Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  He points to his companion with the cudgel. You’re still a fair bit bigger than even the brute of the small group of gertlings, but not by enough that you feel confident in your abilities. Even taking on the lanky leader seems like a risk.

  “No, no,” you say. “Bare hands. Me and you. What’s your name?”

  “Garvem,” growls the lanky gertling. He sniffs the air with his long, slender nose. “What I get if I win? What you get?”

  “If I win, I go free. If you win…” Your face reddens a little. You can’t bring yourself to offer him some sort of sex act, so you put the question back to him. “What do you want?”

  “Need bride,” he says without hesitation. “Need bride to cook and have babies. Just for me, not breeder for whole tribe.”

  “Your friends won’t like that,” you say.

  “They know I am boss,” he says, folding his scrawny arms over his chest. “We have bargain?”

  The thought of living a life of marriage to this ugly, blue-skinned beanpole strikes you as comical. You realize your arm is twice as big around as Garvem’s and you seem to weigh at least twice as much. How can he hope to beat you?

  “Alright,” you say. “But no biting.”

  “No fancy human weapons,” counters Garvem. “Bargain!”

  The gertling sticks out his hand with its grotesquely long and skinny fingers. You shake his hand like you are lifting a dead rat out of a wash pail. Garvem shouts to the other gertlings and they gather around. You take off your sword and drop your pistols and square off against the gertling.

  You remember your sister training endlessly with a straw dummy mounted on a wooden pole. She went from bare hands to a staff to using arrows and swords. You try to remember the way she weaved and struck with the edge of her hands. You make several testing swings and then commit to a lunging strike at Garvem. The lanky gertling steps aside and in a moment he is behind you. His claws hands wrap around your wrist as tight as a manacle and with surprising ease he bends your arm behind your back and twists it up towards your neck.

  “Aahhhhh!” You cry, feeling your shoulder joint flexing in the wrong direction. “Oh, gods, it hurts!”

  The pain is excruciating and drives you to your knees. You swing wildly with your free hand. Garvem locks his long fingers around your other wrist and bends your other arm behind your back. The movement nearly dislocates both of your shoulders and thrusts your chest out so much that your blouse pops a button and your breasts are partially exposed.

  A sharp knee in your back sends you pitching forward into the ash and mud. You spit the bitter ashes as Garvem twists your arms again, sending another wave of excruciating pain through your body.

  “Yield!” You cry, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Gods! Stop it, I yield!”

  The gertlings cheer and the pressure is released on your arms.

  “You are bride now,” says Garvem. “You make good wife for me.”

  You push yourself up onto your hands and knees and Garvem reaches around, fondling your soft breasts dangling halfway out of your torn shirt. He pulls your bodice, tearing the threads and bursting the top open completely so that your plump breasts flop free. His hands are cold and you whimper with defeat as he plays with your fat nipples in his bony fingers. His warm, wet tongue slithers over your earlobe as he leans over you.

  “You are mine!” He giggles as you sob with defeat.

  The others watch as the gertling leader tears off your skirt and underclothes until you are standing naked except for your tall boots. You cannot cover yourself from the bulging eyes of the leering gertlings; you cannot protect yourself from Garvem’s molesting hands. He smacks and squeezes your ass, he gropes your cunt, pushing a bony finger past your cuntlips before grabbing and pulling your nipples, one in each hand, and making you bend over to lessen the pain. He takes that opportunity to smack your ass even harder, leaving several throbbing handprints on your pale buttocks.

  “Pleaaase,” you moan. “Let me go.”

  “Bargain is bargain,” he says, grabbing hold of your head and pushing you down to your knees. “Now you use mouth. Use real good then I give you first litter of babies in pink human cunt.”

  Garvem hops up on a pile of charred timbers. Holding your tightly-wound bun of hair in one hand and dragging you closer, he suddenly pulls down his loincloth and his prick springs out, fully erect.

  The gertling’s penis is laughably small, although proportional to his short stature. It is perhaps the length and width of your ring finger, with bollocks the size of large acorns dangling in a dark blue sack beneath the much lighter blue shaft. The head is pinkish and threaded with tiny red capillaries. It reminds you more of a dog’s erection than the penis of a man.

  And you have no choice in the matter. He yanks your head down to his smelly groin and rubs his filthy, glistening cock all over your face.

  “Open mouth!” He demands, jerking your hair painfully.

  You reluctantly open your mouth and he forces his foul-smelling cock between your lips. It pushes just far enough to gag you and you jerk your head back despite the pain, fresh tears falling from your eyes.

  “Hold still, human!” He shrieks with annoyance, grabbing your head with both hands and holding it steady. He fucks your mouth. This little, weakling monster, one of the feeblest monsters a hunter could face, has beaten you and now he is fucking your mouth. His balls slap against your chin. You close your eyes so you do not have to stare at his grotesque blue flesh. The sour taste of his hot cockmeat in your mouth is bad enough.

  He seems to spend an eternity yipping with pleasure and humping his prick between your soft, wet lips. He releases his hold on your head and you accommodate him as best you can, moving your mouth on his putrid prick.

  “Yes, good bride. You make good bride. Now we mate! Turn around!”

  You hold in the tears as Garvem turns you around, bends you over, and slides his wet prick into the hot furrow of your sex. Despite your revulsion, sucking him has made your pussy wet and eager for his gertling fucktool. He throws himself at your plump bottom, clasping your ample hips as he humps furiously at your sex. His wee cock jackhammers into your pussy, his balls slapping against your clit until they begin to tighten.

  “Yes! Oh, yes! Human cunt so gooooood!” His claws scratch your thighs as he plunges his cock in and out of your pussy like a feral beast. You feel his hardness twitch and his extremely warm cum pours into your vulnerable cunt. The millions of sperm he has released into your womb only take a magic moment to find their target. You gasp as warmth spreads through your body, a new purpose and affection growing inside you as the curse of fertility that hangs over the island takes effect.

  You have been bred by the gertling. Thanks to the haze of magic infesting Ctharne, you couldn’t be happier about becoming Garvem’s bride.

  CONTINUE >