Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  The Deep One takes the offering. His cock slams home. Your eyes fly open. A cry of shock escapes you. Then he is inside you. Deeper than you imagined he could go. And immediately, he starts to move.

  You gasp, every thrust of the wug like a shot into your body. Your hair flies about you, your body crushed beneath the girth of your monstrous lover. His cold flesh presses against your searing heat. You moan, gasping, pushing your hips against him now, crouching in the muck like an animal as the immense frog monster plows your tender furrow.

  “Ah! Yes. Yes. F-fuck!” you babble, beyond anything but the pleasure which runs riot through you. The poison of the wugs cream fills your body with heat. Heat with only one succor. Your loins burn. Your inner walls clench.

  Your head splatters into the muck, your cheek grinding against the mud. Your breasts cushion you, huge and heavy. Soon. Soon they will be filled with milk. Your womb with the young of your monstrous lover.

  The though sends electricity through your tender body. Moaning, you thrust back whorishly against the great wug. To be a vessel for the amphibian race. You don’t think of the horror of it anymore. The indignity and quaking terror such a future once evoked.

  You have to see him. You roll over, his cock never leaving you. You gaze up, lips parted, breath hot, staring into the wide headed visage of the wug. He stares down at you, his huge eyes intent. His pale belly practically glowing with his lust.

  The creature leans down, his massive mouth opening. He takes a whole breast into his mouth, and you gasp, bucking as his immense tongue rolls against the bullets of your nipples, dragging across the plump flesh of your breasts. You clutch at his head, but your hands slip against his slimy skin.

  Then, you feel it. Instinct, your body primed to accept his seed senses innately his approaching climax. Taking you like an animal, you welcome it. You spread your hips wider, stroking the wug’s massive head eagerly.

  “Yes. Yes. Fill me. Give me your young. Give your goddess your young. Oh gods. Oh gods!”

  The wug throws himself forward. Your breast pops from his mouth and the monster roars a great feral croak. You scream in ecstasy as he comes, his slimy seed pumping deep into your waiting womb. A second cry follows your first as you feel the curse of the island take hold, blessing you with the young of this mutant monster.

  Your keening cry echoes up the cliffs and down the tunnels. In the village, the shaman raises his head and a moment later the rest of the village follow suit.

  You come down from your height. But not as far. Never again so deep. Your immense lover remains within you, his wedge shaped cock holding his seed inside of you like a fleshy plug. Crooning, you stroke the monster’s flesh, feeling the slimy texture. But he must have such flesh to move so sleekly through the waters. Just as his cock must reside deep within him until it is time to mate with a woman of warmer flesh and blood.

  As you lie beneath the Deep One, stroking his flesh and feeling his length within you, understanding washes through your thoughts. Of course the wugs capture women and breed with them. Is there no better purpose for a woman of any race? And the warm wombs of human women gestate wug young far faster than the cold pools they normally must birth their young in.

  Compassion pricks your eyes with tears. You touch the Deep One’s snout, pressing your forehead against him. The immense wug snorts, and you feel him begin to harden inside of you once more. Yes. You stroke his flesh, finding his pale belly. You run your hand across the mottled skin, feeling the warmth of his arousal grow once more. This is your destiny. To lead these creatures to greatness. To bear their ancient seed, uncorrupted by the softness of human mates. Once more ancient. Once more mighty. You’ll raise them strong. To bring them power they deserve.

  Your hips begin to move against the wug’s hardness. The massive monster grunts, content for now to let you ride him. You run your hands up your flanks, across your chest, tracing the weighted contours of your breasts and tangling your fingers in your hair. You throw out your arms, your hair wild and tangled, stiff with sweat and exertion, writhing like the mane of some primal pale goddess of a darker time. Primal, you twist your hips, grinding the wugs thick wedge of a cock deep within you. Yes. It’s all clear now. As you grind atop the monstrous wug, the future opens itself to you. A world not under the dominion of the Great One. But of wugs. Of Croaha. Your body tingles, warming to your efforts atop the wug. Your monstrous mate grunts and begins to pump into your cunt.

  “Yes.”

  “Croaha.”

  You sigh the word as you lay down atop him, feeling the warmth of his belly against your own. Your breasts and hard nipples dragging across his flesh. Your fingers glide across his smooth skin, stroking him, your hips locking against him as you pump your throbbing cunt against his rigid cock.

  In the distance, you hear the thump of the drums from the village. Your people know what has happened. What has been done. The sound thrums through you once more. You throw back your head, brown hair flashing with white in the moonlight. Your voluptuous figure, the figure of fertility, stark against the rising moon.

  You fuck your immense lover long into the night, feeling him fill you with his mighty seed again and again. Clutches of young already gestating in your warm womb. Your body changing in answer to the need of the wugs. You clutch your breasts, moaning whorishly as you imagine the creamy bounty they soon shall weep. Food for your tribe. The first of many.

  As the Deep One cums again within you, your lashes flutter. The last thing you see before a sedated sleep overtakes you is the gravid moon glowing above.

  CONTINUE >

  The outskirts of Rhilath

  You reach the top of a hill and slow to a halt. A wooded valley runs below you, but you pay it little heed. Your eyes are fixed upward, for you see the end of your journey at last.

  The mountain of the island rears high before you in a ragged peak. Black clouds cluster there, swirling in a slow vortex at the tip. Below, you can see the ruins of the city sprawling at its base. Broken buildings of cyclopean stone scattered and rent, but here and there you spot some, rising like tombstones once more into the sky. Slaves in tattered clothes labor on them, their bodies marked by whip and claws. Drivers move among them, black robed figures bearing thorny whips, accompanied by hulking hybrid monsters before which the slaves cringe and cower.

  And beyond them, you see the temple. A breath of awe escapes you. Built into the front of the mountain, a vast pyramidal structure of blackest stone, dwarfing even the greatest of the ruins around it. Only the mountain is taller than it, and its vastness looms over everything. A pall seems to radiate from it.

  As you stare down at the ruined city, something seems to change with it. Its shape shimmers, and suddenly you see not the ruins it is now, but what it once was! Towers black rear into the sky. Massive temple grounds sprawl across the plateau and statues stand tall. The whole place is one vast many tiered city. What you saw was merely the greatest of it.

  But, the longer you stare, the less complete the image becomes. The grandeur fades, but never vanishes. Rather, it’s like two images superimposed upon the other. Past intrudes upon the present like a phantom. The memory of what once was, what will be should the ancient one return.

  You hear Alyssa suck in a breath. The succubus gazes down at the city and its ghost with wide eyes. You smile wryly. “Impressed?”

  Alyssa shakes her head but not in denial. “I’ve not seen anything like that since the Palace of the Pit in the fourth ring of the abyss,” she murmurs.

  Something tugs within you at the sight of this vast edifice of evil. You clutch your chest with a gasp.

  “Is it not wonderful?” The voice of your mother croons within your mind. The pull grows stronger, like a silver thread yanking at your heart. “Come to us Penny. We are waiting for you. Waiting for you to come and fulfill your destiny.”

  “Yes,” you gasp.

  You race down the hill and to the base of the plateau. Laughing, Alyssa has sprouted her leathery wi
ngs, following you like some horribly beautiful bat. Some sixth sense guides your steps, and you find a broken staircase descending from the heights. Toppled statues of monstrous things guard the base, but you skip past them and up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Your heart sings with dark joy and your flesh throbs with expectancy.

  You reach the final step. The city lies before you. An empty court with a broken fountain stands before you. You race across.

  And crash into something invisible.

  Staggered, you stumble back a step and whip about your head in surprise. “Mother? Mother, what is this?”

  But the voice in your head is silent. No. Not just silent. Gone. A sudden chill courses up your spine. Alyssa has landed, and bears an expression you’ve never seen on her before. She looks uneasy. Frightened even. “Alyssa?”

  “Penny,” the succubus hisses. Her horns are prominent on her brow and her fingers curved into spiny claws. “We should go. Now!”

  “HOLD!”

  A ray of light blinds you. With a cry you fling up your arms. Warily, you lower them, peeking through your fingers. You drop them with a gasp of awe.

  A figure stands atop the fountain, floating in fact. Light radiates from skin of gold and silver hair. Its androgynous figure is starkly naked, pristine as if cast from a single mold. All it wears is a wisp of downy cloth which chastely drapes it in flowing wisps it. Eyes of piercing white radiate light as they stare down on you. The figure speaks in a voice which rings out like silvery bells.

  “Hold Penelope Helsdottir, and be not afraid. I am Gallatha, servant of Allara, the Maiden of the Day, and mean you no harm. Only good.”

  You stare, thunderstruck at the sight of the being. You know the name of its mistress, whose cult is one of the most widespread on the continent. The earliest entries in the codex allege your own clan once fought beneath her name, and one entry even alludes to the goddess itself being the progenitor of your line.

  A light fills you with a gasp. The tattoo upon your mons throbs and darkens, still and silent. A sudden emptiness fills you, and for the moment, you realize you are free of the Great One’s touch.

  But the being turns from you, and looks instead towards Alyssa. The succubus has her back to the barrier about the square. Her face, beautiful even now, wars between a terrible hate and fear. Her claws scrape against the air, her leathery wings outspread and fluttering. The heavenly figure gains a look of righteous wrath upon its face. “Be STILL!” it commands and holds a palm out towards the succubus.

  Chains of light spring about the demoness. She screams, arching and bound in the holy shackles, lifted several feet in the air to hang helplessly. She twists, spitting like a furious cat, but cannot break the chains.

  “Alyssa!” you cry.

  “Feel no pity for the demoness,” Gallatha commands, turning back to you. Its face takes on a look of deep compassion. It steps down from the fountain, only the tips of its toes touching the ground. The cloth fluttering about it like downy wings. Its voice is soft and gentle. “Child. I have come to you in this most dire hour. I have come to aid you.”

  “Aid me?” you say, confused. “What?”

  The being shakes its head, silver hair floating about a pained expression. “Child, your body has been tainted. Your soul touched by evil. But I know this. That there is good in you still. Though sin and corruption pulses through you, you came to this place with courage in your heart and love. But the enemy in this place is strong. Stronger than any mortal. Corruption is his power and his strength, and the weakness of the flesh his tool. He managed to seduce you from your noble intent, subverting your will by appealing to the corruptive powers of the flesh.

  “But I have come to aid you, child. I have come to free you of his taint and set you forth once more on the path of right. Penelope. I have come to aid you, so you might stop this monstrous revival.”

  You sway, thunderstruck by this pronouncement. “You’ll…you’ll help me fight him?”

  The figure’s face turns to sadness. “Alas, I have little power here, dear child. The black one, known to you as Zhibbareth, is too strong for me to assault directly. But Penelope, dear child. You have walked long on this path of darkness. But I might aid you. I might free you from his taint, and so you might defeat him.

  “Penelope,” it says, extending a radiant hand to you. “Shall you let me?”

  What do you do?

  Be purified by the Being

  Refuse the Being's offer

  Trick the Being

  Family in the Temple of the Great One

  You and your sister are carried by the hulking minotaurs and led by the cultist, Janine, into one of the many ominous entrances into the black edifice of the temple to the great one. You lift your head up, seeing strange carvings that seem to writhe above the entrance as you ascend into the deeper darkness within the temple.

  The minotaur’s cloven feet beat a steady rhythm through the ominous halls. You are carried up and then down again, following spiral staircases and perilous walkways across vast spaces that echo with moans. Those distant cries are all the more disturbing because you cannot tell if they reflect suffering or pleasure.

  You encounter horned warriors, perhaps orcs, wearing ramshackle mail armor. They stand aside and kneel for Janine. Red-robed handmaidens, their faces covered by hoods, bow low. Some of these women have terrible scars, even open wounds, and their bellies are swollen with pregnancies. The cult, you realize, must be using these women as breeding slaves for their monstrous cohort.

  “They enjoy great privilege,” says Janine, noticing your horrified gaze. “The handmaidens have the honor of carrying the spawn of our greatest heroes and most powerful generals. The less-fortunate are sequestered in the breeding pits, joined to the flesh that provides for their physical needs as they give the great one an endless supply of warriors.”

  “It’s demented,” snarls Kara.

  “It is divine,” says Janine, using two fingers to lift Kara’s chin. “I forgive you for mistaking madness for holiness. You come from the sick world that mankind created. The world that must be destroyed by Zhibbareth’s new order.”

  “You will never succeed,” says Kara and she spits in Janine’s face. Janine smiles madly, wiping the saliva from her face and continuing down the hall.

  “We will succeed thanks to you and your sister,” she says. “Your mother has been waiting for one of you to arrive. She will reward me handsomely for delivering both of you.”

  You continue on through the winding hallways of the temple in silence. Strange reliefs depicts scenes of monsters defiling and preying upon human victims, blasphemous runes cause your mind to recoil in absolute horror. This temple is as much a monument to madness as to Zhibbareth himself. It is a symbol of the sort of chaos he will inflict upon the world if he is permitted to rise.

  At the moment, slung naked across a minotaur’s shoulder, you can think of little you can do to stop that ascension.

  Janine leads the small procession past a cordon of armored guards and into a new and impossibly massive chamber. As you suspected, this temple defies the laws that govern reality, as this entire vast chamber would surely contain the black stone temple you viewed from the outside. The ancient ceiling is damaged and light streams through from high above, illuminating a tiled scene depicting more sickening blasphemies.

  At one end of this chamber, a massive throne stands empty. In the center of the room, disfiguring much of the tiled imagery is an enormous pit of impenetrable darkness. You see no sign that the pit has any bottom and a strange thought strikes you that this pit opens onto the infinite. Within the pit, slumbering for countless centuries, lies the black god this temple was built to worship. Cantilevered over the pit is a huge stone altar inscribed with numerous symbols of evil. The blood stains on the altar suggest that many have already been sacrificed to Zhibbareth.

  Midway between the altar and the throne, Janine gestures to the minotaurs and you and Kara are dropped unceremoniously o
n the floor. Another minotaur drops your clothing and possessions in a careless pile. You exchange a nervous glance with Kara, both of you wondering how you can get to the equipment piled up and turn it against your captors.

  Before you can give such a desperate act much consideration, a giantess enters the chamber from a door behind the throne. She stands twice the size of any human, with powerfully muscled arms paired with a voluptuous figure. Her naked mound is decorated with a tattooed symbol that pulses with violet magical energy. Her breasts are enormous, even for her gigantic body, and clearly engorged with milk. Her fat nipples, as big as your thumbs, drip with her mother’s milk.

  And as you look up from these swollen hillocks of flesh, your eyes widen at the giantess’s beautiful face and shocking white hair. She smiles at you from the across the room, her golden eyes flash with sparkles of violet.

  It is Hilda Helsdottir. Your mother.

  “Penny…” Kara murmurs, reaching a hand out to steady you. The minotaur standing behind your sister snorts and kicks her hand away. It doesn’t matter. All you can see is your mother, enormous, fertile, beautiful, and horrifying.

  “No,” you whisper, clutching at your breast. “No, no, it can’t be.”

  “My queen,” says Janine, bowing with a dramatic flourish. “I have brought you your daughters.”

  “Mmm?” Your mother looks away from you and Kara as if just noticing that Janine is standing before her. “Zhibbareth brought them here. He foretold their arrival. Though I am… pleased that both of my daughters are here.”

  “I live to serve him,” says Janine, bowing even lower.