Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  You can feel the cum pouring out of your mouth and overflowing your pussy. The filthy, slippery liquid spreads beneath you on the altar as the sacrifices wail beneath their hoods and unleash impossible quantities of cum into your body. As your belly swells, both men seem to deflate. Their limbs shrivel and their torsos collapse. Their heads flatten like emptied wine bladders. Their gaunt bodies become weightless as they pour their evil into your body. The man between your legs falls away into the pit and the other, like a dried leaf, drops off your face and onto the tiles.

  “M-mother,” you manage, looking up at her fearfully.

  “Shhhhh,” she says, stroking your face. “We are both his brides, Penny. And now, the birthing begins.”

  You feel a tremor ripple through your body. It feels amazing, but also terrifying, surging from within your belly in two directions at once. Your eyes widen as you feel the writhing flesh begin to gush from your stretched pussy. A moment later, your guts heave, and you begin to vomit the living blackness out of your nose. It pours out of you, faster and faster, pleasure and pain and fear all mingling as you expel impossible quantities of living black flesh.

  As this glistening evil emerges from your body, it pours into the air over the pit, gathering mass and swirling around and around. Moment by moment, heave by exhausting heave, something the size of a small boulder takes shape. It grows and grows, so much pouring out of you that you feel certain you should deflate like the two sacrifices. It is difficult to breathe or even think. You embrace the sensations and experience a sort of ultimate submission, giving your body over to the process of birthing a god.

  After long minutes, you lie utterly exhausted, covered in black slime, your spent body trembling on the filthy altar. Above the pit, a massive orb of living black flesh slowly writhes in the air. It opens a single enormous eye that glows with red malevolence. Your mother falls to her knees beside you and cries, “All hail Zhibbareth.”

  Red gowned handmaidens and the warriors that escorted the sacrifices fall to their knees as well, chanting, “All hail Zhibbareth!” again and again. You weakly lift your head, smiling up at the glorious horror that has emerged from your womb.

  “All hail Zhibbareth,” you rasp as madness claims your mind.

  You have found your destiny. You are a bride of Zhibbareth.

  CONTINUE >

  Penny the chimera ending

  You watch the captain as he prepares the ship to cast off. He still walks with a limp but time has helped him heal. The Zephyr sits on the shore, its prow pointed out to see. Women mill about it. Heavy breasted, scorning bras to allow their immense mammaries to breathe, milk dribbling from their whorish nipples. You were nearly like that, you think. They are helping the captain set out to sea. They head for the mainland.

  You’ve arrived just in time.

  A name drifts into your memory from a past life. “Orsen.”

  The captain stops where he is. He looks back to the forest where you lurk.

  “Orsen,” you call again, your words carrying far.

  The captain limps towards the trees warily, leaning heavily on his crutch. “Penny?” he says, squinting at the darkness. “Is that you?”

  “Yes,” you say, voice breathless. “I came back.”

  The captain breathes out sadly and shakes his head. “Girl, I’m sorry. But whatever’s been happening here…Oh gods. Listen, we’ll head back to the shore. Get a council with…somebody! The Wizard’s Council or the crown. Tell them what’s been up.”

  “Yes. A good idea, Orsen. I think I should like to meet them. To make them… a part of something great.”

  The captain’s smile wavers. “Penny?” he says, peering into the darkness. He sees something glitter. “You alright?”

  There is a slithering sound from the forest. “Oh yes,” you say, moving into the light. “Penny is well.”

  Orsen Castillo’s face goes ashen as he sees you emerge from the forest. You tower over him. A monstrous chimera of shapes. A lower body like a massive snake. Your face, stunning with femininity, but your four eyes are ringed with hypnotic strength. Tentacles squirm where your hair once lay. Four hairy arms like those of a bear stretch from your shoulders. Horns of a goat frame your face.

  “Penny is well,” you say, and you catch his eyes in your hypnotic gaze. “As are all the others who have become a part of her. It was so wonderful Orsen,” you purr. “So perfect. To become so many. To have so many be a part of me.”

  The captain drops his crutch. His mouth opens and closes senselessly as he gazes into your compelling eyes.

  A scream erupts from the boat. One of the women have seen you.

  You do not look to them. You have no need to. You breathe out, and a white mist spills from your fanged lips. It wafts through the air, bearing down on the boat and the scrambling women upon it. The women try to run but your essence overtakes them, spills about them, envelops them. They fall, writhing, but not in pain. They moan and gasp as your breath runs across their bodies, caressing them, finding any opening and sliding into them. In seconds they are convulsing with orgasm, and as they cum, their bodies begin to lose their healthy pallor, fading until they join with the mists. You suck in your breath, and the mist returns to you, leaving the beach devoid of life.

  You swallow the last fingers of mist, sucking it up like an errant strand of spaghetti.

  “Mmmm,” you moan. “Wonderful.”

  The flesh of your chest swells. Three rows of immense breasts take shape down your torso. “Oh yes Orsen,” you breathe as nubs of flesh poke from scaly areola, four to each of your immense breasts. “It is a pleasure to become a part of me,” you say, cradling your massive mammaries. You squeeze them, gasping as a black milk begins to dribble from your new-grown nipples. “Oh Orsen. It is a wonder to become a part of me. Of what I am. More need to embrace this blessing. More need to join with me.”

  “I want it all,” you tell the hypnotized captain. “To be a peasant! A queen! A king! A prince! I will be all of them and more! They will be a part of me.

  “Oh, Orsen.” Your tail coils about the captain and draws him near, lifts him towards you. He stares into your four eyes, mouth slack, eyes enraptured. You breathe a gasp of mist into his face. “I will share with you this joy. And all the others. But first, I must go across the sea. Take me to them Orsen, and you will know the wonders to be a part of me.”

  There really is no question. The captain has fallen to your might. A slave, puppeted by your commands, soon enough the keel of the ship is pushed from shore to sea. The waves beat against the prow of the Zephyr as the sails belly in the wind, a dead eyed Orsen Castille at the helm, sailing the ship back to land.

  And in the hold, your serpentine coils filling the space, you rest, milking your new breasts, tasting yourself. And dreaming of who you shall be when you cross the waters.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Refuse to offer yourself to the beast

  Even in the dream you can smell the beast’s dank, wild scent. It makes your pussy ache, which in turns makes you burn with shame. How could such a creature excite such lust? Why can’t you stop staring at its huge cock? You shake your head.

  “No, I cannot give myself to that… that monstrosity,” you gasp, closing your eyes so you do not have to see the beast.

  “You must,” says your mother. “Do not think of him as a monster. He is merely an instrument for the great one.”

  The beast growls, as if in agreement, and takes a step closer to you.

  “You have become twisted and evil, mother!” You shout at the phantasm perched on the black velvet chair. “You have lost sight of what it means to be a huntress.”

  “I know exactly what it means to be a huntress,” she laughs. “It means slaughtering monsters, many of which are guilty only of trying to exist. Which is why I no longer hunt the monsters. I will help the great one rise and repopulate the entire world with the monsters our family has helped exterminate.”


  “You’re sick!” You back away from her, retreating towards the door.

  “You are no daughter of mine,” she says.

  Your mother nods to the beast. You turn and run out of the door of the black velvet house and into the nightmare wilderness. It is a short pursuit. The beast bounds out of the cottage behind you, leaping onto your shoulders and back. You manage to turn around, kicking desperately at the creature.

  You get one look into its snarling jaws before they close upon your throat. Agony shoots through your flesh as the beast mauls you savagely. Blood spurts from your mortal wound. Worst of all, as the life drains from your thrashing body, you hear your mother’s angry laughter. It was how she used to laugh at you when you couldn’t keep up with her and Kara. It was the laugh of a mother acknowledging her daughter as a failure.

  You awaken with a gasp and find yourself drenched in cold sweat. You feel as if all the strength and confidence the protean granted to you have been sapped by your nightmare.

  You try to shake off the fear of the vivid death you experienced in the dream. You quickly gather your things and pull on your boots. As you descend from the tower’s heights and escape into the early morning light, you can still feel the jaws of the beast closing on your throat. You know you cannot continue on your path, because your depraved mother and the beast might be waiting for you. No, you have to change direction. Throw them off. You decide to head far to the north, towards the village of Lyokk. Perhaps you can find shelter or even allies there.

  You feel exhausted after only a few miles and you stagger under the weight of your heavy backpack. You try to stay focused on the distant line of trees. It becomes more difficult when you hear the distinct howl of the beast in the distance. Despite your unnatural weariness, you quicken your pace. The beast howls several more times, seemingly growing closer, but you are never able to tell the direction of the sound. All you can do is break into a run.

  You are gasping and drenched in fresh sweat by the time you reach the woods. You pause for only a moment and the beast howls again, closer now, and from within the woods. You moan with fear and resume your run through the gloomy wood. The mists thicken and the trees close in around you. More than once you trip over roots and brambles and sprawl helplessly on the ground. Each time you are certain you hear the beast pouncing, jaws snapping as he prepares to tear out your spine or your throat.

  You push yourself to your feet once more as the baying of the beast seems to come from several directions at once. You are bloodied and in a panic as you resume your stumbling flight from the creature. You are so gripped with terror that you do not even notice the deep, rocky ravine yawning in the forest floor. The beast howls, you look back over your shoulder, and plunge down into the ravine.

  Crunch! Bang! Bones shatter and blood gushes from your broken body. You land on your back in the ravine with your limbs twisted on the jagged stones. You stare up, unable to move or feel your arms or legs as your life ebbs away.

  The last thing you see are the four eyes of the beast glowing atop the ravine. The last thing you hear is a mental echo of your mother's disappointed laugh.

  Darkness comes quickly. Your life and your adventure are at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Eternal slut ending

  The flap of the tent is thrust aside and your latest master strides through. His name is Sarnath, and he’s a big man, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest crossed by straps of leather. A skull horned helm he throws into the corner of the tent, baring the ridges of his brow denoting some monstrous heritage.

  “Kneel slut,” he rumbles. “I have need of you.”

  “Okie dokie master!” you beam. You drop onto the bed of furs and thrust out your taut bottom for his pleasure. You wear nothing, deemed unnecessary by the barbarian king, so your heart shaped ass is bared to his approving view. Your massive teats are so large they cushion your crouching form and you shiver in anticipation for his throbbing cock.

  You’ve had many masters over the years. You’ve been the prized harem slave of sultans of Keth and wallowed in the breeding pits of gertling slavers. You’ve pleasured bull headed minotaurs who filled you with cocks that would break a normal woman but you took with keening wails of pleasure. You licked the filthy slits of entire harpy clans until you were covered in their slimy cum. You’ve taken whole tribes of hybrids in their dark breeding pits until everyone was satisfied and their cum poured like a river from your well used cunt. Barons have fucked you every night and, when bored, had their horses plow you in the stables. Sorceresses have gazed with delight as demons summoned from the pits plundered your eager form.

  You have no idea how long it has taken to come to the tent of the barbarian king. The world moves around you, but you are constant. You’ve been garbed in gold and rags and nothing at all. There are friezes carved in the tombs of sorcerer kings depicting you chained to their thrones and pleasuring generations of rulers. Legends are sung in the fighting halls of the north of the golden haired woman who could satisfy every man, gifted by the gods to any who could take her. Tablets from the dark age of the monster lords tell of a golden haired woman gifted between the nations of men when they rose up after a thousand years of darkness and threw down the dark one and his hordes and brides. Legends also tell that the same woman was used by many of those foul monsters, but that’s less well known.

  You remember none of it. One master is much the same and you serve them all with the same insatiable joy. From the lowliest peasant to the mightiest lord. Nothing is too base or too grand for your body.

  Sarnath runs his hand over you flank and you shiver with the pleasure even such innocent contact awakes. You thrust your bum towards him. “Spank me master!” you say. “I want it so bad!”

  Sarnath rumbles with amusement. “Who am I to say no?”

  You jolt forward with the impact of his broad palm. Both sets of your cheeks redden and you yelp with pleasure. “More master!” you beg. “More!”

  Sarnath is more than happy to oblige. His blows rain down on your bum with stinging pleasure that radiates to your twitching cunt. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” you gasp.

  “Count them!”

  “O-one! Oooh! T-two! U-um. Two…”

  Sarnath scoffs. “Stupid slut.”

  “M-hmm,” you babble blissfully, giving up. Lust fogs your mind in a pink haze. Cheek resting on the furs, you feel the redness of your bum fade. No injury lasts long upon your flesh. You’ve been tortured by the best and you’re still the same as when you were taken in the jungle so many years ago.

  A clink of Sarnath’s belt recalls you and you eagerly turn about. The barbarian lord has bared his rigid cock and at once you envelop it in your pouty lips. Sarnath groans as you suck, cheeks hollowing with your expertise.

  “Gods of Fire and Steel!” Sarnath grunts. “You are a gift indeed!”

  You hum agreeably around his cock, vibrations of your throat reverberating up his body. Sarnath thrusts into you and soon enough he cums. You drink up his seed greedily and then release him, flicking your tongue at his mushroom head with delight.

  “Master?” you say, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Would you like to take my ass?”

  Sarnath grunts an affirmative and bends you over the bed. And when he is done fucking you, the pair of you tangled amid the furs in post coital embrace, he digs into one of his pouches and tosses something to you. “A gift.”

  You catch it eagerly and examine it. It’s a silver necklace with some flashing stones set in a swirling setting. You squeal in joy and throw your arms about his neck. “Oh! Thank you master! I love it! It’s the bestest gift I’ve ever had!”

  Sarnath grunts and strokes your bleach blonde hair. “Good. My wives have little appreciation for such things,” he says bitterly. “You are far the easier to please.”

  You nuzzle him affectionately. His nostrils twitch at your musky scent which fills the room.

  Soon enou
gh Sarnath has hoisted your legs onto his hips and once more plows your eager furrow. You moan, thrusting eagerly against his immense cock, lidded eyes gazing with lust into his rough features as they have the thousand lovers before him.

  “Ah slut! Every time it feels like your first!”

  You giggle. “O-oh! Of course m-master. I’m the b-best slut e-e-ever!”

  “Ha!” Sarnath slaps your breasts causing milk to splatter against the wall of the tent. You yelp, grinding the pert cheeks of your bum against his pelvis greedily. “You’d be perfect if you weren’t so damned stupid!”

  You smile your pouty lips at his praise. In two years time, Sarnath will be dead. The beastmen of the forest will have caught him in an ambush. The men killed, the women of the clan will be dragged into the dark forest, screaming in terror to breed the next generation of the monstrous brood. You however will crawl, like a good puppy, fitting as the beastmen take you like a bitch in heat. And when every one of the women of the tribe are wrung out, wrinkled with age and fat with young, you will still be fresh, eternally young, eternally willing to lie with anyone and anything which desires it.

  Forever more.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Surrender

  You drop your pistol and drop the unopened vial of lye granules back into your backpack. A dreadful wave of humiliation comes over you as you look at the mocking protean version of your mother and realize she is right. She knows you better than you know yourself. You are a soft scribe, not a huntress, and you have no chance against a powerful monster like this.

  “Yes, that’s it,” says the protean, gliding closer. “No need to fight, Penelope.”

  Your voice is barely louder than a whisper as you admit, “You’re right. I can’t beat you. I surrender.”