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Confessions of a Tentacle Monster

Hi, Tentacle Monster here. I'm a trans-dimensional being. I actually have a name in my home dimension, but you'll never be able to pronounce it until you learn to whistle out your ass so Tentacle Monster will do.

I'm just a regular guy, you know? Sure, I'm a glutenous mass of translucent tentacles with a penchant for raping schoolgirls, but hey, that's the nature of the beast, so to speak.

I'm really just your average ethereal predator, trying to make a living and have a little fun along the way. And hey, I know the rules. No girls under eighteen, not anymore anyways, except in Japan ... and most of the Southern US.

Things were different when I first slipped in from the Nth dimension, people were having babies at thirteen and getting tax breaks for it. Nowadays everyone wants to 'find themselves' before they 'set off on that journey we call life'. Cthulhu gag me with a spoon.

What? They don't say that anymore? Which part? Cthulhu or the spoon? Jeez, see what I mean? Things change too fast in this dimension.

Anyway, when I find myself passing through here I usually hang around Japan or Arkansas; the parts that have sewers at least, a lot of that state is covered in trees but they have railroads now, and they've drained most of the nice swamps ... but I digress. I do sample other places occasionally though. Like recently I started hanging around Warsaw.

I found myself a pretty good spot, down in the old roman catacombs under a convent. Beats creeping around the docks looking for wenches that don't smell like low tide near the sewage outlet. Nuns tend to have better personal hygiene, and they squeal so delightfully when you grab 'em. You know, eating their fear is half the fun.

So, for a few years I lived off raping nuns. I think the word got round about what was lurking in the dark corners of the gardens though, because near the end they were coming into the dark little cul-de-sac where the storm water grate to the catacombs is two or three times a week. Sometimes in pairs. It was getting harder to invoke real fear in them by then, but the volume made up for it.

Ah, those were the good old days, but they were about to get better. For some reason the church decides to shut down the convent and open a college prep school for Catholic girls there instead.

Well, I tell you, things really got interesting then. Some sweet little things in her plaid skirts and white blouses would sneak out here to smoke or eat the candies their family had sent without sharing and I'd look up through the grate and see those clean, white cotton panties and I would just go nuts. I would start oozing up through the grate, sending up a half-dozen grappling tentacles first. I'd wave them around below their line of sight until they looked like they were about to leave and then I'd grab 'em.

A tentacle on each arm and leg with one across the mouth was usually enough to subdue them. Most of the girls were from smaller species: deer, skunks, canines and the like. But even the elks and brown bears only took another couple of tentacles to overpower. The worst I ever got hurt was from bare, blunt claws because the nuns that ran the place wouldn't let the girls sharpen or paint them.

Yes, there are still nuns there, but they are getting on in years. A couple remember the old days and came to the cul-de-sac to wait for me sometimes but I left them alone. Why take beef jerky when there's fresh veal on the menu? I mean, literally. This part of Europe is famous for its dairy industry and most of those farmers can afford to send their heifers to good schools like this.

Where was I? Oh yeah, grabbing the schoolgirls.

As soon as I grab them, they tend to wiggle and scream, or they would if I didn't have a tentacle stuck down their throat. You can feel the fear come off them, and it makes for a good meal, but there is feast waiting if you play your cards right.

After I have them firm in my grip I send up other tentacles, specialized ones. Some are for feeling and tasting, because I like to sip the fear-sweat from their smooth, fuzzy skin and you haven't tasted anything until you've had a taste of fear. They are good for making the initial probes up their skirts and under their clothes too. A slimy lick under one's panties or a sneaky nip on a nipple brings a sudden rush of fear that is often tainted with something even sweeter ... desire.

Yeah, yeah. I know what they say, every tentacle monster thinks that they're Baal's gift to women, but it's different with some of these girls. Maybe it's involuntary. Maybe they always had a fantasy about being ravished by a dozen sinuous appendages all at once. But I tell you, life was good there and I never would have left that spot except ...

I'm getting ahead of myself.

These girls, young women actually, they were all fresh out of high school and there to get ready for University. These girls would end up in my grip, shaking and quaking and quivering with fear, and then I'd bring up the big guns.

Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout ... the ones with cocks on their ends. I'd bring a few of them into view and wave them around for a bit, just to see the expressions on their faces when they saw those mucus-covered translucent green penises dripping pre-cum moving in on them.

By then I'd have ripped off their panties, pulled their blouses open and pushed their bras up over their titties. My tasty-feely tentacles would have been sucking on their nipples and probing their holes for a while before the pricks came into view. That's when I knew if my dinner for the evening was going to be pure fear or a full-course meal with desire for an appetizer; lust for the entre and a climax for dessert.

I'd pull my gripping tentacle out of their throat and stick one of the penis-tipped ones in. Maybe they would get out a quick cry or a moan before I was pumping it in past their larynx. Under their skirts the smaller tentacles would hold them open while I plunged a prick into each of the holes down there. I always had a good view from down below, and sometimes I'd extend an eye-stalk for a closer look.

You might think that that sort of thing would get old after a few eons, but I tried to change things up regularly. Sometimes I took them where they were standing, driving gelatinous pricks into ass and cunt until they had to stand on their tip-toes. Other nights I would force them to their knees and do them from behind. On their backs was good for the ones that tried to grab my cock rockets, because they usually ended up jerking a pair of them off with all their flailing around, and no, I do not mean that literally, but even if they did, tear a couple off I mean, they just grow back.

My favourite thing though, the one I reserved for the most succulent of the students, was to pick them right up off the ground and fuck them in every hole in mid air. That always got them going. They'd be cumming before I did.

Once I'd blown three to five loads of spooge into them I'd let them go and suck all my parts back down through the grate. They would be laying there with their sexy parts exposed with litres of cum leaking from them while they spat out whatever they didn't swallow, and then it would hit them. Did this make me pregnant? Am I going to give birth to a squid? I tell you, that's a whole different kind of fear and it makes the best nightcap you'll ever have.

So, anyway, as to why I left.

Like the nuns before them, some of the girls began returning to my spot. They would stand above my grate with their legs spread, often with no undergarments, and wait for me to appear. Sometimes they would even masturbate in hope that the scent of female excitement would bring me around, and it would, sometimes. It would depend on how long since I'd had an innocent victim, but it got boring after a while.

When I stopped coming up for the ones that liked the feel of twenty or so mucus covered tentacles on their fur they began daring the new girls to visit my spot. I could hear them in the washrooms when I sent my eye appendages up through the plumbing for a peek - yeah, I'm a perv, live with it - they would tease them and dare the new students to go to the old grate by the Roman ruins when the moon was full. The moon had nothing to do with my schedule, but I guess it lent an air of the macabre to their stories.

Of course, most of them had never gone themselves, and most of the new girls never dared, but a few did, enough to keep me coming back to check every 28 days.

And they were worth it for the most part ... young, fresh, clean and scared out of their wits even before I sent up the first tentacle. Oh, how they would wiggle and squeal! The smell of fear rising as involuntary desire crept in, the taste of despair mingling with the juices they often were unaware that their bodies could produce. And the shock as three or more cock tentacles came deep inside every orifice they owned ... sweet.

Occasionally one would really get into it, discovering something inside them they had laid dormant until then ... and they would writhe and twist even more than the ones that were afraid.

Yes, life was good ... until the night SHE showed up.

It was, as I mentioned, the night of a full moon, a Harvest Moon as I recall. That meant that it was getting chilly at night, and any victims were likely to be wearing both thick cotton panties and tall stockings, except for the furrier species, of course. I prepared myself for a view of some hairy highland heifer or bushy brown bear bitch, but I was pleasantly surprised to see a feline standing on the grate.

And what a feline! Even from that angle I could see that she was all curves. Her legs were long with well defined calves and strong thighs. Her full ass held her rather short plaid skirt well away from the back of her legs, and her full breasts jutted out enough under her white blouse to hide her face from my view through the grate.

She was wearing only low black leather shoes and ankle socks so I could see that the short fur on her legs was orange and brown, with polygonal spots more like a giraffe than a cheetah, which she otherwise resembled. Her tail, which swayed almost impatiently behind her, had the same pattern. The insides of her thighs, clearly visible to anyone like me who can see in all frequencies as well as in low light conditions, were pure white, the colour of innocence.

Boy, did I get that wrong ... but back to her.

Intrigued, I sent up an eye stalk, keeping it low at first, but merging it with the ivy on the old stone walls to get a better look higher up as I went.

That's when I started to notice a few things that should have set my Nth dimensional senses tingling, but I confess that I was distracted by that perfect, voluptuous form.

Instead of the standard white cotton panties this student seemed to wearing Demin shorts under her school skirt that were barely more than a thong. They rode high on her hips under her skirt and hugged her sex with barely enough material to cover her mons. Why, the seam on the Denim shorts actually seemed to disappear inside ... Where was I? Oh, yes.

She was wearing the school standard short-sleeved white blouse, and I could see that her paws and upper arms had the same orange fur and brown spots as her legs with a region of white fur around the elbows. I also saw, as my eye moved upward, that she had on a purple armband with some sort of black cross with a circle in the middle. It looked more Celtic than Polish to me and was certainly not standard Catholic School issue. She did have a heavy silver antique crucifix nestled in her generous cleavage though, so maybe her family was from one of those niche sects.

Her hair was golden blonde and hung down to just above her shoulders with bangs in the front. Her eyes were bottle green and bright and, something that also should have served as a warning, made up with mascara, eyeliner and purple eye shadow that matched her armband.

Her feline ears were pierced in several places strangely enough, definitely a violation of the School's Dress Code. The dappled fur pattern was repeated on the upper half of her face, with everything below her little black nose being white, right down her lovely throat to her chest and down into the chasm between those wonderful breasts.

And she was smoking, did I mention that? That was not unusual in itself, lots of rebellious nuns and schoolgirls came down this way to sneak a smoke, but she looked like she had been doing it all her life. She would suck on the butt like ... well, we'll same the sexual imagery for a little later ... she would suck the smoke in and let it drift out of her open mouth while she inhaled it through flared nostrils, then she would purse her lips and emit a slightly oval ring of smoke. Sure, we've all seen that before, but she followed up by ejecting a thick, blunt phallus of smoke that pierced the cloudy vulva she had just produced.

Sorry, I promised to keep the sexual imagery to a minimum. Beelzebub knows there will be enough graphic descriptions of what I did to her ... what she did to ME ... to satisfy even the most jaded of souls.

The final clue that I ignored in my rush to possess that luscious form was her fear, or rather, the lack of it. The vibes she was giving off were more ... determined, like she was psyching up for some sort of competition or challenge. More like the Knights of a thousand years before that would seek out my lairs in a futile attempt to vanquish the evil spirits that were preying on their womenfolk.

White Knights, sheesh. I fucked some of them too, just for fun, and let me tell you, a lot of them LIKED it!

But I'm getting off topic again.

This feline looked fairly strong, and unlike the other students her claws were painted and honed to a fine point, so I decided to go in fast with half a dozen tentacles all at once. The sudden assault would snap her out of her complacency and get the fear flowing ... or so I thought.

Six sticky tentacles rose up. five muscular tubes of goo wrapped themselves around her arms, legs and waist. One slender appendage went for her head, to wrap around it and seal her mouth shut. The eye stalk I had sent up through the ivy extended to catch the widening of her eyes and the flaring nostrils that would accompany her fear when her breath was cut off ...

... and then she bit me! The bitch actually bit me! More than that, she also grabbed the tentacles reaching for her arms before they could get a grip and she squeezed them ... hard. How does a schoolgirl get a grip like that? She must have had forearms of steel.

She did nothing to stop my other tentacles from seizing her legs and waist. She actually laughed as they wiggled up her thighs in search of whatever was holding that denim thong on. Then, seeing the sticky pads on the two she had grabbed she slapped them on her chest and tore her own blouse off with them.

I should have been angry. I should have risen up through the grate with a hundred fresh tentacles and ripped the fur from her insolent body ... but the sight of what was under that blouse froze me in my slimy tracks.

She had not worn a bra under her school blouse, and with it gone her two perfect breasts were revealed.

They were full, they were round, and they hung on her chest without a hit of sag, like gravity did not apply to them. They were covered in fine white fur, except for two wonderful pink nipples. They were all natural, I could tell, as there was nary a blemish nor a scar, not even the nipples were pierced, even though her navel, in the shadow of those breasts, had a large silver stud though it.

Instead of bursting forth in rage several tasty-feely tentacles sprouted involuntarily and headed straight for those breasts.

The feline gave each of the appendages in her fists a mighty squeeze, which rendered them useless. She dropped them and reached behind her to undo her skirt while tiny tongues and lips explored her chest. She cast the plaid material to one side. My eye could see the denim shorts well now, but despite the top button on the fly being already undone my tentacles could not peel off the impossibly tight shorts.

She lodged her sharp-tipped thumbs under the otherwise unyielding material of the waistband and peeled the denim halfway down over thick but solid thighs and an ass that would make a Kardashian weep with envy.

My tentacles, still acting on their own accord, took over and pulled the shorts down to her ankles. I was struggling to take back control but before I could decide what kind of slimy appendage to hit her with next she pulled one of the tiny mouths that was nibbling her breasts and stuck it between her legs.

"Let's see how god you really are." I heard her say as the little tongue sought out her clit.

Oh, I thought, is that how it is? Well, two can play that game, Missy.

I usually sent small mouths up to tease, but do you think I had bigger one in reserve? Oh yes, I did. I selected one of the biggest with an extra long tongue and sent it up to replace the one that was struggling to work its way in to where her clit was hidden.

It licked and lapped and sucked on the shaved mound of her pussy. That was something not many of the Polish girls had, shaved ones, I mean. Not that the locals were particularly hairy but smooth clean young flesh was a delight to taste and made it easier to get into the crevices and crannies that responded to a tentacle tongue tickle most.

And tickle her I did. First outside on her mons and in the creases where her thighs joined then inside, drawing out the sweet inner lips and plunging the slippery depths of her twat. It was not long before I could use smaller appendages to hold her open while thick tentacle lips and a rough prehensile tongue teased the sweet sex juices from her.

Then her clit appeared from under folds of skin that I had sucked into submission. It was hard and round and pink and beautiful. Not every girl has a really cute clitoris, but she did. It stood out at the apex of her cunt in perfect proportion; just big enough to get a grip on with one's lips but not big enough to look like an undersized penis. Like the top of a little bald head trembling in the cold it had been exposed to.

I wrapped my tentacle lips around it and warmed it with my tongue. I flicked it and rolled it and sucked on it until it seemed that I would pull it clean off.

Meanwhile other, smaller tentacles had entered her love tunnel, searching for sensitive spots and once they found them they went to work there. Tiny teeth nipped the slick sides of her canal. Sticky pads beat a tattoo on the spongy patch of swollen flesh a finger's length inside her, and blunt ends bumped the entrance to her womb.

I could see her throw her head back and gasp as the full force of the multiple assaults on her nether regions came to bear on her. She squeezed her breasts together, squashing a few smaller appendages, and moaned, but that was as far as she went. There was no panting, no gasping for air, no body spasms, and no sense of fear or desire, just mild interest.

I tried to speed up, but it did nothing. She just stopped what might have been feigned moaning and looked down at me through the grate and said, "You're going to have to do better than that."

...

...

If I had a real mouth I would have sputtered in disbelief. DO BETTER THAN THAT? Did this foolish young female not know that I had ravished the great Dragons of old? Seduced the elder gods and goddesses on her pathetic little orb of a planet? Fertilized the first fish to crawl out from their scummy seas?

My anger was great, but so was my lust, and my pride. I would make this girl scream with desire if it killed me ... although it was more likely to kill her first; earthlings are such fragile creatures.

I sent up my five largest penis-tipped tentacles. Each one was long enough and thick enough to make an elephant faint from fright. They had thick veins of ooze running through them, keeping them stiff and warm and slick. They had great blunt heads on the ends with small slits for the liters of spooge that would shoot out of them with the power of a fire hose. They rose up above her, flailing franticly in a dangerous dance, thick and threatening and ready for action.

"Now we're getting somewhere." She muttered. I didn't get the rush of fear that I had wanted, just a flash of desire, quickly suppressed and, I swear, all five cocks dropped a degree or two in embarrassment.

Her paws shot out again, fast as lightning, before I could move the pricks in on her. She grabbed three in one paw and two in the other and held them tight. Then, reaching down, she rubbed the two against her twat, knocking my mouth appendage rudely out of the way. She rubbed the ends against her, spreading the ooze and her own lubricating juices around until everything from navel to tail was as slippery as a politician's promise. Then she pushed the ends against her cunt and ass until they popped inside.

She tensed some secret set of muscles down there and both my cocks were sucked up inside her as easy as putting a bean in a corn hole.

Oh, you don't know that expression? Something I picked up in Arkansas. Believe me, it is very east to stick a bean in a hole you have made with a corn cob ... wherever you made it. Anyways ....

Once she had twenty centimeters or so up inside each passage she left them to their own devices and concentrated on the other three. Honestly, I was going to stick one down her throat far enough to taste what she had for lunch last week and let her flail around with the other two until they spurted spooge, but she had other ideas, of course.

She took all three thick penises and put them in the space between her ample breasts. Then she squeezed those warm, fuzzy globes together and began moving them up and down the triple shafts. Sometimes together, sometimes counter to each other, and sometimes she just rolled them around and around with my cock appendages between them.

I must confess, in all the eons I have lived I have never tried rubbing my tentacles against each other before. Yeah, I know a lot of interdimensional beings will claim that they never had to masturbate, and I'm not saying I never did ... I just did that ... differently, you know ... mouth appendages ... penis tentacles ... you can do the math ... don't judge me.

Anyway, it was the first time I had felt the slippery, slimy sensation of my own tentacles on myself, and I must admit, no wonder the students and the nuns liked it so much. Especially as she rotated them around so that each one got an equal share of fuzzy soft breast treatment.

I could hardly believe it, I was getting off on myself, and this bitch had hardly broken into a sweat yet.

This had to change ... but it felt so good ... and soon it was feeling even better as she lowered her head and began to lick and suck each one in turn.

You don't feel much when you stick a meter or so of cock down some young thing's throat ... other than their last meal. Sure, there is the overall pressure and friction from their esophagus as they flail around fighting for air, but I was about to learn that that was just so basic. It was nothing compared to the warm wet lips that she wrapped around each penis in turn, gently sucking on them and slathering them with kisses. Who could imagine how good it could feel to have the tip of her clever tongue sliding into the slits reserved for the fireworks to come - no pun intended - or having her wrap it around the shaft and move it up and down like a small fiery paw.

Unsummoned, several other tentacles had appeared to get in on the action. Two thick blunt ones had risen to steady her while my other cocks moved in and out of her lower holes. Small mouths wandered about her thighs and breasts, drinking in any beads of sweat as they appeared or other fluids that escaped those holes.

Three more eye tentacles had come up to take in the sights from every angle. Two were focused on her mouth and breasts as she tended to the rapidly throbbing cocks she had trapped there. The others watched long lengths of tentacle slide in and out of each hole, the moonlight on the ooze making them glisten like the magic weapons of lore.

Oh Dagon! I was stimulating myself! My excitement was growing while hers stayed at that infuriating level of "Better than a cucumber, but nothing to write home about". But that mouth ... that twat ... even her tailhole was talented. She could squeeze one in places ordinary mortals could not, and make it run up and down inside her at will.

What could I do to pique her desire? Should I drive faster, harder or deeper? Should I add more tentacles? I could not recall ever being so confused or uncertain, and in my hesitation, she took control once again.

She took one cock on her mouth and held it there, clamping down with lips and teeth as if challenging me to try to pull it out. She then took the other two from between her breasts and lined them up with the two already thrusting away down below. With exquisite timing, and an impressive display of elasticity, she shoved an extra cock into each of her holes before raising her paws to the one trapped in her maw.

Things speed up then, and not from any plan of mine. Her head bobbed and slobbered franticly on one cock while she squatted and raised herself on and off the other four more rapidly then I could have imagined. The sinews on her neck stood out as she shoved almost as much tentacle into her face as I would have should she had been passive like the others. The muscles on her thighs and glutes bulged as she rose and dropped down again and again and again on the double-double penetration she had set up.

I lost track of things around that time. All I remember is once cock after the other having the most intense orgasms of my existence. They went off is succession, threatening to blow her off like a bottle rocket, but she tightened muscles from who knows where and held on as more spooge than I had ever produced shot into her, then sprayed out from around trapped tentacles.

It was no different for the fifth, the one in her mouth. She sealed her lips around it at the first sign and held it steady with both paws while she drank down enough cum to make her stomach bulge a bit. It wasn't until the last drop had been sucked out before she released it with a satisfied gasp. Then she cast the limp appendage aside and reached down.

I suddenly realized that she had not cum! I had failed to arouse enough passion in her to even get a ripple, much less the waves of pleasure I was used to invoking, but she was done with me yet.

Squatting down she put one paw on her clit and used the other to move my last stiff appendage in and out of her twat rapidly. I could feel the sensations rising up inside her as she knew just where to apply pressure and for how long. I told myself that I must have gotten her close, because it only took another minute or so before she screamed in a most uncatholic manner and my tentacles were bathed in a quick flood of hot juices that came from deep inside her.

She collapsed beside the grate then, finally gasping and twitching in the aftermath of what seemed to be a satisfying, if not earth-shattering orgasm.

My eye stalks admired her in the moonlight. Her form was still perfect. Her fur was hardly ruffled. She was naked save for the ankle socks and black flats, and every muscle stood out like she had been carved there. The antique crucifix on the silver chain was still about her neck, but it hung off to one side, leaving her breasts exposed, the pink nipples still erect and hard. Streams of spooge trickled from her lower region, draining into the grate to drip, drip, drip onto the portions of me that were still below ground.

It was just the most beautiful sight that I had ever seen, and something akin to emotion welled up inside me.

I sent up my largest tentacle, something usually reserved for fighting or sinking small ships, and wrapped it tenderly around her to protect her from the chilly autumn air. She reached for her skirt and produced a couple of cigarettes and a lighter. She put the two cigarettes in her mouth, something I found almost unbearably sexy, and lit them both.

She stuck a cigarette in one of my exhausted mouth appendages, took a deep drag on hers and said, "I'll give you five to recharge for another round but after that I have to go; I'm sneaking out to meet a few guys in the alley behind the convent. So, try to pick up the pace a bit, okay?"

Do you know who invented the ego? I need to know, because whoever it was might be able to repair them too, and mine was shattered at that point. I had been laid low by a slut ... a Jezabelle ... a Goddess.

I did my best the next go round, and I think I did better. She hardly had to rub herself at all before she came again. But she jumped up, gathered her clothes and ran off as soon as we were done. I left an eye stalk up watching the path long after she disappeared.

I returned to the grate every night for the next four weeks. During the days I delved into the forgotten depths and came back with treasures; golden girdles to embrace her fur, emerald earrings to match her eyes, ruby clamps for her nipples, a jade dildo from an ancient race of Asian elephants ... but she never came back.

Every full moon for the next year found me there, but never her. Other students came to take the dare, but when I saw them I just melted away back into the catacombs. If it was not her, I was not interested.

Had she been expelled? Had she been killed by one of her risky paramours? Or had she fallen in love with someone that could give her something I couldn't? The pain of not knowing wracked me.

I left Poland following the next year's harvest moon. If she would not return for our anniversary then she never would. I have not gone back since.

It's taken me a while to get over the experience, and I have some of my fellow ethereal beings to thank for getting me through it. Who knew that so many interdimensional creatures had suffered at the paws of callous female earthlings? We have a whole support group now with affirmation tokens and everything.

Anyway, that's why I've avoided this dimension for so long, but I'm back now and raring to go.

Besides, I hear that there is Governor in Arkansas that could use a good fucking.