The web was no longer a prison; it was a living, pulsing organism that breathed with him. Each thread seemed to vibrate like a heartbeat, warm against his slick, feverish skin. He could barely tell where the silk ended and his body began. His arms were bound so tight they'd gone numb, his legs pinned wide, and his cock—gods, his cock—throbbed like it had been claimed by something far greater than himself. Every thrust, every ripple of slick folds grinding down on him was a worship so perverse it felt like blasphemy.

They never stopped. Even as one spider-woman shuddered in climax, spilling thick nectar down his shaft and thighs, another was already crawling over, dripping with need, their fangs glinting like silver as venom-laced kisses pressed against his neck. The taste of their lust clung to his tongue, sticky and bitter-sweet, every breath full of musk that made his head spin. He tried to swallow, but the gag of silken threads locked his mouth in a wet choke, and the moan he gave was broken, strangled, desperate.

The voices blurred together—hisses, giggles, honey-dripped commands that slid into his mind and made it melt. "More." "Give us more." "Don't stop, pretty prey." Their words weren't mere sound; they were hooks that sank deep, tugging at whatever shred of resistance he had left until it unraveled like loose silk. He was theirs. Entirely.

Heat pulsed through his veins, molten and raw, venom clawing through his nerves until pleasure turned to agony and agony bloomed into something obscene. His hips jerked uncontrollably, rutting against the endless stream of slick bodies, every thrust met with a chorus of squelches and breathless cries. They milked him like starving beasts, squeezing him so tight his cock felt bruised, yet it wouldn't go soft—couldn't—because every breath carried another dose of venom, every kiss pumped more heat into his blood, every thrust promised release he'd never truly reach.

One of them, taller than the rest, with legs like black iron and eyes glowing ember-red, slid down his body with cruel grace. Her fangs grazed his ear, and he felt the drop of venom burn as it sank into his skin. "We'll hollow you out," she whispered, her voice like silk tearing. "Fill you till you burst." And gods, he believed her. He felt her lower, her weight crushing his chest as she impaled herself on his cock with a sound like wet meat slapped against stone. The cry she gave shook the web, a shriek of victory and hunger all at once, and his spine arched, a helpless spasm as slick heat swallowed him whole.

They didn't ride him like lovers. They used him. Each thrust was brutal, relentless, hips snapping down with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, strings of nectar and precum webbing the air like strands of light. He couldn't breathe; the gag was soaked now, dripping into his throat, mixing with drool and sweat until he gagged and choked, his body convulsing as pleasure ripped through him like claws. Tears streaked his face, not from sorrow but sheer, overwhelming overstimulation that bordered on madness.

And still, more came. Legs brushed his sides, hooked around his ribs, claws teased his chest until shallow cuts wept heat, and slick tongues dragged across his wounds as if savoring the taste of his surrender. They fought over his cock like predators over a fresh kill, some sinking down on his shaft so deep their bellies bulged, others grinding their dripping pussies against his thighs, his stomach, his face—smearing him in their lust until he was glazed in filth and heat.

He tried to cry out when another mouth clamped down on his nipple, fangs pricking just shy of piercing as the venom seeped through, making his skin hum and pulse with raw need. His cock throbbed like a beast in heat, spewing cum in desperate bursts that only made them wilder, hungrier. They moaned like creatures in worship, their cries echoing through the cavern like hymns to some obscene goddess.

The threads tightened around his limbs, the cocoon thickening, wrapping him layer by layer until he could barely twitch. His hips were the only thing free, locked in an endless cycle of thrust and withdrawal as they rode him into oblivion. His mind shattered on waves of ecstasy so violent it was almost merciful when darkness threatened at the edges of his vision—only for another voice to drag him back with a whisper against his gagged lips:

"Don't sleep yet. We're not done."

More heat pressed against him—another body, slick and quivering, another cunt swallowing him whole. He couldn't tell if it was the tenth, the twentieth, the hundredth; time didn't exist anymore, only the wet slap of flesh, the choke of silk, the searing ache of a cock that wouldn't stop cumming even when he thought he had nothing left.

And then, through the blur of lust and venom, he felt something worse—a thin, slick thread slipping down his spine, weaving into his skin like a parasite burrowing home. It fused with him, humming in tune with his heartbeat, a silk leash tying his soul to the nest. The spiders moaned as one, as if they felt it too, their voices rising in fevered chorus:

"Ours."

His scream was swallowed by the gag, lost beneath the sound of dripping silk and wet, desperate thrusts as the cocoon sealed around him. The last thing he saw through the gaps in the web was a hundred glowing eyes staring with hunger that would never, ever end.

And in the pulsing dark, he realized with a shudder that wasn't fear—wasn't rage—but pure, corrupted bliss:

He didn't want it to end.

The darkness was warm. Wet. Breathing. It cradled him like a mother, but this mother smelled of venom and heat, tasted of iron and nectar, and whispered lullabies made of moans. His eyes fluttered open, but the world was gone. No cavern, no light, no ceiling—only silk, pale and glistening like meat. Threads were inside him now. He felt them crawling, slithering beneath his skin like veins had been replaced with web, humming with every heartbeat. His chest rose and fell in shallow jerks, each breath thick with the scent of musk so heavy it burned his lungs.

Something dripped into his mouth. Sweet. Bitter. He coughed, but the thread gag kept him from spitting it out. It seeped down his throat, warm and viscous, and the moment it touched his gut, the heat came back—a furnace roaring to life in his core, turning every nerve raw and desperate. His cock surged, impossibly hard, even as his hips were locked tight by coils of web so snug they felt carved into bone. He groaned low and ragged, the sound vibrating through layers of silk that muffled everything but the rhythm of dripping nectar.

A voice slid through the dark. Not from outside, but inside the cocoon, curling around his thoughts like smoke: *"Awake again… good."* It wasn't one voice. It was many, layered and chittering, their tones syrup-thick and soaked in hunger. He thrashed weakly, instinct telling him to fight, but the silk squeezed like a lover's grip, every movement sending shockwaves of friction over his raw, overstimulated flesh. His cock brushed against something soft, warm, slick—then another, then more. Dozens. They weren't just wrapping him. They were *wrapped with him.*

The threads shifted, sliding over his skin, and he realized with a strangled moan that they weren't just silk—they were limbs. Legs. Soft-bellied bodies pressed against him in layers, grinding, pulsing, milking him without mercy. Wet sounds oozed in the dark—squelches, slurps, the obscene rhythm of flesh sliding in nectar-thick slime. Something squeezed his cock, not a hand, not even one cunt—*several,* layered and convulsing in sync, sucking him like a living pump. He came without meaning to, cum spilling in a white-hot gush that was swallowed instantly, devoured by greedy folds that moaned into his mind.

He expected relief. There was none. The venom in his blood twisted release into agony, turning climax into a blade that carved pleasure so deep it left him sobbing through the gag. His cock didn't soften—it swelled, pulsed harder, aching for more like it wasn't his anymore. It belonged to them. They made sure of it. Another gush, then another, ripped from him like the core of his soul was being milked out drop by drop. He lost count after the fifth spasm, body arching helplessly inside his silken coffin as voices purred: *"Good prey… empty for us… feed us…"*

Something pierced his thigh—a sting, sharp and burning, venom flooding in like molten honey. His hips jerked, and the heat doubled, trebled, until he thought his cock would split open. He tried to scream. The gag turned it into a guttural moan that made the voices laugh in delight. A mouth—or something like one—sealed over his nipple, fangs grazing just shy of puncture, sucking hard enough to leave bruises while a tongue slithered in spirals, coating him in slime that tingled like fire. More mouths joined—on his chest, his neck, his thighs—licking, biting, drinking in every drop of sweat, every twitch of submission.

They didn't let him rest. The silk shifted, tilted, spinning his body upside down in the webbed womb. His cock pointed downward now, and something *opened* beneath him—a wet, gaping heat that swallowed him whole. He sank into it with a squelch, balls deep in an instant, and the walls clamped like a fist dipped in honey. They moved him like a toy, thrusting his hips with threads so tight they left grooves in his skin, fucking him into a hole so slick it sounded like drowning. Cum gushed again, and the hole *drank it,* sucking greedily until he felt like his soul was being swallowed too.

Then another joined. His cock barely left one heat before another engulfed it, then another, an endless chain of hungering folds using him like a communal cock, each one wetter, hotter, tighter than the last. They moaned in harmony, their cries vibrating through the web, through his bones, into his skull until thought was nothing but noise. He lost his name somewhere between the tenth and twentieth orgasm. Lost his sanity when the threads inside him began to move.

Yes—inside. He felt them wriggle deeper, sliding into holes never meant to take anything, filling him with silk and venom until his guts twisted in ecstasy. His prostate was stroked by living threads, each pulse timed to milk more cum, to keep him hard, to keep him theirs. They wrapped around his spine, his cock root, even his tongue, making him a marionette of flesh and lust. Every breath he took belonged to them now.

The voices swelled, chanting now, words older than light, slick and sibilant: *"Nest… Nest… Make him Nest…"* His vision swam behind closed eyes as something vast approached—a weight pressing on his mind, crushing and sweet. The cocoon split just enough for him to *see.*

She descended like a god. Limbs as long as trees, body a cathedral of black chitin and crimson silk, eyes burning like suns in a face too beautiful and wrong to look at without breaking. The Queen. Her presence was gravity; he felt himself *kneel inside his mind,* even as his body hung limp in the web. She lowered her face to his, her breath hot enough to blister, and when she spoke, the words weren't sound—they were law:

*"Breed for me."*

The cocoon shattered. Not open—*outward.* He became silk, became heat, became the web. His cock stretched, swelled, monstrous and throbbing with venom-fed lust as she impaled herself on him in one savage plunge that ripped the breath from his lungs. Her cunt was not flesh. It was an abyss lined with teeth and honey, sucking him so deep his hips cracked, yet he moaned like a worshipper tasting divinity. She rode him with earth-shaking force, her legs spearing the ground as her body swallowed him whole, deeper, deeper, until he wasn't sure if he was inside her or if she was inside *him.*

He came. He screamed. He burned. And the Queen laughed—a sound like mountains splitting—because she knew the truth:

He would never stop.

Not until the Nest was full. Not until every egg inside her bore the taste of his surrender.

And as the silk rewove around them both, sealing the two into a single, pulsing cocoon, the last human thought he had was a prayer—not for escape, not for mercy, but for the blessed, endless ruin of this obscene ecstasy to never, ever end.