Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  “Once I can walk again,” you whisper. “We are going to my dugout and you are slamming me full of that lovely cock until I can’t take it anymore.”

  A grisly smile spreads on Gazul’s face.

  “Cannot disobey huntress,” he says, stroking your hair and running his big, green hand up to your face to cup your cheek. You suck on his thumb as you look into his eyes. You can already feel his cock stirring again beneath you.

  It is going to be a long night.

  Such adventures with the orcs and with your sister are your life now. This particular adventure is at an end.

  THE END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Rescue Alyssa from the driderweb

  “Penelope, please, it’s almost here,” cries Alyssa.

  The desperation in her voice is all you need to make up your mind. You are not abandoning your new friend to such a horrible fate.

  You know you cannot set fire to the web and risk incinerating Alyssa and a quick test of your sword tells you that it will not easily cut through the web. Perhaps, you reason, a combination of both might work. The spell, searing blade, comes quickly to your mind. You splay your fingers and hold out your kirana with your other hand. You speak the words and your hair begins to stand on end as warmth pulse in waves from your fingertips. The blade of your kirana begins to glow faintly, growing to a bright red that is almost white on the sharpened edge.

  “Foolish,” your mother’s voice echoes in your mind. “I should have known you would have a weak spot for a demoness. She’s only using you.”

  “And what are you doing, mother?” You growl aloud.

  “Fah! Suit yourself. Get yourself killed to save this winged slut!” You feel her presence retreat from your mind.

  You can hear the drider clearly now, branches cracking and its insect legs clattering as it draws near. You swing your sword in a glowing arc and slice through the web’s lower anchors. With enhanced alacrity, you leap into the lower branches of the nearest tree and slash through two more of the anchors. The web begins to sag. You leap up one more level and crawl out onto a branch. With a straining, stretching swing of your sword, you cut Alyssa loose from the web. She is still partially bound in the cut web and she drops heavily to the forest floor.

  You leap down beside her just as the drider scuttles into the clearing.

  It stands nine feet tall on a massive arachnid body of black shell and thick black quills. Its bulk is at least that of a horse, but it scuttles with alarming agility. The drider’s upper body belongs to that of a well-muscled human man with gray flesh. He holds a forked spear in one hand and gazes at you with red eyes that seem almost to glow. Although his eyes are human, he has two smaller eyes just above the bridge of his nose and his law is gone, replaced with the hideous mandibles of a giant spider. Two enormous fangs drip with venom.

  You crouch and slash open the web trapping Alyssa as the heat fades from your blade. She stands up beside you.

  “What do we do now?” The succubus whispers.

  The drider moves cautiously closer, holding its spear at the ready, but not pulling back to strike with it just yet. It seems to be sizing you and Alyssa up. It is probably not accustomed to prey find a way out of its web.

  “Maybe,” hisses Alyssa, “it will listen to a herald of the Great One.”

  Watching the drider’s mouth open and close and its huge fangs move independently of one another, you are not so hopeful. It takes a few steps closer and its black quills seem to tense. Its human nostrils flare as if breathing in the scent of prey. The drider does not seem inclined to give you much time to consider your options.

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Parley

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  Succubus Distraction

  Wait

  You decide to make no move. You stand, tense, watching the wugs even as they watch you both.

  “Penny?” Kara asks tightly.

  “Don’t move,” you warn in and undertone.

  “That’s-“

  Kara shouts as a rope woven of reeds lassoes her arm. In a moment a second swings out, looping over her head and yanking tight her other arm to her chest. Kara is torn off her feet with a shriek of surprise.

  You’re in no better shape. The moment Kara screams you turn towards her and so never see the noose swinging from the tree above you. The cord slips over your head and arms before tightening. You stagger, pulling with surprise, but before you can take two steps half a dozen more ropes swing out and catch your arms, legs and head. You topple with a cry, landing in the muddy waters with a splash. In an instant wugs scramble over you, their smooth bodies writhing against you as they overpower you through sheer numbers. Pale bellies and webbed hands slap your face and smother your struggles.

  Then, as suddenly as they came, the wugs retreat, drawing back and staring down at you. You writhe, but your amphibian attackers have tied you up securely, and all you manage to do is further muddy yourself with your splashing. You stop moving, glaring at the wugs which surround you, but in your rage there lies a core of fear. Your codex has illustrated quite thoroughly the fate of those women the wugs capture.

  Two wugs straighten you and Kara, leaning the both of you against the log you had so recently rested against. Your chest heaves from the struggle, the ropes pulling your jacket taut and pressing against your breasts, outlining their fullness.

  For a moment only the sound of your and Kara’s heavy breathing can be heard. Then, the war leader of the wugs emerges from the crowd. At the sight of the wug another pang of fear courses through you. He’s larger than his brethren, wearing a more elaborate style of paint. A rope threaded with bone strung about his neck in a fetish strung necklace. You try and wriggle away but get nowhere. He watches your struggle for a moment, then suddenly leans forward. You flinch as his webbed hands move to your jacket and with alarming ease opens it. Your breasts pop free, your lacy bra a splash of white against the mud. The wug studies them a moment, then reaches forward and hefts them.

  A gasp works through you as his talons press into your flesh. The webbing of his hands spreads out his grip so that he cups your breasts as surely as your bra does. You think you see something like distaste in his dark eyes at the sight of the bra. With a sudden motion he pulls it down. The fabric catches on your rigid nipples making you gasp before falling away.

  “Leave her alone!” Kara snarls from nearby. The wug glances her way, staring at your sister, her hair a mess, her face splashed with mud and fierce with anger like some wild jungle cat. The wug’s face remains unreadable, but his pale stomach takes on a slightly reddish hue.

  He turns back to you a moment later, ignoring Kara’s snarling threats and her futile efforts to escape the ropes which bind her. His webbed hands resume their motions, leisurely stroking you, squeezing your breasts and rubbing the sharp talon on his thumb across your nipples.

  Unwillingly, you feel the warmth of arousal course through you. You squirm beneath his touch. Repulsive as it is, he knows what he’s doing. It’s all you can do to hold back your moans as he draws slow circles on your flesh, carefully kneading your breasts. Gently coaxing it as if to draw the milk which will one day fill them.

  In the midst of kneading your pliant breasts, the wug glances up, and freezes. His hands still in the midst of pinching your quivering nipples. You try and turn your head away as his hand rises and touches your hair, wrapping the single white lock about his finger.

  There is a subtle stirring from the silent throng. A low croaking fills the clearing as the wugs swell their necks.

  Abruptly the war chief stands and croaks something to the rest. You squeal as two wugs suddenly hoist you on their shoulders like the prize of a hunt. The squat creatures are unexpectedly strong, their wiry arms grasping you securely before bearing you into the marsh. You catch a glimpse of Kara in much the same situation, her face crimson with humiliation and fury.

>   Thus, hog tied, you are borne across the warm marsh, where the scent of the sea is teased amid the stagnant stench of the marshlands. You and Kara are carried deeper into the depths of the brackish jungle, and soon enough come upon the wug’s village.

  It is typical according to your readings. It’s situated at the far side of a large lagoon which empties into the ocean. Squat huts of mud and wattle rise like mushrooms out of the ground, shielded from the sea by a screen of forest.

  The village is dominated by a distant large building, a longhouse made of plundered timber from wrecked ships and whatever could be found. In any other place, you would think it the chief’s home, or perhaps the communal hall. But these are wugs, and you know without looking back and seeing Kara’s horrified face what it truly is. The Barn. The place where human women are kept docile and milked by the wugs, bred in harnesses like cattle, kept drugged through the wug’s foul potions and their own creamy milk.

  It’s no small relief when the wugs turn away from that dark place and instead bear you and Kara to a large hut. They deposit you on a floor lined with reed mats, lit only by the thin sunlight peeking through the island’s haze and filtering through the cracks in the wattle ceiling.

  Before he goes, the wug war leader frees you from your ropes with a deft movement of a dagger. He does the same to Kara, but there are so many loops that by the time you scramble from them he is long gone.

  “Great,” Kara hisses as she flings the last of the ropes into a corner. “Just great. At least we’re still armed.”

  You risk a peek out the door. “We’re in the middle of their village.” You scuttle back into the hut grimly. “And there’s guards outside. We wouldn’t make it ten feet.”

  “Better to die than end up in their barn.”

  Kara shudders. Though you’re aware of what fate awaits you at the wug’s hands, Kara has seen it. The dusky darkness of the barns. Women bound in place or prostrate on boards, their full breasts and stomachs hanging beneath them while their breasts are pumped for their precious cream.

  “You okay?”

  You come to yourself with a start. “Hm?”

  “You look flushed.”

  You swallow thickly. “Just…a little uneasy.”

  Kara grunts something affirmative. She suddenly cocks her head. “Someone’s coming.”

  Quickly you both scoot to the furthest corner of the hut, away from the wugs which quietly pass through the doorway.

  One is the war leader who captured you. Two guards come with him armed with spears. Kara growls but she doesn’t try anything.

  Yet it is the newcomer who draws your eye. He is different from the other warrior wugs. His paint is white instead of the earthy hues of his warrior kin, giving him a strange, ghostly appearance. The markings about his face give him a look like a grinning skull and thrust in his belt are a number of vials and feathers, almost forming a kilt. Looping cord hangs around his head, sporting fetishes of jeweled beads and carved bone. In one webbed hand he bears a tall pole and you grimace at the sight of a grinning skull at its top, and the weird swamp light which glows within its sockets sends a shudder down your spine.

  The white wug stares at you and Kara for a long moment with his unfathomable eyes. He croaks something in his tongue but you merely stare at him perplexed. After a moment, the shaman, so you think of him, turns to the war leader and croaks something else.

  After a moment both leave. The suddenness of their arrival and departure fills the hut with a heavy air of uncertainty. You and Kara squat in the far corner, knees drawn up and lips hard.

  After maybe an hour there is a third stirring at the mouth of the hut, but it is not a wug who enters. Instead, a woman pushes through the entrance. She is tall and well built, a fact quite evident for save a thin cloak, she is utterly naked. She has brown hair which falls low and is decorated with beads and woven with small bones. Her breasts swell from her chests, as large as Marabelle, the witch you escaped from so early in your journey, with the same dark and puffy areola. Unlike the witch however, this woman’s skin is pale where it is not darkened by a mass of swirling tattoos, like she were bound by an ink octopus stamped on her very skin.

  The thought of the milk witch adds a sudden new dimension to this sudden newcomer, and looking at her eyes, you see the docile submissiveness of a human cow.

  The woman kneels and places a dish of food before you both. The plate you notice is a copper dish, likely a trophy from some sunken wreck. The food itself is a smattering of cooked fish and strange fruit. There is a creamy smell to them which fills the hut, and your mouth waters as your hunger suddenly makes itself known. You lunge forward, grabbing up a ripe piece of fruit. Its thin skin breaks beneath your teeth and its sweetness makes your tongue sing.

  “Penny!” Kara gapes.

  “We need our strength,” you say reasonably, grabbing a steaming loaf. There is some kind of thick filling inside that tastes heavenly. Kara hesitates, but her hunger gets the better of her and she falls to the meal with a will.

  Only once your hunger has been sated somewhat do you and Kara remember the one who brought the meal. Your chewing slows as you eye the docile woman kneeling at the entrance.

  Kara glares at the woman. “Who are you?” Kara demands. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am Salara,” the woman says passively. “I am the breeding cow of Cruack. Shaman of the clan Razorspear. He sends you greetings and food for your strength, mighty Croaha.”

  You squint with thought. Croaha? The name sound familiar, but you can’t quite place it. “What does your master want with us?” you say warily.

  “He wishes you to lead us.”

  Kara is in the middle of picking up one of the skewered pieces of meat off the dish when this is said. She freezes and gives Salara an incredulous look. “What?”

  “Croaha shall lead us,” Salara says without a change of inflection or glance up. “Croaha is the fertile Earth in which seed is sown. Croaha is the ancient fields which will bear the fruit of the strong.”

  “That’s it!” you gasp.

  “Huh?” Kara says.

  You swing the codex from your pack and frantically flip through the pages. It takes but a moment. Though there are many pages devoted to wugs, for theirs are a varied tribe and race, you recall the passage easily. The yellowed page crinkles as you open it, baring a strange cuneiform image printed with thick dyes. A strange gravid woman crudely drawn with exaggerated hips and breasts, sitting cross legged with arms tucked close to her.

  “Croaha,” you say. “Sometimes called Tokonga or similar. A sort of fertility deity among wugs. They say she had given birth to wugs, and that she made human women in her image. To be a vessel to give their milk and carry the young of wugs.”

  Kara grimaces. “Yes,” she said. “I seem to remember that…thing painted on the walls of some wug barns I cleared out. But what does that mean?”

  You think you know, but the thought sends dread coiling in your belly like ice water. You look towards Salara. You speak as gently as you can. “Salara? Who is Croaha?”

  “One of you,” Salara says dully. “You of the golden eyes and hair of white.”

  The ice in your stomach becomes a weight. Your voice is low as the sensation as you sigh and say, “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Kara has stopped eating. She sets down the half-eaten fish. “You said one of us,” Kara says. “Which of us is?”

  Salara shakes her head. “I do not know. Only the Deep One knows.”

  “The Deep One?”

  Salara nods passively. “He will decide which of you is to be his. He will awaken you to your destiny with his seed.”

  You swallow thickly. You look towards Kara, but your sister seems in no state to answer. Her eyes are lidded and heavy. She sways where she sits and her skin is flush.

  “Kara?” you say. “Kara? What’s wrong?”

  Your sister puts down the fruit unsteadily. “I…I dunno. Penny. I…”

  K
ara slouches where she sits, her eyelids fluttering. “Kara?” You reach out for her, and the room seems to tilt. You catch yourself and find yourself staring at the plate. At the creamy substance which oozes from a half eaten loaf.

  “No,” you manage in a whisper. Then the ground rushes up to meet you, and when it does, everything goes black.

  CONTINUE >

  Enough questions, we had better continue our journey

  You wish you could talk to your sister all night around the campfire, just like you used to do when the two of you were training as young girls. But this is a dangerous place and even greater dangers seemingly grow with each passing moment. Dawn approaches and with it a new day of untold horrors.

  "We must continue towards Rhilath," you say decisively. "The longer we remain here, the more difficult our path becomes."

  "And if mother is against us?" Kara gives you a worried look as you help her to her feet.

  "If she is, then thank the gods we have each other."

  You try to help Kara buckle on her sword and lift her modest pack. She glares at you, weary, but willful. You set off towards the north and she limps along on her own, trying to keep up with your measured pace.

  "Are you alright?" You ask her after the first mile or so has passed.

  "I will be fine, sister," she says. "I feel stronger already."

  That much believe. Though she limps and has a haggard look, she no longer seems at the door of death as when you rescued her from the doppelganger's mirror. You descend along a rocky path and into a narrow valley. A trickling creek runs through it and the water is red and smells of blood. You do not want to imagine the source of such a flow.

  You and Kara climb up the other side of the valley and continue through a wood that quickly grows sparse and dead. An open field stands before you, a lifeless landscape of churned earth, uprooted trees, overturned structures, and hundreds of giant holes in the ground. Between the holes are wide, scaly tracks.