The Easily Defeated Hero's Monster Girl Adventure

by Amanda Clover

  You lift yourself up from the wet leaves and mud, wipe yourself off, and set forth into the land of perpetual gloom in search of your undead love. You follow the main road through the dark forest, traversing several villages and searching high and low. You encounter ghosts, highwaymen, and what you are pretty sure is a werewolf. You manage to elude them all and continue your journey through the dismal realm of the Nightlands.

  In the small fishing village of Yoreth, you work briefly on a fishing boat to earn enough coin to stay at the inn. The barmaid there is pleasant and inviting, her bed warm and her thighs creamy and soft. She wants you to stay and be her man, but you are resolute in your quest to find Izabella. It is not long before you are on your way again.

  After more than a month of wandering the Nightlands, you encounter a merchant passing through the northern mountains. He invites you to share his campfire and although his guards are wary of you, he is friendly and forthcoming. He tells you of the town of Klengmourn, with its miserable townsfolk watched over by a beautiful castle high in the mountains.

  “They are afraid in Klengmourn,” says the merchant. “The duke’s new wife, Izabella, makes the servants disappear when they displease her. Sometimes she comes into town and plucks unlucky folk for a ‘feast’ at the castle. If they return at all, they are never the same. Haunted and almost like they are in a trance.”

  “Izabella,” you murmur, your heart swelling with excitement.

  Klengmourn is four days of hard walk through unwelcoming terrain. At last, you leave the much of the lowlands behind and climb into the foothills of the Nevarrin mountain range. In dreary daylight these massive mountains reach into the matching slate sky and at night they loom as a darkness that blocks out the stars.

  On the morning of the fifth day since meeting the merchant you spy the village of Klengmourn, ramshackle and ugly, seeming to slough from the mountain like debris surrounding the scabrous socket of the mine works. Above this scene, like a stately bird of prey perched among the peaks, the castle described by the merchant looks down on the mining town of Klengmourn.

  The townsfolk of Klengmourn are among the least welcoming of any you have encountered in the Nightlands. They stare at you with dark eyes, their shoulders slumped and their faces pale. The laborers from the mines are covered in the dust of their labors. You pass a shop selling eel pies and a brothel with women that look sick with jaundice. This is an afflicted place.

  You trudge through the town and up a perilous road to the mountain peak and the castle gate. You are met at the wrought iron edifice by a huge guardian wearing a grotesque silver mask. He is so large that you are not even sure he is human.

  “You are not from here,” he says, perhaps observing your relatively good health. “You would be wise to go back whence you came.”

  “I am here to see Izabella,” you declare.

  “The duchess? What business do you have with her?” He steps forward and grabs a handful of the quilted jacket you are wearing. His breath steams ominously through the nostrils of his horrifying mask in the crisp mountain air.

  “Tell her Lucas Le Blanc is here to see her,” you say, although your clenching guts tell you this guard is about to bash in your head.

  He grunts and shoves you back.

  “You will wish I had not told her,” he growls and disappears through the gate.

  Several minutes later, the gate opens again and the guard gestures for you to follow. He clomps through a castle that seems almost empty. You notice threadbare tapestries and a coating of dust on the window casements; signs that its finery is falling to neglect. The guard leads you to a small sitting room with a couch with red velvet cushions and oil lanterns giving off an unpleasant amount of smoke.

  “Wait here,” growls the guard, gesturing to the couch. “The duchess wants to see you.”

  You settle down on the couch, feeling out of place in the opulent room. You wait until the gray daylight fades to darkness and then you hear the click of approaching footsteps on the castle’s stone corridors. The door to the chamber swings open and you are greeted by a fat man with a white beard. He has a leather helmet pulled down almost to his eyes and a vast gray tunic pinned with many medals. He wears crisp red trousers over his tree-trunk wide legs.

  “Um, hello, sir,” you say, rising to your feet.

  He remains in the doorway, motionless, seeming to look down at you over his big, ruddy nose.

  “My wife,” he says, the words thick on his tongue, “has come to see you.”

  Izabella, pale and voluptuous, her shapely body hung with crimson silk, steps around her corpulent husband. She pats his chest and gently pushes him away.

  “Go rest, dear,” she says. “I can hear you wheezing again.”

  “Mmmhmmphhh,” he says. “Goodnight, my love.”

  She stops him from kissing her and blows him a kiss instead. The fat duke retreats down the hall, leaving you alone with the beautiful, raven-haired vampiress. She turns to you once he is gone and pushes you back into the room, closing the door behind her.

  “Why have you come for me, Lucas?” She whispers. “I am not going back in that sword.”

  “I have been searching the Nightlands for weeks to find you,” you say, grasping her arms and looking into her red eyes. Her luscious breasts jiggling slightly in her dress and the feel of her cool skin beneath your hands makes your cock twitch. “The sword is gone. I no longer serve Veleda. I want to…to be with you, Izabella.”

  She seems about to chastise you, but your last words make her draw back in surprise. She regards you curiously.

  “Be with me?” She cocks her head and furrows her brow. “What does this mean?”

  “Well, um, it means,” you stammer, suddenly stymied by her beauty. You regain your confidence and declare, “It means I want to be with you, Izabella. Romantically.”

  “Romantically,” she says the word as if it tastes bad in her mouth. Her expression softens to sympathy. “Oh, Lucas, I am the duchess. I have a husband, even if he is a bloated buffoon. I have no interest in romance. You should leave here. Go back to your farm and your sunlight. The Nightlands are no place for a summer child like you, Lucas.”

  But you are not to be deterred so easily. You press closer to her, caressing her cheek as you look into her eyes. Moving close enough to kiss her.

  “I will not leave,” you say. “Even if you remain married to this man, I will stay.”

  “Mmmmmm.” Her lips tighten into a line. She seems to weigh your words and then she nods and she smiles. “Yes, that could work. Lucas, I may have no use for romance, but I have many uses for a new manservant. Will you honor me and become my loyal servant?”

  Your disappointment at her chilly reaction is banished by the idea of becoming a servant to the beautiful vampiress. You fall to your knees before her, clinging to her hands and her silky dress.

  “Yes, Izabella,” you say. “Oh, yes, please. I will be your faithful servant. I will pleasure you whenever you desire.”

  “Oh, you will?” She laughs haughtily. “Of course, you will need to earn the honor to pleasure me. Tonight, I will grant you that honor, but do not expect it again soon.”

  “Oh, thank you,” you moan with relief, pressing your face against her firm abdomen as she strokes your back and shoulders.

  “Yes, yes,” she says. “That’s a good boy. Lift my dress now, Lucas, so that you may serve your duchess.”

  You moan with submissive lust, sliding her skirt up her long, slender legs to her shapely thighs, exposing the dark triangle of hair atop her womanhood and the bluish lips of her delicate undead pussy. You breathe her scent and stroke her cool flesh as she pulls you closer.

  “That’s it,” she purrs. “You have dreamt of this pussy, haven’t you, Lucas?”

  “Ohhhh, yes,” you moan, nuzzling against her cool, slick folds. You tease the soft velvet of her cuntlips, running your tongue along her seam and tickling your nose in the thatch of her dark hair. She moans softly, twitching he
r hips and leaning back, letting you serve her sweet pussy.

  “You haven’t forgotten how to pleasure me,” she moans, gently rolling her hips. “So much better than that buffoon, the duke. He just lies there and grunts. You’re not like that, are you?”

  “No, duchess,” you moan, lapping at the tiny bud of her clit. “I will serve your every need.”

  “Yes,” she agrees, slipping her fingers into your hair and tightening her hold on your head. “You will serve me well.”

  You moan as she pulls you roughly against her cunt, smothering you in her delicate musk and the sweet tang of her nectar.

  CONTINUE >

  Father of many Scyllas

  You cut easily through the water, your arms powerful and your body trim and muscular. Compared to six months ago, when you arrived in Saturana, you are an incredible swimmer. Compared to your daughters you are a floundering buffalo. More than two dozen sleek Scylla girls dart and swim circles around you. They pluck fish from the water and devour them raw. You have to use one of the spears you fashioned from a reed. It takes several attempts, but you manage to spear one of the big red gills. It is always nice to provide for your own food rather than relying on Charlotte or your daughters to catch fish.

  “Tialla, Kryssa,” you call out to your eldest daughters. “Watch your sisters. I am going to take my catch to the burrow.”

  “Yes, daddy,” giggle your twin girls. They have your mother’s eyes, but your brown hair. Most of your other daughters are blondes like Charlotte. They all grow so fast. You leave them cavorting at the surface and dive down, struggling to reach the burrow with the red gill in your arms. You manage to find it as you can feel your lungs aching. You just manage to reach the submerged grotto as you gasp for air.

  Charlotte, sleeping in because she has fresh eggs inside her, rolls lazily onto her back and croons sleepily.

  “Lucas,” she moans. “What have you brought me for breakfast?”

  “A red gill,” you say, hefting the big fish.

  “Was more interested in this,” she says, wrapping a tentacle around your flaccid cock.

  “Is it time?” You ask as her slimy tentacle squeezes tighter and begins tugging on your manhood, coaxing it to hardness.

  “Yes, I can feel it,” she says. “This clutch is ready to be fertilized.”

  “Our fourth,” you say, smiling at her as you set the fish aside and crawl into her beckoning embrace. “Let me warm you up first, my love.”

  “Oh? How can I refuse?” She parts her glistening tentacles, revealing the place where her thighs would meet if she had human legs. Her pink cunt is always glistening with her tentacle fluids, clean and bare and inviting.

  “Mmmmmm!” You kneel among her tentacles, caressing her delicate folds and leaning down to lap at her warm slit. Her familiar sweetness coats your tongue and she begins to leak her nectar copiously. You thrust two fingers into her slit and she croons and clenches her inner walls against your thrusting digits. You kiss her folds up to her clit and suck that delicate bud.

  “Ahhhhhh!” She cries as you suck, and lick and finger her tight little Scylla cunt. Her tentacles wrap around your head, drawing you against her slit as she rocks her hips and whines louder and louder with her ecstasy. “Yes, my love! Yes! Make me cum!”

  “Mmmmmmhhmm!” You cry, sucking hard at her clit. You can barely breathe with all her tentacles wrapped around your head, but as she wails louder and louder, as her climax builds, you do not care if you suffocate.

  “Luccsasssssss!” She wails, sitting almost upright as she cums against your tongue and fingers. Her slippery nectar spills into your mouth and all over your face. You drink her sweet honey, savoring the hot rippling of her inner walls around your thrusting fingers. You suck until she is whimpering in the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her tentacles relax their grip and caress your head. She coos, “Oh, my love. You are too good to me.”

  “It was just lathering you up, Charlotte,” you chuckle, climbing atop her and kissing her. She embraces you and her tentacles begin to guide you to her hot, soaking pussy.

  “No,” you gasp against her lips. “Not like this. I want to take you from behind.”

  “Oh, yes, like a beast!” She giggles and slides from beneath you, turning and offering her creamy round ass up to you. Her pink knot clenches and her blushing pussy drips with anticipation. You take hold of your cock, stroking and smacking it against the soft globes of her ass. You guide your cock to her steamy cunt and thrust gently into her pussy. She croons with pleasure, “OOooOOooohhh!”

  Fucking Charlotte from behind requires a very firm grip or she will go sliding across the grotto on her slippery tentacles. You take hold of her plush ass, spreading her luscious cheeks even wider and thrust deep and hard into her pussy.

  “Gods, I forget how tight you are,” you laugh, forcing your cock to the hilt into her slippery cunt.

  “You need to mate with me more,” she says, pushing her hips back and wringing your cock with her inner muscles. You slip your hands up to her slender waist, gripping even tighter as you thrust into her, pounding so hard and fast that the grotto echoes with your slapping hips against her slippery rear. “Ooohhh! Like that! Fuck me just like that, Lucas! Mate with me, you four-limbed brute!”

  “I am going to fill your little pussy!” You roar, slamming harder and harder, driving wildly into her folds.

  “Mate with me my lovvvveeee!” She cries, throwing back her head and looking at you over her shoulder.

  “Ahhh!” You tighten your grip even more, leaning over her and fucking her furiously. Your cock swells and throbs, pleasure rushing through you as your cock erupts. Your fertile cum pumps into her egg-stuffed womb, fertilizing another clutch of her eggs.

  “Yesss! I feel your warm cum!” She cries, backing onto your cock and squeezing you with her inner grip.

  Your thrusts slow as you bury the last drops of your spunk deep inside her. You catch your breath, leaning heavily against her ass.

  “Oh, thank you, my love,” she moans. “We will have so many babies!”

  You slowly pull your cock from her creamy depths. Barely any spunk leaks from her tilted pussy as you lean back, smiling at the thought that you will soon have another half-dozen or so daughters.

  “I think I would like to name one of them after my sister,” you say, falling beside Charlotte on the soft nest. “Genevieve.”

  “It is a lovely name,” she says, pressing against you and stroking you with a human hand. “We will honor your family.”

  You smile and kiss her. Though you miss your sister and mother, you cannot imagine a happier life than being the mate of the Scylla.

  CONTINUE >

  THE END

  < RESTART EPILOGUE | GALLERY >

  Search for the Succubus Queen

  You only knew the beauty of Lady Rachelle for a short time, but you cannot get her out of your mind. She was so beautiful, so powerful, a goddess of sexuality that deserves to be worshipped by lowly mortals. You must find her. You must do whatever it takes to find her and pledge to become her devoted follower.

  If the entrance to the underworld of Chthona is still open, perhaps she has returned there. That is your reasoning at least as you set out through the perilous jungle in search of the mountain that turns red at dusk.

  Your journey is not easy. Over the course of four days you make many wrong turns, you battle through a flooded swamp, you fashion a spear from branches to slay eels to keep yourself fed, and you climb through a jungle full of stinging insects and venomous snakes. You sleep in the branches of the trees, but even this is no escape from the swarms of flies that leave welts.

  You wake up to the mountains in the misty distance on the morning of the fifth day. By the time the sun is setting, you have reached the foreboding mountain. The setting sun shows you the way, one of the mountains becoming rusty red in the fading light. There you find the entrance into the underground and the empty chamber where the doorway to the underworld lies sealed.
You try to open it, but it will not budge. You pound your fists, the blows reverberating like drumbeats through the hollow chambers, but all you manage to accomplish is to bruise your hands.

  Exhausted from your journey, beaten by the immovable door, you slump to the ground, sighing heavily at the thought of finding your way back out of the vast jungle.

  “It won’t open,” says a deep, feminine voice from the darkness. “Not for you and not for me.”

  Lady Rachelle steps out into the moonlight spilling into the chamber from the tunnel to the surface. She is as beautiful as you remember her, a voluptuous goddess of fertility with huge breasts, shapely hips, and a slender waist. She no longer wears the lingerie armor she was wearing when you met. She is instead clad in simple, skintight leggings and a bodice that cradles and lifts her huge breasts. Her hair is pulled back into a tight braid.

  “Lady Rachelle,” you say, pulling yourself to your weary feet. “I…I came looking for you.”

  “Oh, is that why you’re here? Looking to deal a final blow? Have some revenge?” She smiles coldly.

  “No,” you say. “I am here to beg your forgiveness. I am here…I…I want to be with you, my, um, my queen.”

  “Your queen?” She raises an eyebrow. “Is this some joke? You defeated me and cast me back to earth and now you come seeking me…to be with me?”

  “To worship you,” you say quickly.

  “Oh!” Her expression changes in an instant to one of delight. “So you have seen the truth of the matter, have you? That I am clearly deserving of being a goddess.”

  “You are a goddess to me,” you moan, unable to look away from her luscious beauty.

  “I have already seduced the goblin village,” she says. “But the goblins are so dull. No conversation with them. But you…yes, you could be a perfect companion. You will be my high priest. My chosen acolyte.”