Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “It’s over, Penelope,” she says. “Just drop your weapon and I can show you a nice, comfortable mirror. You can end your existence with unimaginable pleasure and noth—“

  You interrupt her by drawing a pistol and shooting her. She cries out and crumples to the ground. You shove the pistol into your belt and limp over to her as she writhes in pain. You press the tip of your sword to her throat.

  “This ends,” you gasp with exhaustion, “now.”

  “Wait!” She cries out. “Sister, please, don’t you remember those days in the Thistledown cabin? When mother would go on her treks and you and I would hunt kedzel?”

  Her words conjure the sunny days in that idyllic childhood place.

  “The way the air smelled of flowers as soon as the sun came out,” she says. “Do not take that from me.”

  “Sister…” You look into her pleading eyes.

  Her rapier drives into your breast and impales your heart. You experience a moment of agony and then collapse onto the blade, dimly feeling it as it impales your body. Your sword slips from your grasp. Darkness closes around you.

  The doppelganger embraces you almost tenderly as your lifeblood flows from your body.

  “A pity,” she says, smoothing a lock of hair from your face. “You will be a feast of crows when you could have given me so many delicious memories instead.”

  Your life and your adventure are at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  The walled garden

  You walk cautiously along the path winding its way through the overgrown garden. You step over roses grown across the path with flowers as big as dinner plates, duck under vines as thick as ropes, and see the shrapnel remains of flower planters that have been burst open by huge bundles of roots swelling to unnatural sizes. The thorn bushes are too wicked to try to pass through the hedge and at times the path becomes so narrow that the thorns tear at your clothing.

  There are enough mossy statues and paving stones left behind that you can tell this was once a beautiful garden. The plants are not just huge either, they seemed changed and evil. Seed pods drip with unwholesome liquid and the grass that pokes out from the hedge is as sharp-edge as broken glass. You feel the evil around you, as if the whole garden wants to rip open your clothing and tear at your flesh.

  The only way to reach the manor seems to be by following the twisting maze of a path deeper and deeper into the brambles.

  You experience a moment of relief as you stumble out from the thorns and creepers that keep snaring your feet. You are in a clearing with a burbling fountain at the center. A mossy statue of a nude, weeping woman stands in the center of the fountain and the water flows from her eyes like two streams of tears. Several stone benches stand near the fountain, though it is hard to pick them out, because they are mostly covered with the serpentine coils of dozens of thick, green vines.

  Sitting atop the fountain’s water is a beautiful flower so enormous that it looks like you could climb inside its petals. The sweet scent of the flower perfumes the air. Motes of pollen drift through the sunlight filtering through the piled brambles. There is something about that scent. It makes you smile, like a fond memory, and warmth begins to spread across your body.

  It is this sense of well being that betrays the true nature of this flower. You spot one of the vines draped over a bench begin to slither and move.

  “A pleasure whip,” you murmur.

  You've read of these plants before. A jungle vine that produces a single flower it uses to lure men and women closer with a sweet smell. It seems to be more than a smell. You feel an urge to approach the flower and you know that if you do the vines you see will sense your approach and wrap your body up with a sudden strike. The pleasure whip does not eat its victims, it eats their pleasure and the fluids their bodies yield in the throes of ecstasy. It will pleasure them for days, until the victims perish from dehydration.

  You see no bodies decaying in the courtyard, nor victims wrapped in the vines. That means this particular pleasure whip is likely to be very hungry and particularly aggressive.

  Despite your understanding of the danger this plant monster poses, the cloying scent of the perfume is making you want to walk closer to the flower. If you wait around much longer, you risk succumbing to that perfume. These plants are non-sentient, so there is no point trying to parley with it. Perhaps an attack with your alchemy or magic will clear a path through the vines.

  Some of the closest vines are beginning to twitch as if they sense you standing in the courtyard.

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  Parley

  “Wait!” You shout. “Wait, we can talk about this. We do not need to be enemies.”

  He stares at you for a moment, cocks his head to the side, and an expression like a smile curls his bestial lips. His voice rumbles aloud, “You are right, little one. We will not be enemies. You will be my bride.”

  There is a charge in the air like a storm cloud passing overhead. The horned patriarch’s many brides must feel it too; they moan and stir in their places, writhing and some even rising to their feet. The naked women begin to stagger towards you. There are too many to count in the dim chapel, bodies jiggling and engorged breasts leaking milk as they approach. You draw your pistol and your kirana.

  A creaking floorboard behind you alerts you to more of the women closing in on you from behind. Some of them are truly beautiful and others look almost like monsters with their inbred features and goat like traits. They all have the same crazed look in their eyes.

  “Stay back!” You cry, swinging your sword and turning in a circle to warn them all away. “Come any closer and I’ll… I’ll…”

  You’ll what? These are not monsters, they are humans, and many of them are heavy with unborn children. You cannot cut them down with your sword. You raise your pistol and fire it into the air. They stop for a moment, some flinching away from the loud noise and the flash of light.

  “You have magic?” The goat’s voice murmurs in your head. “Show me your power! Cut them down, little one. See how many you can slay with your sword and your spell.”

  “Ahh!” You cry out in anguish as one of the women reaches in past your sword and grabs at your blouse. You dodge out of her grasp. You cannot bring yourself to strike the woman down. Your voice is desperate as you wail, “Please! Stay back! Stay away!”

  It’s no use. The women close in and you realize in a moment of horror that your only choice is to murder these defenseless women or surrender yourself to them. Your sword slips from your grasp as their hands grab at your jacket, your blouse, your skirt, and even your hair.

  You cry out in pain as your head is pulled backwards, dragging you off your feet. You land heavily on your bottom and they are all around you. Unwashed and musky with sex, their naked bodies pressing in like a tomb as their hands tear off your jacket, pull open your blouse, and rip off your skirt in strips.

  “Yes,” laughs the goat in your mind. “Yes, give into them. It will be so much easier.”

  Once your clothes are torn away, their hands become gentler, fondling and caressing your naked body. They lift you up and carry you in their arms across the chapel. They put you on your back upon a stone altar. A pretty, dark-haired girl leans down and kisses you. Her tongue plays in your mouth as hands fondle your breasts, pluck at your nipples and part your thighs. Grimy fingers probe your sex and you moan into the kiss. Someone is sucking at one nipple and then at both. A woman is licking between your legs, her fingers curling beneath your slick cunt to tease your anus.

  “Mmmmmm!” You cry, trying one last time to free yourself from your grasp. The woman kissing you moves aside and you see a plump blonde climbing atop you on the altar. She squats in your face, her rank cunt descending onto your mouth and her unwashed ass smothering you. Tears stream down your face, but the raunchy scent and smothering heat of
the woman drives you mad. You lick at her. You reach up and cradle her. You taste salt and sour and wetness. Her cunt is steamy hot and you bury your tongue in it. Your cries of pleasure are muffled by her fat ass and you buck against the woman fingering and licking you.

  You lose yourself in the confusion of sensations. Tongues are licking you everywhere, fingers exploring you deeply and roughly. You buck again and again, even as the woman leaves your sweaty face and another woman straddles you facing the other direction, her furry cunt smothering you just as well. You love it. You cannot lick and suck enough of their sweet pussies. When you are offered a soft breast, you suck wantonly, and drink the hot milk of one woman’s bosom.

  “Enough,” murmurs the goat aloud and the women clear away from the altar. You are still gasping, breasts heaving, body drenched in sweat and womanly juices, as the horned goat approaches. You gaze up at the bestial giant. His pink cock has grown red and erect, rising like the prow of a galleon from his furry groin. His voice springs into your mind with a simple command, “Turn over.”

  “Yesssss,” you moan, your body shuddering with desire. You roll over onto your hands and knees, lowering your head to the cool stone of the altar as you raise your plump backside and offer him your dripping cunt. The mighty goat drags two fat fingertips over your clit and up your cunt, teasing between your cheeks. His fingers move to your left buttock and you feel a fingernail press against your smooth mound. There is a tickle of magic as he draws a symbol on your ass. You lift your head and look back to see a rune glowing faintly.

  “You are my bride now,” he murmurs. “Your body can accept my blessing.”

  Of course! His glorious cock would destroy your flesh if you were a normal human. You weep with joy and lower your face back down to the stone altar, accepting your fate at the hands (and cock) of the magnificent horned goat.

  The tip is like a fist pressing against your slick cunt. He rubs his throbbing hardness at your entrance, sending pulses of yearning through your body and eliciting another moan.

  “Fuck me,” you pant, arching your back and rolling your hips to rub even more vigorously against his massive member.

  The goat takes hold of your hips with his massive hands and thrusts into your tight quim. Your velvet folds part against his tip and his huge cock skewers your pussy. It stretches it beyond the breaking point and yet it holds and there is no pain. Even as it feels like his two feet of cock are reaching nearly to your throat, the only problem is a bit of discomfort breathing. Your body shakes with the force of his strokes and your plump breasts swing freely beneath you.

  “Mmmmmmaaaaaahhhh!” You cry like a beast, your mouth hanging open and your tongue almost flopping out of your mouth as you go mad with pleasure. Your cunt grips against his cock and after only a few strokes your body begins to spasm with ecstasy. You manage the words, “It’s so good!”

  “It will always be so,” laughs the massive goat. “My cock will fulfill you. I will grant you purpose with it.”

  A few more strokes in and out of your impossibly stretched pussy and his cock seems to swell. You feel your belly bulging with each thrust. Your ass smacks against his furry hips. You cry out, eyes rolling back, another orgasm rolling through your body as you feel the goat’s cock begin to twitch.

  His hot semen floods your stuffed cunt. The heavy tide overflows your channel and drips down your thighs in a gooey, frothing torrent. The curse of the island takes hold the moment his hot spurts of seed collide with your fertile womb. New contentment rushes over you and your orgasm reaches unexpected heights as you are bred.

  “You are my bride,” groans the goat. “Forever my bride!”

  The women around you coo with happiness. Tears spill down your cheeks as your heart is lifted with joy.

  CONTINUE >

  Kiss the protean

  The pleasure you felt while just a piece of the protean was inside of you was almost indescribable. You need more and you do not hesitate to claim it. You wrap your arms around the protean’s voluptuous likeness of your mother, feeling the cool, soft slime squishing beneath your fingers.

  She burbles excitedly as you answer her invitation with a kiss and press your warm thigh between her gelatinous legs. Her mouth opens immediately to your probing tongue and you taste the inner sweetness of her slime. You found her use of your mother as her guise a bit creepy before, now it seems charged with forbidden eroticism. Her slime tongue pushes into your mouth, fencing and wrestling with your hot, hungry kiss. The more you touch the protean, the more you desire her.

  You shed your backpack and jacket; her nimble tendrils unbuckle your belt and drop your weapons to the floor. You are not afraid of the protean. You know her mind, her curious desires, and you know she only wants to play. She helps you off with your skirt and you wriggle out of your panties and bra, burning with a desire to press your body against her jiggling slime.

  Her voluptuous physique squishes against your baked flesh and your nipples push inside her. You moan at the strange sensation of her slime tightening around your erect buds. You both moan into the kiss. You rub your thigh against her gelatinous mound. You are not sure if the protean’s cunt has any particularly sensitivity, but her soft thigh against your quim feels incredible. The more you sway your hips and rub your pussy against the protean’s shapely leg, the more tiny tendrils ripple from the surface of her leg and flutter against your delicate folds and the bud of your clit.

  “Ohhhh, yesss,” you moan, swinging your hips faster and faster and kissing her ever more passionately.

  It is strange, but also strangely exciting, that she is continuing to maintain the likeness of your mother. She has your mother’s full lips, delicate, but slightly crooked nose, and she certainly has your mother’s voluptuous figure. Just as lusciously ample, but never as soft as your own padded curves.

  Stranger still, the more excited the protean becomes, the cloudier her color, until this lifelike extension of her vast body is an opaque green like it is made from jade. Her skin becomes more firm as well. Her fat nipples are actually bending and your fingers on her hips and soft ass are no longer entering the jiggling gelatin of her body. You pull back from the kiss to admire her statuesque form. She cups her own breasts, lifting and squeezing them without distorting their shape.

  “Shall I pleasure you, Penelope?” She burbles. Her hand slips down to her thighs and you marvel as a thick cock extends from her clitoris. She grips her newly-formed member at the base. Now you have a good idea what it would look like if your mother had a cock as large as bludgeon.

  “Oh my,” you murmur, unconsciously stroking your cunt and imagining that thick cock sliding into your steamy pussy.

  “Would you rather be fucked?” The protean asks. She steps close and rubs the head of her rigid cock back and forth against your thighs. You shudder with desire, letting your fingertips play over the cockhead. It is warm and even leaking a bit of precum-like fluid with a greenish tint. The protean kisses you softly and whispers, “Pleasure is all that matters. What do you desire?”

  What do you desire?

  Get pleasured by the protean

  Get fucked by the protean

  Pleasure the protean's new cock

  Surrender

  For the briefest moment you consider resisting. But how could you fight this bloated monstrosity which bars your way? What would be the point? The monster before so easily overpowered the lamia who had bested you with such ease. Why should you?

  You make no move as the long tentacles reach out for you. You shudder, skin tingling at their slimy touch as they wrap about your waist and arms. Effortlessly they lift you into the air and draw you nearer the Scylla.

  Perched atop her tentacle limbs, the monster cocks her head. More tentacles join the first few and carefully slide beneath your clothes.

  You gasp, shuddering as the slimy limbs crawl across your skin, stroking every inch and coating your sensitive flesh in their slime. Eventually, the twisting limbs find their way beneath your
skirt and undergarments. “Ah!” You tense as the prehensile tip of a tentacle brushes across your moistening folds. The limb teases your flush lower lips, rubbing its rubbery flesh against it, then, tensing, it tears off your panties.

  The warm air brushes against your now exposed lower lips. Again the searching tentacle strokes you.

  You do not resist as the tentacles ease you back and draw your nearer the scylla’s waist. It looks down at you with those blank white eyes. Her ovipositor again extends from her waist.

  “Yes,” you pant. “Please. Breed me.”

  The scylla’s lower limb stretches out and presses against your tender folds. “Nnn!” You arch, gasping much like the lamia before you. The Scylla pays you no mind, easing her egg laying limb into your warm channel. You moan the deeper it goes, but it’s such a narrow thing. But of course. It is merely to prepare you for its eggs.

  It reaches into you. Deep. Deeper than anything you’ve felt before. It seems to fill you with itself. You’re shuddering with pleasure by then, helpless as the Scylla impales you. At last it is finished, its breeding stick coming to rest deep inside, your inner walls embracing it with your quivering flesh

  Yet it has only begun. Through the valley of your breasts you see a bulge work its way along the ovipositor. “Oh!” you gasp as you feel the first egg press against your lower lips. You ease back your head, the liquid which coats the ovipositor relaxing your lower lips. The bead of the egg presses harder and, finally, pops past and into your greedy cunt.