The nest pulsed like a living thing around him, every strand vibrating with hunger and heat. The cocoon that held him was no longer just a prison—it had become an altar. And he, the offering. His breath came in ragged gasps through the slick silk gag, chest rising and falling as the air grew thick with the musk of spider lust.
He could feel them before he saw them: the tremors in the web as the brood stirred, their legs skittering closer. One by one, the spider-women emerged from the dim glow, their bodies shimmering with venom-slick patterns, eyes glowing like tiny molten lanterns. They circled him like predators who had tasted blood and craved more.
"Still alive, little morsel?" one purred, crouching so her fangs grazed his cheek. Her breath reeked of venom and nectar, sweet and rotting at the same time. He tried to jerk away, but the cocoon cinched tighter, constricting his ribs until every breath felt stolen.
