“We are joined now, Penny. We are both connected to the Great One and through him we are able to communicate.”
“You can hear me, mother?” You ask her.
“Yes,” she replies. “You need not speak your words aloud. Our minds are joined, our souls intertwined. I can see through your eyes and hear what you think. Make your thoughts clear and I will know what you intend.”
“Can you hear this?” You think the question.
“Yes, my dear,” she replies, her voice echoing, though it is entirely within your mind. “You have taken your next step towards serving the Great One. You have joined with him in your dream and his power is now inside you. Don’t you feel it?”
You stand up from the bed and pull up your panties. Other than the strange tattoo above your mound and the ability to communicate to your mother using your mind, you also feel stronger. You lift a wooden chair with ease and your steps as you pace across the room feel empowered.
Yes! Your mentally cheer with excitement. “I feel it! My body… is better!”
“There is still another blessing bestowed by the Great One.” Your mother’s voice echoes within your mind. “Now that you are blessed and marked, the monsters that once would have preyed upon you are more likely to recognize your blessing and respect you. They may still desire you, but you will be able to communicate with and even control some of them. Beware though. If the creature is not intelligent, it will still look at you as potential prey.”
“I understand, mother. I think.”
“Get dressed. You have a long way to go to reach Rhilath.” No sooner has she spoken the words than she is gone. You feel it as the emptiness in your mind, though you suspect you could call out to her and reestablish the connection.
You dress in the cluttered bedroom and marvel at how even Kara’s kirana seems to weigh almost nothing as you flick it around in your grasp. Even your backpack, stuffed with the alchemy kit and the huge family codex, seem impossibly light.
Before you leave the tower, you decide to give it a more thorough search by the light of day and see if it holds anything useful. You search the shelves of crumbling books, the closet of moth-eaten robes, and a rather rusty and useless-looking rack of weaponry. You are just about to abandon your search when you notice a dusty cloth of dark velvet covering something on a shelf.
“What have we here?” You say, taking hold of the cloth and pulling it away from the object. It appears to be an almost complete suit of lightweight iron armor designed for a woman to wear. In fact, it looks to be the perfect proportions for you to wear.
You lift up the breastplate and are surprised that the armor seems so lightweight. This could be far more fun than wearing this flimsy leather coat and this bodice! You could have real armor and with your newfound strength, courtesy of the Great One, you could wear this suit with ease and comfort.
What do you do?
Don the armor
Leave the armor
Become the sorceress’s assistant
The memory of the throbbing milk in your breasts and the sight of Marabelle bathing in your milk sends odd, but undeniable desire coursing through your core. Your cunt throbs with lust. You lick your lips anxiously, but wonder, would it really be such a bad life? You always knew you’d never succeed in your mission. You’re too awkward. Too weak. Why not stop here?
No one will be able to say you did not try. Was it your fault you were unprepared for this journey? And besides, you think, warming to your twisted reasoning, maybe you can even help make life better for the poor girls in the stocks.
“I… I think I would like that.” You hesitate. “Mistress.”
Marabelle gives you that look of knowing satisfaction, one you can only hope to see on her often. “Then comb me, my dear. And let us begin.”
Taking up a comb from one of the tables, you kneel behind Marabelle and begin gently combing her hair while she relaxes and languishes amid the cream, still warm from your breasts.
As time passes you do learn a great deal. Naturally, Marabelle has you dress as befitting your station, wearing nothing but a pair of overalls whose rear flap gives your mistress easy access to your cunt whenever she desires. And she does often. Soon after your apprenticeship begins, she reveals the runes above her quim, and the cock which can spring forth from her clit when she summons it. So lovely and huge, like the pillar that hangs beneath a mighty bull, and Marabelle teaches you how to worship it. Cradling, licking, stroking, and fucking back against her massive member are lessons you take very much to heart.
Once you accept your subservient role, you gladly let her increase the size of your breasts. Several times a week she calls you into the tub room to fill the bath with your cream, and though they never remain the immense size needed to fill the tub, your breasts have become far larger. You even start wearing special miniature pads to collect the cream which constantly trickles from your permanently engorged nipples. Your increased production becomes even more pronounced once you recognize your mistress’s seed has taken.
Your belly grows heavy with your mistress’s spawn, your breasts fat with milk for her enjoyment, you tenderly remove the thermometer from the crinkled anus of one of the girls. You call her Bessy, and she moans in protest for a moment before you insert the dildo back into her cunt, at which point she begins to gasp again as the machine gently fucks her.
You squeak in surprise as hands grab your plump thighs.
“Ah my dear assistant,” Marabelle purrs into your ear. “Excellent work. I believe you deserve a snack.”
Your face lights up. “Oh! Thank you, mistress!”
Obediently you turn about, fairly drooling as she opens her shirt, revealing her plump breasts. Eagerly you kneel before her and take a nipple in your mouth. The moment the cream hits your tongue your eyes grow heavy with torpid pleasure. Marabelle smiles down at you, stroking your hair as you eagerly feed from her, the suckling of your mouth joining the louder noises of the dairy barn.
You’ll learn much on your knees and at her feet, but here your journey has come to an end.
BAD END
<< START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX
The hill people’s sex doll ending
Your swollen belly shakes and your huge breasts jiggle with each stroke of Slork’s cock into your juicy pussy. The innkeeper is flushed and grunting atop you, his skinny hips working between your plump thighs as he fucks you with his bestial cock. You reach your hands up and stroke his chest, feeling the lumps of cysts and misaligned bones. His imperfections are beautiful, his rotten teeth like a bouquet of roses when he smiles. That part of you that once recoiled in disgust is long dormant, smothered by the purposeful pleasure of your pregnancy.
“Oh, my love,” you moan, looking up into his bulging eyes, nearly closed in concentration. “Your cock is so hard inside me. I crave your seed.”
“It’s comin’,” he grunts. “You’re so wet. You sure Fordan ain’t been in here lickin’ on your cunt again?”
“Noooo my love,” you gasp. “I’ve only been thinking about you.”
It’s the truth. Of your three regular lovers, Slork is the father of your child and therefore the one you think of the most. You imagine his cock, so long and hard, plunging into your cunt as it is now and prodding your tender womb. You wrap your long legs around him, pulling his cock even deeper, his furry balls tickling against your anus. You can feel them growing tight, his seed boiling. You gasp with anticipation.
“Ohhhhhh!” He cries, thrusting his hips furiously and pounding his cock into your juicy quim. You squeeze against his thrusting tool and you feel him twitching. The familiar hot flow of his cum nearly triggers another orgasm. His slippery sunk smears his cock and his strokes slow as he shudders and pants loudly atop you. He gives you a wet, tongue-heavy kiss that tastes of fish. “Aw, now that’s a good girl.”
He pulls out slowly, his cock already retreating into the fury at its root. He blinks his goat eyes at you and shows you his crooked grin.
“Better get back up top,” he says, rising from the bed. “Festival day. Lots of customers.”
“I heard the boots,” you say, looking up at the wooden planks above your head.
“Oh, that was just Fordan an’ Grongman,” grunts Slork. “Helpin’ me move the casks of water to dilute the ale and start the stew to boil. They’ll be gone until later. I’ll send Grongman down with some stew.
“Thank you, my love,” you say, stroking his lumpy, misshapen face.
You clean yourself with the pail of water left for you to wash and you dress in one of the gowns from your pack. You see your family’s huge codex stuffed into the pack and you take it out. Paging through the ancient tome by the torchlight, you read the words and stare at the pictures of gruesome monsters, but you feel nothing at all. The meaning is far from you and all that matters now is the baby that grows in your swollen belly and pleasing your hideously handsome lovers.
Your heart leaps with excitement as you hear the trapdoor open and boots begin to descend the stairs. You toss the codex carelessly aside and turn to see the weathered old man, Grongman, squinting at you with his one good eye.
“Hello, lovely,” he says. “I’ve brought you somethin’ to eat and somethin’ to drink.”
He hands you the bitter, watery ale and the wooden bowl steaming with fish stew. You are ravenous and eagerly devour the foul meat and mushy vegetables. You gulp down the ale, wipe your lips on the back of your arm, and turn to Grongman. He is sitting on the chair that Slork brought down a few weeks earlier so you had something to sit on beside your bed.
Wordlessly, and with the same hunger in your eyes as when you saw the stew, you crawl over to Grongman and open his filthy trousers. He grunts as you take out his cock. You like his particularly. It is much more human than the bestial cocks that Slork and Fordan have. You stroke him in your soft hand and push his cock up towards his scabby belly as you run your tongue over his musky, sweat-salted balls. The unwashed taste of his flesh beneath your tongue would have left you retching before you were trapped in this basement. Now, that taste is more delicious than any meal. Well, except for your favorite meal.
You giggle as you take Grongman’s hard cock into your mouth.
“Aye, that’s it,” he groans, watching you bob your mouth on him. “What a pretty girl. Our pretty suckling girl.”
“Mmmmmmm,” you moan around his hardness. You massage his fleshy balls as you drool on his cock, gazing up into his one good eye. He caresses your cheek and smiles his crooked smile at you.
Over your weeks in the cellar, you have come to know the sexual taste of your three lovers. Grongman has a particular appreciation for your breasts. As you suck at him, you unlace your gown and slip it down from your shoulders. The silky fabric clings to your hard nipples for a moment before you pull it lower, exposing the creamy mounds of your tits, veins beginning to show as they have been growing with your pregnancy. Your nipples have thickened and are extremely tender. You play with them, moaning around his cock as you suck him.
“Let me feel those in my face,” croaks Grongman.
You climb into his lap, his hardness rubbing against your pussy as you push your plump breasts into his face. He squeezes them, kisses them, and sucks them. His gummy sucking is much nicer than Slork or Fordan who can nip at your tender nipples. You cling to his scruffy head and grind your pussy against his cock. An easy twitch of your hips and his hard, spit-covered cock slides into your aching cunt. He groans against your breasts as you sink down onto his hardness.
You ride Grongman’s lap, bouncing your tits in his face, smothering him as he squeezes and cradles your ass. You cum for him, as you always do, calling his name as you hold his head and pull it against your breast. He sucks your nipple hard as your pussy shudders around his cock. A few more slides up and down on his straining hardness and he gasps and pumps his cum deep into your pussy.
“You make me feel young,” pants Grongman, looking quite old despite his words. You shower him with kisses and hold him against your huge breasts. You feel sad when he leaves as you sprawl on the bed with his cum slimy in your cunt. You lick some of it from your fingers and clean the rest with a damp bit of cloth.
The celebration commences above your head. You hear men singing and talking, occasionally arguing, and finally Fordan descends into the cellar. He is drunk, but that doesn’t matter.
“My love,” you gasp, kissing him eagerly. “I know what you want.”
You lift the back of your gown and get on your hands and knees on the bed. He grabs your plump ass and drunkenly tongues your asshole. He stands behind you and pushes his hard cock into your hole with a grunt. He is usually quiet when he is drunk and tonight is no exception. You reach between your thighs and finger your cunt as he pounds his cock in and out of your ass.
Feeling his cock throbbing in your stretched asshole, feeling his seed pouring deep into your bowels, you feel complete contentment. Your aspirations and worries of long ago are long gone. This is your destiny. This your joy in life.
“Thank you!” You cry, squeezing his spurting cock with your inner muscles.
Your world is now this dark cellar, your choices limited to how you will pleasure your lovers, and you couldn't be happier. You never even think about your mother or sister anymore.
BAD END
<< START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX
Refuse
You know enough about succubae to know not to trust a beautiful smile and a sweet offer of pleasure. You take a step away from Alyssa, your expression hardening as you rest one hand on the grip of your kirana. The succubus’s eyes flash with understanding, but her smile does not falter.
“I refuse your hospitality,” you say plainly. “You are a demon and not to be trusted. I do not blame you for that, it is in your nature.”
“Oh, I am perfectly trustworthy,” she coos. “Stay a while and let me prove my—“
“No!” You snap and begin to back towards the door. “I will be leaving now, succubus.”
“Oh, mighty herald of the Great One,” she says, her voice dripping with acidic sarcasm. “I am certainly sorry that my brothel does not meet your high standards. As if turning beasts loose upon this island and corrupting and raping every man and women is such a noble endeavor.”
She moves suddenly, interposing her demonically perfect body between you and the curtained door of the brothel.
“Stand aside,” you warn her.
“Or what? You have the temerity to enter my brothel, dripping wet, treat me as some lying villain, and refuse my hospitality? You will not leave.” She motions to her bird headed warriors. “Guards!”
The comely succubus blocks your way to the door and four trident-armed guards begin to close in on you from four different directions. You are past negotiating things with Alyssa. This will end with violence or with magic. You are in Alyssa’s domain, uncertain of how far her demonic power reaches. That will certainly complicate matters.
What do you do?
Attack
Magic
The Days of Darkness
Storm clouds hang over the island of Ctharne. They swirl slowly over the once-dead city and dark lightning flashes ominously within the clouds, but the storm never moves on. It keeps the island in darkness so that there are only night and twilight. In this endless gloom, the monsters are unleashed upon the island, turning every free human into prey for breeding or for food. The lucky humans are brought back to Rhilath to serve as slaves to Zhibbareth’s nascent empire. The number of pregnant, hooded women in red robes in the city increases dramatically and the men are worked to exhaustion in chain gangs, rebuilding the glory of the capital.
Human cults travel the island, giving the humans one last chance to submit to the Great One. You know it is only a trick. The cults are preyed upon almost as viciously as the free humans. The cult leaders continue faithfully in the hope that they will receive the full blessing of Zhibbareth and become a monster themselves.
The process is often more grisly than a death. They scream in agony as Zhibbareth’s black substance oozes over them and transforms their weak human flesh into something superior. It is an amusing thing to watch. You often stand in the Great One’s throne room to observe such “ascensions” in the company of your mother, Xasp, or some of the gertlings you like to keep as pets.
You are watching the ascension of a cultist named Janine, one of Zhibbareth’s long-serving heralds. Janine enters the throne room in a diaphanous gown of virginal white, her ample breasts heaving within this revealing sheath and a serene smile upon her pretty face. The horns that curve from her forehead mark Janine as one of Zhibbareth’s most blessed already and remind you of Alyssa, the succubus you once almost loved. Janine even has a bit of that demonic sway in her shapely hips and you feel your cunt stirring with desire.
She makes eye contact with you as she approaches the immense stone basin of the baptismal. Her eyes twinkle with violet flecks. Yes, there is definitely something to Janine’s lineage. Perhaps she will endure this ritual better than most of Zhibbareth’s merely human heralds.
The red-robed handmaidens of the Great One surround the basin and the temple begins to vibrate as a single tendril of Zhibbareth rises up from the deep pit at the center of the room throne room. You step closer, feeling the presence of the Great One wash over you. The gertlings you have brought with you cringe and hide behind your shapely legs as the physical and mental roar of Zhibbareth fills the chamber.
The black tendril pours into the basin, creating a churning pool of black liquid. Janine, seemingly fearless, steps out into the pool. A flicker of pain cross her face as the gossamer robe she wears burns away and steam tentacles reach up her pale body, wrapping around her shoulders, arms, and squeezing her breasts. The pitch-like liquid limbs draw Janine down into the pool in the basin, her horns disappearing last as she is pulled beneath the water.
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 38