The lamia is not immune to your ministrations. She pressed you against her, your soft breasts cushioning your front while her nails dig into your back, clawing thin red streaks in your flesh.
“Almost,” she gasps, golden bangles jangling. “So close!”
“Mistress! Please!”
“Yes! Now! Cum for me! Fill me!”
You cry out. With a final thrust you bury yourself as deep as you can. You arch as your balls tighten and you explode within her. A pure whiteness fills your head. Everything stops. Only the knowledge of your love. Your mistress remains.
Only her eyes in your mind, commanding you to love her.
The world returns slowly. Still buried in the lamia, your breast heaving with the exertion of your lovemaking, you gingerly pull out of her love tunnel. Your seed trickles from her lower lips and an anguish of sadness grips you at the sight.
Then you feel her long nailed fingers in your hair, and her sonorous voice in your ears.
“Do not worry, husband,” Seratus murmurs sedately. She lies on her side, propped on one arm and gazing at you with her wondrous eyes. She rubs her stomach with her free hand. “Already I feel your seed taking. Soon I shall bear the young I have so desired.”
She smiles, predatory fangs flashing. “So you may clean me now.”
She guides your head to her cunt and eagerly you lap at your own leaking seed. She permits this for a time, then pushes you away. Rising atop her serpentine half, she gives your collar a short tug of command, and you follow her eagerly away from the path, leaving your clothes and equipment behind in the tracks, and vanish into the mists.
CONTINUE >
Force the matter
You have not time to satisfy the monster who would sell you as an egg warmer to a Scylla. “Lamia!” you bark, the crack of a whip in your tone. “Tell me! Which is the potion? Obey me, or I will…I will never let you cum again!”
The lamia shudders with horror.
“N-noooo! Pleasssse. Forgive me misstressss.” Reluctantly, she draws her scaly fingers from her quivering folds. She fumbles at her belt, and unhooks one of the many potions. She holds it out for you, the liquid within a golden yellow, the bottle itself thin at the top and rounded at the bottom, secured with a crosspiece of cord about the neck.
You stride forward, one hand on your sword. You snatch the potion from the lamia’s grasp and scrutinize it warily. You glance down at the writhing coils of the monster, who wallows in the mud of the road, panting with need. Pity unexpectedly fills you.
“When I leave,” you say. “You may cum as much as you like.”
The lamia tilts up her head, a beatific smile lighting her face. “Oh, thank you missstress.”
You grimace a little and carefully step over the serpent woman. Each time you expect for her coils to suddenly tighten about you like a snare, but she does nothing. You glance back a few times as you walk into the mists, but soon the squirming lamia is lost, the last glint of her scarlet scales catching the weak sunlight. A sudden shriek of sated orgasm breaking through the mist the last you hear of her.
Then you are on your own, moving carefully down the path once more. The mist grows thicker the further you walk, and you wonder if it is connected to the Scylla. Knowing what lies ahead fills you with a terror. Of all the monsters in the book you own, a Scylla is one of the most dangerous.
Most dangerous, you remind yourself forcefully, to the unprepared. For their greatest asset is surprise, lurking in the dark waters of swamps and seizing the unwary in their tentacles, dragging them below the waters to their caves to be fed upon or bred. You grip the bottle of the poison, feeling the coarse rope which crosses it dig into your flesh. With a shaking hand, your brush some errant strands of white hair from your face. But even so prepared, your legs feel like water.
But you walk on. There’s nothing else for it. You have to keep moving forward. The mists are soon so thick you can barely see your hand before you. But the trail winds on without interruption.
Then, you hear the soft plop of water.
You stop short, listening. Again you hear the heavy plop. Before you, the mists suddenly thin. You find yourself facing a wide pool of brackish water. Tongues of white steam rise from here and there across the water’s surface, feeding into the mists which surround you.
You see a ripple among the waters. The edge of the pond swells, and something rises from its depths.
It’s a woman. She is tall and lithe, water cascading off long black hair which stretches past her waist. Her skin is so pale it’s nearly transparent. Blue veins crawl across her flesh, her breasts small and nipples black as pitch. But that is not the true horror. No. Even in your hypnotized state, a thrill of something jolts down your spine at the sight of a chitinous crown arching from her brow. Her eyes are milky white like something which has not seen the light of day for far too long. More of the hard chitin crawls from her upper arms like long scaly gloves, curving her fingers into hooked things like claws.
Her hips rise, and true horror fills you. For where her waist ends, she swells over into a writhing mass of oily black tentacles.
Your terror returns as the Scylla sniffs the air. Likely she expected the lamia to have brought her compliant prey, which would explain her willingness to surface. Though you applaud your luck in that, it fades like the audience suddenly realizing the death scene on stage was perhaps too good for acting. The Scylla’s sightless eyes fix on you, and her writhing rubbery limbs reach like crawling shadows for you.
What do you do?
Wait
Parley
Attack
Magic
Surrender
Magic
You reach into your backpack and pull out the heavy family codex. You take a knee to open the spine of the heavy tome across your thigh. Somewhere in these pages you recall a powerful freezing spell that should make short work of the pleasure whip. It’s just a plant, after all, and plants definitely do not like being frozen.
You glance up at the vines and your pulse quickens. Many of them are beginning to twitch and slither curiously in your direction.
“Where are you?” You hiss, turning your attention back to the book and flipping through the pages.
“C” for cold? No. “I” for ice? Nothing. Where could it be? “F” for frost! Of course!
You flip quickly to the F-section of the spells appendix and find your own handwriting for the entry on “Frost, Blanket of.” It is a deceptively simple spell and you remember transcribing it from a slim folio of weather thaumaturgy dating back less than two centuries. It had remarkably clear and simple instructions and this spell is no exception.
You memorize the short verbal component, position your fingers in casting posture, and loose the spell. A gust of frost blows from your fingertips and spreads in a cloud of white frost across the vines. Some of them are only a few feet away and those are frozen first. The blowing winds diminish and you see that the vines are frozen, but still alive and struggling against the frost that cakes the fibrous tendrils.
You quickly sling your backpack over your shoulder and run across the vines. They crunch under your boots and some, untouched by the frost, lash out at you as if angry. You duck some and leap over the others, running past the fountain and that giant flower as you race towards the exit from the courtyard. Several vines make a last, lurching attack at you as you are fleeing from their range. You jump out of their reach and go stumbling back into the garden hedges.
Your arm gets a good scrape from the thorns in the hedge, but you are otherwise unscathed by your encounter with the pleasure whip. Your relief at being free from the courtyard is tempered by the realization that you are not out of the garden yet. The dismal maze of brambles closes in once more as you try to continue towards the manor.
CONTINUE >
Command Alyssa to suck your breasts
Your plump nipples are so very hard with arousal that they ache to be touched. You run your hands over your big, soft breasts and pluck at your
nipples, stretching them slightly and drawing Alyssa's gaze to them. She smiles lustily, as if sensing your desire.
You step back from her, retreating to the bed. You perch yourself on the very edge of it and Alyssa crawls to you like a dog with her purple tail flicking back and forth over the luscious curves of her creamy, heart-shaped ass. She raises her gaze to you as you slowly spread your thighs and show her your glistening, chestnut-thatched cunt. You run your hand over it and press against your clit, sucking in a gasp of pleasure.
Alyssa is not fooled by you touching your pussy. She gazes hungrily at your breasts and she seems to know what you desire. Your achingly hard nipples, swollen and thick, need to be touched and pleasured.
"I command you to suck them," you say, meeting her gaze. "Suck my breasts. Pleasure them."
"Yes, they are so big and lovely," she says, rising higher between your legs. "It is my pleasure to serve you, mistress."
Her hands warm the softness of your breasts, squeezing and shaping them with her touch. She lifts them, coos softly and presses her lips to your mounds. You sigh with pleasure, thrusting two fingers into your slick pussy as Alyssa begins to explore your breasts with her kiss. Her lips move from one mound to the next, sending tingling pulses of pleasure through you with each press of her lips.
"They are so soft, so much of them, oh, mistress. They are wonderful." She moans and shows her appreciation by teasing around each nipple with her tongue.
Her licking is even more exciting than her kiss and it moves from one breast to the other, her tongue swirling around each nipple and seeing to draw them out to impossible stiffness. You gasp as she teases both glistening pink buds with her fingers. You fuck yourself more urgently, rocking your hips and causing your tits to bounce gently against Alyssa's inhumanly perfect face.
"Suck them," you gasp, needing to feel that heat upon your breasts. "Suck my tits."
"Mmmmmm, yes, mistress," she moans obediently.
Her hot mouth engulfs one of your nipples and covers most of your pink areola. The heat is exquisite. She gazes up at you submissively as her cheeks hollow with suction and pleasure shoots from your sensitive nipple through your body. You buck against your fingers, fucking yourself harder and faster, moaning as Alyssa pops her lips free and moves to your other nipple. She sucks and licks in unison and it is as if she were performing this act on your clit. The pleasure grows more turbulent, the spasms more intense.
"Mmmmmm, mistress, your nipples are so thick and erect," she moans, lashing one with her tongue before moving to your other nipple once more. Her lips pop with suction. The heat is indescribable, as if your nipples will melt in her steamy mouth.
"Ahhhhhhh!" You cry loudly, arching against her, thrusting your tits into her face and smother her as uncontrollable pleasure takes hold. She clings to you, sucking, licking, and pinching at your nipples. She squeezes your breasts against her face and smothers herself more completely. Your pleasure reaches its peak and you wail with ecstasy, cumming hard in rippling contractions around your clutching fingers.
Your ecstasy is long and intense. It slowly breaks and recedes and you sink back onto the bed. Alyssa relinquishes her hold on your breasts, but seems almost disappointed to see you flop out of reach. Your tits heave and your nipples are rosy red from being sucked so enthusiastically.
You slip your fingers out of your pussy and look her in the eyes as you lick your digits clean of your own juices. You are flushed, breasts heaving with your heavy breathing, but you want more.
Alyssa knows it. She climbs onto the bed beside you, kneeling at a respectful distance and bowing her head in submission. Her hands play idly with her own breasts, even more ample and exquisite than your own. She plucks at her fat nipples and bite her lower lip.
"What do you command, mistress?" She asks faintly. "I am here to serve."
What more do you desire?
Command Alyssa to lick your pussy
Command Alyssa to eat your ass
Command Alyssa to make you cum with her fingers
Wait
You decide not to move. To wait for an opportunity. The centaur snorts, prancing before you. You tense, bending your knees, ready for anything.
Except for the roots which burst about your feet. You scream as the gnarled limbs grab your ankles, anchoring you firmly to the ground. Your reach down, struggling with the hard and wrinkled wood. No sooner have you grappled with them more spring from the ground, grabbing your wrists.
The centaur laughs boomingly as you are forced on hands and knees to the corrupt earth. The damp smell of overturned soil saturates the air as you struggle vainly to free yourselves.
“You be a spirited filly to be sure,” the centaur cackles as he clops near. “But you need be better than that to best the chosen guardian of the Great One!”
You yelp in surprised indignation as he casually flips up your skirt, baring your round bottom thinly covered by your underwear. You glare daggers at him as he strokes his rough chin appraisingly, the thin beard which curls from it springing between his fingers.
“Hmm. But you have a ripe form for me to be sure. Perhaps the fate of the altar can be turned aside.”
You don’t need to guess his meaning. You see his equine cock stiffen beneath him. You swallow in fear as its girth becomes more readily apparent. “L-look,” you say, your voice shaking. “We can maybe come to an agreement.”
“Quiet!” A stinging slap to your ass throws you forward and wrenches another yelp from your lips. “The hunt is done, and though the prey is fair and pretty, the prize remains mine for the taking!”
Contemptuously he tears aside your panties, baring your swollen slit.
“Hm! Dry yet eh? Fortunate for you husbandry is my hobby, and you will make a fine mare for my young. A crime to break you otherwise.”
Saying thus, he reaches up and tears one of the thick vines from a tree. Its sap spills about his fingers, coating them in a thin green ichor. Without further ado, he rams two fingers into your tight channel.
“Ooooh!” Your eyes shoot open and a moan escaped you as his strange fingers delve deep within you. You shudder, writhing where you kneel as he saws and scissors his glistening fingers inside of your cunt, stretching you for the brutal fucking to come. That thought prevents you from enjoying the strangely heated touch of his fingers. Their shape moves oddly inside of you, easing you open and sending pleasure shooting up your spine.
“You enjoy this filly,” the centaur laughs.
“N-no! I don’t!” you gasp.
“Ha! You claim such, but your slickened hole says otherwise. Now! You are ready.”
He pops his fingers from your cunt, leaving beside a distinct empty feeling. You shudder, your flesh warming and your insides aching to be filled once more. What was that sap?
You renew your struggles as the centaur advances, his front hooves clopping about you and shadowing you with his form. But the roots are sturdy as rock. You’re helpless beneath him. He reeks of horse and sweat. His body heat presses down on your back.
You arch, gasping as his thick cock slides between the globes of your ass, leaving behind a sticky trail of cum that warms your flesh and makes your breath come short. “P-please,” you manage.
He ignores you. He breathes deeply, savoring your scent. “Ah, the scent of a filly in heat is a sweet thing indeed.”
Then you feel his cock slide off of you and align with your twitching cunt. Your body pushes towards him, yearning to feel him inside of you even as your mind recoils from the thought.
He thrusts, filling you with a single motion. You jerk forward, shoulders and legs feeling like they’ve been pulled from your sockets. Your eyes fly open in the shock of the sudden intrusion.
“Oooooh gods!” You moan. He’s inside of you. All of him. His balls rest against the lips of your aching cunt. He fills you utterly. Impossibly. You feel every vein of his massive horsecock. Your head spins at the absurdity of it. The pressure seems to press against your womb and s
tomach, filling your insides with a strange awareness of where everything is.
“Ahhhh,” the centaur sighs. “A fine fit. Now, prepare yourself for some proper husbandry!”
You can’t answer with words as he pulls back, and again thrusts within you. “Mmm!” You bite down on your lower lip hard, twisting around the shaft which stuffs you. “Oh. O-oh gods!”
The centaur merely grunts, seeming to give over to his animal half. Ruthlessly he begins to move within you, fucking you to the hilt. The head of his cock knocks against your womb, and with ever thrust you find it harder to care that there is no doubt he will seed you when he cums.
You cum quickly, your juices lubing his cock even further before squirting out your overstuffed cunt.
You swim in and out of awareness. You see Kara still bound by the tree, writhing and moaning as the vines crawl beneath her clothes and bulge against her pants, vanishing into her pussy and ass. She shivers, helpless in their grasp, and the sight seems to add to the perverse pleasure of your own situation. You see her eyes focus on you as well, and the fact she sees you, sees you beneath the centaur being taken by his massive cock sends an indescribable perverse thrill through you. What must you look like? Does his cock bulge your belly?
“Ooooaaaaah!” you moan.
The centaur swears in a foul tongue you do not know. He hilts once more, a bleating bray escaping him as he cums.
Buckets of his hot seed pound into your overstuffed channel. You scream, wailing with pleasure and sweet ecstasy as you feel his seed stuff your womb and the curse take root. Moaning, you drop to the ground, face flushed and eyes glassy from the exquisite pleasure of your breeding. Your stomach bulges from his cum, as if already filled with the foal which soon shall grow inside of you.
The centaur grunts above you and pulls his cock out. It slurps obscenely from your distended cunt, and when it at last comes free, his and your cum spill from the gaping hole to splash onto the ground.
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 14