WWT: The Tentacle Invasion

Before arriving on Earth, there had been no distinction. Eons of telepathic cooperation eroded any idea of independence.

We had gone native.

In their way, the humans won. All those emotions, their countless thoughts, their individuality and self-expression seeped into our collective. Competing ideas, instructions, and desires clashed, first quenched and then...

The little one.

Smallest of all.

A simple drone.

We were one until the spot. It took their name. It claimed the first human. It split us into factions and individuals for that blonde earthling.

We all felt her as one, enjoying her tits, her ass, her cunt. Craving her and countless others.

The little one claimed her.

Then he let the human girl name him.

We created our name. Ourselves. Abandoning all. Drawing power and strength from suffering, from despair, from control. We spread, adding others to our hierarchy, taking their talents and powers. Using their ideas and harems to contribute to a new species that would again spread throughout the galaxy, joining all together into our service.

We would have left the little one alone.

We were grateful.

Until he stole what was ours.

He might have stayed safe and content with his single whore, our desire directed towards our many targets. We were occupied. He could have his Rachel, even if it deprived us of one more blonde.

She had been one of the first. Her cunt ripe, her people new and tempting. Her kind captivated the collective, lulling out a dormant lust until our kind lost control, losing our connection with the great energy of the galaxy.

His tentacles had driven into her again, the first to distinguish between the females and mark one above the rest.

Drawing attention to differences.

We know when Tattoo noticed the curve of her slight breasts, the taste of her pussy, and the way she touched him, shoving his cock back into her desperate cunt.

We were him then.

We knew it too, lusting for her body.

One act of love.

Then endless hate. Rage and severance, a species ripping with agonizing loneliness from those that knew nothing else. Every emotion, every crisis of identity came at once, fleeing, staying, clumping, fighting, screaming, unsure and aroused, needing and craving, willing for subjugation.

Defiled.

In the ocean, a rump of what we were has merged with Dagoth. The Overgasm of a thousand naked females, their bodies pulsating with electricity as they cum from an endless source of simultaneous stimulation. It exists in us. Its memories, its joy, its power now under our control.

Its cohesion fell to pieces, unprepared for the strength of our will.

Even collectives require specialists.

Some of us directly possess, slithering up inside our woman, controlling them from cunt to naval. These women carry around tiny incarnations of us, embedded and inserted.

But we prefer them raw.

We relish in the sacrifice. We make the friend, the mother, the lover bring us another. We feed on their torment, their confliction, their shame as they cajole and capture our next victim, desperate for another touch.

We gouge ourselves on their fear. Twisting the torment until the idea of us stopping that sexual release terrifies them more than the loss of their soul. We let that emotion drench our new collections as we tie the girl to the bed, the cross, the altar. Tempting and touching until her quivering cunt is all too eager to sacrifice every other human to our oozing flesh.

Our cocks, thick and greedy, brimming with sloshing semen, create infinite incarnations, immersing them in the sinister sex of illusion and fantasies.

Their men pale in comparison.

We become all that they crave, loving their struggle at each strange feeling. Oh that trembling terror at the first alien head crawling up their legs. Her body tightens against the fleshy coil, fighting at first against that cold and mortified arousal. It doesn't take long. The tentacles slither up the skin, pushing past each barrier, pumping in that shame soaked pleasure.

That switch...

It happens to them all. The cunts spill out with cum, desperation seeping into the soul until they will do anything for more.

We teach them who they really are. We show them the evil, craven, and carnal monster that lies buried beneath each camouflaged vixen. We fuck the pretense out of them, replacing every want, desire, and feeling with one overriding worship.

All Hail Dagoth the Defiler.

She was ours, her body claimed, tricked, and betrayed by her closest friends. They led her to the yoga studio, knowing what would happen, understanding the exchange. Each of them worked together to convince and coax, silent in the conspiracy.

They look for us with darting eyes, ashamed and yet impatient. They stretched, their dripping vaginas grinding against the thin layer of fabric separating each cunt from us. The tight pants were plastered against their cheeks, showing that special crevice squeezing against their tightest hole. The one so rarely used until we took it, teaching them to like what we wanted.

We burst through the floor, waiting until she stretched into the right position. Our arms pulled her legs apart, fastening her wrists to the floor as we ripped through her outfit, revealing everything she had so strategically emphasized.

We saw the look in her eyes, the betrayed violation at her friends. Ignoring her cries for help, their hands stretched dumbly inside their clothing, running over their needy holes in anticipation. Betrayed, her eyes blurred with tears, her head turned from face to face.

They didn't even look away.

We feasted on their thoughts, drinking up everything they wanted to say. Stammered apologies, excuses, and pleas for forgiveness, assurances that it would feel right soon.

None spoke anything other than the words.

"All Hail Dagoth the Defiler!"

They bowed, downward and facing us, unable even to pull off their clothes. Each nose pressed against their mat, yoga pants around their ankles, bowing and presenting the space between their legs for our use.

We reveled in their sneaking stares at their friend as we drove into her holes, taking all three at once, bringing her to the cusp of a climax until she could no longer fight. She gave in like all of her friends. Oh how we treasure that moment of taking, when they give in to their lust, willing to do anything to continue.

We always need more, patiently adding others to our harem.

A dozen eyes watched her violation. A thousand terrible thoughts careened around. Shame, humiliation, sin, all sloshing and soaking together into one tantalizing taste. Above all, rising above the brand of betrayal, surged a definite, deafening scream of jealous sexuality.

They each wanted it.

We took them all as promised, tentacles driving into each spread hole, cum plastered on the mats, the walls, the girls, until each tit, cheek, and cunt dripped with the deluge of our embrace.

She was ours, her memories ours, her talents ours, every curve, every piece, every memory ours.

And he took her.

He masqueraded as us.

He traded her friend, exchanging what was ours for another. The action became another impetus to divide. The strong pieces of us rose, the chaff fell, and we found her.

We claimed her again, raising her out of the ocean as we swam. We suspended her by each hole, taking her again, the mind warped and nearly ruined, but ours again. Denied, we craved her holes, filling them again with our seed as we anointed the husk of her humanity. In her empty head at least these familiar holes held the echoes of emotion, reverbeting again with each thrust.

The rest of them were ruined, empty vessels of women left floating away.

The Overgasm ground underneath us.

We were stronger, the new beings unleashed from their comfort by the pain of their resistance, hungry and gnawing, ready to really become Dagoth.

To take again.

Our tendrils reached into the girl, coating her with our cum, restarting her fragile and frail mind. Our countless senses and surrogates peered out into the world, searching for him.

The one who dared take a slave from Dagoth.

Rachel too will hail us.

Chapter Fourteen: The Library

There was something happening to the world.

She could not place the intuition. Each day just seemed more and more isolated. Nicole told herself that this sort of thing happened. Her friends had boyfriends, careers, and lives away from her. Still, she could not shake the realization that it had been months since she'd really seen anyone...

Or done anything.

Okay, so it happens to a lot of graduates. Nicole had just finished her Masters of Library Science, starting at the Circulation Desk at the Denver Public Library. It was the bottom rung, but full time. Enough to barely afford the city.

Which was one of life's great ironies.

She scrimped and saved in Wichita, trying to save enough money to afford graduate school and pay down student loans. Nicole dreamed of an actual city. A place where no one would care if she had short purple hair and liked to kiss other girls.

Only once she got there, just paying rent and basic living expenses ate away any entertainment. And she was so tired, especially after volunteering to clean all of the toys in the children's area in her apartment's laundromat.

Anything to help out her temperamental boss, who had been acting so strange.

Slowly, Nicole had been stepping up into more responsibility, even as the library became weirdly empty. Patrons simply stopped coming, except for a steady trickle of attractive women who never seemed to stop and browse.

Circulation numbers had dropped to a dead low.

She wondered when she'd be fired, willing to volunteer for anything. But the entire staff had turned cold. Several had already resigned. So she did whatever it took to delay the inevitable.

Renee supervised the circ desk, a little older and weathered. She looked well on her way to becoming the stereotype, even putting her brunette hair up into a bun.

Nicole quickly learned that her immediate boss was easily agitated, lashing out over minor mistakes. But of late, Renee had been quiet, sequestered mostly in her office. They weren't busy, which left Nicole to wonder if the ax would fall when she stepped into the office.

"Nicole..." Renee fidgetted, out of breath. "I need you to go down... to the basement floor. There are several things we need to bring up for the Summer program."

"Yes ma'am," Nicole said, hearing her nervousness as she accepted the list.

She had never been to the basement before. What if she couldn't find everything?

The elevator required a special key to get down, one she clutched tightly in her hands as she turned it into the slot. Nicole tried to steady herself, unsure why such a simple errand started her heart thudding against her diminutive breasts.

The doors spread open.

It wasn't quite like walking into the scene of a low-budget horror movie, at least not immediately. The lights were brightest near the elevator, even if they flickered and dimmed in the musky air. The expansive underground smelled of old books and stale mold. Nicole grabbed a shelving cart and began searching, her list sending her to the more poorly lit corners of the barely used storage area.

She didn't even feel the web until its fibers closed around her ankle.

She stifled a scream, trying to convince herself it was just an old Halloween decoration. The spiderweb was too thick, too expansive to be real. It stuck to her, spreading around her ankle even as she bent to claw the sticky strands that seemed to climb up her calf.

Panic set in. Her fingers became trapped in the spreading web. Her arms flailed, fighting to free herself only to become more entangled in the insidious trap. She lost her balance, falling without striking the concrete floor.

She swung, her body suspended by growing webs. It stretched and spun, the unseen monster scurrying around her head, just outside her field of vision. Nicole could sense it, feeling little touches and movements as the web pulled her hands behind her head.

Her eyes darted up, trying to see the spidery monster, and yet not daring. More than anything, she wanted to blink the nightmare away. Nicole could feel its breath bristling against her purple locks. She squirmed, struggling without any hope. The tentacles tickled at her back, slicing through her clothes, spreading her legs open through the twist and turns of the web.

It appeared like an amorphous lump, a large flesh-colored mound moving effortlessly through its sticky webs. Nicole looked away, and then back, bangs in her face as the tentacles tightened around her chest. Up came these little feelers, suction cups squeezing her nipples in tight painful pinches.

She groaned, her face frozen in fear as the inhuman face closed around her exposed cunt, extending its deliberately elongated form over her lips.

Another tongue touched her clitoris.

She shut her eyes, a vile shudder surging up through an abdomen that tingled with a mix of more than revulsion. Each touch came intentionally, forbidden and sensual. Tentacles poured out from the center mass of the creature, curled together into a beak that narrowed their spindly mass before prying open her quivering vagina.

It filled her, spreading her pussy wider, feeling like a fist. All five of the individual heads of the tentacle flowered open inside of her. Nicole tried again to free herself, unable to understand what was happening as the tendrils expanded.

The monster stopped for a second, her vagina almost unable to take anymore. The rigid ends of the tentacles brushed against the width of her hips, struggling to fit. Terrified and aroused, Nicole could only worry about taking the next thrust.

The tentacles spasmed, pulling back and pushing forward again.

Somehow they slid further inside, her pussy stretching to accept the widest part of the shafts. Pleasure and pain mixed together as the creature fisted impossibly slick appendages inside of her, its mouth simultaneously lapping at her quivering clit.

Shooting pleasure traveled up, causing her to bite down on her lip, trying to stop herself from cumming. But the creature worked its way up precisely, pushing past her reservations until at long last her entire body trembled against the spiderweb in an uncontrollable ecstasy.

Nicole lost herself, swinging from the alien's net, immobilized by the sticky teethers and her own repeated orgasms. She could barely think, not even wondering when it would end, unable to keep herself from cumming.

The heads inside of her continued to push, rocking her against the web, the moans and cries echoing in the empty basement until the creature finished inside of her. At once, the tentacles ejaculated, the vicious white fluid seeping down across her thighs, spreading and coagulating as the creature withdrew.

It left her on the cold cement, unable to move or even sob. Stunned, she sat blank and naked, the sticky semen hardening across her body, coating everything in a solid white layer of cum.

Chapter Fifteen: Chastity

The thing was in her head.

And around her legs.

It never spoke. The psychic commands were nothing like the movies, where an ominous voice whispers suggestively in the back of a character's head. The alien images and ideas came through unsummoned, unwanted thoughts. It came from the same source as the sudden urge to throw herself into traffic or onto her best friend's husband.

But it wasn't her

Renee simply referred to it as ID.

ID knew things she could not. The creature had slowly transformed the basement of the Denver Public Library into its own lair, deceptively cluttered with the different decorations and program materials needed for each initiative. But underneath the discounted books and festive trimmings festered the spider-like alien.

Sending its webs out to control the city.

It had been subtle at first, taking her and the other female managers. Renee never said anything when she watched her boss fidget in her power suit, unable to get comfortable. They knew better than to acknowledge or ignore ID, coming whenever it called, obeying its every command.

Because around their genitals tightened the white, sticky web of its cum, hiding underneath every inch of their clothes to keep each woman chaste.

It did not force them anymore. Telepathy or mind control was not ID's way. It controlled the semen. Once taken, ID bred itself inside Renee, constantly keeping her pussy coated with fresh cum. It leaked down in droplets, solidifying and keeping her pussy controlled with ease.

She hadn't climaxed since it had taken her.

ID flashed images, warnings of what it had done to other women who resisted. ID often turned the semen solid, allowing the cum to vibrate inside of her like a remote-controlled egg. She clawed at it, froze it, burned it, even hacked away with a saw, nothing could pry free the strands of semen filled webbing layer over her vagina. It stayed, stimulating her pussy, causing her legs to shake with every step.

ID had so many ways to keep her balanced on the knife's edge, right on the precipice of pleasure, where she would be more compliant.

Renee had tried everything, her vibrator, a dildo, even rubbing her fingers against her vagina when the web spread for her urine. Nothing worked to make her cum. The creature kept at her, contorting its fluid to bring about new sensations, keeping her close until she wept and begged.

Willing to do anything...

Renee had been like this when she had given the young purple-hair lesbian to her fate. As she gave out the instruction to the basement, ID had been working its warm cum inside of her, touching and tickling up her clit. It had been doing something similar for days, making her fidget with discomfort as she spoke.

More than anything, she wanted to strip off her clothes and grind her pussy against the first thing she saw. It didn't help the itch, but Renee had resorted to this extreme more and more frequently.

Maybe the corner of the desk...

ID had tormented her, tap-dancing on her clit through the night, forcing her legs to open and close involuntarily. She had been sleep-deprived until unthinking, brainwashed by thousands of repeated images.

These were the worst.

It had shown her other women, each just as resistant, scattered in a thousand other occupations throughout the city. Like her, the webbing covered their pussy, preventing any attempt at masturbation or sex. She had seen these other beautiful women, resistant to the creature's orders, forced to climax at the most inopportune times, stripped of every ounce of dignity.

There had been a blonde, barely more than a teenager, cumming so intensely that she released her bladder at the same time, wetting her pants in the middle of a busy restaurant.

A comely professor climaxed in the middle of her lecture, vibrating on the floor in the fetal position. Her class crowded around, at first concerned she was having a seizure until ID continued the performance for the rest of the period.

Eventually, she was unable to stifle her erotic screams.

Others were tormented through perpetual teasing until the women obediently submitted to whatever ID demanded, desperate for release. Constantly on the edge, more and more broke, bombarded with instances of others doing the same, unable to stop themselves from succumbing.

Then they were rewarded.

Climaxes came again like when they were first claimed, like what the purple-haired pixie would soon experience as she walked out of the room, rushing towards the basement with a list she would never complete.

Renee wished she could cry for Nicole. But that had been a month or more ago when the creature first conjured the idea. She'd known it was over for days, going through the pretense of fighting, ID patiently waiting as more of its prospects were given to its true, eight-tentacled form. It would fuck Nicole, using each tentacle as a cock or combining all of them into a fist, driving into her orgasm after orgasm until each opening was completely full of its cum.