The cocoon had sealed him almost entirely now, only his face and throbbing cock jutting out from the glossy strands. His body felt like molten wax, pliant and owned, the venom coursing through his veins until thought itself frayed. His hips jerked weakly, guided only by the primal compulsion the spiders had burned into him, a need to cum and keep cumming for their sake. Their voices buzzed like silk against his skull, soft, high, and layered with hunger, whispering in a chorus: "Ours. Ours. Our stud. Our feeder."