Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “I cannot do this,” you moan, looking away from her sex.

  “You must,” she says, reaching down to spread her folds and reveal her inner pink. “Go on, Penelope. Kiss your sister’s lovely cunt.”

  You purse your lips unhappily as you lean forward and touch them lightly to the hot groove of Kara’s pussy. She grabs you by your head and pulls you tightly against her steamy cunt. Her hot nectar smears your lips and her scent invades your nostrils. You feel almost dizzy and moan with resistance.

  “Lick it,” she hisses. “Don’t fight me, sister. Lick my cunt. I know it was what you desire.”

  Your tongue passes your lips and you taste the tangy-sweetness of her sex. You lick at her parted folds, pushing your tongue deeper, your resistance melting with each lick like a sugar cube into sweet tea. You moan as you lick her more hungrily. You lash her clit and she laughs at your wanton surrender to your desire.

  “Yessss,” she moans, tossing her head back, “just there, sister. Suck it. Use your fingers!”

  You suck at her clit and thrust two fingers into her wet, hungry cunt. You fuck her with your fingers and suck at her delicate folds. Her tiny bud seems to quiver beneath your tongue. She strokes her fingers through your hair, lifting her head to watch you. She hisses through your sister’s teeth. Looks at you with your sister’s golden eyes. And she cums. Bucking against your mouth, she cums, her pleasure rippling and squeezing against your fingers and her juices pouring into your mouth.

  “More!” She demands. “Keep fucking me. Lick me. Lick my ass!”

  She pull her knees up more and exposes her pink pucker, now glistening with her spilled nectar. You breathe in and hesitate only a moment before your tongue is lapping wet circles on her clench. You pump your fingers in and out of this false Kara’s pussy as you screw your tongue into the flexing ring of her asshole. She cums again and you feel that tight pink drum throbbing with pleasure beneath your tongue, squeezing tighter with each contraction of pleasure that clenches against your fingers.

  “Enough!” Kara cries and she pulls you up onto the bed. Her kiss is wild and passionate. She seems to savor her juices on your lips, sucking at your lower lip before moaning, gasping, and kissing her way from your neck to your breasts. You whimper with desire as her tongue strokes your nipples. She squeezes your plump mounds against her face and sucks your fat buds. She looks down into your eyes as she pops her lips with suction around your areolas and leaves your straining nipples wet with her saliva.

  Her kiss moves lower. She pushes apart your legs and her hot kiss moves from your inner thighs to the furry patch of your cunt. You tilt your hips with hidden desire and she assaults you with fingers and tongue. Your fingers twist in the comforter and you cry out, “Kara! Oh, Kara! Yes! Lick me!”

  The perversity only heightens your pleasure as this thing that wears your sister like a costume pleasures you with her practiced tongue and fingers. She is an expert. You wonder how much experience retains from those women she has fed upon in the mirrors. Has she absorbed the memories of whores and lesbians? It certainly seems so as she thrusts a finger up your arse, two in your cunt, and laps furious circles on your clit.

  You cum again and again, your body shuddering and entirely at her mercy. When she climbs atop your face and turns around so that she might lick you, there is no choice in the matter. Your tongue slides out eagerly and you cradle Kara’s firm ass against your face, licking at her hot slit and burying your nose against her pucker.

  After sweaty hours tangled in the comforter, your limbs entwined with hers and your face flushed. You are still trying to catch your breath. She is resting languidly on her side and watching you recover.

  “Admit it, dear,” she says, teasing her fingernails on your thigh. “Admit you wish to stay with me and we can be together. Not in a mirror. Here, with me, forever. As my lover.”

  You entertain such a fantasy for only a moment. You saw Kara in that mirror, in the throes of ecstasy, but looking incredibly ill. You cannot abandon your sister for this pleasure.

  “No,” you say firmly. “I must have my sister back. I have held up my end of the bargain, doppelganger. Are you a creature of your word?”

  “Not particularly,” she laughs. “I am not certain why you trusted me.”

  You sit up and give her a wide-eyed look.

  “Oh, my sweet,” she laughs and takes your hand to kiss your cunt-slicked fingers. “Of course I will let her out. I like you, whether or not I am a liar. But you must leave with her immediately. She is rather more unpleasant than you and I know how she thinks. She’ll want to get revenge on me.”

  “I will leave with her and we will not return,” you promise.

  “You see, I almost believe your word,” she says. “Better still, promise me you will not even tell her I survive and thus she will have no temptation to smash my lovely gallery.”

  “I will lie to her,” you say, feeling guilt for even admitting such a betrayal.

  “Good,” she says, pulling you into an embrace. “Once more, for fun?”

  “No,” you say as she begins kissing your neck. “I must go.”

  You make love with the doppelganger twice more and finally have to slap at her hands to convince her to let you pull your clothing on. She sighs and helps you buckle your weapon belt back around your ample hips. A list kiss and a tease of her tongue is almost enough to convince you to undress all over again.

  “No more,” you gasp, pushing her away. “Let her out.”

  “I will remain here,” she says. “Knock on her mirror and it will release her.”

  You descend back into the eerily silent hall of mirrors and find the mirror where Kara is being ravished by the shadow creatures. The woman who just had you in her bed looked much more like your sister than this clammy woman with the sunken eyes. But you know the truth. You knock on the glass pane of the mirror.

  The mirror explodes in a bright flash and crack that echoes through the hall. You expect to be cut to bits by flying glass, but the mirror has disintegrated without a trace, leaving behind only the sweaty, surprisingly fully-clothed body of your sister.

  “Kara!” You cry, kneeling next to her. She moans and your heart soars as you realize she is still alive. Not just alive, but fully dressed and with all of her equipment. “Kara, it’s me! It’s Penny!”

  Her eyes open, the golden luster seeming dimmed as she looks up at you. Her parched lips tremble as if she is unable to form words. You take a flash of water from your backpack and hold it to her lips. She drinks greedily and croaks, “Knew… you would come…. Penny.”

  “She didn’t fool me,” you say, stroking a lock of white hair from her face.

  “Have to keep going,” she says, pulling herself to her feet.

  “Yes, let’s get outside,” you say. “Regain your strength.”

  You pull her into your arms and crush her against your soft breasts. Her body may be weakened, but her will is undimmed. You know she will insist on accompanying you.

  “Outside,” she moans. “I will rest a bit… outside of this cursed house.”

  “Of course, Kara,” you say, supporting her on your shoulder as you search for the exit from the manor. The force of the exploding mirrors has apparently cleared enough dust that faint rays of pale moonlight trickle through leaf-blown skylights high above. By their wan illumination, you find a heavy wooden door at the back of the huge room. The door is jammed shut, but a magical ram spell smashes it open and you and your sister stagger out of the cursed manor and into swirling leaves and a moonlit path.

  “Here,” you say, helping her to sit beneath a tree. “Let us rest here for a bit. I have some food and water. I’ll make a fire.”

  Kara looks at you gratefully as you begin to build the fire.

  CONTINUE >

  Milk Cow Ending

  You sense the passage of time vaguely, like the wind that stirs the forest on a moonless night. Marabelle attaches the suction cups every day to release the pressure in your
swollen breasts. Every day the machine thumps its cock in and out of your slick cunt as you are given relief by the milking machine. It ends only long enough for you to sleep hanging in your restraints and the process begins again.

  You have a stall all your own. Marabelle was kind enough to strap you up herself. You like the straps. They move more easily with you and support your weight far better.

  This is important because your breasts have positively ballooned since Marabelle started feeding you her own special milk. Your nipples now stretch a full inch in diameter, cradled by the suction cups which gently pulse, drawing out your milk and feeding it down the tubes into the great machine in the middle of the room. The mechanical thumps of the pumps and the moans of your stall mates are completely natural now, their steady noise, punctuated by a cry as a cow orgasms, soothing in their regularity.

  Your thigh has stopped aching, which is quite nice. Though it hurt at first when Marabelle branded you, she was so tender to you afterwards you easily forgave her. Your thighs have plumped up since then, but you don’t care. You don’t about most things anymore.

  Today, however, you feel the bad thoughts start again. Faces with golden eyes swim through the haze of your thoughts and you feel a pang in your heart. A quiet yearning for something not done.

  “Whooo,” you moan. “Ahhhh.”

  Marabelle at once materializes before you. “Oh my dear girl,” she coos, stroking your hair again. “Bad thoughts?”

  You nod a little shakily. Your mouth habitually hangs in a wide circle of moaning pleasure, but now you try and form the words to express your pain. You stop as Marabelle puts her finger to your mouth.

  “Shush dear. I know exactly what you need.”

  You brighten visibly as Marabelle smoothes her skirt and kneels before you. Reaching up she gently removes one of the suction cups milking you. Milk splatters on the floor of the barn as your engorged teat comes free, but Marabelle wastes no more, putting her lips to your breast and gently nibbling on your raw nipple.

  “Ohh. Ah. Ah! Ah!”

  You wriggle in your bindings as Marabelle expertly milks you, applying the gentlest of pressure while her tongue flicks your teat to draw more of your milk out.

  Though the machines are fine, Marabelle’s lips and hands are incomparable. You toss your head, chestnut brown hair swaying as you groan with the ecstasy of her sucking. Your eyes flutter and the faces in your thoughts recede once more, drowned beneath the milk-hazed pleasure. You don’t know what the world has become outside the barn, but none of it matters. You’ll spend the rest of your life hooked to milkers and filling Marabelle’s tanks with your cream.

  And you couldn’t be happier.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  You don’t trust her

  Something is most definitely wrong with Kara. She would never call you Penelope if she is relieved to see you. This person standing before you looks, talks, and acts almost exactly like your sister, but you know that it is either not her or she is under some sort of spell. Is that woman in the mirror being fucked by the shadows your real sister? Will she end up like these dried out husks in the other mirrors?

  You take a step back from this imposter.

  “What’s wrong?” She asks with a look of concern on her face. “I know it must be a surprise—“

  “Stop this,” you tell her. “I do not know who or what you are, but what have you done with my sister?”

  “Penelope,” she says, coming slowly towards you. “No need to get upset. I know you have been through a lot and I understand your fears. Trust me.”

  “No, I don’t trust you!” You shout and back away, drawing your kirana from its sheath. You back towards one of the mirrors containing a dried out husk and you raise the sword as if to strike it.

  “Don’t do that,” cries Kara. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

  You look back at her as you bring the sword crashing down onto the mirror and smash it to pieces. The mirror flashes with red magical light as it collapses into nothingness and the corpse falls to the ground, fully dressed. Kara screams as if in agony. A ripple crosses her face down to her body, revealing, if only for a moment, the proportions and features of a different person who seems to in the throes of agony or ecstasy.

  The ripple passes and your sister returns, gasping and wide-eyed. She looks at you and her expression changes from surprise to fury.

  “Penelope, you are a foolish little girl!” She snarls.

  “And you are not my sister,” you say coldly.

  The anger slowly drains from her expression and becomes Kara’s familiar smile with her scar-split lip. She raises an eyebrow and says, “But I could be your sister. Don’t you want that?”

  You are shocked by her reply.

  “I could say with you forever,” she says, taking a slow step closer. You brandish your sword and she stops, raising her hands as if to calm you. “Think about it, Penelope. You won’t need to worry about her. You can stay with me.”

  “No, I want my sister back,” you say. “I will smash every one of these mirrors to get her out.”

  “You can’t have her,” she says. “I’ll see you put in one of my mirrors and you’ll belong to me as surely as your foolish sister. You are not half the woman she is, Penelope. I know you through her. You are weak and she was strong and I beat her. Give it up.”

  Doubt creeps into your determination. A drop of cold sweat slides from your hair down your neck and into your cleavage. This woman standing across from you is indistinguishable from Kara. Fighting her will be difficult. But maybe you do not have to fight her directly.

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Parley

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  Attack

  You scramble across the floor for your sword, but every movement has you gasp and twitch as the thing within your cunt pressed against your insides. Crawling tenderly, gasping with every movement, you reach your cast off belt. You grab your sword and wrench it from the sheathe. You bring it up, but your other hand suddenly grabs your wrist.

  “Noo!” you sob, struggling against yourself. Even as you do your breastplate suddenly quivers. “Ah!” you gasp as the metal begins to vibrate about your heavy breasts, sending tingling pleasure shooting through you.

  Your legs shudder beneath you, and if you weren’t already on your knees you surely would have fallen to them. It’s all you can do to grasp your sword above your head. You find yourself grinding against the harsh throbbing in your cunt.

  “Ohhhhh,” you gasp, the strap between your bum pressing harder against your backdoor. Panting, knuckles white about the hilt of the sword, you whimper.

  You can feel the straps against your back dig into your skin. The warmth of the leather radiates from your spine until you can’t tell the difference between it and your own flesh. More straps of leather begin to radiate from the main pieces. One wraps about your hands, shackling them together.

  “Oh gods,” you gasp as another winds about your ankles, tying you securely. You find yourself leaning back, stretching your stomach to the air. A glance up sees your bound arms dangling above your tied ankles. A dark strap descends from between them. A buckle takes shape, and with a click, locks them together.

  “Oh no,” you whimper. Hogtied, at the utter mercy of the mimic, you feel it redouble its attack on your cunt. “Mnnn!” Your body, pulled taut, quivers like the string of a violin under a master’s touch. You pant. You spread your thighs, opening more of your cunt. It’s just to take the pressure off. You haven’t given in. You still hold your sword-

  “Ah!” you squeal in surprise as something tickles your asshole. “Oh. Oh! Oh!” You gasp as something slides into your gaping backdoor. Once inside, it seems to grow, feeling your taut bowels. You groan at the wondrous feeling of pressure. The rough fucking limb in your cunt seems to push against it. It’s impossible to say why it feels so good to f
eel such fullness inside of you.

  "Mother!" you cry, sobbing at your helplessness. "Save me!"

  A voice echoes through your thoughts. At first your heart soars, then flutters when you hear the echoing sigh. "Oh Penelope," your mother's voices breathes through your mind. "Simple girl. Maybe I was wrong about you..."

  "Mother!" you gasp.

  "Why didn't you try your magic, my dear?"

  "I-" Your reply is cut off by a squeal as the pressure against your bum grows more pronounced. "Mother!"

  But even as you cry for her you feel her presence fade from your mind. She has rejected you, left you to your own devices. This was a trial, and one which you have failed. A sob of despair rips from your lips, even as the mimic grinds itself against you, binding you tightly in its leathery grasp. It's cock throbs through your cunt. The pressure at your backdoor is inescapable in its strange pleasure, and your body answers the abuses of its bindings with shocks of pleasure.

  Under such an assault, it’s mere moments before you cum. “Oh gods!” you shriek. “Fuck me! Fuck me! Make me cum!”

  Twitching, bound, incapable of independent movement, you scream, your voice lilting with the wonderful pleasure. Dimly, you hear the sword clatter from your hands. The sensations seem to grow larger. The mimic you realize is fusing to your body.

  This, you think later, was likely the last independent thought of Penny. With a snap the buckle which binds your hands is removed. At once you grab your breasts, kneading the flesh even as the breastplate squeezed and abused your nipples. “Yes!” you gasp. “Yes! Harder! Harder damn you, you fucking thing!”

  You will the cock in your cunt to go deeper and it complies. You thrust out your bum and feel more straps sprout like thin tails. You moan as they stroke and slide over your skin like the smooth forms of snakes.