Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Your mother smiles serenely and pats your sister’s arm. “You will know his glory soon enough, Kara. Do not fight it, for what could be pleasurable may become painful.”

  “We will never give in to this,” cries Kara. “Right, Penny? Penny?”

  You can barely hear your sister’s voice as she calls your name. You can sense her still fighting against the ropes that tie her to the altar, but your focus is on the sacrifice’s massive cock of writhing black flesh. One of the sacrifices approaches you directly on the altar, climbing atop the stone and crawling towards your parted thighs. He rasps beneath his hood and his huge cock seems to move and search for your aching cunt. Beside you, Kara is wailing, apoplectic as the other sacrifice walks around the altar and begins to crawl atop your sister. Kara twists her head away and continues to fight hopelessly against the hooded man.

  You look up curiously, watching as the questing black flesh rubs against your pale thigh and approaches the tufted mound of your cunt. Part of you is paralyzed with existential dread at what you are seeing, but just as much of you is enthralled by the thought of the nightmarish pleasure you are going to experience.

  “Yes, Penny, good,” coos your mother, stroking your shoulders and pressing her enormous breasts against your head. “There is nothing to fear. This is an awakening for you and your sister.”

  The hooded man, flesh dripping with blood from his many carved wounds, is over top of you, panting beneath his hood. The slimy cock slides against the delicate folds of your cunt, rubbing your clit and spreading its filth against your aching opening. You gasp softly and the bulbous head of the cock begins to part your folds. Pleasure radiates from wherever the unwholesome flesh touches you. A whimper escapes your lips as you reflexively arch beneath the gaunt man and offer your pussy up completely.

  “Penny, no,” you hear your sister cry out beside you. Tears stream from her golden eyes. You smile at her, already in the thrall of pleasure. The cock works in and out of your stretched pussy, reaching deep places of pleasure within your body. Slime drips steadily from the cock, slicking your inner thighs and coating the clenching divot of your anus. The gaunt man pants with effort. He works his hips with greater and great ferocity. Your mother strokes from your shoulders to your breasts, kneading your soft titflesh and playing with your plump nipples.

  “Soon these will fill with milk,” she purrs. “Milk for the glory of the Great One. You and your sister will grow large and powerful as I am and your very blood will burn with his holy might.”

  “It’s so good,” you wail, pleasure rippling through your body. Your inner walls clutch against the hot, slime-covered piston of the monstrous cock.

  The gaunt figure atop you begins to whine and drools black liquid from beneath his hood. His whole body tenses and he thrusts into you in deep strokes that seem to reach into your womb. His cock swells and throbs inside you, the tip pulsing, stiffening and finally spurting out almost painfully hot streams of cum. The moment the hot seed pumps into your womb, you feel the contentment of impregnation. The curse of the island has taken hold and your body, soul, and happiness belong to Zhibbareth.

  Kara cries out with sudden pleasure, a smile spreading across her face as her fertile womb is filled with blasphemous seed. You meet eyes with her, lost together in the dreamlike plateau of being impregnated by the cock of Zhibbareth. You hear your mother calling to you both, you feel the cock continuing to pulse and spew cum deep into your pussy, but all you see is Kara. You love her so much in that moment that you begin to weep. Tears glisten in her golden eyes in reply. Her body shakes with each thrust of the gaunt figure atop her.

  You slowly turn your attention back to the man fuck you and you are surprised to see that he seems deflated. Literally. His chest is sunken and his limbs seem shriveled. His cum continues to pour into your pussy, bulging your abdomen and leaking out in a spreading, warm pool on the altar. His hooded head begins to collapse and the desiccated remains of the man fall away like the empty husk of a molted insect, plunging into the black pit.

  Between your thighs, a pool of black cum like pitch spreads out to your legs and to Kara’s shoulder and arm. Her lover topples over a moment later, leaving her similarly bereft and gasping.

  “He comes!” Your mother cries.

  A moment later you feel the first pang of unholy birth. Pleasure and pain mingle as your cervix dilates and living evil begins to wriggle out of your stretched cunt. A tide of black slime and an endless, writhing serpent of black flesh pour out of your body. Beside you, a similar stream of vile, tar-like flesh pours from Kara’s shuddering body. Both streams rise into the air above the pit, swirling together and forming an ever-growing orb of black flesh. It grows larger and larger, the evil power of it a building presence in the room like the crescendo of a symphony. The last black flesh slips from your cunt and joins the mass. Slowly, a massive eye opens on the black orb. The red eye rotates and focuses on you and Kara sprawled on the altar, trembling and exhausted.

  “All hail Zhibbareth!” Your mother cries, kneeling beside the altar. The handmaidens and warriors nearby drop to their knees and joining the chorus. “All hail Zhibbareth!” You and Kara, weakened but alive, join the chanting, “All hail Zhibbareth!”

  The Great One has ascended and a new era has begun for the world.

  CONTINUE >

  Refuse!

  Gods it is tempting. To surrender again. To give in to this madness of your mother's and pledge yourself to her monstrous god. Her will pushes down upon you. Urging you to submit. To give in.

  But you have given in too many times already. You have been shown the truth of this world and the path you walked down, and your spirit flinches from such horrors.

  It’s up to you. You alone.

  You grit your teeth, sweat beading your brow at the force of your mother’s mind presses down on you. “N-no,” you gasp through gritted teeth. “No. I. Will. Not!”

  Your last word is a roar of defiance, amplified by the breaking of the spell. There is a sound like an explosion. A blast of force ripples through the air. Pillars quake and buckle. The walls shudder and loose stones are shaken from the cracked roof and rain down into the pit. Your mother reels back, the floor shaking as she retreats a step, blinking rapidly and touching her brow dazedly.

  You surge to your feet, soul soaring with triumph. You grab your sword and draw it in a single smooth motion.

  A hiss is your only warning, then Xasp is upon you. The creature’s oily limbs latch about your arms and legs, boneless despite his human shape. His veins glow red with his anger as he coils about your arms and waist. “Cursed woman!”

  You stagger beneath his weight. His hand latches across your lips. You spit the words of a spell into his wriggling hand. Black fire bursts from you like a mantle of darkness. Xasp screams as the flames touch his hide. He falls from you, frantically beating at the black fire, but merely spreads the acrid flames. Howling, he stumbles to the floor, writhing in agony as he burns.

  But his distraction proves costly. Your mother shakes her head, banishing the remnants of your attack. Her mad eyes fix on you with wrath.

  “Stupid girl!” she roars, looming above you, a titan of gravid flesh and curves. “If you will not be a bride, you will be his slave!”

  You tense, kirana at the ready, and know you’re in for the fight of your life.

  Your mother is powerful but clumsy. As she stomps towards you, you jump aside, feeling the air move as her hand nearly catches you. You spin back to your feet, turning about in time to see her reel about. Her breasts bounce with her every movement, milk splattering across the stones. She lunges forward, a fist the size of a boulder swinging. You try to dodge but catch a glancing blow, but even that is enough to send you sprawling across the floor, striking the wall with a gasp of pain.

  “To think I could have raised such a stupid child!” you mother barks as she stomps towards you. You try to squirm out of the way but she easily grabs you, hefting you into the air like a doll.
“You are in the very realm of the Master! Did you think you could defeat me? Defeat Him!”

  You gasp. “Mother, I-“

  Your words rush out of you in a wheeze as your mother squeezes you until your ribs creak. “Silence! You could have been so much Penelope. We could have been! But you have chosen you fate. Once you have born Him, you will spend the rest of your days in the breeding pits! Bring the Sacrifice!” she roars to a cringing guard. “We will end this now!”

  Darkness edges at the corners of your vision as your mother squeezes the breath from your body. Your struggles weaken as you feel the void of unconsciousness reach for you. You linger on the edge, vaguely aware of being moved. Of hands stripping you and something cold.

  When you come to again, you are naked and bound atop the altar before the pit. Weakly you turn your head, observing hulking creatures in black armor move about the edge of the room, herding the hooded women you saw outside into the room. Orcs kneel before the dais. Violet smoke wreathes the ceiling in ribbons of purple smoke. The hooded women surround the altar, kneeling before it.

  “You’re awake.”

  You turn, drawn by the voice ringing coldly in your thoughts. You look up at your mother, past her immense breasts and breeding thighs where she stands the head of the altar, an avenging goddess of fertile hips and gravid flesh. You can fairly feel the corruption oozing from her violet flesh.

  But she is like a candle before the blaze of the immense pit in the center of the room. You feel Zhibbareth within. Hungry. Waiting. The whole room seems to lean towards the pit, as if subtly drawn towards its inky depths. How long has he lurked within that hole? Within the void beyond, waiting to be free?

  Waiting for you.

  “Too long, my daughter,” your mother says coldly. “Too long. But no more. Now, it’s time.”

  You raise your head at the boom of a pair of immense bronze doors at the end of the chamber. Several orcs in black armor march through the door, dragging a man. He is dressed like the eunuchs, naked but for the crimson hood over his head. But unlike those gelded men, he sports a notable though at the moment flaccid cock. He’s an impressive specimen otherwise as well, a chest of chiseled muscle and powerful arms nonetheless helpless beneath the inhuman might of the armored orcs who drag him to the dais.

  “Behold,” your mother says with a gesture to the man. “The groom.”

  Your incredulity is obvious.

  “A vessel of the Great One,” your mother says testily. “Prepared to house Him for his final triumph. A triumph you shall share in, despite your wishes otherwise.”

  A horned woman walks up to the dais. She is quite attractive, you note despite the tense situation. She gives you a mocking smile, then passes a small box to your mother.

  Reverently, your mother takes it. She holds it above you, her mad eyes shining with worship. “Here it is my treacherous daughter. The last piece of the Great One upon this world.”

  You shudder, a sudden suffocating sense of evil filling the room. Lovingly your mother lifts a squirming black thing from the box. She coos, cupping the writhing thing in the palms of her hands. Tenderly she kisses it, then turns to the man held by the guards.

  The hooded man seems to sense the evil of the thing in her hands. He redoubles his efforts to escape, cries muffled by his hood. Your mother merely laughs. “Rejoice! Unwilling though you both may be, His glory comes upon you!”

  The black thing seems to sense the presence of the man. It squirms, writhing towards his warmth. Your mother moves it before his groin, and the thing heaves itself forward, leaping onto his flesh.

  “Mmmmph!” The masked man arches, thrusting his crotch forward with an anguished howl. Stricken, you watch in mingled horror and awe as his body writhes. Veins bulge against his skin. His chest, impressive before, swells with a thump like a drum at the sudden power which fills him. His arms bulge, his every muscle starkly defined as it strains against him. With a roar he hurls the orcs from him and staggers to his feet.

  Your mouth goes dry as you gaze upon the man. If your mother is some perversion of femininity, this thing is a perversion of the masculine. His body bulges obscenely with muscles. His veins are black like some vile blood courses through him, throbbing with every beat of his heart. The shadowy mass that is the Great One rises from his groin in the immense shape of a gargantuan onyx cock.

  You shudder as you feel a wave of corruption pulse from the sacrifice. Like the yawning hunger of the pit, but so much more vivid. So much more real! A conduit to the very essence of the black thing lurking in the beyond.

  Your mother tilts back her head, her chest heaving as she seems to inhale the scent of corruption. She gives a great shudder of pleasure and looks down at you.

  “Now, Penny. Your destiny awaits!”

  The sacrifice climbs the podium. The moaning chant of the cultists grows louder. You can feel the presence of Zhibbareth in the throbbing dark erection of the hooded man. You tremble, bound helplessly before him, your legs parted and pussy bared.

  What do you do?

  Defiant to the End

  Feed upon corruption

  Take the seed of a god

  Stay with your mother

  You take your mother’s hand. “I won’t leave you. Not after finding you at last. We’ll do this together, mother.”

  Your mother looks back at you, and her face softens. She pulls you into an embrace, and not even your nakedness can lessen the moment.

  You send Orsen to the ship with the handmaidens, and watch his sail vanish on the horizon. Then, you and your mother turn back and enter the jungle.

  There is much to do, but your mother has forgotten none of her skill. You cloth and arm yourself from an old ruined keep. You choose an old manor as your base. Within its walls you find a mimic creature, but your new knowledge allows you to best the thing easily. Yet this triumph is nothing compared to finding your sister in the hall of mirrors.

  It is a tearful reunion. Your mother seems to take it far more than you, as if finding some absolution from her crimes that mere slaying did not. You stay there for a time, nursing Kara, for she has grown weak beneath the hand of the mimic. While she does so, you range across the land to slay the creatures who prey upon the human inhabitants, and are soon joined by your mother and sister.

  The loss of Zhibbareth impacted many far more than you had first thought. Magic is weakened or non-existent in many and in others, the preternatural will of the god no longer guides them. This does not mean they are any less dangerous.

  Weeks pass. Months. Years. You grow older, yet your body hardens more and more to the work. And there are always more monsters.

  Your manor becomes fortified as survivors flock to you. It is a strange thing to see. The growing town raising wooden palisades and the survivors swearing willing fealty to your family.

  Thus it is that the day comes when Orsen returns. With him is a small fleet of the royal navy with men at arms. You meet them at the docks, dressed in the severe black trappings of a leather shirt and frilled skirt, a sword belted at your waist and pistols rammed in holsters. With the soldiers at your disposal you accomplish even more, soon enough purging the country surrounding your homestead and establishing a fortified port for trade with the mainland.

  You go out on hunts less and less now. The responsibility of maintaining the growing community keeps you in the looming manor house. You are in the study, going over documents when you hear a knock at the door.

  “Enter.”

  Orsen passes through. You smile to see the handsome sailor. Gone are the wine stained rags from your first meeting. He is garbed in a well pressed naval uniform with golden pauldrons and a fine worked kirana at his side. You rise and meet him with a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you!” He steps back, admiring you. “You look good.”

  You smile, knowing it’s true. Your curves fill out the authoritative gown you now wear, the fabric dark and skirt whisking about your feet. A gift from the newly
established tailor’s guild. “Thank you. So do you. Admiralty has done you well.”

  He grins. “It has. I can finally buy all the wine I want! But more than pleasure brings me here.” He waves a document and catch the seal of the king. Curious, you follow him to the table where he lays it out. You read the scribed words. Read them again. You look at Orsen in amazement. “This…this can’t be right.”

  Orsen laughs. “Of course it is! Who better? And may I be the first to bow to the Lady Helsdottir,” Orsen says, kneeling before you. “Baroness of Rhilath and all its principalities.”

  Blushing furiously, you drag him to his feet. “Orsen! Stop it. What on earth…I don’t…”

  “Oh no,” the captain says with an airy wave of his hand. “You and your family only saved the world. A barony on a monster infested island is surely too much for such a thing.” His eyes soften. He takes your hands, his face limed in the candle light. “Penelope. I can think of no one worthier than you and your mother and sister. No one lovelier either. Don’t mistake me. I don’t imagine it will be easy. But you never took the easy path, have you?”

  You smile, and he is confused by the sadness in it. Before he can question it you pick up the document again, inspecting the crown and pistols of the seal once more. You sigh, looking out the tall window and onto the pinpricks of light which display the growing town of Helsdottir. Watchmen patrol the walls and lanterns burn on every rampart against the horrors lurking in the darkness. You tap the rolled paper against your arm. “…Yes.” You turn back to him, smiling once more. “I will. Please convey my willingness to the king.”

  Orsen bows, for once not mocking. “Very good. I will leave in three days time and inform him.”

  You put down the paper and sit on the edge of your desk. “Oh? Well, I simply must insist you sleep in the manor while you’re here.”

  Orsen looks up, and sees that you have parted your legs. Again, the wolfish grin as he straightens. “But my lady, won’t people talk?”