The web trembled with every thrust. His body was no longer his—it belonged to the hive, to the dripping, throbbing sex of the brood mothers grinding down on him one after another. The silk ropes dug deeper into his limbs, pulling tighter with every movement, every shiver of resistance feeding their frenzy. They didn't just want him—they wanted to devour him in pleasure, drown him in their nectar until he forgot what breathing felt like.

Hot, slippery cunts kept swallowing his cock, squeezing like they wanted to rip it off and keep it inside forever. "More… more… milk for the nest…" one moaned, her fangs grazing his jaw as another straddled his face, smearing her sweet-sour fluids across his mouth. His muffled cries only made them wetter. They kept shoving him deeper into this endless pit of heat—silk sticking to his sweaty skin, threads creeping up his throat like living restraints. The venom burned hotter now, crawling through his veins like liquid fire, forcing his cock to stay rock-hard, bulging, leaking strings of precum that dripped down his shaft in obscene trails.

The air reeked of musk—thick, choking, humid—and the sounds… gods, the sounds were everywhere. Slap-slap-slap, thighs clapping against his hips. Squelch-gush-drip, their nectar flooding his lap, coating his balls until they glistened like pearls in slime. Hrrk-gllk-gkkk, his throat struggling when another spider bitch stuffed her silk between his lips, feeding him her spit-slick strands like a pet to be fattened. He coughed, gagged, and they laughed, clicking their mandibles in perverse delight. "Drink it down, pretty prey. Let us weave you perfect."

They didn't wait for him to recover—another brood mother slammed down on his cock with a wet schhhhlk, taking him to the root, her swollen folds convulsing like a starving mouth. He felt her clutching so tight it hurt, like his cock was being vacuum-sealed inside molten silk. Her orgasm hit hard—he felt it gush, splattering, running down his thighs in hot streams. But before he could even process it, another took her place, clawed hands digging into his chest, nails leaving burning trails as she impaled herself on him with a savage thokk. His balls churned, cum boiling inside him like venom-fueled magma, and when he erupted—spurt after spurt after spurt, thick and endless—they screamed, clinging to him like he was a god, milking him dry… then milking him harder.

But they didn't stop. They couldn't stop. Their whispers crawled into his skull, silk-thin and sharp: "Breed us… fill us… you're ours now." His vision blurred, heat drowning every nerve. The venom had changed something—his cock didn't soften, not even for a second. It throbbed harder, veins bulging, dripping more than before. He felt his body betraying him, hips thrusting without his command, ramming up into every wet hole they offered. And they offered all of them—soft cunts squeezing, slick assholes grinding, even their mouths drooling, smearing him in spit and silk until he was nothing but a breeding tool, cocooned in want.

Threads slithered around his chest, coiling his ribs, pinning his spine to the sticky floor as they layered more and more silk over him. His arms vanished beneath white strands. His legs too. Only his hips were free—because they needed his cock. They wrapped him into a living altar, leaving his shaft exposed and throbbing like an obscene offering. One brood mother bent low, fangs glinting as she purred against his ear: "When you can't move at all… when you're nothing but a cock and a tongue… we'll keep you warm forever." She licked his cheek, leaving a trail that burned like acid and tasted like honey. His pulse stuttered, his head swimming in venom-slick delirium.

More of them piled on. Dozens now. Their legs skittered across his bound body, hairy limbs brushing his face, his thighs, his leaking shaft. He felt something sharp graze his ass—then something wet and probing. A clawed hand spread him wider. He thrashed, silk biting into his skin as they giggled in a thousand voices. "Shhh, little mate… don't fight… let us in everywhere." Something slick and wriggling pressed at his rim, teasing, circling, then pushing, and he screamed against his gag, choking on silk as it forced its way inside. His cock jerked violently, spurting another thick rope of cum even as humiliation and terror crushed him. They fed on it—fed on his sounds, his squirms, his shame. Every tremor of fear made their hips slam harder, their cunts gush wetter.

Then came the scent. Gods, the scent—thick, narcotic, pure heat dripping from their folds in ropes of slime. It clogged his nose, coated his tongue, made him need even as he tried to resist. His cock betrayed him over and over, exploding inside brood mother after brood mother until his balls ached, until cum dribbled constantly, pearly threads hanging from his tip like silk. They licked it up greedily, smearing it on each other, painting his thighs with it like ritual markings. "So much… so sweet… never enough…"

And as his mind frayed, as the web swallowed his body in layer after layer of sticky white, he heard it—low and shivering in his venom-fogged brain—a single voice among the chorus: "Sleep now, little mate… when you wake, you'll be ready to give us eggs." His heart slammed. Eggs? His vision spun, black dots blooming, the last thing he saw a brood mother leaning close, mandibles twitching, her belly glowing faintly green like something alive inside it… and then the silk covered his eyes, warm and wet, sealing him in darkness as their laughter crawled over him like a living tide.

The last tremors of climax still echoed through his body when the clicking chorus returned—soft, rapid, like thousands of nails tapping stone. The air thickened with musk so potent it felt chewable, sticky against his throat. He tried to swallow, but the silk gag clung tighter, wet with his drool and the remnants of venom that tingled his tongue. His cock still throbbed violently, coated in juices that weren't his, twitching like it didn't belong to him anymore.

The shadows above stirred.

Eight eyes glimmered in unison like a constellation awakening. Then she descended—the Broodmother.

She was unlike the others. Her body was a cathedral of curves and cruelty, each movement deliberate, dripping with slow, devastating hunger. Her upper body mimicked feminine perfection, alabaster flesh slicked in iridescent sheen, but below the hips, it was a grotesque sprawl of glossy black limbs, each joint segmented and glistening with dew. Fangs the size of his forearms peeked from her painted lips, venom dripping in clear, syrupy threads that sizzled when they hit the web.

The other spider-women recoiled—not from fear, but reverence. They crawled aside, hips swaying in trembling devotion, heads bowed low. The Broodmother's voice slithered through the chamber like silk soaked in honey.

"Mine."

The word hit like a bite. His cock jerked violently, spraying one last pathetic bead of cum onto his belly as if his body knew the truth: whatever he'd endured so far had been foreplay. The true nightmare had arrived.

She landed before him with a bone-rattling THUNK, the entire web shivering. Threads tightened around his limbs as if commanded by her mere presence, yanking him upright so his raw, twitching cock stood out like an offering. He whimpered behind the gag, eyes wide, muscles trembling from exhaustion—but the venom in his blood betrayed him, keeping him hard, keeping him leaking.

The Broodmother leaned in until her lips brushed his ear. Her breath was molten sugar laced with rot. "They've had their fun," she whispered, every syllable vibrating against his skull, "but I will make you… hollow."

A claw tipped with glossy black hooked beneath the gag and sliced it away. The silk dropped from his mouth in a wet slap, leaving strands trailing across his chin. He gasped for air, drool mixing with venom foam on his lips. His voice cracked.

"P-please—"

The claw pressed to his throat—just enough to make him feel the edge. Her fangs hovered an inch from his cheek, dripping nectar onto his shoulder that burned like a lover's kiss and a branding iron all at once.

"No," she hissed, and the sound wasn't human. It was a chorus, a hive speaking through one mouth. "You do not beg. You open."

Threads slithered across his body like living worms, binding tighter, stretching him wide—legs split to the brink, arms wrenched overhead until his joints screamed. Silk crawled down his thighs, winding around his shaft, stroking him with sinuous pulses as if the web itself breathed. He cried out, head tossing, but every squirm only pulled the threads deeper into his skin.

The Broodmother's lower limbs skittered forward, surrounding him like a cage. Then her human hands—soft, cool, dripping with dew—cupped his face. She kissed him.

Not a gentle kiss. A devouring. Her tongue punched past his lips, thick and wet, filling his throat with venom so sweet it burned. He gagged, choking as she drank the sound of his struggle, sucking the air from his lungs until his vision blurred. When she broke away, a rope of spit and venom stretched between them, quivering.

His cock was iron now, throbbing helplessly as the web jerked him forward, straight into her. She straddled him, abdomen arching high, spinnerets quivering as threads unraveled like an executioner's rope. Her slit wasn't human—it gaped like a dark, glistening maw, lined with twitching petals slick with nectar. It pulsed as if breathing, hungry.

He had no choice. The web tilted him. She impaled herself slowly, achingly, inch by inch until her walls swallowed him whole.

The sound was obscene. A wet shluuurk followed by a feral groan that rolled from her throat like thunder. Her inner muscles clenched with impossible strength, rippling in waves that milked his cock with deliberate cruelty. He screamed, body bowing against the bindings, every nerve screaming white-hot. She didn't ride him like the others—this was consumption. Her hips slammed down until his balls slapped her slick flesh with a smack-smack-smack, and then she ground in circles, twisting, wrenching his cock as if wringing him dry.

The venom surged hotter in his veins. His mind unraveled in ribbons of ecstasy and agony. Every thrust made him gush more precum, his shaft throbbing like it was splitting open. Her claws traced his ribs, slicing shallow lines that welled crimson. She licked the blood slow, moaning, painting his chest with streaks of red and silk.

And then came the voice again, not aloud, but inside him: "Breed me, little fly."

He sobbed. "C-can't… too much—!"

Her laughter rattled the web. She slammed down so hard the frame quivered, strands snapping like gunshots. Her maw split wider, showing fangs dripping venom as her hips pistoned in brutal tempo. SLAP-SLAP-SLAP. His cock vanished into her again and again, drowned in honey-thick slickness that squelched with every thrust. The sound filled the chamber like applause.

When he came, it wasn't a climax—it was annihilation. Cum blasted out in torrents, forced from him by her crushing grip. It poured into her, hot and endless, but she didn't slow. She milked him through it, draining every drop until pain bloomed sharp and sweet, until his screams broke into hoarse sobs. And still she moved.

Threads erupted from her spinnerets, wrapping his torso, his neck, his thighs in layer after layer until he was half-cocoon, only his twitching cock left bare for her to destroy. The silk burned cold against his fevered skin, sealing him in submission.

His head sagged. He thought it was over.

Then her voice curled through the dark like smoke: "Oh, sweet thing… this was only the first clutch."

Eight shadows crawled down from the web above—her daughters, trembling with hunger, eyes glowing like embers.

And the Broodmother smiled, sinking her fangs into his throat as she whispered, "Stay hard for mother."