As the orcs get to work building, you and Kara have the gertlings sharpen sticks and spend the afternoon spear fishing to feed the laboring orcs. Shelters are dug, trees are felled and chopped into logs, which are dragged into place to form the outer walls of the fort. You never imagined yourself a foreman overseeing construction, but it is nice to see something being built instead of destroyed.
Kara stands beside you, watching the construction. One of the orcs carrying a log, muscles bulging impressively, actually smiles at you as he trundles past. You smile back.
“We must not forget what they are,” says Kara, looking at you seriously. “No matter how long we are here on this island, we must remember that they are monsters.”
How do you reply to her?
“We must remain on our guard, always.”
“We must embrace them as our companions.”
Refuse to cooperate with the monster
You look at the women and men trapped in the slime of the protean. Their naked bodies writhe as they are stimulated by the rippling gelatin, their faces twisted in expressions of pleasure and their eyes staring blankly. It is a horror show and one you cannot imagine your mother participating in willingly. What trickery by this seductive slime convinced your mother to swallow the morsel and give up her secrets? Or was this gelatinous fiend the very creature that bested your mother and sister?
Your anger rises as you step over to the berry-shaped morsel of slime this protean bitch expects you to swallow. You pick it up, feeling it soften beneath your fingers. You fling it at her translucent mockery of your mother and the pellet disappears into the slime.
“No deal,” you say. You draw one of the pistols from your belt and reach your other hand into your backpack. You pull out a glass vial of lye granules. The protean’s jelly-like surface ripples at the sight of the vial.
“A foolish choice, huntress,” she says and the path to the tunnel leaving the chamber closes over with slime. “You forget, I know your mother, and I know how weak you are. Just a plump little girl who draws in books.”
The lye contained in the vial will hurt the protean, but you have other reagents in the backpack that you could combine to form an explosive bomb of neutralizing foam. An attack with this device would be like salting a snail. The protean would recoil wherever the foam touched and you might actually be able to free all those poor men and women.
But maybe you should wait for the right opportunity. Proteans are normally susceptible to magic, but they can become resistant to spells the larger they get. This one is the largest you have ever seen, so magic is probably not a wise choice.
“Give it up, Penelope,” laughs the slime in front of you. “Weak, fat-bottomed little girls like you have no chance against my power.”
As you consider your options, several more humanoid figures of slime rise up from the glistening mounds of ooze. You recognize more versions of your mother, but also other women and men. Her victims? There is no time to be overwhelmed by the thought. You must act wisely in the face of such a monster.
What do you do?
Wait
Parley
Attack
Magic
Surrender
Refuse to become a bride of Zhibbareth
Your mother’s words ring with the power of a god. It is nearly enough to break your will and force you to surrender to whatever fate she has in store for you. Instead, your will endures and your resolve hardens. You lift your hand and stare into your mother’s golden eyes. She draws back, as if she can sense your sudden resistance.
“I will never submit to become the sex slave of the thing you worship,” you snarl.
“Slave? You would be elevated to a queen! You would rule beside me, my sweet!” She leans down again and hisses. “Do not throw this all away for—“
You spit in your mother’s face.
“Did you think threatening Alyssa would coerce me? It only makes me hate you and the so-called Great One more!” You rise to your feet, your voice growing louder. “This temple is built on a foundation of suffering and the lies you—“
Pain shoots from the tattoo atop your mound driving you back down to your knees. You try to stand and another wave shoots through you as powerful as lightning. You fall over onto your side, moaning with pain and clutching at your cunt.
“You dare speak ill of Zhibbareth in His temple? You are a bigger fool than your sister—“
“Kara?!” You gasp, tears spilling from your eyes. “What did you—“
“She failed the test,” laughs your mother. “Probably dead by now, caught in the trap of some creature or another. She was weak. I thought you were stronger, Penny. I thought you might…”
Your mother’s words trail off as golden light flares from beside you. Both of you look in surprise as Alyssa’s eyes begin to burn brighter and brighter, flames seeming to leap from her sockets. Xasp, the slime-bodied creature holding her in his tendrils, begins to shake and steam. Bubbles form inside his translucent flesh.
“Ahhhhh, mistress!” He cries in a warbling voice. “It burnnnns!”
Alyssa’s eyes are by now glowing bright red, like the blade of a sword being forged by a blacksmith, and flames hiss against the tendrils in her mouth. Xasp releases Alyssa with a sudden scream and falls back on the floor. Alyssa roars with fury, launching into the air and slamming into your mother’s chest. Your mother is knocked to the ground and Alyssa bounces back and collects you in her arms. She carries you several paces away and you both set down on the mosaic tiles.
Xasp, still steaming, tries to lunge at Alyssa and she blasts pure magical fire from her hands. He is incinerated in an instant. Dozens of black armored guards rush into the chamber and begin to surround you and Alyssa. Your mother, brushing off her arms, strides behind them.
“Stand back!” She shouts. “They are mine.”
She steps over the armored warriors and faces you in all her gigantic glory. Her face is red with anger and her shoulders and huge breasts heave with her excited breathing. She clenches her hands into fists that look as if they could crush the head of a horse.
“You!” She jabs a finger towards Alyssa. “You will pay for seducing my daughter. And you, Penny! I will chain you to that altar and give your womb to the birth of our God!”
Your fear is gone, replaced with burning anger such as you have never felt before. The mark of the Great One has faded from your body and with it some of your strength. Alyssa stands beside you.
“I will tear out her heart if you ask,” she hisses and gives you a flicker of a smile.
You cannot believe it has come to this, but now you must battle the crazed giantess that was once your mother.
What do you do?
Wait
Parley
Attack
Magic
Surrender
Rely on Alyssa to distract your mother
Give her your secrets
“My secrets for my life? Something like that?”
“Yes, but sweeter,” burbles the protean, extending tendrils from its forehead like the antennae of a snail. “My power will be inside you. Faster and stronger and tougher. You will know my flavor and I will know yours. All of your secrets will be within me. We will be helping each other.”
You are not certain how the secrets of a life spent sitting on your bottom and paging through ancient texts will be of any use to a slime dwelling in a mountain, but that is not your concern. You know that pieces of proteans are often used in alchemy to brew powerful concoctions capable of enhancing strength and agility. This could prove invaluable on your quest. You give the men and women trapped in the protean one last glance. You feel sorry for them, but they are not your concern. They have already been lost to this majestic queen of slime.
“Very well,” you say to the translucent likeness of your mother. “You may have my secrets.”
She burbles happily and slides over to the rock where she has placed her morsel. She watches as you follow behind her, car
eful not to step in any deep pools of her protean slime covering the rocky floor. You scoop up the pale green berry of protean flesh. It is cool and soft. The protean watches intently as you lift the morsel to your mouth and drop it onto your tongue.
“There you are,” she says with delight. “Relax and enjoy.”
Enjoy? What does that mean? You don’t have a chance to ask her as the morsel softens to liquid and rolls to the back of your throat, spreading a sweet taste along your tongue. You swallow instinctively and as it slides down your gullet you feel the little gob of slime begin to move. Your eyes widen. Tendrils are moving inside you, reaching back up your throat and probing into your sinuses. They are squirming in your belly and pushing deeper.
You drop to your knees, gagging and stuffing fingers down your throat to try to force yourself to vomit. You retch, but nothing comes out. The slime is filling up your sinuses now and spreading warmth through your body. You begin to pant you are breathing so heavily.
“Shhhhhh. It will be fine, little one. Relax. There is no paint to this. Only pleasure.” She drops down into a kneeling position beside you and drops a jiggling arm across your shoulders. Your body is growing warmer and warmer and you feel strange sexual urges. You try to speak to the protean, but there is so much slime moving in your throat that you can only gurgle. “I know it is scary. Even your mother was afraid and she is a much braver woman than you, isn’t she, Penelope?”
The slime’s translucent face leans closer. You breathe in her strange vegetable scent as her cool flesh strokes the back of your warm neck. So warm. Your whole body. Despite your fear at what the slime is doing inside your body, you cannot suppress the intense welling of lust. It is an ache in your quim so profound that is almost agonizing. You pull your skirt up with one hand, leaning your shoulders back so you can watch as your hand dives down the front of your panties.
“Yesss! Yes! Give in to what your body needs,” says the protean. “There is no shame in pleasure.”
Your pussy is burning up beneath your fingers and soaking with your juices. Your clit stands out easily and you begin to furiously rub at your hard bud. You gurgle with pleasure and throw your head back as ecstasy ripples through your body. You chase that pleasure with your thrusting fingers, pumping them into your slippery cunt as it seems to grow hotter and wetter by the moment. Your underwear becomes soaked as you lustily fuck yourself with two fingers.
The more you fuck yourself, the more you can feel the slime moving inside you. Your orgasms are overlapping and growing more intense by the moment. Your body is drenched in sweat, your clothing soaked. You feel as if the pleasure will kill you with its intensity.
That is when you feel the slime pushing. Your eyes widen once more as you feel it begin to push out of your clenching anus. It slithers from inside you and spreads out of your underwear in wriggling, gelatinous tendrils. You can taste the sweet flavor of the protean in your mouth once more, rising like bile, pouring out of your mouth and spilling down your chin. You try to scream, but you can only flail and buck in the growing pool of green fluid. It seeps out of your nose and even your eyes, dripping down your cheeks like tears.
The flow of the swollen protean finishes and the slime gathers itself into a single mass of slithering green the size of your backpack. It glides across the floor and rejoins the protean. You can only watch, gasping on the floor and still twitching with aftershocks, as the protean assumes your likeness. After a moment, it smiles, and returns to being your mother.
“Thank you, Penelope,” she says, leaning over you.
Your fear of the protean recedes. You do not have complete knowledge of her mind, but you know her better now. You understand what she is doing. The men and women trapped in the slimmer are necessary to her lifecycle. She only desires to grow and become more powerful, the same thing that so many humans desire. None of her humans suffer. You know that now. Even those who perish do so in a dream of ecstasy.
The protean reaches down with her slimy arms – a particularly human gesture – and lifts you easily to your feet. You stand uncertainly, partially supported with her help. You are not weak, only disoriented, and it passes after a moment. She did not lie. You feel stronger. Much stronger. A grin spreads across your face. You draw your sword and swing it with ease, testing yourself. You leap easily into the air and land with sure feet. Even your pack seems to weigh nothing.
“I feel so strong,” you laugh.
“Yes, it will not pass,” she says. “A part of my strength will be with you forever, Penelope.”
You dance about on the clear stone, no longer even concerned with the men and women trapped in the slime as you test the swing of your sword. Kicks and leaps that were beyond your abilities now seem almost trivial. You leap back in front of the protean, bouncing up and down on your feet and feeling totally rejuvenated.
You gather up your things and make ready to leave. You take a few steps towards the exit tunnel. The protean follows alongside you.
“You are going now?” She asks.
“That was my plan,” I say. “I have to find my sister and my mother.”
“Kara and Hilda,” she says. She slithers into your path, her slime antennae flexing towards you from her forehead. “Stay a while with me, Penelope.”
She slides around behind you, pressing her gelatinous body against your back, her imitations hands caressing your arms. Her touch is cool at first, but pleasurable warmth permeates your skin after brief contact. You shudder with repressed desire.
“I have to find my… family,” you say, trying not to moan.
“I know and I will not stop that,” says the protean. She slithers around to your front. She takes on your shape and caresses your cheek with a slimy hand. “We know each other so well now, Penelope. I see those long hours with your books. Your hidden desires for Velora. Your feelings of inadequacy. I even see your purpose here, to thwart the evil that grows on Ctharne and save your family. But they can wait a little longer.”
She leans her face – your face – closer, a smile on her translucent lips.
“Kiss me,” she murmurs. “Stay with me a while and explore your desires.”
What do you do?
Kiss the protean
Leave the cave
The gertling breeding slave ending
You awake to the hot sunlight spilling through the slatted windows of the resting hut. You are naked, but for your loincloth, your breasts engorged with mother’s milk and your nipples dribbling and eager to be suckled. You sit up with a grunt and see that several of the other breeding slaves you sleep with have also awakened. The one closest to you looks over at you with her dull, blue-eyed stare and she smiles sweetly. You return the smile.
Over time, you have come to look like these women, with your body reshaped by repeated pregnancies. Carrying a litter of half-gertlings only takes three months and you have been here long enough to carry three litters. You hope to be made pregnant with your fourth very soon. Carrying the pups is an honor and a service to the tribe. It is easy to give birth to them, they are so much smaller than human babies.
“Today is mating day for you,” says the blue-eyed brunette next to you with a hint of envy in her voice.
She’s right. You feel giddy at the realization. Your breasts a huge with milk, aching to be released, but today you will not go with the other mothers to wet nurse the many wee, dagger-eared children you are raising with the tribe. Today is one of the days you get to go to the pleasure hut and serve the tribe.
Sure enough, the stoop-shouldered old gertling slave master unbars the door and waddles in, grunting as he unlocks the hut-sized cage made of rough iron bars. The women all rise excitedly to their feet and crowd around the entrance.
“Back!” The slave master shouts in the gertling language. He reaches for his cudgel and clangs it against the bars a few times. You and the other women retreat to the far side. “Whitelock, come. You are breeding today.”
The gertlings do not care about human nam
es, you are Whitelock because of your hair and the other women have names like “Bowlegs” and “Fat Tits.” One of the favorite breeders is a pretty, raven-haired girl that the gertlings call “Sugarpussy.” A part of you knows these names are humiliating and you should hate them. In truth, nothing bothers you much, you are so happy being bred.
You hurry to the door to the cage and the slave master steps aside so you can exit. He locks the cage and turns to inspect you.
“Filthy,” he says, running a grubby finger over a stain on your naked thigh. “Have those warriors been visiting you again?”
“N-no,” you lie. Your mind flashes to late night visits from the brave gertling warriors and you and the other women cooing with lust and pressing your bodies against the bars. The gertling warriors like to thrust their cocks between the bars and let you women fight over who gets to suck and fuck them.
The slave master looks at you as if trying to judge your word. His nostrils flare and he sniffs at your slightly paunchy belly. He prods it with a finger.
“You smell like sex,” he growls.
“But master, we all smell like sex,” you say.
His thin lips curl in disgust, but he gives you a grudging bark of laughter. “Yes, true. You all reek of being humped by lonely warriors. Very well. I give you soap. You wash before you go to breeding hut.”
He reaches for a chunk of soap – a rare pleasure – but he stops before giving it to you.
“You do something good for me first,” he demands. “I have your ass.”
“Of course, master,” you moan, eagerly dropping to your knees and turning around to offer up your plump bottom. The slave master is old and sterile and is permitted by the tribe to fuck you and the other women as much as he wants. He is so old that it’s a rare treat to receive his attentions. He spits a wad of phlegm into the crack of your ass, smears it around with two stubby fingers, and thrusts his warty cock straight up your slave girl ass. You cry out with pleasure, “Ooooh, yessss!”
Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust Page 56