance. When she speaks, the childlike voice is gone and her tone is cruel.

  “Very well, Penelope. I will offer you two choices.” One of the slime versions of your mother slides forward, a seemingly sympathetic look on her translucent face. “You may become one of my lovely breeding hosts and enjoy a long life of pleasure, without worries.”

  You look at the men and women being pleasured in the chamber, their expressions blank and their bodies plundered by slimy tentacles.

  “Or?” You ask, standing up as you finally catch your breath.

  “Or you may submit to being devoured and providing me with the nutrients I require to spread.” She slides closer and a cold chill runs through your body. “I promise you will enjoy them both. Do not be afraid, Penelope. I hate pain and suffering.”

  Your guts twist into a knot of cold fear. You recall the skinless man trapped in the protean, slowly disintegrating within her translucent green slime. Such a ghastly fate is unthinkable, but you know her words to be true: the man likely has not suffered. Proteans, like many other monsters, rely on intoxicating venom to help make predation an easy experience for its victims. The thought only deepens your fear. To willingly surrender to such a fate would truly be giving up on your entire heritage as a huntress.

  Maybe there is another way. You can combine the vial of lye with some of the other reagents in your pack and create that foaming bomb. There is no guarantee you will have time to mix the ingredients properly, but it seems to be your only viable alternative to abject surrender to this fiend.

  What do you do?

  Agree to become a breeding host

  Submit to being devoured

  Neither! Fling the lye flask!

  Attack the Scylla with the grenade

  You don’t waste a second more. Even as the Scylla turns you pull one of the spare pouches of gunpowder from your belt and the spare wick for a candle. You hastily feed the wick into the mouth of the bag and then yank the drawstring tightly shut. Even as you do this, the scylla’s tentacles stretch forth and wrap about your waist and front.

  You shudder, but keep going. Must keep going. Striving to ignore the sibilant touch as they slither about you and draw you into the air. Praying the Scylla is as blind as it appears to be, you grab a match and strike it, lighting the wick. It catches, greedily eating up the wick into the bag.

  The Scylla pauses, holding you several feet off the ground. She cocks her head, her long elfin ears twitching. The monster’s ovipositor hovers threateningly close to you, still slimy from the lamia’s juices. As the Scylla begins to turn you over to breed you, you cock back your arm and hurl the hissing bag at the Scylla.

  Like lightning, the scylla’s claws snap out and snatch the bag out of the air. There’s a tense moment as it simply holds it, listening, guessing. Then it draws the bag of powder near its face and the slits of its nose sniff.

  The explosion thunders through the clearing, the makeshift grenade taking out the scylla’s entire upper body. Gobbets of flesh splatter like rain and the scylla’s limbs abruptly release you. You fall to the ground, grunting in pain, but quickly scramble out of the way of the scylla’s flailing tentacles, writhing in their death throes. The mass of flesh beneath the woman hurls itself about. The monster crashes back into the lake, a wave of brackish waters swelling about your legs before you can climb the bank onto the path.

  Achieving the path, you pause for breath. Still on hands and knees, you look back and stare at the weakly twitching mass of ruined flesh which was the Scylla. For a long moment you can only stare at the thing, and shudder at the thought of what might have been.

  You don’t have to look far for a reminder. The lamia moans on the shore of the lake, still enraptured with her post breeding bliss. You grimace and rise. On shaky legs you approach the serpent woman, your sword hissing as you draw it. Standing over the bejeweled serpent woman, you have a moment of hesitation. One that soon passes as you recall the fate she nearly sold you to. You behead her with a single overhand swipe of your blade, her head rolling into the waters. Her reptilian body twitches much as the tentacles of the Scylla had, but soon stops.

  Breathing heavily, you turn and walk slowly away from the scene of the battle. The tainted waters drip from your legs and the scylla’s slime still stains your arms and clothes. Your heavy tread carries you upward and back onto the path.

  The mist seems thinner now you notice idly. From the fading clouds, you see the end of the valley before you. Low cliffs rear above you, but between them crawls a stairway cut into the rock and climbing up the cliff face. You move up them, one step at a time. At their end is a cave cut into the cliffs.

  As you approach it, a foul, vegetable stench assaults your nostrils. Slime glistens on the stone near the entrance.

  Under any other circumstances, you would not enter. Under these circumstances, you have no choice. Sword still in hand, wetted with the blood of the lamia, you light a candle from your pack and set off into the cave.

  CONTINUE >

  Parley

  You slowly exhale. “Look,” you say, trying to make eye contact with the Scylla, an essential part of conversation. “I don’t think we need to fight. Listen. If we just oh shit!”

  The last is because the scylla’s tentacles have wrapped about your legs and waist. Your weapons are already trapped against you, useless. “No. No! Let me go! Stop!” You hammer on the pliant black flesh which encases you like a belt, but it’s like punching rubber. With ease the tentacles lift you off the shore, dragging you through the air and towards the Scylla’s writhing mass. Your legs kick uselessly at the air.

  “W-wait. Wait!” You shriek as a questing tentacle slides under your skirt and finds your panties. It rips the flimsy undergarments away with a single motion, baring your nethers to the cool air. “Wait!” you squeal as it starts to turn you over, tentacles shifting and the curving limb of its ovipositor extending. “Can’t we talk about this?”

  Apparently not. In a single motion the Scylla impales you on its turgid length.

  Your body goes taut as a bowstring at the sudden penetration. Your eyes shoot wide and your mouth opens in a broad O. “Oooooooh,” you moan, eyelids fluttering blissfully as your inner walls press against the length deep within you.

  “Nnnn!” You feel the pulse of the first egg as it pushes into you. Your cunt clenches about it, but its advance is inexorable. “Ah-ah-ahhhhhhhhh!”

  You wail in surrender as it finishes its press and drops into your welcoming womb. The curse takes hold, dropping you into a sinking cloud of fertile welcome
.

  “Mmmmnnn,” you sigh, words failing you, only managing grunts and gasps of pleasure as egg after egg pushes its way into your depths. The iron grip of the scylla’s tentacles loosen to accommodate your swelling stomach.

  In due time you have taken your fill of the monster’s eggs. Gently, the Scylla lowers you once more to the shore. Its lubricating juices dribble from your gaping cunt, mixing with your own pleasured cum. You lie on your back, stroking your distended stomach, cooing with maternal affection for the life which blooms within.

  CONTINUE >

  Accept her offer and allow her to implant her eggs

  Zizza, the self-proclaimed queen of the garden, might be arrogant, but she does not seem unfriendly. If she can help you reach your sister then you will trust her and give her what she wants. You know from your research that many monsters use humans and other sentient humanoids as incubators or mating partners. Monster wasp girls, called Ikutari, are known to sting and paralyze human women and implant their eggs in the human wombs. Only one, rare sub-species of the Ikutari harm the women when the eggs hatch. That particular process is quite gruesome and something you would rather not think about.

  “You swear that this will not harm me?”

  “I swear,” giggles the queen. “It will feel wonderful. Look, my ovipositor is already waking up with the thought of implanting you.”

  She buzzes and wags her fat insect abdomen between her legs. Just past her tail, a glistening pink spot of flesh is swelling. You gasp in surprise as it bulges into a fleshy funnel and a semi-rigid nozzle dripping with slime.

  “Gods,” you whisper. “You will put that inside me?”

  “If you agree,” she says, reaching down and running her fingers over the shaft-like tube. “What do you say, human?”