"You'll never get used to seeing her..."

Dr. Nelson stood gape-jawed, unable to make his mind process what he knew was there. It was one thing joining the project, reading the data, even watching the earlier testing...

Actually seeing her...

The blonde girl could have been his daughter's age. Her naked body submerged in a rectangular vat, swarmed and surrounded with these inhuman tentacles, each a different consistency and shape, taking turns with every orifice.

There was one curled around her eyes, ending only with three or four protuberance inside her mouth, shoving themselves in and out until they spat cum down her mouth.

Only to be replaced by the others...

The money for this research had been too much for him to resist. A year and he could move onto a real lab with enough money for his daughter to attend any school she wanted.

Besides, Dr. Nelson had seen the consent video. The girl waiving every right, nodding and babbling on about how much she enjoyed sex with the alien.

Because that's what it was...

He didn't need to have an advanced biology degree to figure that out.

The girl had tentacles inside of every one of her holes, competing to fit inside of her, squeezing around her legs and breasts, prodding and exploring every inch like a thousand exploring fingers. They tweaked her nipples, raking over her clit, and even tripled penetrated her holes, cumming and fucking in one collective, continuous climax.

She would coo, letting loose wails of pleasure stifled through the tendrils in her mouth.

Dr. Nelson stared, his cock stiffening a little as he saw the alien ejaculating into the woman's mouth, the semen dribbling down her chin into a spreading spill that dripped down the sides of her glass cage.

He could see in the water the nearly dissolved streams of white cum from the seed unable to stay in her pussy and anus as each of the ropes pulled out and were replaced, the entire case brimming with these sensual feelers finding her g-spot again and again.

The snap of a match broke Dr. Nelson from his trace.

"Should you be smoking in here?"

Dr. Ferrier ignored him, letting the newer biologist fill the tense silence.

"What... what are we measuring here?"

"Everything!" the gruff doctor spat.

"They must be after something in particular, I mean, why else do we-"

Ferrier cut him off, his eyes dull and defeated.

"They want everything Dr. Nelson." His voice was tired. "Vitals, reaction times, decimal levels on fucking moans, every scrap of data they can get their feelers on.

He let out a defeated laugh, the strain showing in his weathered face.

"Everything doctor, once they think of it!"

So they measured everything until exhausted, only to start again in shifts, cloistered away in the lab.

He watched the girl orgasm, forwarding along data about the length and duration, including observations about her reaction to different shaped tentacles. But there was always something more to do, something else to be measured and documented, experiments and assignments appearing only in terse script in their inbox.

Dr. Ferrier rarely spoke, inhaling cigarettes and secret nips from a flask as they continued in their macabre duties, sending on the data as the girl's mind eroded further, driven delirious by the continual attention of these changing alien tentacles.

But her vitals remain steady, as though sex alone with the creature could sustain her indefinitely. She remained sucking and fucking, kept in place as new appendages of the creature appeared, larger, more deformed, barbed and wide.

It didn't matter, her holes wantonly accepted every new cock, her readouts in an almost constant state of climax.

Nirvana...

Heaven...

And horror for the men recording the sexual end of her soul.

They sent the next girl separately from the box, the spitting image of Nelson's daughter, just a few years older, dark bangs that augmented eager, innocent eyes.

Yes sir, no sir...

Bubbly and polite, eager and sincere in her giddy desire even as Dr. Nelson inserted the alien embryo into the tank, the first few undersized tentacles already squirming in his gloved hands, already secreting dribbles of cum.

He tried to block it out, pretending he hadn't seen the first tendril creep immediately inside of her vagina.

Subject B's tank now had over a hundred tentacles, each taking its turn...

It was best not to think of her as Amy.

They both floated in vats of cum, on the edge or experience of climax, waiting for the next cock to fit inside of them.

And Nelson started joining Ferrier in drink.

The days bled into the next, their minds haunted by the revolting ravishments growing each day in their intensity, dulling their dread with drink until they sat together, the sunlight illuminating their disheveled and despondent state.

"I'm done," Nelson said.

"There is no done," Ferrier said to his drink. "They would find us."

"What are they doing?"

It was a question neither of them had really asked.

Dr. Ferrier went for a cigarette, speaking idly as his hands moved automatically at the matches.

"They are practicing here for something bigger, that's for sure," he said. "But those things in there are sentient. Ever see some of them just stare at you?"

Dr. Nelson knew what he meant.

Ferrier leaned in, the whiskey on his breath as he whispered.

"I think we could kill them, and they'd just come back. Rearrange the molecules and..."

He snapped his fingers.

"But what about the women? What are they using the women for? Energy? Lust?"

"You ever seen The Gods Must Be Crazy?" Ferrier said.

"No.."

"Let me see if I can explain it," Dr. Ferrier said. "You got a tribal village in Africa, they live all happy sharing everything. Then some asshole leaves a glass bottle, and they fight over it..."

"They fight over that bottle?"

"Hey they didn't have shit before, now they got something to fight over." Dr. Ferrier stubbed out his cigarette. "It breaks up the collective society, turns it into smaller teams trying to take a bigger share of that coke bottle. It's in them too, see how they fight, some of them wanting a particular hole..."

But Dr. Nelson knew there was more to it than that. The tentacles had different mannerisms and designs, unique methods used to fuck each girl, preferences almost to the point of personalities that continued through each evolutionary adaptation.

"How can we use that?" Dr. Nelson said.

"We are. Actually I figure it's the only reason any of us are still here," Dr. Ferrier said, finishing his drink. "They're too busy fighting over girls to care about the rest of us."

And neither of them could think of a thing to say until they paid the tab.

Could Dr. Nelson sense them?

He stared into that tank, watching the tentacles tangle together, squirming and stretching to find a place inside their victim.

The monsters grew longer and thicker, better with each new generation, but somehow there seemed to be personalities inherent in each type. There was always a thin, ribbed tentacle that shared her vagina with another, several of the big and bulky variety, others that sprayed quickly after a few pumps, but patterns, categories, a rudimentary caste system.

There was a combined consciousness spreading out from the beings into the girl, using her mind to fuck her repeatedly, now and forever, or until the creature pounded out whatever energy it craved from the supple young flesh, their humanity stolen by this otherworldly sex.

The two girls stayed in their cages, coated in fluids, holes delivered again and again to the insatiable creatures.

And the doctors made their notes through shaking fingers in constant need of sedation.

Yes, Dr. Nelson began to know them, the small, distinctive beginnings of diminutive personalities breaking out from the whole in search of ultimate satisfaction, wondering as he watched if the very same interaction was occurring across the oceans of the world.