World War T is a series of independent, vaguely interconnected stories about different tentacle monsters invading Earth, very much an erotic homage to World War Z. These short stories do not need to be read sequentially.
Rachel squirmed underneath me, gripping my elongated mantle, squeezing against the slippery flesh. My feelers gripped and spread her thighs easily, spreading open her gushing pussy as I fully inserted the large, ridged phallus designed for the task.
My tentacle fit her perfectly.
Her arms closed around each other, trying to pull me into her. It was an involuntary spasm, unknown even to her. Dopamine and Oxytocin were absorbed through my flesh, stimulating my glands. I injected the naked blonde girl another propulsion of semen, filling her soaking hole.
She let out another moan, her orgasm continued, heard more clearly through telepathy. Every thought, unable to be articulate in symbols or sounds, clambering in my head.
But still, I preferred to look...
I wanted to see her consummate joy, the endless expanses of each orgasm squeezed into one penetrating expression of everything that made identity worthwhile.
I shoved into her, feeling her vagina coil around me, remembering in a spasm of cum the reasons why I had broken with the Overgasm in the first place. She was unique, youthful and bubbly, energetic, and eager for our embrace.
And she was mine.
Stolen or saved from them.
This centropod did not rely on vibrations or sound to communicate.
None of my kind did...
We could have grown them easily enough. Our consciousness travels easily enough through flesh, passed on to the offspring we clone from the basic elements of the planets.
I wasn't the first.
We spread through the galaxy in waves, blending, adapting, transforming the very molecules around us into new life, designed for perfect utility in each successive arrangement of DNA, searching for a new home.
We lost contact with the scouts shortly after learning of the third planet's suitability. That did not matter, suitable planets are vanishingly rare even in the depths of the cosmos.
We came.
And for the first time, we split.
I can still sense them, former pieces of myself transformed into distinct personalities and novel fleshy creations. Some are hidden, others make their intentions known through demonic designs destined to reverberate through this unnoticing world.
Dagoth the Defiler penetrated every telepathic mind, seeking and searching to consolidate and combine, taking the weak into his cult.
One of his slaves was easy enough to find, the taint of his corrupted influence was like a brand. I touched her mind easily enough, revealing myself to him. I was all too aware of what I risked by appearing again, but there was no choice.
I needed a sacrifice.
Like the others, she was young and sexual by the standards of her species. Her skin was darker, her breasts smaller than Rachel's, her body certainly tempting.