Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Your fingertip parts his robes above his soft, pale belly. You trace a rune of power upon his flesh and light burns from the symbol.

  “Ahhhh what are you doing to me?”

  “Blessing you,” you say, dropping him to the stone stairs. “My library needs a librarian. A priest. A herald. I will not build a temple. My temple already stands.”

  You stride past Grazmer. He whimpers and crawls after you, his body already beginning to change to a more pleasing, monstrous hybrid shape. It is quiet within the dark library and all of the forbidden texts wait to be deciphered. You smile as you imagine the power contained within them.

  The ancient magic of dead peoples will soon fill your mind. And you will truly become a goddess of this conquered world as humanity is swallowed by evil.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Flee this den of depravity!

  You stagger back, shaking your head in an attempt to clear it of the perfume. “I don’t…I have to…I can’t.”

  Without thinking you grab your sister, dragging her unresisting back towards the entrance. You run through and into the antechamber. The exit seems to glow before you.

  Arms as unyielding as iron knock aside Kara and catch you in an embrace. A minotaur snorts into your hair, easily lifting you off your feet and against his chest. You scream, kicking uselessly at the air.

  Kara staggers back to her feet. Seeing you in danger restores some measure of her senses. “Penny!” She fumbles for her sword, drawing it with a shaking hand.

  You catch movement in the shadows above. “Kara! Above!”

  Kara tries to move but she’s slow, dazed. A black shape falls from the rafters, slamming her against the ground, driving the breath from her lungs.

  You stare, horrified at the thing which holds your sister down. Stare at the four red eyes, the bristling hair, and crouching form of the monstrous wolf. The one which had pursued you so doggedly across the isle, he now holds Kara beneath him, slavering jaws drooling onto her hair.

  Mocking laughter rings out as Janine enters the room. Her hair remains a disheveled mess, her robe casually donned and open at the front to reveal her still naked body. She gives you an amused look, one hand on her shapely hip as she surveys your capture.

  “Did you honestly think you could enter my master’s domain without being caught?” she says, slowly moving forward. She affectionately strokes the mane of the wolf, her slitted eyes glancing at you. “I knew who you were the moment you entered here. Imagine my fortune in catching you so easily. You practically gave yourself to me!”

  You glare daggers at the cultist. She merely smiles, sauntering towards you, her hips rolling with her gait. She stops before you, looking you up and down. “A pity you tried to run.” She trails a finger up your chest, round the pronounced bulge of your breasts before circling a nipple with a sharp nail. “I would have enjoyed playing with you a while.”

  You stiffen, suppressing the moan which threatens to escape at her touch. Your head is still hazed by lust and your nipple stiffens distinctly at the cultists touch.

  Janine sighs and removes her hand. “No matter. Your mother will reward me beyond measure for bringing you both to her.” She snaps her fingers and the wolf slinks off of Kara. Her freedom is short lived, for the next instant a second minotaur lifts your sister from the floor and tosses her over his shoulder like a limp sack of potatoes.

  Janine’s eyes flash with the fire of the fanatic. She laughs, throwing her arms wide, her robe billowing about her naked frame. “Rejoice! You sought to enter the master’s temple, and so you shall! Come! It’s time to meet your husband to be!”

  You scream and squirm but the minotaur’s grip is relentless. Laughing, not bothering to close her robe or dress further, Janine beckons her minions to follow and leads you out into the streets, and towards the temple of Zhibbareth.

  CONTINUE >

  We treat their offspring like the monsters they are

  Almost twenty years since your adventure on Ctharne. What was once a cursed island of monsters, dangerous to any traveler, has been long since pacified by the world-renowned huntresses. A small, but bustling city called Hildasport, modern by the standards of Heimsvak, sits on the southern coast.

  You look out from the castle window at the merchant sloops and fishing ships in the harbor, sails gaily colored and masts bobbing in the gentle seas. This is your kingdom. The one you built with your sister in honor of your mother. The new heart of mankind’s ongoing struggle against monsters. In the courtyard, athletic women clad in red leather armor practice their martial skills. One of the handmaidens from Rhilath, Besla, with her short, black hair, shouts at the students to swing their practice sticks more precisely. She demonstrates with the grace of a huntress, her arms tanned and muscular, flexing as she shouts with each swing of her staff.

  Yours is not a large or powerful kingdom, but it is known by all the kings around the world. When monsters arise, they send ships laden with gold and other treasure for the aid of just a few of your huntresses.

  “My ladies, please,” says the prince groveling in your audience chamber. He rises from his bow as you take your seat once more at the plain chair. You are nearly forty and your battle-scarred sister is even older. You have seen things over these many years that would have chilled you even after defeating Zhibbareth. You and your sister gaze at the prince with hard eyes. He rises slowly. He is handsome and olive-skinned, from the desert land of Shaddobar.

  “I come on behalf of my mother, Queen Aisha al Hassani,” says the prince. Your gaze flicks to the finely-shrouded woman standing silently behind the young man. You see a hint of her beauty in the swell of her hips and her face faintly visible beneath her veil. In Shaddobar, you recall, the women are not allowed to speak outside the home. Evidently, this applies even to the queen. The young prince continues, “My mother has lost her sister to the curse of red. I believe you call it vampirism.”

  “She has been turned to a vampire?” Your sister leans forward. “How many others?”

  “Yes,” says the prince. “Some weeks ago. I do not know how many have also turned, some of the servants have gone missing, some of our guards, but there are other. I suspect the clerics and other advisers.”

  Your sister begins to ask another question. You place a hand on her thigh beneath the table and give it a squeeze. She looks at you curiously. You answer her questioning eyes with a wink and a sly smile.

  “I will speak with the queen,” you say. “In my quarters.”

  The prince shrugs apologetically and explains, “My lady, it would be forbidden even for another woman to—“

  “That is not up for negotiation,” you say, rising once more from your seat. “Follow me, Queen Aisha al Hassani.”

  Your red leather armor is similar in style, if not in quality, to that worn by the other huntresses. It conforms to your generous curves, revealing your body in a way that clearly alienates the prince. You stride past him and hear the queen’s footsteps behind you as you depart from the audience chamber. Your sister resumes her negotiations over trade with the prince.

  “We built this castle once we had purged the monsters from the island,” you explain to the queen. “My sister had some experience with permanent fortifications during a stint with the imperial army in Tarol. She designed this castle with a long siege in mind. She spent months drilling the huntresses, recruiting new women from the villages, and purchasing cannons from Akrane to have them brought here to watch over the harbor. No corsair or armada would dare sail into Hildasport under any flag but that of friendship.”

  You glance over your shoulder at the veiled queen. You receive no response.

  “Hmmm,” you murmur, opening the door to your private suite. The afternoon sun is turned a delicate shade of pink by the imported curtains that hang in the windows overlooking the harbor. The queen enters behind you and as you step past her to close the door you catch the tantalizing spice of her scent. You dra
w the curtains closed, darkening the room, the light golden around the edges of the gauzy pink curtains.

  “Tell me of your sister,” you say. When she does not answer you and only stands like a woman in the depths of mourning, her face and body shrouded in dark fabric, you shake your head. “This won’t do, your majesty. You must show yourself and speak to me. We are alone. If you cannot trust me now, in private, you will not have our help.”

  Her hands wear jeweled rings. You see that as she reaches up and lifts the veil from her face. She is an olive-skinned, smoky-eyed beauty, with a prominent nose that does not detract from her sensual lips, nor the long-lashed exoticism of her eyes. Charcoal paint designs sweep from the corners of her eyes to create the illusion of greater width. Her chin thrusts proudly upward and she looks at you with all the bearing of a queen.

  “You see my face now,” she says. “Does this satisfy you?”

  “I am taken with your beauty,” you say. Doubt flickers on her face. You smile and continue, “Tell me of your sister. I will make us some tea.”

  Queen Aisha al Hassani relates the tragic tale of her sister as you heat the teapot and pour the red tea into a pair of porcelain cups. She tells you that her younger sister fell in love with a visiting merchant’s son and the two disappeared together in the so-called City of Tombs, where ancient monuments to past rulers of Shaddobar stand sentinel over desolate streets with drifts of sand. When her sister returned after many weeks, she had changed.

  “She was somehow stranger and more beautiful,” explains Aisha. “Her stare could transfix anyone, from our lowliest servants to our oath-sworn janissaries. She took many lovers, men and women, and made no secret of it. There was no jealousy among her numerous lovers and eventually I caught several of them feeding upon one of the household’s maids.”

  “They feed openly?”

  “They did,” says Aisha. “I set the uncorrupted janissaries upon them. Many were killed on both sides. Slaying vampires is quite difficult, I am told.”

  “There are certain techniques,” you say, fingering the spine of an old book. “But what of your sister? Was she among those vampires destroyed?”

  “No,” says Aisha, her full lips pursing into a line. “She has fled to the mountains with her closest acolytes. I am afraid there is an even more powerful vampire there with her. One who treats my sister as his queen. She is… she was innocent, easily beguiled by handsome men.”

  “Vampires have this charm,” you say. “But I wonder, Aisha, what beguiles you?”

  “I? This is about my sister.”

  “It is rare for a queen to sit without a king in any land,” you say. “Least of all in Shaddobar, where even royal women are relegated to let their sons do the speaking on their behalf.”

  “My husband was killed soon after our marriage. I have kept the company of only my sister and my son for many years. I do not need a husband.”

  “True,” you say, reaching across the small tea table and placing your hand on the black robe that covers her thigh. “A man is not necessary for happiness. I ask your honesty, your majesty. Do you desire a woman’s company?”

  She remains quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting to your hand on her leg before flicking back up to your eyes. “I have servants to attend to… my needs.”

  “Servants?” You raise an eyebrow.

  “They are attentive,” she says. You see her desire rising in the way her bosom rises and falls beneath her dark gown and the way her eyes flutter. “They are sufficient.”

  “Sufficient is hardly good enough for a queen,” you say, moving your hand up her leg and letting your thumb press along her inner thigh. You lean across the tea table, your breasts straining at your leather bodice and your eyes lidded to match your teasing smile. “You ask me to risk my life or the lives of my huntresses. I ask only honesty. Show me your true desires, your majesty.”

  Queen Aisha al Hassani takes a moment, her expression as if she is at war with herself, but she answers you with a lunging, definitive kiss on the lips. You laugh against her kiss, your mouth opening eagerly and your tongue providing Aisha’s with a courageous foe. The hot, spicy-sweetness of the kiss deepens. A teacup clatters to the floor and the queen gasps. She yelps in surprise, you shove the other teacup, the pot, and the plates off the table and crawl across it on your hands and knees.

  “Oh, high huntress,” she gasps.

  “Penny,” you laugh against her kiss. “I want to hear you calling that name when you cum.”

  She practically falls out of your chair and onto the fireside rug imported from Selana. You undress her modesty gown and expose the luscious, golden curves of her body. You kiss her soft breasts as your hands press between her ample thighs. Her untamed cunt nearly steams beneath your fingertips. You suck at her dark nipples and kiss your way over her flat tummy and to her hot groove. She strokes your white hair as you thrust your tongue deep into her fragrant cunt. You suck at her slick folds and prowl your tongue into her fluttering channel.

  “Ohhhh, Penny,” she cries, arching beneath you. “Oh, by the goddess of the sun, you are incredible.”

  Your fingers and tongue know no boundary. You kiss, lick, and ply her delicate flesh with your experienced fingers. All of your years as a huntress and many lovers, both male and female, have educated you thoroughly on the methods of pleasure. You do not relent with Aisha until she has tensed with her orgasmic release several times. Finally, it is her turn between your creamy thighs, stroking and kissing and licking you. She does not lack for experience. She knows how to touch you and lick you to drive you over the edge quickly.

  The fire dies before you are ready to crawl up from the rug and into your bed with her. Your legs intertwine and your bodies press tightly together. Your kiss meets hers again and again, forging new bonds of pleasure in the fires of honesty that burn between lovers.

  Early the following morning, before the cock’s crow, after making love with Aisha through the night, you lounge in the warm, sea-air that filters through the open windows of your bedroom.

  “The tales persist about the monsters here,” says the queen, her thigh over yours and her fingers teasing your right nipple. “Tell me, high huntress… did you kill them all?”

  “Some we have to kill,” you say. “They are too dangerous. The rest...”

  You let your gaze wander downward and you point to the floor.

  “You keep them in the dungeon of the castle?”

  “Oh, no there is a vast labyrinth. Within it dwell those monsters that could not be reasoned with to leave the island, but we did not want to slay outright. The human rapists and murderers we sometimes are forced to deal with on this island are locked in the labyrinth to feed the monsters with their sin.”

  She shudders involuntarily as you lean your naked body against her and wrap your arms around her from behind. You begin to kiss her shoulder and neck as she admits, “There is a certain brutal efficiency to that. Yet you spare some monsters. You are harder and softer than I expected.”

  “Softer?” You pull back and give her round bottom a smack. Her lovely golden backside jiggles for a moment. You nibble at her ear and say, “I will help you rescue your sister and rid Shaddobar of the dark menace of vampirism.”

  She tries to answer you gratefully. You cut her off, giving her ass several more smacks

  “What are you doing?!” She cries.

  “Come, your majesty, let us fuck once more before I send you back to Shaddobar.”

  “You will not come with me?” She asks, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Oh, I intend to cum several times, but I will take my own vessel to Shaddobar, along with a contingent of experienced and novice huntresses.” Whatever she tries to say in reply is lost to the hot weight of your pussy settling onto her face. You straddle her and begin to ride. She reaches up and takes hold of your shapely thighs, pulling you down and driving her tongue deeper.

  Your adventure hunting vampires is about to begin, but that is a story for a
nother time.

  THE END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Continue on your way to Rhilath

  “No, Alyssa,” you say sternly. “We have done enough for him and we must go.”

  She pouts out her lower lip in a look that is so adorable you almost cave to her pressure. Instead, you furrow your brow and give her a hard look as she continues to work her hand on the drider’s huge cock. He groans and clicks his mandibles with pleasure.

  “That’s enough,” you repeat, standing up and pulling on your clothes.

  “Aw, you’re no fun,” says Alyssa.

  “Really?” You raise your eyebrow as you lace up your bodice. “You are free to stay with the drider then.”

  “Drizzen is my name,” says the drider, sitting back on his hind pairs of legs as Alyssa continues to pump her hand on his cock.

  “Stay with Drizzen,” you say, pulling on your jacket and lifting up your pack. “I’m sure he would be happy to mount you.”

  “I would not mind,” agrees Drizzen.

  “I’m certain you would not,” you say, pulling on your knit stockings, skirt, and boots. “I suppose it is farewell then, Alyssa.”

  “Good,” says your mother’s voice in your mind. “Leave the incorrigible slut. We will purge her and her drider lover for blasphemy soon enough.”

  “Fiiiine,” she says, rolling out from under the drider. In a puff of sweet-smelling smoke, her luscious nude body is once again cradled in her tight-fitting leathers and fur-lined vest. Her cloak billows dramatically behind her.

  “I wish I could do that,” you mutter under your breath, shouldering your heavy pack.