What do you do?
Scream in terror
Embrace your lover
Parley
“Wait!” you cry.
The lamia pauses, bemused, her ringed gaze pulsing. “Why?”
“I don’t want to fight you.”
“Oh good. Then all you need do is look into my eyessss.”
“No. No I won’t,” you say, putting action to words and carefully keeping your gaze averted from the serpent woman. “Maybe there’s another way I can pass.”
“Another, hm?” You hear the lamia’s coils susurrate as she shifts her weight, thinking. You risk a glance and see her fanged mouth open in a smile. “Very well, little one. Let usss ssssee. I will ask you a riddle, and if you can sssolve it, I will let you pass.”
You raise your head in slight curiosity. “A riddle?”
“Yessss. Nothing more. I am fickle in sssuch things. Consider. What has four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening?”
You almost laugh but quickly swallow your amusement. “Oh, that’s easy. It’s ma-aaaan!”
You shriek as the lamia’s tail sweeps from behind you and pulls your legs from beneath you. You hit the ground heavily with an “Oof!” Before you can move, the lamia’s sinuous form winds about your chest, binding your weapons against you and squeezing you securely.
You look up as the lamia looms over you, her tongue flicking from between her pointed teeth. “No, ssssilly slut. It’s you.”
Her coils suddenly flip you, and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a startled gasp. “Four legssss in the morning,” the lamia purrs. You stiffen on feeling her fingers slide across your fleshly rump. She draws back her hand and delivers a stinging smack to your plump bottom.
You squeal in surprise, then shudder in something too much like pleasure as her fingers stroke your suddenly sensitive red skin, one finger sliding up the groove your cheeks make in the fabric.
She suddenly jerks you back, hauling you to your feet, though never releasing you from her coils. She slithers up, face to face with you, as ever grinning in fiendish delight. “Two in the afternoon.”
Scowling in humiliation and anger, you open your mouth to protest but the lamia merely takes that as an invitation, pushing her lips to yours in a hard kiss. You gasp in surprise, and the lamia her tongue into your mouth. She grabs your hair and tugs sharply, pulling back your head and deepening the kiss. Her mouth is hot. Your tongue wrestles with her forked one, but she is far the better duelist, and soon subjugates your mouth, plundering your lips until your breath grows short and your body afire with a helpless desire. She pulls back, leaving you gasping, saliva dripping whorishly from your swollen lips.
“And,” the lamia purrs, her tongue flicking your ear. You feel something push aside your panties and something smooth rub against the puckered hole of your bum. The lamia pulls it back, then reveals a long, curved double ended dildo wrought entirely of gold. “Three in the evening.”
Stunned, you watch as the lamia kissed the bulbous head of the gilt cock. She lathers the golden cock with exaggerated motions of her forked tongue, lubing it with saliva before, with another wicked grin, pulling it out of view. But you can guess all too well its destination.
“N-no! Wait! I-Ahhhh!” You moan as you feel the golden cock press against your puckered hole. Your body tenses, but then her lips are on your own again.
And her ringed eyes gaze into your startled gold.
Your body eases, and the golden dildo slides past your loosened back door. A groan escapes you as the lamia sinks the golden dildo deep inside you, then draws it back out, tenderly fucking your ass.
“Issss it not wonderful, slut?” the lamia croons. “To be pleasured so. To be entrapped in my coils. To gaze into my eyes. To feel nothing but the pleasure I inflict upon your ssservile form. So sssoft. So warm. Ssso perfect for my mistress.”
“Nnn. Nnnhnn,” you grunt.
“You love it.”
“Y-yes!” you cry as the lamia suddenly alters the angle, rubbing the golden cock against your tensing insides. Your eyes roll in dumb pleasure as the lamia expertly plays your body’s pleasures to the song of her toy. Her tongue flicks against your parted lips, tasting your panting breath.
“Do not cum,” she hissed. “Do not. Not until I say you can.”
“Y-yes.”
“You have such lovely eyes,” the lamia purrs. “Such lovely gold. I would love to make you mine. But you are not worthy.” She flashes her fangs in a wicked grin. “Beg me.”
“Please! Oh gods above please!”
“Please what? Say it, sssslut!”
“Please!” you moan in desperation. “Let me cum! Oh please, gods above, let me cum!”
“Good. Good. Now. Cum. Cum for your mistress!”
You arch. Like a floodgate opens, mind numbing pleasure pounds through you in your orgasm. Drawn out, tense as the string of a violin, you quiver, helpless in the lamia’s scarlet embrace.
The lamia draws out her dildo from your slicked behind. You shudder as it pulls past the ring of your newly stretched rear. The lamia eases you to the ground and withdraws her coils. You slump on the path, dazed with pleasure and the lamia’s hypnotic gaze.
She chuckles thinly.
“To think, for a moment I wondered if your ssseed would be worthy of my young. But no. You are but another of the soft ones. The onesss whose warmth isss only good for bearing of your bettersss young. Do not worry,” she goes on, her gaze compelling your consciousness. “You will have it ssssoon. Follow me, sssslave.”
“Yes,” you mouth. “Mistress.”
The lamia hisses in amusement.
“Oh no, little ssslut. Not me. Our mistresss awaits us.” She turns from you and begins to slide away along the trail. The tip of her tail flicks after her. “Follow.”
You do. Your submission seems to have deepened the lamia’s hold on you. Silently you rise, wincing at the pain in your behind. But one which fades quickly as you pace after the serpentine woman and deeper into the mist shrouded landscape. You do. Your submission seems to have deepened the lamia’s hold on you. Silently you pace after the serpentine woman and deeper into the mist shrouded landscape. The road stretches on, and now and again the mist fades above, unveiling rocky ridges which enclose the valley. Narrowing, and you idly realize you’re nearing the end of the valley.
Your initial understanding of this is all you get, for the mists crowds in here on, thickening until you can barely make out the lamia’s shadow before you. If not for the sibilant hiss of her scales, you may have lost her completely.
Suddenly, the lamia halts. You halt a step behind. You look to the snake woman, whose ringed gaze is fixed upon the mists with a look of bliss.
A sigh seems to come from before you. As you watch, the mists part, revealing the brackish waters of a deep pond. The reeds and grass edge its bank, vanishing into its depths. The water itself is brown and a strange, musky smell rises from it, along with several thin plumes of smoke which feeds into the mist. This, you realize with a dim detachment, is the source of the overpowering fog.
The waters suddenly swell. Something breaks the surface in the middle of the pond, rising from the 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.
She continues to rise from the waters, and it is only the hypnotic spell of the lamia which holds you from fleeing in horror, for it is not legs which stretch from her waist down, but a myriad of thick limbed tentacle
s, swelling from her waist like writhing serpents.
You recognize this creature: a Scylla. They are one of lesser known monstrous beings. Once water nymphs, this one’s spring must have become corrupted from the curse, for you have never heard of one becoming so bloated and corrupted as this.
The lamia smiles beatifically and opens her arms to the scylla. “Mistress! I’ve returned.”
The thing’s womanly head turns the lamia’s way. Instead of a nose, two slits in its face flare and the scylla turns to look at you with those pale, sightless eyes.
“A new one my love,” the lamia croons, wriggling in servile delight to the monstrous thing. “A new one to bear your precious young. She is good for little more. Did I not swear I would bring more, mistress? Did I not promise that I would better serve than feed you after my first clutch? I can carry so many more, mistress! So many!”
A sudden surge of pity for the lamia fills you. The monstrous woman is a victim of the curse of fertility.
“But please!” the lamia begs abjectly, prostrating herself in the mud before the writhing monstrosity which waits in the waters. “Before you fill her, have I not served you well? I beg of you. Fill me again! Give me your clutch once more!”
The Scylla turns back to the lamia, the motion a slow rolling of her sharp eared skull. More tentacles rise from the depths and reach out, taking up the lamia in their grip. The snake woman goes limp at their touch, a shuddering sigh of submission escaping her as the rubbery limbs cradle her body and draw her nearer the scylla’s form. Like a gown, the tentacles about the scylla’s front part, and from the fleshy mass beneath, a bulging ovipositor lifts out like some immense, tapering insect limb. Slime coats it for lubrication, and you suspect to make its victims more pliable to its breeding.
“Yes!” the lamia sighs as she is dangled before the Scylla. With a faint chiming of her bangles and golden rings she reaches to her front and parts her leathery folds. “Yes! Fill me mistress! Give me your young!”
The sheer horror of the scene begins to break through your enthrallment. It trickles into your mind like an icy river as the lamia wantonly presents herself to the tentacled horror. Then, the Scylla eases her ovipositor forward, and slides it into the lamia.
The serpent woman moans, writhing as the Scylla pushes its ovipositor as deep as it will go. Then, the curved breeding pole bulges obscenely. A spherical pearl slides through the semitransparent flesh. The scylla’s egg pushes against the lamia’s spread cunt, resisted for a moment, and then slides through.
“Ohhhhh,” the lamia sighs. Her ringed eyes are lidded in joy. She hangs, limp in the grasp of the monstrous tentacles, her hair brushing the corrupted waters, her long tail twitching with pleasure as egg after egg are pumped into her hungry cunt.
Even as you realize this, the breeding is coming to an end. The lamia’s stomach has grown swollen with eggs. The Scylla withdraws her ovipositor, the breeding limb coming free still slicked from the lamia’s juices. The tentacles lower the serpent woman to lie limp on the very edge of the pool. The lamia coos to herself, wriggling in the mud, her golden jewelry softly ringing as she strokes her distended womb with delight.
Abruptly, you realize you are freed of the lamia’s spell. Either the horror was so great or the bliss of being impregnated by the monstrous Scylla broke the lamia’s attention. You are once more in control of yourself. Even as you realize this, the Scylla turns towards you, her pale eyes fixed upon you, the base of her ovipositor swelling with a fresh batch of eggs to fill you with.
What do you do?
Surrender
Attack
Surrender
You thought fighting off the massive goat’s dominating mind would be enough to give you the courage to fight him. You were wrong. You barely got past those gertlings and now you are facing this giant? Not a chance with that… magnificent cock. You know you do not stand a chance.
The goat rises from his throne and steps over his cooing brides. He looms over you, his huge, pink cock swinging so close that you can smell the musk of sex clinging to it. You look up at him as his gazes down at you. Your body trembles before his inhuman power.
“Why do you defy me, little one?” His voice asks in your head.
“No more,” you say, tears beginning to stream down your face. Your voice grows louder as you cry, “I surrender. I surrender!”
“Submit yourself to me.” He commands. You immediately drop to your knees and press your face to the filthy floor of the chapel. “Turn around and lift your skirt. Show me your pale flesh.”
You turn away from him, shuddering with a tinge of desire as you lift your long skirt up your shapely legs, over your thighs, and above your plump bottom. Your legs quiver with fear as you lean your face back down to the floor and offer up your panty-covered rear to the mighty goat. You hear him chuckle and a fresh tremor of desire ripples through your fear.
“Do not feel bad,” he says, stroking his huge fingers lazily over your backside. “Only that white-haired bitch has ever managed to resist me.”
You lift your head just a little. He must be talking about Kara! You turn to say something to him, but before the words can form on your lips, you feel his clawed fingers curl into your panties. He pulls the delicate fabric. It draws tight against your quim. He pulls harder and the gusset of your panties pulls between your swollen cuntlips. You cry out as the stretched fabric bites into your tender flesh and presses tightly against your clit. The pressure builds and builds until, with a slice of his fingernail, the taut material parts. You gasp as your torn panties drop to the floor and cooler air caresses your naked cunt.
“So delicate,” he murmurs in your mind as he runs his fingertip lightly over your groove. You gasp and push back slightly, party of you hating him and part of you craving his fingers inside you. He laughs aloud, but speaks into your mind. “Not yet. First, you must become my bride.”
His fingernail pricks your smooth buttock and he scratches a symbol into your trembling flesh. There is a soft flash of light and when you look back over your shoulder your see the magic rune glowing slightly in the gloomy chapel. Your gaze travels from the tingling symbol, to the goat’s hairy bollocks and swollen pink cock jutting prow-like from his furred groin. Your pulse quickens and saliva floods your mouth. You are breathing so heavily that you are almost panting, but you cannot control your sudden desire.
“Are you ready to be taken?” The goat asks aloud and caresses your hips and buttocks with both hands. “Are you prepared to feel my cock claiming your tight, human cunt?”
“Y-yes,” you gasp, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
“What was that?” He chuckles, cocking his head to one side.
“Yes!” You cry. “Oh, gods help me, yes! Please, fuck me!”
You have never needed anything more in your life. He sinks down to his knees behind you and lets the huge pillar of his rigid cock thump across your back. It reaches from your buttocks almost to your shoulders. The tip is as big as your fist. He swings his cock slightly back and forth, smearing the musky juice flowing from his tip over your back in glistening trails. The feeling of him rubbing his cock across your back and tickling the crack of your ass with his furry balls leaving you gasping to be fucked.
“Please,” you whine, wiggling your hips from side to side.
“Shameless,” he grunts aloud. “Most women do not behave this way until they have been properly seeded.”
“Seed me,” you gasp, jerking your head up. “Please, fill me with your giant cock.”
“Mmm. As you wish then.”
The goat grabs your waist with his huge hands and lifts your knees up off the ground. He slams his cock into your cunt, driving the entire length of it into your very slick, but very tight pussy. For a moment, everything goes white. You are fairly certain you actually died for a moment and returned to life to find your limbs flopping limply as the goat holds you above the ground and skewers your tiny pussy on his inhumanly massive cock.
&nbs
p; Each stroke of his cock is reaching to your lungs, making it harder to breathe. You should be died or at least massively injured and yet you feel only pleasure. Somehow the magic in that rune that marks you as one of the goat’s brides has almost made your body much more elastic. Your pussy stretches to accommodate his huge fucktool. Your breasts swing and your limbs flop as your mouth hangs open in wordless, animal sounds of pleasure.
“Oooooh!! Oh! Aahhhhhoooohhh!”
“Is this what you wanted, little one?” The goat laughs as he pumps his cock faster and faster, driving it into your stretched pussy and back out again. Your violated cunt slurps ass he thrusts in one more, your channel overflowing with his copious precum. For an eternity or maybe for only a minute or two, you are a helpless doll on the end of his massive skewer. You cum the first time after only a few strokes and then three more times, your inner walls rippling against his thrusting cock.
“Are you ready for your purpose?” He grunts aloud through gritted teeth.
“Yes!” You cry, throwing your head back.
“Take my seed, little one!” He roars and his cock throbs inside you. A moment later, powerful spurts of hot cum stuff your cunt, overflowing you in sloppy streams that drip from his clenching bollocks. The moment the goat’s hot load flood your fertile fuckhole, the magic of the island’s curse takes hold.
Happiness overwhelms any remaining fears about surrendering to your horned lover. You look back at him with adoration as his strokes slow. He puts you down gently on the ground and pulls his cock from your creamed depths with a loud slurp. Cum spills out of you in a gush that drips between your knees. You feel empty without the goat’s huge cock and you turn and embrace it, cradling its slick length against your breasts and kissing it profusely.
Some part of you knows you have made an irrevocable mistake, but you feel nothing but love for the goat king. He is your god. He is your master. He is your husband.
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 23