Game Over

Days later, the old ferryman returned to the island, shielding his squinted eyes against the sunlight as his boat chopped against the waves. The wind was picking up, but the sun was shining without a cloud in the sky. The weather had improved markedly since he'd first ferried you and the others over earlier. "Looks like a safe trip back. The women ought to be pleased. And that one gentleman," he mused to himself. "What was his name again? Hmmm..."

Stooping and carrying his pipe in one hand, the bearded boat captain strut up to the gate and rang the front bell. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Finally, he realized that the gate was still hanging slightly open. That was odd... he couldn't remember ever seeing it left open that way. Had the storm damaged something and Old Eric had missed it?

"The fellow's going a bit senile, is he? Ho ho..."

The captain sighed and began making his way down the path towards the house in the distance. It was a long walk, but he had to admit, he was happy for the excuse to make it. He'd come to the house so many times without ever seeing the mansion itself. Curiosity had been gnawing at him all these years. Just how did those rich, reclusive Crofts spend their days?

As he looked up on the overgrown walls and hedges, something much stranger soon occurred to him: the noise. There was a low, rhythmic thrumming coming from inside the house. As he got closer, it grew all the stranger... He recognized the sound as music, although not the type you'd expect to hear coming from a classy place like this. It sounded instead like club music. Fitting that, it seemed like a pink light was constantly strobing from inside.

"They're going to give Old Eric a stroke or three if they aren't careful!"

The man knocked a few times, but it had no chance against the volume of the music. Grunting, he wadded up a pair of tissues and stuck them into each of his droopy ears, then hesitantly worked his way into the place, shouting "Ferry! Who's ready to go!"

The place was a mess. The smell was foul. He had a hard time placing it at first, but it came to him after a bit: it was the stench of sex. Sweat. Spent semen. As he looked around with his jaw hanging open, he realized it was everywhere. Used condoms seemed like they'd been draped over every piece of the once dignified architecture and furniture, over every banister, railing, chair arm, table, cushion, and even the door handles. He clenched his teeth and wiped his hands on another kerchief, worried he'd already touched one.

Butlers were laying all around in states of undress with used condoms in various colors still hanging off of their spent penises. When he searched the first floor and found no one conscious, he was **** to continue upstairs.

"W-What kind of godless, hedonistic bullshit is this?" he asked himself in a low voice as he pushed open the door to the third floor study. "Eric? Ms. Croft? Anyone awake in there? Is... aaaaaieeeee!"

If the other rooms stunk of sex, this one reeked of it. There wasn't a condom to be found here-- all of the dirty deeds had been done raw, meaning that semen was splashed and stuck on to the desk, all over the carpet, the walls and bookcases, even very valuable items you'd presumably never want a frosting of cum on. Not the least of these valuable items covered in fresh jizz was the lady of the manor, along with the women of the house. All six of them were laying their with their asses in the air. You leaned against the unlit fire place, your eyes twitching as purple lights flashed in and out of them and bells rang through the air with no identifiable source.

The old man nearly pissed himself with terror. "W-What the devil...?!" he questioned, slowly backing towards the door. "What happened to all of you?" He noticed each of them had tally marks drawn onto their butts in marker, presumably the absurd number of times you'd cum inside each of them.

"I'm pregnant with Malcolm's child!" Linda announced with her tongue hanging out of her mouth onto the carpet. Her glasses had disappeared somewhere days ago and her braid was gone, her hair messy all about her shoulders.

"I'm pregnant with Mr. Wolf's child!" Yara added, wearing her usual gap-toothed grin with her mask half on her face and half off, revealing bright pink, twitching eyes. Her mouth formed an undignified O as she squirt onto the carpet again.

"I'm pregnant with his child, too..." Brunhilde continued, clenching her teeth in frustration. Her tight ass-cheeks now looked incredibly red, as though it had been spanked about one-thousand times.

"I-I'm pregnant with Mr. Wolf's child!" Tallula babbled, the massive surface of her ass quivering along with the rest of her fleshy, freckled body as her hands dug into the carpet for dear life, as though she was still being fucked.

"I am... pregnant..." Dee added, drool staining both corners of her mouth and her eyes practically spinning. Her emotionless, cold demeanor had been strained to its limit after nearly a week straight of fucking. Her dark skin shimmered with a mix of perspiration and cumshots. "With... Malcolm Wolf's... child..."

"Hm hm hm hm... I, too, am pregnant! Thank you, Mr. Wolf, for blessing all of us~" the lady of the house sighed with satisfaction, rolling over onto her back and rubbing her stomach with her legs spread indignantly, revealing her well-used pussy to the confused captain.

Finally, the old man set his eyes upon you. Your cock looked so spent and red that it would likely never see another day of action in your life. Your eyes refused to retake their natural color and your grin looked crazy, half-stuck between pleasure and terror. "I-I am..." you greeted him... "the culprit... behind the mystery at Mesmer's Manor..." you spoke, although the words were not your own.

The old captain ran out of the study shrieking as seven pairs of gleaming pink eyes followed his movements.

Later that day, you were arrested by the authorities. If the women who claimed to be pregnant with your children were pregnant, you'd never know. Once you regained your own mind, you'd spend the rest of your days in a prison on the mainland.