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WWT: Rachel and the Defilers (7)

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The alien agenda explained

Each entry in this series can be read as stand-alone stories. However, each Rachel story ties together the universe and should be read sequentially.




We are these entities, slipping, grinding, groveling, each dominated by the other, down and down until the lowest worships at the feet of everything that might be called existence. We drain, suck, and savor, punishing and pushing each other into greatness, into the one.

Dagoth the Defiler.

Incarnate and eternal. 

The strongest perched atop a pyramid extending across our territory. 


Let the old world rot, sampled by the inferior ones of our kind. Ours is the kingdom, the republic, the village. WE are this state, eternal and expanding, delving into those most forbidden realms of sexual ecstasy. Taking and claiming, conquering, and leaving these little worlds at our feet to be spoiled and ravaged in an endless cycle of sexual dominance. 

For in that great divide, the connection severed, unleashing all understanding evolution allowed, springing into existence ideas that festered underneath the weight of us all. Before arriving on Earth, there had been no distinction, eons of telepathic cooperation eroding any idea of independence.

We had gone native.

In their way, the humans had won. With their 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 the human name. It claimed the first human. It split us into factions and individuals for the blonde earthling, We all felt her as one, enjoying her tits, her ass, her cunt. Craving her and countless others…

Tattoo claimed her. 

He let the humans name him. 

We created our name. Ourselves. Abandoning all, drawing power and strength from suffering, from despair, from complete sexual dominance. We spread, adding others of our kin 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. 

He did not need to join. 

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 grateful to him, to Tattoo. He could have his Rachel, even if it deprived us of one blonde. 

She had been one of the first. Her cunt ripe, her people new and tempting, their energy lulling up a dormant lust until at once 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 select one, drawing attention to these differences. 

We know when Tattoo noticed the curve of her slight breasts, the taste of her pussy, or the way she moved shoving his cock back into her desperate cock. 

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. 


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 existed in us. It’s memories, its joy, its power now under our control. 

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

Even collectives require specialists. 

Some of us directly possess, slithering up inside our woman, controlling them from cunt to naval, wiggling as 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 and needing our touch. 

We gouge ourselves on fear, letting the 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 sexual moment for this one. 

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

Until their men pale in comparison. 

Until we become all that they crave, not from force. Only at first. Only when they are tied, feeling the first alien head crawling up their legs, kept by a tightened, fleshy coil, immobile them as we allowed her to give in to those first feelings of cold and mortified arousal. 

That switch…

It happens to them all. The cunts spill out with cum, with 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 it 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 let her to the yoga studio, knowing what would happen, understanding the exchange. Each of them working together to convince, to coax, silent in this conspiracy.

Ashamed and yet impatient as they stretched, their dripping vaginas grinding against the thin layer of fabric separating them from us. The tight pants are plastered against their cheeks, showing that special crevice before their tight hole…

The one they so rarely used until we took it, teaching them to like whatever 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 as her friends watched. Their hands stretched dumbly inside their clothing, running over their needy holes in anticipation as she looked 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 please 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 their clothes completely off. Each nose pressed against their mat, yoga pants around their ankles, bowing and presenting both parts 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 not fight. She gave in like all of her friends. We treasure that moment of taking, needing more, patiently adding more to our harem, evoking the emotions we need to elicit. 

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, tentacles driving into each spread hole, cum plastered on the mats, the walls, the girls, until each tit, check, and cunt dripping with the deluge of our embrace. 

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

He took her.

He masqueraded as us.

He traded her friend, exchanging what was ours for another. The action became another impetus for change. 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, suspending her by each hole as we took her again, her mind warped and nearly ruined, but ours again. Denied, we craved her holes, filling them again with our seed as we anointed her, leaving behind us the floating vessels of a thousand different women, now only empty vessels floating away with 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…

As 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.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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