Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  In the afternoon he gives you a rather odd foot massage that involves a scented ointment that makes your feet tingle. He kisses your toes and looks into your eyes as he licks between them. This makes you laugh, until you notice the bulge in his trousers. You decide it is better not to encourage him, so you put an end to the massage.

  In the evening you drink too much wine, and when he pulls you into his arms you do not stop him from kissing you hungrily and caressing your ample curves. He fondles your bottom through your loose skirt as you sit upon his lap. His hardness presses against your panty-covered quim. It would be so easy to take him out and settle your slick pussy upon his cock.

  But you resist such urges.

  "I am so very tired, Bog," you say, rolling off of him and onto the seat. "I must sleep."

  He growls with disappointment, but he moves the game table and unfolds both benches into a bed that spans the carriage. It is an ingenious contraption and with the down cushions and silken pillows it is quite comfortable.

  "It will be much more comfortable to sleep in your underclothes," he says. You give him a doubting look and he smiles like a goodhearted cleric. "I swear, my dear, I will not force my affections upon you."

  Of course, that does not mean he will not stare at you as you undress to your bra and panties. You turn onto your side with your back against him as you slide into the bed. You had hope that this might tame his urges, but you are sadly mistaken. Almost at once you feel his hardness pressing against your bottom and he reaches around and pulls you tighter. His kisses upon your shoulders and neck and the slow gyrations of his hips are driving you mad with lust of your own.

  You reach a hand between your thighs, feeling the heat of your quim radiating through your panties. You reach back and realize he has taken off all his clothes save for a shirt and your fingers make contact with his bare cock.

  "Oohhhh yes, my sweet," he groans. "Are you ready?"

  "No," you moan. "Not tonight."

  "I must have some satisfaction," he says, thrusting against your fingers, "or I will never get to sleep."

  “Between my thighs,” you moan, your lust throbbing in your sex. “But not… oooh… inside me.”

  You draw his hardness between your silky thighs and squeeze the warm steel of his manhood tightly. He moans with pleasure as you begin to roll your hips, working the mound of your pussy along the top of his hardness as your thighs cradle him tightly. He thrusts against you, as if claiming your cunt, but there is no penetration no matter how hard he pushes his hips against your soft backside. He reaches one arm around you, sliding fingers into the cup of your left breast and roughly squeezing your creamy mound as he ruts between your thighs.

  “I can feel… mmmm… your heat,” he moans. “You’re burning up. You want it inside you.”

  “No,” you protest, gasping with pleasure even as you try to deny it. Your nectar is soaking through your panties and his cock is leaking as well, smearing slippery juices over his cockhead as he fucks between your thighs. The carriage sways slightly with the force of your movements and you briefly wonder if the driver notices. Then the fat tip of Bog’s cock begins to grind against your clit beneath your tight panties and pleasure arcs through your body. Pleasure seems to crackle through you from your rubbed clit to your pinched nipple to the prickling on your neck where Bog is breathing against you.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” You cry, arching in his embrace and pushing your bottom against him. Your hips jerk of their own volition as you ride against the merchant’s cock trapped between your thighs like the childish image of a witch enjoying her broomstick a bit too much. Your body tenses and an orgasm breaks through you, radiating from your clit in rippling heat.

  It isn’t much longer before Bog lets out a grunt and you feel a distinctive wetness spreading between your thighs and against your panties. He spurts out his seed between your legs and slimes your delicate underclothes. His thrusts slow and his grip on your breast relaxes.

  “Oh, that’s a good girl,” he says. “Might need to clean up after that.”

  He kisses you on your lips when you turn to say something to him. The kiss lingers, his tongue lazily exploring your mouth until you finally turn away. He is right, you are a mess, but there is a small pitcher of water and another handkerchief and you thankfully have brought a few changes of underclothes.

  You return to the unfolded bed and curl against Bog. He is already snoring loudly.

  The following morning, the caravan rests by a stream and you have some opportunity to bathe, though you know Bog and some of his caravan drivers are spying on you. He has a sumptuous breakfast prepared for you when you have dressed.

  A small pouch of coins awaits you near your plate. You feel the weight of the gold and a thrill that your transaction with the merchant has been completed. There is a small amount of guilt, but also excitement about your new opportunities selling your body. You have often struggled with money. Could this actually be a career for you? It works for Velora.

  “As agreed, 50 gold zeks.” Bog grunts and reaches under the table. He lifts up another leather pouch bulging with coins. “I think you will admit yesterday was not so bad. Would you like to continue our arrangement?”

  What do you do?

  Accept Luckfen's offer reluctantly on day two

  Accept Luckfen's offer eagerly on day two

  Refuse Luckfen's offer

  Drink of her milk

  You stare at the enormous mounds of Marabelle's breasts, her nipples rising rigid from the coins of her areolas, and her milk glistening in the light of the fire. You wet your lips. Your thirst is overpowering. Only suckling from those creamy tits will satisfy your desire.

  You rise weakly from the chair, but your legs give out and you barely to catch yourself on the table as you nearly fall to the floor. Legs like jelly. Gelatin. Jam. You giggle, your hand on your lips, and your thoughts cloudy with the urge to suck the warm cream from Marabelle's breasts.

  The milky matron merely smiles. She has such a nice smile. So sweet. How could you ever feel a care in the world when you are looking at that smile?

  She beckons you nearer. “Come on dear. You’re wasting it.”

  You gasp. Your face flushes with embarrassment. You cannot allow another drop to go to waste!

  With renewed energy you make your way around the table. Marabelle turns and holds her blouse aside so you have unrestricted access. You fall to your knees and grip her nipple between your lips. You seal your lips tight and milk squirts into your mouth, warm and soothing. You drink greedily, the sounds of your sucking filling the house, your thoughts receding into sated comfort.

  “There,” Marabelle coos, gently stroking your hair. “Just like that. Sweet girl. Ju-ah, just like that.”

  You look up, eyes smoky with desire as Marabelle leans back in her chair. With one hand she massages her second breast, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you to her teat as you suckle. You don’t mind. This is nice. It is what you have always desired, but never had the imagination to realize.

  A tension in your shirt begins to bother you. It feels tighter than it did before. As you grope at your bodice, Marabelle notices your wandering attention.

  “Oh, of course. Silly me.”

  She gently pushes your head back. You resist with a quiet, “Nooo,” when your lips pop from her nipple.

  “Dear girl, not for long. Let’s just make you more comfortable.”

  Her hands loop about you, her cleavage pressing into your face as she leans in. Your nose fits snugly into the valley of her breasts, your lashes fluttering as you breathe in the intoxicating aroma of her earthy scent. Your tongue flicks out, licking her warm flesh. It tastes almost as sweet as her milk.

  “Ah!” Marabelle pulls back for a moment and fixes you with an amused look. “Naughty girl.”

  You grin impishly and resume your efforts. Finally, Marabelle unlaces your shirt. She pulls it aside and grasps you beneath the arms. You squeak as she lifts you, pushing y
our shapely rear onto the table so you’re sitting, your breasts perfectly level with her face.

  “Hmm.” You gasp as her hand closes on one of your heavy breasts, giving it a firm squeeze. Was it always so big?

  “Very nice my dear,” Marabelle says. “Coming along very well.”

  “I am?”

  “Oh, my yes.” Marabelle gives your breast another squeeze. “You’re body is positively perfect for milking. I’ve not seen better since myself.”

  Something about that tickles the back of your mind but you shrug it off. “Mmm…thank you,”

  “You’re welcome dear. Now lie back.”

  You recline on the table as Marabelle undoes her skirt. It falls to the ground and through the valley of your breasts you observe her quim. She is utterly hairless, unlike your own, her shaven mons slightly freckled. However, you note some unusual tattoos about her puffy lower lips. A ring of strange characters which wiggle at the back of your thoughts. Something bad you think. But thinking is hard and you soon let it pass.

  You don’t resist as Marabelle strips you of your leggings and pants. You even help her, lifting your ass so she can tug your panties free, revealing your mound and its tuft of hair. Marabelle frowns and plucks one of the hairs, sending a jolt of pain shooting up your spine and a gasp to your lips.

  “We’ll have to deal with that. Won’t we my dear?”

  “Y-yes,” you manage.

  She smiles, then cups her hands over her cunt. She slides one finger in, running it up her lower lips. Her index finger finds the pearl of her clit and she begins to gently stroke it.

  You watch, strangely entranced as her lashes flutter as she gently coaxes her clit from its hood, her immense chest heaving, glistening from the milk still slipping free of her dark nipples. You lick your lips, your breath growing ragged as her own. Without thinking you begin to massage your heavy breasts, groaning at the pressure which seems to grow as you run your fingers over your immense tits. You know they were never this big before, but the thought doesn’t bother you in the least. They should be bigger. They need to be bigger!

  Your thoughts are blasted from your mind as you see the runes about Marabelle’s cunt begin to glow. The red is so impossibly dark it is almost black. Marabelle’s breath hitches, but she never stops teasing, stroking, and coaxing her clit. Her fat bud keeps growing, pushing free of her lips, its pink tip swelling slightly and folding back.

  Your breathing grows with hers as you observe the transformation. Only once it’s done, the runes about her mons blazing with power like fresh brands in the flesh of a steer, do you realize what it is: a cock. Her magically-grown penis is huge and flat tipped like a horse’s, Marabelle’s hand courses up and down its turgid length, the veiny flesh pulsating with need.

  A heavy musk fills the room with her cock in full bloom. The milk addled your thoughts, but this positively buries them in a haze of arousal. You’re panting now, mauling your tits. Your cunt quivers in desire, in need to be filled.

  Marabelle moves forward. Her cock comes to rest against your pelvis, leaving a thick trail of precum as Marabelle straddles you.

  “Do you want it?” Marabelle purrs.

  “Y-yes,” you whimper. And you have never wanted anything more.

  “You cannot take it yet, sweetie.”

  An animal moan of pain wrestles from your throat.

  “But you can.”

  “How?”

  Marabelle smiles and leans forward again. Her breasts fill your vision. Droplets of milk splatter across your face. You don’t hesitate. You abandon your massive breasts for hers, grabbing her and pulling her closer. Your lips fasten on a rigid nipple and hot, sweet milk washes down your throat.

  As you drink, you feel your lower muscles slowly relax. Though your inner walls still quiver with desire, you feel almost deeper. More accommodating.

  “That’s it,” Marabelle whispers. A claw-like hand fastens on your breast and squeezes. “That’s it. Deeper my girl. Deeper. A child will make your body more suited. You will yield richer milk. And your bloodline will be valuable. Oh, yes, my sweet. A brave huntress like you. Such a worthy breeder.”

  Her breath washes over you, smelling faintly of cream and sweet things. She strokes you as you peer up from beneath the smothering weight of her breasts. She murmurs, “Are you ready?”

  You nod without breaking your suction on her nipple. Marabelle widens her stance, pulls back, and enters you.

  Your mouth snaps open, releasing Marabelle’s nipple. Your eyes and mouth both widen as far as they can as you feel her slowly enter you. Inch by inch, she feeds her cock into your tender sex. You’ve never felt so full. So fulfilled! You shut your eyes tight, arching your back with a sharp exhale.

  Her pelvis stops, flush against your own. She’s inside you. You know it shouldn’t be possible, but you’ve taken all of her enormous, horse-like cock.

  Marabelle lets out a slow breath. Her hand gently cups your cheek. “Good girl.”

  She pulls out, slowly. Your inner walls cling to her cock. You groan, clutching the edge of the table as you toss your head. She rams her monstrous cock home. She pulls out again and the true fucking begins.

  She ruts you like an animal. She hammers you into the table with her girthy bull cock, her breasts swinging and her engorged nipples flicking out droplets of milk. Wherever her milk spatters your body, your skin grows hot. You hold on, desperate, meeting her stroke for stroke with rolls of your hips. Your tummy bulges as if Marabelle’s huge cock will thrust right through you and yet there is no pain. You rut with the instinct of an animal, and Marabelle takes you like one.

  “More?” She pants.

  “Mmmmm. Moooore!” you groan.

  One of her hands clutch your breast. She squeezes, and that terrible, wonderful pressure in your breast makes you cry out. “Then beg for it cow! Beg for my seed! Beg to be my breeding stock!”

  “Yes!” you shriek, tossing your auburn hair with a desperate motion of your head. “Yes! Fuck me! Breed me!”

  Marabelle arches, shoving her cock as deep as it can go. She groans, her lashes flutter, and you feel her seed gush into your womb.

  Every muscle tenses in you as you receive the hot flood of her sperm. Your cry mingles with hers and your mind nearly snaps from the pleasure of her throbbing cock. The pressure in your breasts suddenly explodes into a blissful whiteness. Your milk sprays over Marabelle as it’s finally released, even as she bastes your insides in her cum.

  You are lost in a pleasure-mad daze. It feels as if an eternity passes or maybe merely seconds. Marabelle has withdrawn her cock. The runes around her pelvis have faded, and her cock has retreated back into the pearl of her clit. Daintily, with one finger, Marabelle gathers up a dollop of your milk sprayed on her and sticks it between her luscious lips. She gazes into your eyes as she licks her finger clean.

  “Mmm,” she purrs. “Delicious, dear. Have a taste.”

  You instinctively know what she wants. Leaning up, you bathe her with your tongue, licking up your own warm milk wherever it has fallen on her. From above, Marabelle strokes your hair, a lazy smile on her lips. She begins speaking of your future, but you don’t pay attention. You know she’ll decide what’s right.

  As you feel her seed dribble down your thighs, you have the premonition that the seed has found purchase within your womb. Full with her child, you know you’ll be her obedient and very happy cow.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Drizzen’s servant ending

  You are sweeping out the lingering webs from the last victim of Drizzen’s hunger. The larder, as you have come to think of it, contains only a single body hanging from the ceiling. You are otherwise alone in the burrow. A part of you knows that you could flee and escape into the woods. You know where the drider keeps your family’s book and some of your other belongings.

  But you do not try to escape, as you have not over these many weeks, and you work quietly and patientl
y, resigned to a life of servitude as Drizzen’s housemaid. When you are not sweeping, you enjoy pleasuring the drider or playing games with him. He seems to genuinely appreciate your company and at night, curled beside him in the nest of straw, you sometimes thing of him as your mate.

  An unusual clatter at the entrance of the burrow snaps you out of your fantasy of a happy life as Drizzen’s human companion. Drizzen enters, bloodied in a slash across his chest and with a bloodied body wrapped in web across his arachnid back.

  “Drizzen,” you cry, rushing to his side. “What has happened to you?”

  To your surprise, the drider seems almost ecstatic. “Only a flesh wound, Penelope. I came upon a warrior trapped in my web and he was accompanied by a warrior woman who fought for his life. I drank his blood, but I have brought her home for a special purpose.”

  “What purpose?” You ask, helping him lower her surprisingly heavy body off his back.

  “Fetch the powder for the ritual. It is time for me to have my mate.”

  You know the powder of which he speaks and you rush to fetch it even as your heard flip-flops in your chest. A mate? You know he has a ritual to create a mate, but he said it was unlikely he would find a worthy candidate among the pitiful humans on this island.

  “Bring her into the crucible,” he says as he scuttles into the rarely-used chamber. The pit is filled with strong-smelling liquid that Drizzen has warned you before not to drink. He opens the vial of ritual powder and begins to draw runes and a casting circle on the floor around the pit. You return, dragging the wrapped woman who is now groaning and weakly struggling. Drizzen is finishing a ritual chant. You feel the magic in the room and the black liquid in the pit begins to bubble.