Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Torrenus continues on as he leads you and your sister in a daze through the slime-walled palace of Jubulux. You realize your soul is nothing but property and a symbol of power to whoever possesses it. You and your sister are doomed to forever be the thrall of the Lord of Slimes, unless he tires of you and decided to destroy you or trade you off to another lord. Such is the unfairness of the abyss.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Refuse your mother’s offer and free Kara

  “I need a moment to think about it,” you say, feigning weariness. Your mother nods to you and holds up her hands, palm out, to signal that you should relax. “It is a heavy price, I know, my sweet,” says your mother. “But Kara has spent her life to reach me. She has only one final act. Let her realize that purpose.”

  You lean on the altar, nodding as if in agreement. Your mother smiles sweetly.

  You swing your kirana in a long arc, cutting through the ropes binding one of Kara’s wrists. You have thrust the grip of your sister’s knife into her freed hand before your mother’s expression even has a chance to change. Kara frees herself in three quick slashes and leaps from the altar, her vigor at least momentarily restored.

  “You stupid cow,” your mother snarls. “Fat and soft from the city. How you even made it off the shore will remain a mystery.”

  “She is more of a huntress than either of us,” says Kara, brandishing the knife at Janine as the cultist approaches from the left side.

  You ready your kirana, moving close to Kara. Janine charges, your mother yells in alarm, and you and Kara strike in unison. Your kirana slashes the beautiful cultist across her breasts. Kara’s knife stabs the horned woman’s side and Kara slams a kick into Janine’s midsection.

  The beautiful cultist staggers back, gripping her wounds, blood flowing through her fingers and wordless disbelief on her gaping mouth. Her eyes are wide and accusatory. She stumbles backwards, to the side, and plunges over the edge of the pit. You feel an invisible ripple of force through the air a moment later, as if something consumed Janine’s power in an explosive act of blasphemous feeding.

  “She has served me well,” says your mother, a note of sadness in her voice. “Far more loyal than the two of you, my treacherous daughters.”

  “You have gone mad, mother,” you shout. “Yield to us now and we will spare your life.”

  “Spare my life?” Your mother snorts with amusement. “My life belongs to the Great One. Your behavior here, in his inner sanctum, only delays his inevitable ascent. Surrender to me now, both of you. I will not ask again. There will be no more mercy.”

  She clenches her huge hands into fists and edges closer. Kara glances at you, obviously uncertain of what should be done.

  What do you do?

  Wait

  Parley

  Attack

  Magic

  Surrender

  Distract your mother while Kara strikes

  Have Kara distract your mother while you strike

  Wait

  You remain motionless, staring up at the Wurllmek, trying not to think too much about its mandibles, but ready to dive out of their reach should it lunge at you. The enormous worms seems confused by your reaction. Prey animals probably don't stand their ground too often. While you are staring it down with your hardest possible look, hoping you give it pause, you are sifting your memories for the creature's weak spot.

  The Wurllmek rolls its segments with irritation, causing the earth to shake and nearly knocking you over. You steady yourself as it seizes the moment and lunges. It is only as you are staring into the massive maw, yawning wide and descending towards you, that you recall the weak spot of the Wurllmek. Their bodies are armored and almost indestructible, but their insides are soft and vulnerable.

  "Come and get me!" You shout as its mouth engulfs you. You leap at the last moment, jumping past its mandibles so that you are not caught in their crushing snap. You leap into the squeezing funnel of the Wurllmek's gullet. The many curved teeth that line the gullet bite into your armor and tear at your skirt, but it is not enough to seriously hurt you.

  The huge creature gulps you down into its throat and you only just manage to get your hand up high enough that the swallowing muscles do not pin it to your side. Only magic will save you now and you remember the forbidden spells that unleash corruption upon the earth. You would never dare to cast these spells before the Great One blessed you, but now, all things seem possible.

  You call upon the dark entropic forces that swirl in blasphemous places, summoning the dark negative energy into a swirling violet light that engulfs your hand. The light grows brighter and brighter until it is blinding. You continue the evil chant in a language you have never dared to speak aloud before now. The entropic energy explodes from your hand in every direction. You are shielded by your control over the energy, but the Wurllmek bursts around you. Its pink flesh blackens and ruptures and you spill back out of its decaying mouth and onto the ground.

  "How did I taste?!" You shout up at the creature. "A bit hard to swallow?"

  The dying Wurllmek rears up, gurgling in agony as its body succumbs to the forces of decay propagating within its flesh. Veins pulse black beneath its pale yellow flesh and even this flesh loses its color and begins to blister with decay. With a final wail of agony, the Wurllmek disappears into its hole, shedding pieces of its rotting body as it goes.

  "Where did you learn such magic?!" Your mother's voice is amazed within your mind.

  You smile at her reaction as you pick yourself up and wipe off the worst of the Wurllmek's goo that covers your body.

  "I have been studying magic and monsters in the greatest library known to man," you reply silently. "Did you not think I might read the forbidden texts?"

  "Oh, you are a much more devious girl than I had hoped," says your mother. "The Great One will be very pleased."

  Your smile tightens. You are still not certain you want to please a being like the Great One. Certainly you would not have had the confidence to cast such an evil spell without his blessing.

  You finish cleaning up and set off across the field of holes. Each hole you pass howls with the wind that blows across the empty field. There is no sign that the giant worm has survived your magic.

  You trudge out of the dreary field and soon find yourself on an ancient and well-worn trade road through a pine forest. The trees are dark and pattering with rain. The rumble of thunder signals that worse weather may be on its way. You feel more at home in these ominous woods than before. It is as if nothing could threaten you.

  The worsening rain still makes you wish for a tavern or inn along this route, like most trade roads in Heimsvak. A place to have some warm food and ale beside a crackling fire.

  Judging by the map, you have come a long way, but you still have a long way to go to Rhilath.

  CONTINUE >

  Run for the manor!

  You snap out of your momentary overconfidence and realize you are staring at a beast that can probably kill you with a single bite. You turn and run into the outskirts of the ruins of Lyokk. The beast disappears behind you and reappears, snarling, from behind a standing brick wall. You scream and run to avoid it, leaping over the shin-high remains of another wall and nearly tumbling over a broken barrel overgrown with weeds.

  You get your footing back and race along the edge of the village, past the gutted remains of a brewery and the bones of a cart horse still hitched to a rain-rotted wagon. For a moment, you convince yourself you have escaped the beast. It appears once more, snarling and snapping its jaws at you, charging out from the wreckage of a barn. How does this huge beast move so swiftly and silently?

  It seems to be trying to lure you deeper into the ruins of the village, but you keep veering towards the manor until you are able to escape up the hill. You steal a glance over your shoulder as you race up the hill and you see the beast watching from the shadow of a fallen temple, anger seeming to glow in its four eyes.
>
  The manor’s garden is huge, at least as big as the manor, and surrounded by a wall of heavy stones topped with rusty iron spikes. This unwelcoming appearance does not dissuade you from entering the open gate. As you pass into the garden, you smell the scent of flowers and plants. For a moment, you are mesmerized by the sight of so many huge plants and flowers tangled together in an overgrown mass.

  You are startled out of this reverie by the clang of the iron gate slamming closed behind you. There is no way out now, except through the garden and the manor house that looms darkly above it. You set off down the only path you can see through the tangle of unnatural plant growth.

  CONTINUE >

  Magic

  You take a step back, quickly assessing your options. You consider your sword and pistols, but at once dismiss it. If this woman knows about your sister, possibly killing her would be a grave error. Besides, you’re not so confident in your physical abilities, particularly with Marabelle’s amused look. Brute force has never been your best weapon. Your talent with spells may be limited, but something simple should be enough.

  You throw forward your hands. Bands of energy crackle among your fingers and arc through the air towards the woman.

  As quick as the flash of your spell, Marabelle stretches forth her hands and seems to intercept your magic. She absorbs the impact with a twirl, energy wrapping around her fingers, and when she turns around, your blue magic crackles violet in her hands. She hurls your spell back at you. It strikes you in the chest, sending your nerves singing. Your mind blanks. You gasp and fall to your knees as the spell crackles through your body, your skin hypersensitive and tingling.

  You tremble where you kneel, barely able to raise your head as Marabelle saunters towards you. She stops in front of you, smiling wryly.

  “Strip.”

  Your eyes widen as your hands move and deftly undo the buttons of your hide jacket. You grit your teeth, trying to stop, but your limbs still tingle with the force of the spell and refuse your command.

  “Ah, slower,” Marabelle tuts.

  You shudder as your body obeys. You have no control over yourself. Marabelle grins as you teasingly strip. Your face is red with humiliation as you unbuckle your belt and lower your skirt to the ground. You kick it away. The thumping of the pumps and groaning of the women provide a crude backdrop to your humiliation. You remove your panties revealing the fuzz at the apex of your slit, then your bra, your expansive breasts jiggling as you free them.

  Marabelle points to the floor.

  “Kneel. You will crawl to your mistress.”

  Shame chokes you as your body betrays you, dropping to your knees and crawling towards her. As you approach Marabelle takes a seat on a milk stool and stretches out a leg.

  “Kiss my foot.”

  Your revulsion means little as your hands lift up her foot. You half expect the devil before you to have hooves, but instead a milky white foot without shoes comes into your hands. You lean forward, gagging as your tongue slides up her skin.

  Marabelle moans, throwing back her head as you bathe her foot with your tongue. You suckle on her toes like they are her dark nipples, which, you can’t help but notice, never stop leaking their precious cream.

  Marabelle idly runs a hand through her curls, looking down at you with smug satisfaction as you worship her foot.

  “Enough,” she says. Any relief you felt is quickly dispelled as she cradles her breasts and gives the right one a squeeze, prompting more milk to trickle free. She grins. “Open wide, my dear.”

  Sitting back, you do. Marabelle begins to massage her breasts. Her lidded eyes flutter with pleasure as she roughly massages her massive tits. “Nnn. That’s it my dear. Mouth open. Wide. Get ready for it!”

  You watch in helpless horror as she pushes her breasts together. You can fairly hear the milk within them sloshing and tightening. Marabelle moans. Hands still pressing her tits together, she stands, towering over you. Her skirt is right in front of you and you can see a damp spot form from her arousal.

  Your body shudders, trying to throw off the spell with sheer physical effort. But too late! Before you can even twitch a pinky, Marabelle throws back her head, curls flying, and gives a final cry. In a rush milk bursts from her breasts. The creamy downpour soaks you. Everywhere it touches glows with a feverish warmth.

  You can do nothing but kneel before her, chest thrust out, baptized in her sweet milk. It pools in your mouth and you frantically swallow less you choke on it, her cream gathers in the valley of your breasts and pools between your thighs. You pant, your skin burning with an aching heat everywhere her milk has touched. Unbidden, or perhaps not, your hands begin to massage the cream into your flesh.

  Marabelle laughs. She squeezes the last few droplets from her teats and you eagerly catch them with your tongue. The warmth threads its way through your body, pooling deep in your stomach and your breasts.

  Then, the sorceress snaps her fingers. In an instant you realize you have control of your own body again. You pull your hands from spreading her bountiful milk over yourself.

  And bring them to your breasts. You massage them, imitating Marabelle when she gathered her cream. Here the warmth gathers, pooling from your body. And as the heat grows, so do your breasts. Swelling from your chest, and with them comes a sense of fullness. And of pressure. It grows from uncomfortable to painful quickly, and you wonder if this is what cows feel like when they haven’t been milked.

  “Does it hurt my dear?” she asks.

  “Nnnn. Yes,” you moan.

  “Of course it does. Did you really think you could get yourself off with your own hands? Oh no my pretty one. Cows can’t milk themselves.”

  “N…not a c-cow,” you manage, every word panted with need. The heat has spread. A new torment has begun. Your pussy warms and throbs with a desire to be touched, but you can’t tear your hands from your breasts.

  “Of course not,” Marabelle purrs. Her skirts swell as she lowers herself to her knees and touches your chin, raising it so you look up into her eyes. “Cows go moo. Can you moo for me?”

  You grit your teeth. “N…never!”

  “Then you will never release your cream. But let’s add a little more incentive.”

  You cannot stop her as her head vanishes beneath the swell of your milk engorged tits. But you feel her hair on your thighs and her breath against your mons. You gasp as her tongue laps against your folds. You bend your head with a groan as she delves into your sopping cunt, lashing your lips, then lavishing attention on the pearl of pleasure she finds within.

  You’re assaulted from all fronts. Pain and pleasure overwhelm you. There is a terribly wonderful ache in your straining breasts as you massage Marabelle’s milk into them. Her masterful tongue coaxes your pleasure to new heights. You feel your orgasm building, but like your milk, you cannot release it. The throbbing of the pumps seems like the blood in your ears. The cries of the girls in their stalls hammer at your resistance. The rush of milk as it's sucked up the tubes. Your own panting cries. They all blend together in a maddening need; a crescendo of palpable desire.

  “Please!” you cry. “Please!”

  The tortuous tongue withdraws from your cunt. Her voice vibrates through your most intimate flesh. “That is not how a cow begs.”

  Something in your soul breaks. “Moo!” you sob, feeling your resistance and pride crumble. “Mooooo!”

  You feel Marabelle’s lips smile against your lower lips, kiss them, and mouth something. You arch, pleasure blasting your mind as whatever blocked you vanishes, and you release. Your breasts shudder and milk sprays from your teats, spurting across the room and washing the floor in your cream. You scream as you finally cum, your cunt spasming around Marabelle’s tongue.

  Your orgasm feels like it lasts forever. When you come down from it, your head throbs and thoughts fail to gather coherently. You fall backwards, panting, breasts sloshing against your chest, too weak to even move your head. You stare at the roof of the barn
, and in a split second of understanding, you know you’ll never see the sky again.

  The knowledge comes distinctly, but feels distant. Like a concern for someone else. You hear Marabelle rise but the significance is lost on you. Your head feels stuffed with cotton, and oddly, the lack of pressure in your breasts feels almost…wrong. But this worry soon fades. You know, somehow, that soon enough they will be full again. You feel her hand against your face, and instinctively turn into it. You look up hopefully into the face of the sorceress. She smiles down at you.

  “Relax, my dear girl,” she croons. “I’ll take care of you.”

  Too broken to fear, you merely smile, stand on legs as shaky as a newborn calf’s, and with pendulous breasts swaying, wobble after her towards one of the stalls.

  CONTINUE >

  Surrender

  You sigh. You managed to free yourself from the lamia’s gaze, but what did it matter? It will simply take you again you’re sure. How can you fight it if you can’t even look at it? You let your hands drop to your sides and raise your head, looking squarely at the lamia.

  The serpent woman pauses, but soon she bares her fangs in satisfaction and fixes her eyes to yours. You do not fight the compulsion she wakes within you. The command which pushes your thoughts down and leaves your mind open. Pliable. Hers. The power of the serpent woman presses against your head, pushing your conscious thoughts down. Your world narrows into the points of darkness which are her eyes. The rings draw you in. Deeper. Deeper. You are aware, but it’s like you’re dreaming, unable to take action upon your own behalf.

  “Good,” the lamia hisses as she slithers near. “Good sssslut. Ssstare deeper little one. Lose yourself.”

  “Yes,” you murmur. You feel no fear to have her so near. If anything, her sinuous form and her flashing gems wake a desire in you you’ve never known before.