The darkness wasn't empty anymore.

It crawled. It whispered. It pulsed in colors his eyes couldn't name, blooming like wet flowers behind his eyelids, throbbing in time with the sluggish beat of his heart. He floated in it—no, he was sunk in it, weighed down by silken chains that weren't just wrapped around his limbs now, but threaded through his veins, his breath, his thoughts. Every inhale tasted like resin and musk, thick and sweet and alive, filling him with something that burned hotter than blood.

Voices coiled through the dark like smoke. Soft at first, then sharper, then everywhere, echoing from inside his skull as much as outside. They didn't speak words, not all the time—sometimes they hissed, sometimes they purred, sometimes they simply laughed, the sound dripping with hunger and promise. But when they did speak, the venom in their tones curled around his mind like silk tightening at the throat.

Ours. Ours. Ours forever.

His cock twitched at the sound, because the venom had made sure even his shame was theirs now. He felt it harden inside the cocoon, aching, straining against the resin sheath that cradled it like a sacred thing. He couldn't move—not really—but he felt everything. Every inch of his flesh throbbed with heat, every nerve lit up like molten wire, and somewhere beyond the cocoon, bodies moved. He sensed them without seeing—the ripple of limbs across silk, the quiver of webs singing with vibrations, the humid wash of pheromones so thick it slid down his throat like honey.

Something touched him. Not hands—threads. Fine as hair, brushing over his ribs, his thighs, his jaw. They crept slow, tracing the lines of his body like artists sketching a sculpture they already owned. One slid across his lips, leaving a smear of resin-sweetness that made him moan against the gag. Another curled low, teasing the curve of his cock through the resin, stroking it so lightly he thought he imagined it—until it tightened, just a little, enough to make him whimper and jerk helplessly in his shell.

And then the dreams began.

They didn't come like normal dreams. They came like a tide of sensation, swallowing him whole until the cocoon was gone, and he was lying on silk so soft it might have been liquid, his arms free, his body loose and glowing with heat. The spider-women were everywhere—dozens, maybe hundreds, their eyes glimmering like jewels in the dark. They crawled toward him on all sides, hair brushing the webs, claws clicking softly as they moved, their mouths wet and open in smiles too wide, too hungry.

He tried to speak. Tried to beg. Tried to curse them. But the moment his lips parted, one of them straddled his chest and pushed her dripping cunt against his mouth, silencing him with a gush of nectar so hot it burned his tongue. Her laugh rattled his bones when he swallowed, when his throat worked in helpless gulps while two more tangled their limbs around his legs and dragged his cock upright like a lever.

He didn't know where to look—everywhere was heat, everywhere was slick, everywhere was claws and tongues and swollen flesh grinding against him like the whole nest had turned into one body with a thousand mouths. They licked his arms, his ribs, his throat, smearing him in venom and sweetness until his skin glistened. They kissed his cock like worshippers, tongues circling the tip, dragging down the shaft, lapping at his balls until he sobbed against the cunt smothering his face.

When one finally sat on him, taking his cock to the root in a single wet plunge, he screamed—but it came out as a gurgle into the nectar flooding his mouth. She was molten inside, walls clutching so hard he thought they'd crush him, and the rhythm she set wasn't human. It was frantic, feral, hips snapping with such force the sound of wet flesh slapping silk echoed like drumbeats. Another climbed over her, straddling his stomach, grinding her clit against the flex of his abs while she leaned down to lick the other's tongue, both moaning into each other's mouths while he bucked helplessly between them.

The venom made sure he stayed hard. Made sure he kept spilling no matter how many times they milked him, no matter how raw he felt, no matter how much his muscles trembled. Every climax hit like lightning, tearing through him until his vision shattered into sparks—and every time, they laughed, praised him, cooed like he was their prize. Good. Good boy. Perfect cock. Our breeder.

And then the eggs came.

They didn't just lay them around him now. They made him feel it. One squatted low after a brutal ride, her claws digging into his thighs as she hissed through clenched teeth, forcing the first heavy shape past his cock and into the sticky heat already flooded with his seed. He felt it slide slow and fat down her clutching walls, squeezing him tighter than ever as it dropped with a wet plop onto the silk between his legs. Her shuddering scream echoed through the chamber of his mind—and then another took her place, and another, and another, until the air reeked of eggs and slick and the sharp tang of venom dripping from their fangs.

The dream blurred. The lines between thought and touch dissolved until he didn't know if he was imagining the next mouth closing over his cock or if it was real—if the next cunt swallowing him down was a hallucination or a hunger crawling on his actual flesh. It didn't matter. They owned him in both worlds. They fed him nectar until his belly burned, kissed him with venom until his mind fizzed with colors, rode him until his hips convulsed in mindless spasms that gave and gave and gave.

And when he thought he couldn't give anymore—when his cock was nothing but a raw nerve twitching in a fog of overstimulation—the queen appeared. Not crawling this time. Rising. Tall, gleaming, her many eyes shimmering like molten gold, her fangs dripping black venom that smoked when it hit the silk. Her abdomen arched high, heavy with power, her legs folding like an iron cage as she descended over him with slow, crushing inevitability.

The others fell silent. The air thickened until it felt like breathing resin. Her shadow swallowed him whole, and when she spoke, her voice wasn't a whisper anymore—it was a chorus, a hive-song that shook his bones.

You've given much, pretty thing. But now you'll give more. You'll give forever.

She lowered herself with obscene grace, her heat brushing his cock like molten tar, and when she sank down—slow, endless, swallowing him in a clutch so deep it felt like falling—his scream ripped the dream apart.

But the dark didn't let him wake. The dark only laughed, pulsing tighter, wrapping him deeper as the queen began to move with the weight of a god, and the chant rose again, everywhere, in his blood, in the silk, in the nest itself:

Breed. Bind. Become.

The first thing Allen felt was the suffocating heat. It wasn't just warmth—it was a living, breathing furnace wrapping around his body as if the entire chamber had turned into the inside of a monstrous womb. His eyelids fluttered open sluggishly, but the darkness wasn't absolute this time. Bioluminescent threads glowed faintly overhead like veins of moonlight captured in silk, but the glow wasn't comforting—it was sinister. Every delicate strand seemed alive, pulsing faintly with some alien rhythm.

And then he realized—he couldn't move.

Not an inch. His arms were fused above his head, locked in an unyielding embrace of silk so thick it bit into his skin. His legs were forced apart, spread wide like an offering. His body was stretched taut, cocooned in layer upon layer of sticky webbing that clung to his skin like a second flesh, leaving only key spots exposed—his mouth, his cock, and his trembling chest, glistening with sweat.

"Oh gods…" he rasped, voice hoarse, barely audible past the remnants of silk that had gagged him before. His lips were raw, sticky with dried saliva and venom. Every breath came in hot, humid drafts laced with the scent of sex and rot and honeyed venom.

Then he heard them.

Click. Skrrch. Click-click.

Dozens of sharp, chitinous feet scraping against the walls, moving closer. Shadows shifted above him, crawling upside down along the silky arches of the nest. The sound wasn't chaotic—it was deliberate, a synchronized rhythm like a predatory lullaby. The kind that made your heartbeat sync with the predator, not your own survival instinct.

The first shape dropped down, hanging effortlessly by a single thread. A towering spider-woman, her glossy carapace glistening like oiled obsidian, her upper half still carrying that mockery of femininity—smooth breasts, long black hair trailing down—but her lower half monstrous, eight jointed legs curling with predatory grace. Her lips curled into a smirk as her glistening eyes fixed on him.

"Awake already?" Her voice dripped like venom, low and sinuous, wrapping around his ears like silk cords. "Good. We were getting impatient."

Allen swallowed hard, or tried to—but his throat was so dry, it burned. "Wha… what do you want—"

He didn't finish. A clawed finger pressed to his lips, silencing him with a sticky trail of silk drawn lazily across his mouth.

"What we want," she whispered, leaning close until her venom-sweet breath fogged his ear, "is everything."

Her voice wasn't alone anymore. More figures dropped down—five, ten, twenty—sliding along the walls, crawling down from the ceiling like an unholy rain of limbs and hair and dripping wet heat. The air thickened with the musk of arousal, the sharp tang of venom, and something else—something primal and wrong that made his cock twitch helplessly against the webbing.

"Look at him," another hissed, crawling up from below, her eight limbs splayed like a desecrated halo around his legs. "Still hard… even now."

"Pathetic," one teased from his left, her human-like tongue flicking across sharpened teeth. "Or maybe perfect…"

The first spider-woman straddled him slowly, hips rolling with serpentine grace, until her soaked folds hovered inches above his cock. Venom dripped from her fangs onto his chest, sizzling faintly, making his skin tingle in feverish waves.

"You thought last night was a feast?" she purred, lowering herself until her molten heat kissed the swollen head of his cock. "That was just the appetizer."

Then she slammed down.

Allen's vision exploded. The sheer, crushing tightness of her cunt was nothing like before—it was wetter, hotter, like being swallowed alive by molten silk. Her walls rippled, squeezing, milking him as if trying to pull his soul through his cock. The webbing around his limbs creaked from how violently his body arched.

"Ohhh, fuck—!" he choked, but the sound was drowned by a dozen moans—deep, guttural, and sweetly poisonous.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Her hips smacked down in brutal rhythm, each thrust making the entire cocoon sway on its threads like a bell. The other spider-women didn't wait—they swarmed him, lips, tongues, fangs tracing every inch of exposed flesh. One clamped her mouth over his nipple and bit—venom surged into him, hot and burning, making his cock throb so violently it hurt. Another shoved her tongue into his mouth, coiling, pumping venom straight down his throat until his head spun with delirium.

He tried to breathe, tried to think—but his thoughts melted into molten pleasure and raw fear as more of them joined the frenzy.

One straddled his face, grinding her slick, dripping folds against his mouth, forcing his tongue into her venom-slick heat. "Drink," she hissed, clawing his hair as she rode his face like a beast in heat. "Drink, little pet—fill your belly with us!"

He gagged on the sweetness, choked as her juices flooded his throat, but every gasp dragged in more musk, more venom. His cock was being strangled by the first spider's rippling cunt, while another dragged her dripping slit along his thigh, marking him with strands of web soaked in arousal.

The cocoon became a living altar, rocking and creaking as spider after spider took turns on him. They didn't wait their turn politely—they fought for him, claws raking against each other's flesh, fangs snapping as they snarled like wild things. The heat of their bodies pressed against him from all sides until he couldn't tell where he ended and they began.

Allen's cock erupted once, twice, thrice—thick ropes of cum flooding the spider's cunt, but she only laughed, grinding harder, milking him like a venom-drunk beast. "More," she growled, voice trembling with ecstasy. "We'll drain you dry before dawn."

And they did.

They wrung him out, mercilessly, until his hips spasmed weakly and his vision swam in venomous fever. He lost track of time—maybe hours passed, maybe centuries. His cock never softened, not once, because the venom wouldn't let it. Every nerve burned, every orgasm blurred into the next until pain and pleasure fused into a single, endless scream inside his skull.

Then came the threads.

He didn't notice at first, not until they began layering new silk over his skin—wet, sticky strands pulled tight across his ribs, his thighs, his throat. Each pass locked him deeper, sealed him tighter, until his body vanished beneath the cocoon. Only his cock was left exposed, still twitching, leaking endlessly.

"There," the first spider whispered, her face hovering inches from his as her hands stroked his cocooned chest lovingly. "So beautiful now… our little breeding heart."

Allen tried to speak, but the silk gag returned, hot and wet against his lips.

The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was her smile—wide, fanged, and hungry—just as the cocoon pulsed with heat like a living womb.

The nest had claimed him.

And it wasn't done.