The silk pulsed.

It wasn't just a thread now—it was a living thing, tightening in little rhythmic squeezes around his chest and throat, syncing with his heartbeat until every twitch sent a shiver through the entire web. His breath came in shallow gulps, sticky with the sweetness of venom and musk clogging the air, a suffocating perfume that made his cock twitch even when his mind begged for stillness.

He didn't even notice the last orgasm finish before the next spider-woman lowered herself over him, her shadow blotting out the glow of the bioluminescent sacs hanging from the ceiling. Her hips hovered an inch above his raw, gleaming shaft, strands of web dripping from her elbows as she braced herself. The moment her heat kissed his tip, his spine arched against the bindings like a reflex, and the threads bit deeper for it, cutting red lines across his wrists.

"Ohhh… listen to it creak," she purred, rubbing herself on him in slow circles that left strings of slick clinging from her folds to his skin. Her fangs glimmered in the dim light as she leaned close to his ear. "You feel that? That's not the web giving way… that's you."

She sank down in a single, merciless drop, and the sound was wet thunder—SHLUCKK, followed by her feral moan ripping through the chamber. His gagged cry strangled in his throat as her walls clamped tight, milking him like they were starving. The pressure was so savage it felt like his cock might split, every inch squeezed, every vein bulging with blood forced into a furnace of slick heat.

Around him, the others hissed and crooned in delight. Hands stroked his chest, his neck, his thighs. One spider-girl perched over his head, lowering herself slowly until the swollen lips of her sex brushed his cheek, painting him with syrupy juices. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Drink again, pretty prey. Don't let a drop go to waste."

Her heat dragged across his lips, grinding, forcing them open until her taste smeared his tongue. The moment his mouth sealed around her, she flooded him—thick, bitter nectar that clung to his throat as they pinched his nose shut again. He gagged and thrashed, but the web sang tight, locking him still. Every swallow only made the venom seep deeper, setting fire in his veins, burning out thought until his hips jerked on their own.

The one riding him screamed when he twitched inside her, hips slamming harder, faster, a brutal clap of flesh against flesh—SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The tempo echoed off stone, drowned out by her guttural cries as she came, her abdomen trembling while hot slick splattered down his thighs. She collapsed forward, trembling, but before she even slid off, another was crawling over her back, shoving her aside like a broken husk.

The next impaled herself without a breath of hesitation. The plunge punched air from his lungs—he felt the slide, the crush, the suffocating clutch of her walls dragging down until his cock was swallowed whole in a sheath of molten vice. She didn't ride him like a lover. She used him like a post, slamming until the web quivered under the violence.

Two others fought over his head now, legs scraping, hissing at each other before they tangled their thighs around his skull and shoved their dripping holes in his face. He couldn't breathe for the mess coating his mouth, his chin, his nose—couldn't do anything but lick when they ground harder, smearing nectar into his beard while they moaned about how good his tongue felt twitching in panic.

His cock gave again. A savage spasm, thick ropes shooting deep into the one speared on him. She shrieked and clawed his chest, blood pearling from the punctures, smearing down his ribs as her climax shook so violently the web chimed with tension. But his release wasn't relief—because another was waiting, growling low as she yanked the spent one off and rammed herself down, ignoring the rawness, the overstretch, the way his body convulsed in pain under hers.

The venom was winning now. He couldn't feel the ache in pieces anymore—only a molten blur, a fever that made his cock surge stiff no matter how many times it spilled. His breath came in ragged huffs through the sticky gag, lungs drowning in musk so thick it burned like spice. His vision jittered with light, fragments of color pulsing behind his eyelids as if the silk itself were glowing, whispering to him.

And it was changing him. Every drop of nectar forced down his throat made his muscles twitch harder, every squirm of the threads sent heat licking up his spine. They weren't ropes anymore—they were roots, burrowing shallow into his skin, fusing, feeding him back the venom they'd laced into the fibers. When he strained, they didn't just bite—they pulsed, a heartbeat outside his body, echoing through his bones.

The voices swirled above him. Moaning, laughing, gasping—then one, softer, curling against his ear like silk itself:

"Almost pretty enough to keep forever."

Something cold slid across his ribs—a thicker thread, syrup-slick, winding slow as it spiraled around his torso. Others joined it, thicker than before, ropes that didn't just bind—they molded, sealing ribs to ribs, thighs to the web beneath. The pressure crawled higher, creeping over his hips even as another spider-woman slammed down on them, her thighs quivering from the force of her rut.

He tried to jerk away when the first thread touched his throat. A muffled scream burst behind the gag—but they laughed, cooed, kissed his cheeks with venom-sweet mouths as the cord slithered higher. It tightened around his neck, just enough to make him feel the drag of every swallow, every gasp, every pathetic sound.

Another orgasm ripped through him without warning—hot, violent, spilling into the slick inferno milking him dry. She ground harder when she felt it, claws pricking his stomach, until the last spasm faded and his cock sagged, shining like something carved from molten glass. But before it even softened, fingers smeared it in spit, pumped it twice, and the venom surged again, making it lurch back to life like a puppet on their strings.

The one gagging him forced another gush into his mouth, chuckling when his throat convulsed. "Good," she whispered. "Swallow it all. You'll need your strength when we start laying."

The words barely pierced the fog. But something in them lodged sharp in his brain—laying. His eyes rolled, wild, but the gag silenced everything but a muffled sob. They stroked his hair when they heard it, tender, mocking, their claws combing slow as another thread wound over his shoulders, pinning them so tight his veins bulged blue against the skin.

The web was hard now. Cold, almost bone-like where it touched his spine. And it was closing—spirals thick as wrists wrapping down his legs, curling over his chest, knitting him into a shape that wasn't his anymore. A shell. A coffin. A cocoon.

The last thing he saw before the silk veiled his eyes was the grin of the queen crouched above him, her fangs dripping a glistening bead onto his cheek as she whispered, soft and eager:

"Time to make you ours forever."

And the darkness came, hot and trembling with the beat of countless hearts, as the first egg slid warm against his thigh.