Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  "Kara?" You ask.

  "Penny," she says, "It's so wonderful. You chose wisely."

  "Did I-- Mmmmmmph!" Kara surprises you with a steamy kiss on the mouth. Her tongue darts between your lips as you stiffen with surprise. She cradles your head and you relax into her embrace. After a few seconds, she breaks the kiss, leaving you gasping and wanting more. "W-where do you learn that?"

  "That? Oh, mother taught me that kiss," she says and gives you a wink.

  "Come with me, sweet Penelope," says Alyssa, taking your hand. "The time of your surrender is at hand."

  Your hear pounds wildly as you bid farewell to your sister and follow Alyssa through the curtained arch, down a long hallway, and into her spacious bedroom. You tremble with fear, knowing that you have consigned your fate to the succubus's whim.

  She sits you down on her enormous, four-poster bed and rests one knee between your parted thighs. She looks down at you, her perfection maddening as she tilts your chin up and forces you to gaze up into her glowing violet eyes.

  "Mmmm, it is rare for a mortal to desire their death at my hands," she says. "But I have granted such wishes before. You are special though, Penelope. You are more than some foolish knight seeking me out to try to vanquish me or some lonely wizard who would rather embrace me than go on with life. But you... so young and full of life. Your surrender is a great gift to me."

  She toys with your white lock of hair and runs her fingernails down your cheek. You tremble and struggle not to look away from her demonic beauty.

  "You may choose how I take your essence, my lovely huntress." She pouts her lips and says. "Would you like a final kiss? My tongue slipping into your lovely little cunt? Or perhaps my tail, efficiently slurping up every drop?"

  Her tail curves around her hip and you see that the fleshy purple spade tip has transformed into something more cylindrical that ends in a wet, mouth-like opening. The thought of that strange appendage sucking out your soul is both terrifying and somehow exciting. Tears well in your eyes as you reach your decision.

  How do you want Alyssa to take your soul?

  Ask her to give you a final kiss

  Ask her to pleasure you with her tongue

  Submit to the demonic hunger of her tail

  Offer to pleasure them all if they let you go

  You don’t like your odds against four gertlings so the thought of a duel occurs to you. If you could get this scrawny leader to agree, perhaps you could best him in some sort of one-on-one combat. He stands with his arms crossed, studying you as he waits your response. He seems rather unafraid of you even though you are substantially bigger.

  No, you can’t beat these creatures. You are not a warrior like your sister or mother. But you have other charms and you know that gertlings, for all their sneaking, keep to their word if they strike a bargain. And you know exactly what they want. You take a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You make up mind?” The leader asks. “Or do we fight now?”

  “No fighting,” you say quickly. “My offer is this: I will pleasure each of you, but you cannot make me pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “No breeding. No mating.” You shake your head. “That is out of the question.”

  “Okay, big human girl, but others not like no mating. I talk to them.” The skinny leader of the gertlings turns to his companions and explains your offer. That explanation becomes an animated discussion with lots of sideways glances in your direction.

  While they argue, you toy with the strings of your bodice, teasing the gertlings with a bit more of your cleavage. Though you loathe the idea of offering yourself to them, you lick your lips lasciviously. Enticing them is what your mother would do under the circumstances.

  The gertling leader waves his hands at the group. The big one seems angry, the two runts seem excited, and the leader looks annoyed.

  “I am Garvem and I say yes, Murf and Jerf say yes, but is problem: Jarbok say no.” The gertling leader gestures at the biggest of the gertlings. “He very angry. Lose good friend. He only do this if you give him ass.”

  Your face reddens. The thought of pleasuring them was bad enough, but letting this big one put his doubtlessly disgusting cock up your ass? Too far.

  “Before answer,” interjects the leader. “There is no other way. We fight if you say no.”

  A shudder of fear tinged with perverse desire goes through your body. You certainly never imagined yourself volunteering your body to gertlings of all creatures. They are some of the weakest monsters in your family’s codex. But your wits are greater than your bravado. You could have fought them and likely gotten yourself killed. This is the only way.

  “Very well,” you say softly. “He can, um, put it into my bottom.”

  Garvem relates your decision to Jarbok. A lopsided grin forms on the brutish gertling’s wide mouth, displaying his many uneven teeth. His long, black tongue lolls out of his mouth dripping slime onto his burly chest. He grunts something to the gertling leader.

  “Bargain,” says Garvem, holding his almost skeletal hand out to you. It disgusts you to even touch his clammy hand. You shake his slimy hand and the gertling repeats, “Bargain!”

  “Bargain,” you agree with a forced smile.

  It only takes a few seconds for the four gertlings to crowd around you. Their eyes bulging and their tongues flick at their lips. Clawed hands disarm you and set your weapons aside. Garvem unlaces your bodice and you shrug it off. Jarbok, the biggest of the gertlings, grunts with lust and tears at your blouse until your breasts are exposed. You cry out with surprise as he grips them in his hands and begins slathering his hot spit all over them, licking his tongue between your mounds and slurping messily at your nipples.

  “Easy boy,” you gasp as he nips at your tender titflesh. Garvem thrusts a scrawny hand down the front of your skirt and into your underclothes. His fingers probe your hot sex and he plunges three and then four of his slender digits into your slippery cunt. The two littlest gertlings put aside their bows and crawl under your skirt. You yelp as their tiny hands pull your panties down over your boots. They begin stroking and kissing at your inner thighs and after only a moment you feel one of them licking at your sex.

  “Need to see more,” declares Garvem and he yanks your skirt down your thighs, exposing your pale legs and your furry cunt. One of the runts (you think it’s Jerf) is clamped to your thighs and slurping noisily at your sex. Garvem pulls him out of the way and snaps at the two runts with irritation.

  “M-maybe you should let me, um, p-pleasure you,” you say as the four gertlings fondle and squeeze your naked body.

  “Yes, good,” says Garvem. “Get down on knees, soft human. Our cocks need sex.”

  “A-alright,” you gasp, falling heavily to your knees as the gertling close in even tighter around you, stroking you and untying their various loincloths. Their cocks spring into view, the largest no bigger than your thumb and the smallest, belonging to Murf, not even as big as your pinkie finger. The runts stand up on rubble, wagging their cocks at you. Hulking Jarbok pushes Garvem aside and swings his heavy bollocks and thumb sized cock in your face.

  The balls are a darker shade of blue lightening up the shaft, to a pinking tip that glistens and reminds you of a hound’s erection. The gertling’s straining manhood is level with your face. His musk is strong in the air. You take him in your soft hand and gently squeeze. He grunts and you begin to stroke him. The others wank themselves as they watch. Garvem moves beside Jarbok, his cock longer and more slender. You grip his with your other hand and stroke them both as the runts slap their pricks against you and reach under you to fondle your dangling breasts.

  “Put in mouth,” says Garvem, thrusting his cock towards your face.

  With great reluctance, you begin to suck at his putrid prick. Garvem holds your head and fucks his cock between the soft, wet cushions of your lips, gagging you twice before he finds a good depth for his thrusts. You close your eyes as tears slip out and down your che
eks.

  You become distracted by the foul-tasting cock thrusting in and out of your mouth and you forget to stroke Jarbok. He grunts with annoyance and steps around behind you. He lifts your hips and guides you higher on your knees. The next thing you know, it feels as if an eel fresh from a steaming stew pot is slithering over your bottom, between your cheeks, and wriggling at your tender arsehole.

  “Mmmmmm!” You cry around Garvem’s cock, glancing as best you can over your shoulder. You see Jarbok on his knees behind you, hunched over and lashing his black tongue between your ass cheeks as if it is a frenzied snake. The heat of it squirms at your hole and pushes inside you. You cry even louder around Garvem’s cock.

  “Aahhhhh!” The gertling leader cries out, sawing his cock into your mouth. You feel his prick jerk and suddenly your mouth is filled with hot spurts of the briny goo of his orgasm. You swallow what you can, allowing the rest to drip from your mouth and spill in jiggling strands from your chin. You suck as best you can with Jarbok furiously eating your ass and fucking it with his tongue. The runts, Murf and Jerf, titter with excitement as Garvem pulls his cock out of your mouth.

  Jarbok rises to his feet, grabs your hips, and thrusts the fat thumb of his cock into your slime-slathered ass. You cry out as he begins to roughly fuck your pucker, slapping his swinging bollocks against your cunt. The two runts crowd around your face, so small that they have to stack rocks to stand upon just to make their cocks level with your mouth.

  You take Jerf’s wee prick in your hand and Murf’s even tinier pinkie-finger prick into your mouth. You moan with a surprising surge of lust around the tiny cock, sucking urgently and tasting the tang of his gertling precum. You bathe his hardness in your spit as you are pounded up your tight ass by grunting Jarbok. It isn’t long before you are rewarded with a twitching against your tongue and a mouthful of gertling spunk. You let it spill out of your mouth and quickly turn your lust on Jerf. He squeals with delight as you slurp his tiny cock and bob your head against him, breathing in his bestial musk.

  The whole while, Jarbok is furiously pounding your ass. It’s like he is trying to hurt you with his cock, which is, fortunately, not big enough to do much damage. In fact, as you are sucking eagerly on Jerf, that thumb-sized cock up your ass starts to feel quite nice. You thrust a hand between your thighs and play with your clit. Your orgasm builds with each slurp on Jerf’s tiny cock and each thrust of Jarbok’s straining fucktool.

  “Mmmmmm!” You cry around Jerf’s prick and the vibrations must have felt quite nice, because he begins spunking straight away. You open your mouth for a moment to gasp and so the squealing gertling can see his cream spurts covering your tongue. You close your lips again and drain his cock dry. Finally, you look back over your shoulder and cry out to Jarbok, “Fuck me, you brute! Fuck me harder!”

  Garvem says something that must be translation, because Jarbok snarls with fury and fucks your ass so hard you lose balance and your face and tits mash into the ground. He practically mounts your ass, claws drawing trickles of blood as he holds you tight and furiously fucks your pink pucker.

  With a final roar, he unleashes his hot cum up your ass, filling you with the warmth and pressure of his gertling goo-load. The sensation of that warmth spreading through you is enough to trigger your own orgasm. You desperately rub your clit as waves of ecstasy ripple through you. Jarbok pulls out of you, some of his spunk draining over your pussy and fingers as you remain gasping and cumming, your ass in the air, for several more seconds.

  The gertlings surprise you with their tenderness after the deed has been done. They bring you a clean basin of water from a well half-buried under rubble. You wash up as they watch and they hand you your clothing and even your weapons.

  “You go now,” says Garvem. “We not follow. But if you come back, we might not be so friendly.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that,” you say.

  You surprise him with a kiss on the forehead. You give a kiss to each of them. Jarbok grabs you up into his arms and lifts you even though you are taller and heavier than him. He kisses you on the lips and slides his tongue into your mouth. He squeezes your ass with both boney hands. He strokes your chin as he says something to you, his dark eyes bulging grotesquely.

  “He say if you come back, he make you his wife,” says Garvem.

  Jerf squeaks something and Garvem translates, “The little one has gift.”

  He hands you a bone totem plucked from his vest. The fetish seems to be a cage made out of rodent bones and inside is an ossified cricket. You aren’t sure what the charm is supposed to symbolize and you decide not to ask. You take out your family codex to sketch the totem hastily and make a note that gertlings can actually be generous once you have gained their trust.

  Time to move on. You quickly secure the codex and your writing implements in your pack. You bid your new friends a short farewell and move on into the forest. There are several more settlements, ruins, and ancient idols marked on the map. If you keep heading north, you will encounter many of them.

  You set off into the woods once more, your confidence bolstered and your drive to find your mother and sister stronger than ever.

  CONTINUE >

  Dawn at the east gates of Akrane

  You cross the footbridge over the still, black waters of the Blessed Ullen canal and hurry down the streets of the merchant quarter. The caravan of gaily painted wagons is assembling in the cobbled plaza just inside the eastern gates of Akrane. There are ten wagons, a gilded carriage, and several outriders on horseback for protection. The plaza is mostly empty at this early hour and the wagons seem like toys compared to the massive gate and the huge city walls.

  There is a bustle of activity around the caravan; big men are finishing loading the cargo and arguing about the provisions. The men are mostly Yeddish, with their dark hair, swarthy features, and their guttural language so often heard in trade quarters throughout Heimsvak. You stop one of the men and ask him, “Do you know Boggen Luckfen?”

  He says something in Yeddish and tries to wave you away.

  “Boggen Luckfen?” You ask the next man. He points the way to the front of the caravan. Standing beside the gilded carriage, with its ornate carvings and red-painted wheels, is a man perfectly dressed to ride inside such a garish vehicle. He is a roly poly man with a crown of white hair. He is wearing a cloak of white velvet over a brocaded jacket unbuttoned over his bulging belly in his silky undershirt. He wears a dagger on his hip in a jeweled scabbard. Surely this is Boggen Luckfen.

  As you approach, the white-haired man is in a heated discussion with an enormous slab of a man. You have to say “excuse me” several times before he acknowledges you standing beside him. Without looking back at you, he holds up his hand and wiggles his fat fingers at you.

  “Please, Mr. Luckfen, I am supposed to ride with your caravan. I am—“

  “Of course! You must be Penelope!” He turns and smiles broadly. Despite his plumpness and advanced age, his face is quite handsome. He reminds you of a cleric with his friendly brown eyes. His nose is a bit too large, but it seems to fit his oversized personality. “Your fire-haired friend told me to expect you. She convinced me that having you along for the journey to Estermar would be good luck.”

  “Um, I am not so sure about that. My luck has been rather poor of late. If you just direct me to the wagon I will be riding in, I will get aboard.”

  His eyes travel down your body. Even though you have tried to choose your most unflattering skirt and blouse, he nevertheless seems delighted with your appearance.

  “Oh, no, no, no. One of those freight wagons? You’ll end up smelling of clove hams or Jarmeier cheese. No, no, you must ride with me, my dear.” He drapes an arm over your shoulder and leads you to his gilded carriage. He opens the door and helps you inside. The wagon sways as he follows you up. The carriage is as extravagantly appointed within as it was without. The red velvet benches face each other across a small table designed as a game board. There are extra cu
shions as well as a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of Chorumark wine.

  “This is much nicer than one of those freight wagons,” he says. “Trust me.”

  You will certainly not be trusting him, but you see no way to refuse his hospitality.

  “Um, thank you, Mr. Luckfen.”

  “No, call me Bog. That’s what my friends call me. It is four days to Estermar. We will be closest friends by the time we reach the coast.” He sits back and drums his plump fingers against his belly. “What do your friends call you?”

  “Penny,” you say, trying to arrange the satchel carrying the sword and the backpack stuffed with your family’s codex.

  “Ah, Penny,” he reaches across and takes your hand. He looks into your eyes as he brings your hands up to his lips and kisses your fingers. “To a pleasant journey and new friends. Ah, and we have drinks! Have you eaten? I can have Langk bring us some breakfast. Langk!”

  He pulls aside the drapes over the carriage’s side window and shouts, “Lannnnngk!”

  It isn’t long before you are carefully sipping the bubbly, sweet Corumark wine and nibbling at crusty bread, boiled eggs, zhalao pepper sauce, and melty cheese. As the sun rises, the great eastern gates of Akrane heave open and the caravan sets off onto the long road to the coast.

  Bog talks at length about his business (“fooling people to sell at the lowest price and fooling other people to buy at the highest price”), his homes (“seven estates, one for each of the great nations of the known world”), and his relationships (“I have more mistresses than homes, which can be a problem”). You tell him as little as possible, explaining only that you are a scribe and that you are going to be with your family.

  The conversation at least passes the time, along with several rounds of a game played with carved ivory figurines. The wine makes you sleepy. The jostling of the carriage is relaxing, but every time you let down your guard, you catch Bog watching you. It certainly doesn’t help that you neglected to wear a sling for your breasts and your tits sway with the motion of the carriage.