Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “I do not know what I would have done if you had not come along,” she says. “Those vines were trying to kill me.”

  “Not kill you,” you say, “only feed on your sexual energy. They’re a plant. They don’t know that it hurts.”

  Her cheeks redden as she perhaps thinks of the compromising position you found her in half-wrapped by the pleasure whip and moaning with ecstasy. She is quite beautiful, which is part of the reason that you saved her. More importantly, she is unusually full-figured for a woman of this island. Often they are gaunt when they find their way into the garden and there is no use bringing skin and bones before your queen.

  Drones buzz overhead and the girl, Lala, looks up at them nervously.

  “No worries,” you say, squeezing her hand. “The drones are quite friendly. Come along, it is just through here.”

  “O-okay,” she says, stumbling behind you as you pull her into the courtyard now dominated by the massive hive and the dozens of worker drones. She sucks in a fearful breath as she sees the towering structure. You pull her along by her hand, leading her to the small hut decorated with flowers.

  “This is my home,” you say, opening the door you fashioned with the help of the workers.

  Inside is a treasure-trove of scavenged and homemade comforts. You dare say your bed here, piled with pillows, is more comfortable than the one you left behind in Akrane. There jewelry and even costumes for you to wear to please the queen.

  “T-those bee women don’t bother you?” Lala says, looking with wonder at the inside of your home.

  “Oh, no, they are friendly,” you explain. “They protect me.”

  The worker drones look much like the queen, her same features blending human and bee, but on a smaller scale. While she has grown much larger with her power, the drones never grow to much more than your shoulder in height. The warriors, who are more masculine, but never up for any fun, are sometimes slightly larger than you.

  “Let me get you cleaned up,” you say, pouring water from a pitcher into a wash basin. “Would you like something to drink? Some honey cakes?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” says Lala. She gulps water from your cup and stuffs her mouth with honey cakes.

  You gently wash the scratches on her legs, the tears and mud from her face, and the filth from her arms. Her plain peasant dress has been torn and her ample breasts dangle free beneath the tatters. You mend the dress enough to bind her creamy mounds so that only her tanned cleavage is visible. Her underclothes are gone and there is no point mending her dress. You take it off her, admiring her blonde-tufted cunt and plump thighs. You give her one of your own skirts to wear, something stolen by the drones from a faraway place. The linen hangs loosely on her legs and yet even by the candlelight in your hut you can see the outline of her body through the sheer fabric.

  “Now you are ready,” you say. “Finish up your snack and I will take you to meet the queen.”

  “The q-queen?” She looks fearfully at the door. “Of the bees?”

  “She is a lovely queen,” you explain. “She would never hurt you, Lala, she will only want to help you and give you a job to help the hive. Like I have.”

  Convincing Lala to leave your hut is one thing, convincing her to walk with you into the hive full of buzzing bee girls is another. The drones have built a throne room on the ground level. Two warriors stand at attention, trained by now to ignore your scent. The queen sits atop her body as if it were her throne; her massive abdomen bulges beneath her and her human body rests atop it. She smiles happily as you enter.

  “Penelope,” buzzes the great Queen Zizza, “I had not expected you to attend me today, but I am always glad for your pleasure. Who is this you have brought with you?”

  “Her name is Lala,” you say, “I found her in the pleasure whip. She is lost, my queen, and I thought she might like to stay with us.”

  You look at Lala. Her eyes, once wide with fear, are beginning to become heavy with the powerful musk of the queen’s pheromones. The scent must be strong to control the entire hive and within the throne room the raunchy sexual odor is overpowering. You are used to it, but Lala is getting her first overwhelming exposure.

  “Come closer, my lovely,” says the queen.

  Lala sways from foot to foot as if sleepwalking. You take her hand and lead her up to the queen. So close to Her Majesty, the scent is doubly intoxicating. Lala’s face is flushed and her body trembles as she gazes up at the queen. She climbs up onto the queen’s insect abdomen as if climbing onto a bed and the queen pulls her into her strong, human arms. You feel a pang of jealous as you kneel beside the queen.

  “Where have you come from, Lala?” asks Zizza.

  “I served as the cook for a minotaur warlord,” explains Lala with a dreamy smile on her face. The queen pets Lala’s hair and rests Lala against her shoulder. “He said he wanted to impregnate me, but I have seen his cock. It kills most of the women he tries to impregnate. I escaped. I tried to go north, but the sky has cracked open over the Dead City. The g-great one has risen. He is called Zhibbareth and all must worship him or perish.”

  “But you did not worship him and you did not perish,” says the queen.

  “No,” says Lala and her blush deepens. “I have found you, your m-majesty.”

  “Oh, aren’t you cute?” The queen giggles. “With your lovely, soft, warm body. I think the time has come for some eggs for our new friend, don’t you, Penelope?”

  “Yes, my queen,” you say, eagerly.

  “I would like to see you make her ready for me,” says the queen. “I enjoy watching you.”

  “Of course,” you say, your body thrilling at the honor.

  The queen rests Lala with her back against the queen’s human body, her head against the queen’s shoulder, and her linen skirt pulled up her parted, creamy thighs. She sits atop the queen’s inverted insect abdomen with her legs spread. The queen begins kissing her and gently unlacing Lala’s mended blouse. You crawl onto the queen’s abdomen, towards Lala’s parted thighs, breathing in the overwhelming scent of the queen, but also the new odor of Lala’s fresh arousal.

  You kiss Lala’s legs and run your tongue up her creamy inner thigh as the queen watches over the peasant girl’s shoulder. You brush your lips against Lala’s cuntlips and tease your tongue over her lightly-furred folds, tasting the nectar beginning to seep from her womanhood. She gasps against the queen and her sigh of pleasure is covered by Zizza’s hungry kiss. You can tell by the amber trickling from the corner of Lala’s mouth that the queen is feeding her honey as she kisses her.

  “Mmmmm,” you murmur lustily and thrust your tongue into the slick folds of the peasant girl. Her inner walls clutch tightly against the intrusion. How such a comely girl has remained nearly virginal all the time is a wonder. You watch Zizza fondling Lala’s plump breasts as you lap at the peasant girl’s sweet cunt. Your tongue follows her groove up and down, lapping faster and faster, swirling at the bud of her clit until she is bucking against your face and whimpering into her kiss with Zizza.

  Your practiced tongue draws her pleasure to the surface. She arches in her backwards embrace with the queen, pushing her furry pussy against your tongue as you suck at Lala’s clit. Her plump thighs close around your head and she squeezes you tightly as her orgasm shudders through her ample body. Once she has relaxed, you crawl out from between her legs breathing heavily and grinning at her reaction.

  “She is ready, my queen,” you declare.

  “Yes, whatever you desire, my queen,” agrees Lala.

  The plump peasant girl falls forward and crawls to the end of Zizza’s fuzzy insect throne. You are already waiting by the stinger, your hand stroking the huge ovipositor. Lala is a good girl. She climbs straight atop it and kisses you as you guide it to her fertile furrow. The queen buzzes happily as Lala’s warm, welcoming cunt sinks down onto the queen’s sensitive ovipositor. Lala moves her hips, riding atop it as you caress her bouncing buttocks. The squelch of slime pours from Lala’s
pussy. You watch her blushing cunt swallowing the fat appendage, you watch it bulge as the eggs begin to push into her body. Her ass bounces and you glimpse her pink anus, clutching tightly as she spasms with pleasure each time an egg is planted in her womb.

  “Oh, my queen!” Lala wails with pleasure, her huge breasts heaving wildly as she rides the queen’s spurting ovipositor.

  You feel an urge of pheromones in the air and climb up the bed of Zizza’s abdomen. You life flat and your tongue finds the dripping cove of the queen’s human cunt. She cradles your head, bucking her hips and thrusting her sweet groove on your tongue as she is pleasured doubly. You know from experience that long after the queen finishes with Lala, she will require your attentions. Lapping at her musky, honey-sweet cunt, you are happy to give them to your glorious queen.

  Damn this so-called great one, damn Zhibbareth, all hail the queen of the garden!

  In the quiet moonlight, hours after Lala has given birth to her first clutch, you lunge atop the queen’s insect throne and rest your head against her plump bosom. She strokes you sweetly.

  “We must be prepared for war, little human,” she murmurs.

  “Whatever you decide, my love, I will serve you to the end.”

  She looks down at you and smiles, but for the first time, you see worry on her face. Her compound eyes reflect your sympathetic concern.

  “We may face a war we cannot win if we fight a god,” she says. “We may need to seek an alliance with him to avert great destruction here on the island.”

  “Whatever you decide,” you say, caressing her toned abdomen.

  “Yes, but it may have a cost on your souls,” she says. “He may demand things that are painful to give.”

  “As long as we are together,” you say, leaning up to kiss her passionately.

  In the dark days to come, that is hardly a guarantee. But what is certain is that as a great evil rises, your adventure is at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Attack

  You are not going to be intimidated by this big, stupid beast. You have the blessing of the Great One. It’s all you need to help you defeat the Wurllmek.

  “Submit or die!” You shout. “I am the herald of the Great One!”

  You draw both of your pistols and fire them at the hideous face of the worm. Despite the loud report and the gusts of smoke, the huge Wurllmek hardly seems to notice. You scream with rage, tossing the pistols aside as you draw your kirana and charge at the beast.

  “Foolish girl!” Your mother’s voice intrudes on your thoughts. “You cannot beat this beast with a sword! Run!”

  “Never!” You cry aloud. “I am the herald of the Great One!”

  You roar with fury, leaping at the Wurllmek and swinging at its pale yellow body. Your sword clangs as it strikes the tough segments of the beast. Your arms ache with the impact of each blow as they collide harmlessly against the Wurllmek. The beast slams against you and knocks you high into the air. It catches you in its jaws like a tossed morsel of food.

  "No!" You cry as you realize your folly.

  Your blade hacks into the inner mouth of the creature as its mandibles slam shut behind you. Rings of muscles as big as wagon wheels contract around you, squeezing you painfully, dragging your sword from your grasp, crushing your alchemy pack, and drawing you into the hot, stinking gullet of the beast.

  You descend into the channel of heaving flesh, pushed along by more rings of squeezing muscles. Your hands are pinned against your sides and you cannot even conjure a simple light spell.

  "Great One, please," you gasp. "Help me!"

  You are answered only the gurgling of the Wurllmek as it swallows you deeper into its gullet. You sink into its fetid innards, your clothes softening and dissolving and your body burning with a hideous mixture of pleasure and pain as you writhe in the maddening digestive juices. You are intoxicated and burned by the enzymes that bathe your flesh.

  Your body is molested by various cruel tendrils within the belly of the beast. Sometimes you drift off to sleep, only to awaken to the madness of your horrifying fate once more. Finally, mercifully, darkness closes in around you for good. The last thing you hear is your mother’s voice, echoing in your mind, “What a fool I was to think you any stronger than your poor sister.”

  Your adventure had come to an end in the belly of a terrifying beast. All that remains of you are a few slime-covered bones and bits of metal on the rim of one of the holes.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Magic

  Your eyes scan the ranks of wugs who fill the clearing from every side. Their bloated reptilian bodies swell the shadows and the waters of the swamp splash beneath their webbed feet. Wugs. Your codex is filled with information on the grotesque frog men. How they capture women for their barns, milking them like cattle even as they are filled with the wug’s young. The women are kept docile on drugs mixed with their own cream and fed to them.

  Have you come so far merely to meet that fate?

  You clench your hands into fists at your side. Magic crackles between your fingers.

  “Kara,” you say, voice low and dangerous. A low hum begins. Darkness seems to settle deeper over the marsh as the air grows still and greasy. “Lift your feet out of the water.”

  Testament to your sister’s new respect she does so without comment, drawing her feet onto the log and pulling them flush to her chest. “Penny?”

  Your brown hair lifts, fluttering as if underwater. Static crackles off the strands. “This’ll either work,” you say. “Or we’re dead.”

  Your feet lift out of the water. A blue glow surrounds you, seeping from your skin. One of the wugs, a war leader by his markings, hesitates. Then, he croaks something sharply to the rest. The frog-like warriors steal forward, feet splashing in the water. But it’s too late.

  You throw back your head, hair flaring about you like a halo. Your clothes billow in an invisible wind and you throw out your hands, palms springing open to release the lightning you had held.

  The crash of thunder blasts through the swamp. Lightning blazes into the water, through it. Wugs scream, convulsing as electricity spears them, roasting them from the inside out. The clearing is washed in a flash of light. Another. Another. Images sear into your retinas of the wugs as they fall, blasted apart by the magic thunderstorm you’ve released. You see their backs as they try to flee, only to be struck, thrown smoking into tress. You see, for a split second, the war leader, his head thrown back, his eyes and throat swollen in spheres. He pops like a child’s balloon, blood and blackened bits of flesh splattering the trees.

  The spell runs its course in seconds that feel like hours. The magic fades to mere static crackles licking from your palms as your aura fades, slowly lowering you into the waters. You touch the ground and sway, falling back against the log. Faint fingers of static continue to discharge across your skin as you look at the scene of devastation.

  Blackened bodies lie face down in the waters with pieces of less fortunate wugs. Blood and guts are splashed across the blackened trees surrounding you. Here and there, some undergrowth burns with a greasy flame. There is a dreadful silence about the scene.

  Gingerly, Kara puts her feet down, wincing as her toes touch the water. When nothing happens she quickly drops with a splash and rushes to your side, quick to help you upright. “Penny! Are you okay?”

  You gratefully fall against your sister, your hair on end after the show of magic. You nod shakily. “Y-yes. Yes. I’m okay. I just…didn’t think it would be so…wow…”

  Kara looks at the slaughtered war party with awe. You feel a twinge of pride at that, then you catch a whiff of the charred flesh and your stomach turns. Kara helps you lean forward, and you are quite violently sick.

  Your sister pats your back comfortingly as you heave. Once you stop, she helps you straighten. The scene of your own mortality seems to have eased her. Her golden eyes are q
uick, flashing among the trees for threats. “Come on,” she says, helping you away from the log. “We should go. I doubt those wugs will be back, but that light show might have attracted other things.”

  You nod, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. The two of you hasten from the scene of battle, soon leaving it behind. As the air clears of the scent of broiled flesh and the tang of ozone, you begin to recover. Soon you can walk without Kara’s aid, and together, the two of you move swiftly through the thick marsh, away and towards the end of the swampy lands of the wugs.

  CONTINUE >

  Conquer Gallatha for your lover

  You shudder in desire. The idea of it is so terrible, so monstrous you cannot help but want it. You grab Alyssa tightly. “Mmmm. Yes. Let’s do it.”

  Alyssa chuckles darkly, her eyes slits of lust. Her tail thrashes and her fangs show. Never has she looked more the demon than now, and you cannot help but love it.

  You release Alyssa reluctantly but kneel beside Gallatha. He makes a weak noise of protest. He hangs in your arms, the strip of cloth which once draped him like a mantle hanging limply from his shoulders. With strength you didn’t know you had, you hoist him into the air.

  Alyssa stands before him, grinning. Her clothes dissolve, baring every inch of her gloriously feminine flesh. Even now, as familiar as you are with her body, you find yourself again admiring her. Her hand filling breasts without a hint of sag. Her wide hips and ass so wonderfully firm, her skin as unblemished as if poured from wine. She stands, a hand on her hip, head thrown back. Her wings dark as night and her eyes so full of promises of pleasure they are almost hypnotic. Her tail twists in the air and scrapes its tip across the ground with a scratching sound.

  She raises her arms and voices the words of a spell. Black chains rise from the earth and wrap about Gallatha’s arms, holding him upright. Alyssa examines her work, humming with satisfaction as she lazily fingers her steaming snatch.