Escape the Island of Eldritch Lust

by Amanda Clover

  Premble practically smothers you in his big mouth, his fat lips opening and his enormous tongue squirming into your mouth. It is foul-tasting, but you are so twisted by your new role that you enjoy it, pushing enthusiastically back against his tongue with yours. A rumbling moan of pleasure vibrates into your mouth. You feel the roughness of his teeth and taste the sourness of his saliva as you pump your hands on his enormous cock.

  “MmmmmMMm!” He rumbles against your kiss, holding you tight against him. You break the kiss and squirm to his side, well out of the path of his dripping cock.

  “You will not make a mess of me,” you say, standing almost behind flabby body. Your hands slip and slide over his precum-lubed length. You squeeze his cock from his thick root to the bulging mace of his cockhead. His rasping breath grows louder and louder. He shudders with pleasure as you wank him vigorously with both hands. “Go on, Premble, show me how much seed you have in those big, ogre balls.”

  “Ohhhhhhh, herald,” he groans. “Oh, seed is boiling! Seed is… AAAAAAGGGGHHH!”

  He roars like a wounded beast, thrusting his hips and fucking his huge cock through your grasp. You watch with wide-eyed delight as his cock twitches, jerks, and spurts out massive streams of milky white spunk. The cum splashes onto the floor of the cave, sprays the edge of the wooden table, and drips from Premble’s purple tip down to his chair. You spread the cum on your hands over his shaft and to his hairless pubic area. The air is thick with the musky scent of his seed.

  Premble shudders with aftershocks of pleasure. You kiss his hairy shoulder and press against him, leaning up on your tiptoes to murmur, “Good boy, Premble. Now, I am going to get dressed. I believe you owe me an escape route out of this cave.”

  You give the ogre a last kiss on his bald head and gather up your clothes. You step out of the room to dress and only return when you are satisfied that your clothing is dry enough. The ogre has finished cleaning up the mess he made and has wrapped up a parcel of salt-dried fish for you to take as a gift.

  “How thoughtful,” you say. “The Great One will not forget the way you honor his herald.”

  “Thanks,” says the ogre, smiling sweetly.

  Premble leads you through a winding tunnel that slopes gradually up to the surface. You arrive at a rocky expanse of open land facing a dead-looking forest.

  “Beyond those trees,” says Premble, “is Field of Holes. Beware the Ullek. It eats everything, even heralds.”

  Ullek? That triggers a memory, some creature you have researched before, but it was not called an Ullek. Something similar. You thank Premble with a hug around his huge neck and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Visit any time, herald,” he says and he gives you a crooked smile.

  You set off across the rocky open ground and the dead forest in the distance.

  CONTINUE >

  Attack

  Your newfound confidence collides with your growing anger at the domineering way the bee girl is behaving. You are not taking a knee for some self-proclaimed monster queen and you’re definitely not letting her turn you into some slave or worse.

  “I bow to no inhuman ‘queen’,” you snarl as you draw your pistol and sword. You squeeze the trigger of your flintlock and the pistol cracks loudly. The shot punches a hole through one of the queen’s fragile translucent wings. She roars with fury, buzzing into the air and avoiding your lunging sword attack. You whirl and narrowly parry a strike from her stinger.

  “You will pay for this!” She buzzes ferociously.

  As you free your blade, she grabs you by your shoulders, lifts you several feet off the ground, and drives her stinger into the meat of your left thigh. The paint that explodes through your body is like nothing you have felt before. Being struck by lightning could not possibly hurt more.

  You double up in her arms as her venom continues to pump into your body. You finally manage to kick your leg free as the agony courses through your veins.

  “It is over now, foolish human,” she buzzes. “My sting is fatal to a creature as small as you.”

  She cradles you almost tenderly as the pain burns in your veins. You struggle to breathe, sweat pours from your body and your heart races. You quickly become delirious and begin to pass in and out of consciousness. You feel yourself be carried through the air. You close your eyes and open them faintly again. You are being lowered towards a green, cylindrical vessel with a yellowish liquid in the bottom.

  “Oh, your majesty, good to see you,” coos a sweet voice. “You have brought me something delicious?”

  “Yes, a foolish human tried to attack me,” buzzes the bee girl. “I’m afraid I had to sting her. No sense her going to waste.”

  “Yes, thank you! Drop her right into my pitcher.”

  You open your eyes for a moment and through the sweat and tears stinging your eyes you make out a black-eyed figure with a green body and a feminine shape. It seems to be fused to a network of huge living pitchers. You are just aware enough of what is happening to realize you are being fed to a carnivorous plant. Then you are plunging into one of the pitchers. The lid closes over you as you moan pitifully. The pitcher begins to fill up with fluid that feels warm against your skin. It does nothing to soothe the agony of the poison.

  “Ooooh, she’s a sweet one,” coos the plant girl to the bee. “Thank you, your majesty! I will guard all of the pollen for you.”

  “If you catch any more girls in your pitchers,” says the bee, “please call out to me and let me have them. I promise I will find you another meal in their place.”

  “Of course,” giggles the plant girl. She says something else, but you are slipping into a poison-induced coma as your body begins to slowly dissolve inside the pitcher.

  Your life and your adventure are at an end.

  BAD END

  << START OVER | < SKIP PROLOGUE | INDEX

  Shipwrecked!

  You are fairly certain you have not died. You lift your head from the sand, spit out a briny mouthful of seaweed, and squint up at the gray sky. You turn over onto your hands and knees. The gray surf is crashing against an unwelcoming beach broken by outcroppings of tide worn black rocks like so many teeth of some buried giant. Zephyr is partially overturned and caught on one of these rocks higher up the beach.

  “Orsen,” you croak, pushing to your feet. “Orsen?!”

  You stagger towards the sailboat and see the mast is intact, but the small boat has a long fissure gouged in its underside. Orsen pokes his bandaged head out of the cabin.

  “You’re awake,” he says and climbs out of the boat carrying your backpack and sword. “I’ve been studying your map and it looks like we found your damned island.”

  He unrolls the map enough to point to Ctharne.

  “Those mountains must be the north side of the island. You can just make them out on the horizon. Maybe a day or two’s walk away, although it’s hard to judge distance on this tiny map.”

  A tiny, walled city is included among the mountains on the map. Peaked buildings are drawn around a temple resembling a barbed phallus. That must be Rhilath, the dead capital city of Ctharne, where you found evidence that once old and malevolent gods were worshipped. You feel a sickening feeling that your mother and maybe your sister too will be found in this cursed city.

  “We landed on the southern coast, near as I can tell,” says Orsen. “My compass is useless on this island and there is this awful mist that keeps rolling out of the forest up there. Overcast sky. I can’t even see the sun.”

  “Why was I on the beach?” You ask, taking the map from him and studying the other features of the island depicted on the map.

  “You got pretty wet. I put you there to dry out.” He prods your side and squeezes your hip. “You seem dry enough. Your pistols stayed dry inside the ship.”

  You look past Orsen, up the slope of the beach to where an oppressive, misty forest swallows up the sands. A scent of burnt metal in the air tickles at the back of your throat and prickles the skin of your arms and
neck. You know that feeling. It’s curse magic.

  “I need to go inland,” you say. “There is a settlement on the map not far from here. Looks like a fishing village. Maybe I can get help to repair the ship.”

  “I can fix it with some lumber cut from the trees up there,” says Orsen. “I’m not defenseless, you know. I have a spear gun.”

  “Powerful magic hangs over this island,” you warn. “There is a palpable evil.”

  He squints at the trees up the beach as if he might actually see the evil.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he says. “I still don’t believe in those monsters you were talking about, but it wouldn’t surprise me if this island was full of cannibals.”

  “I can place wards around the boat to protect you from monsters,” you say, hoping you can actually do what you are promising. “Do not go far from them and if you hear something coming return to the boat.”

  “You seem pretty tough for a scribe,” he says. “Alright, I won’t turn down your superstition. We need all the help we can get at this point.”

  He takes a wood axe from inside the ship and climbs up the shore to the edge of the forest. He begins chopping a dead tree while you open your family’s codex and begin diagramming a multi-purpose ward in the sand surrounding the shipwreck. You make it large enough to give him some freedom to move around the wreck. You are concerned the larger protective circle might be ruined by high tide, so you add a second ward to the ship itself, using chalk from your alchemy kit on the Zephyr’s stern.

  While Orsen is still chopping wood, you also look up a spell that will allow you to determine the nature of the curse that afflicts this island. The magic is simple and uses only a bit of blackened barley from the alchemy kit. As you speak the words and splay your fingers, the barley shimmers and forms a series of magical runes in the air. You memorize them and look them up in the spell casting appendix in the codex.

  “A fertility curse?” You have heard of a fertility charm, not a curse. You read the text scrawled beside the runes by some long ago ancestor. “’Women under a fertility curse will find themselves unnaturally receptive to the seed of man, monster, or beast. Even hybrids that should not be possible may still result in an offspring.’ Well, that is certainly disconcerting.”

  “What is disconcerting?” Orsen asks the questions over your shoulder. You snap the book closed.

  “Nothing. A bit more, ah, superstition.”

  He shrugs, drops an armload of wood on the beach, and heads back into the cabin searching for his tools.

  “I need to go now,” you say. “I’m not sure how much daylight I will have and I want to get as far inland as possible. If there is anyone in that fishing village on the map, I’ll send them back to help you.”

  “Right,” says Orsen, returning from the cabin. “I hope I see you again, Penny.”

  You are surprised by the emotion that wells within you and you grab him suddenly and pull him tight against you. He sets his tools aside, wraps his arms around you, and returns the embrace. Orsen Castillo may be the last friendly face you see in quite some time. You can hear the beating of his heart in his chest.

  “Get your boat fixed,” you say to him, trying to hide the croak of emotion in your voice.

  “Find your family,” he says.

  It feels good to wear your flintlock pistols and the kirana your sister gave you on your hips. You were not wearing the jacket when the ship wrecked and are relieved that it did not get wet. The air is cooler here than back in Estermar and you feel comforted by the heavy weight of your sister’s coat across your shoulders and back.

  You give Orsen and the shipwreck one last look, trying to fix them in your mind, and then you set off into the misty forest. The sound of Orsen hammering at his damaged boat recedes behind you, until you are totally alone in the misty, primeval woods.

  CONTINUE >

  Reluctantly accept her offer

  You tell yourself that you harbor no lust for your sister, that you will only do what is necessary, but deep within you is a gnawing fear that this imposter sensed your repressed desire for Kara. You force a smile onto your face and softly say, “Very well, I will do as you ask in exchange for the release of my sister."

  “She is enjoying herself,” says the imposter. “She will last days in that mirror, so let us go upstairs and enjoy each other for a while.”

  Your pulse quickens as the imposter takes hold of your hand. She leads you up the stairs and you, trying not to think about the real Kara locked away in a mirror, cannot look away from the false Kara’s firm bottom in her tight leathers or the way her hips wiggle from side to side. What is wrong with you? This woman is torturing your sister and had taken her guise and you are lusting after her? The shame you feel does not diminish the desire.

  She brings you to a door which she unlocks with a key hanging on a cord around her neck. Beyond the door lies a fire warmed bedroom and a huge four-poster bed with a rumpled comforter. This must be the room in the manor she maintains for herself. There are trinkets and books on the shelves as well as a cup and pitcher of water on a desk beside a leaf-papered window.

  Kara stands before the crackling hearth. She gazes at you with lust-heavy eyes and a smile turns her imperfect lips.

  “Kiss me,” she says.

  You do not resist her first command. You press your soft body against her firmness. You kiss her and thrust your tongue as eagerly as she thrusts hers. She seems to laugh into the kiss and her strong arms wrap around you. She squeezes your buttocks through your skirt and you mirror her action, reaching down to cradle Kara’s firm bottom and squeeze it through the tight leather.

  She breaks the kiss and leaves you panting so hard the creamy tops of your breasts nearly burst out of your bodice each time you inhale. Her moist lips curl into another smile. Her golden eyes search yours.

  “Undress me,” she whispers.

  By the golden firelight, you undress this woman who wears your sister’s face. You slip off her leather top and her blouse, revealing her pert breasts and tiny pink nipples. Your fingers stroke over those modest mounds, trembling as you unbuckle her sword belt and unlace her trousers. Your fingers strip her tight leathers down her slender hips, slowly exposing her pale thighs and the trimmed white of her pubic hair. Her pussy is nearly as delicate as yours, her folds tiny and pink, though a bit fleshier than your own. Her slit glistens with her arousal.

  Kara’s scent of leather and spicy-sweetness mingles with the new and powerful musk of womanly arousal. You look up at her as you rest your hands on her thighs. You want her to tell you to lick it and your face is hot with shame that this is your secret desire.

  “Touch me,” she says. “Lightly. Just the outside of my quim.”

  You moan softly as you run your hand between her thighs and gently cup the soft, radiating heat of her pussy. The moisture slicks the palm of your hand and your fingers. You rub very gently and your fingers trace the edges of her cunt. You feel the harder bud of her tiny clit. Kara watches you and ever-so-slightly begins to roll her hips, rubbing her dewy folds against your touch.

  “That’s it,” she sighs. “Use your finger… put it inside.”

  You moan as you thrust a finger gently into her tight, slick channel. It squeezes around one finger. You look up and work your digit in and out.

  “That’s your sister’s cunt,” she whispers. “Do you like fucking it with your finger, Penelope?”

  “You… you are making me,” you say, face hot with shame as you fuck her with your finger.

  “That was not the question I asked.” She rests a hand on your head and forces you to look up at her face. “Put another finger inside. Easy now, I am very tight. Yes. Like that… oooohhh. Do you like that, Penelope? Do you like, mmmm, fucking me with your fingers?”

  “Mmmmmmm,” is the only answer your will give her, but she knows the truth. She laughs triumphantly and begins to thrust her hips more vigorously, fucking against your two fingers as they slide in and out of he
r steamy cunt.

  “I bet you want to taste it,” she says. “You do, don’t you? Dirty girl. It’s okay, I’ll make you do it.”

  She steps back, your fingers sliding out of her hot pussy. She walks over to the bed with Kara’s familiar grace, only emphasized by her stunning nudity. She drops onto the bed, spreading her legs and hanging her bottom over the edge of the bed as she pulls her knees up. You have a raunchy view of not only her blushing, glistening cunt, but the pink divot of her anus.

  “Undress for me,” she says, reaching down and idly stroking her clit. “Then I will tell you what you want to hear.”

  “I don’t—“

  “Shhh!” She hisses. “Undress.”

  You unburden yourself of your pack and weapons and lower your heavy jacket, borrowed from the real Kara, to the floor. The false Kara’s fingers move more quickly on her clit as you begin to disrobe your pale curves. You expose your more than ample breasts and your plump backside as well as your tufted quim. You like the way she is looking at you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet her lusty gaze.

  “The city has been good to you, Penelope,” she chuckles. “Plenty to eat, I see.”

  You begin to make an excuse for your softness and she interrupts you with a laugh.

  “I am not teasing you, I like it. One of the advantages of being your sister, but more than your sister, is I can appreciate the full diversity of the human body. Yours is still very lovely. So supple and luscious. I would like to feel every bit of it, but first, I think you have something to do.”

  “W-what’s that?” You whisper softly.

  “On your knees, sister,” she purrs. “Good. Now crawl to me and taste my pussy.”

  You crawl to her on your hands and knees, but rise higher to kneel between her legs and rest your hands on her toned thighs. Your heart beats faster as you breathe her strong scent and look at the lewd detail of her slick pussy and the pink wrinkle of her asshole.