All you can do is wait

You silently hang upside-down from the tree, wrapped in a warm cocoon of webbing. You must have fallen asleep at some point, because you startle awake when you feel something thick wrap around your torso and tighten. The thick object squeezes around your chest, pushing the air out of your lungs and making you feel like you can’t breathe.

You wonder what the spider is up, but you soon realize it’s not the spider doing this to you.

“And pull!” you hear several shrill voice say in unison. Suddenly you’re tugged by the torso and the webbing keeping you suspended in the tree snaps. You fall to the ground in a thud. A muffled shriek of pain escapes from between your web gag.

You have no idea what’s happening. Without the ability to see or speak, you simply have to rely on your ears.

“Plan worked! Plan worked! Dumb human fell for trap!” you hear a tiny voice chant beside you.

“Big feast tonight! Big feast!” you hear another small voice say.

Hearing those words, you let out a muffled yell and begin to squirm, although the tightly knit webbing doesn’t let you do more than wiggle in place. You feel a pull on the rope that was used to yank you off the tree, dragging you across the ground.

“Big feast tonight!” you hear the voice of at least six small creatures sing as they tow you along.

Not much time passes before you feel yourself stop. Several moments later, you feel a hot glow bake against your face and see signs of lights seeping through the soft crust of the web. You swallow in fear, dreading the idea of being eaten after everything you’ve been through.

The next thing you feel is several small hands grab your legs and lift them straight into the air. You just wait to be tossed into a cauldron or become skewered on a spit, but that moment never comes. Instead you hear the tearing of the silk-like webbing and feel a coolness brush against your suddenly exposed loins.

The feel of small hands, no bigger than chicken feet, press to your exposed quim and part the tender lips. The small fingers feel cold and scaly—little sharp claws extending from the tips. A small thumb prods at your entrance, pocking about and shaving away parts of the rubbery plug the spider left in your channel.

“Black Muma do good,” you hear a voice near your groin. “She lay lots of eggs in this one. Lots to eat!”

You wait a few seconds, feeling the unknown creature silently studying your spread flower, its gaze apparent even if you can’t see it. The hands then pull back for a moment before you feel them return and begin to apply a warm cream to the gummy seal at your hole. You feel the solidified spider cum begin to slowly dissolve and leak out of you. As it does, your labia seems to light up with heat, not from any kind of arousal but from the cream that small creature applies to your sex.

You wiggle your exposed pelvis, trying to shake off the hot feeling. The creature continues to slather the cream on the spider’s seal, even proceeding to push its tiny arm past your puffy lips and reaching deeper and deeper into your tunnel. You feel your passage begin to dampen under the warming effects of the cream, further stimulated by the tiny arm that seems to snake around inside your egg stuffed depth. The creature continues on like this until it feels that most of the rubbery seal has begun to melt. The liquefied spider plug exudes out from your inflamed hole in heavy drops and pools below you.

“Sticky goo all gone. Time to get eggs,” the creature says. You then feel the creature's arm reach back inside you. After having the spider’s thick shaft violate you, the twig-like arm of the tiny creature seems like nothing. Still your body can’t help but react as the small limb rubs about your inner flesh and grabs hold of one of the round spider eggs.

Your growing lubrication makes it easy for the small creature to pull out one of the eggs with a pop. The tiny limb slips back inside you and does it again. You twist your bound torso in pleasure, giving muffled groans. You feel your hot breath condensate inside the web mask. You try and reject the growing sensation radiating from your loins, but when the last egg pops free of your clinging tunnel, you feel an involuntary orgasm shake your form.

The muscles of your pussy rhythmically contract around nothing, pushing more of your fluids and the spider’s remaining cum out of your stretched hole. You can’t help but feel shame knowing the tiny creatures are watching you come, their gaze focused on your twitching womanhood. The curious humming from their tiny throats makes you wish they had just thrown you in a boiling pot instead.

After your orgasm subsides, the creatures let your legs go, letting them drop to the ground.

“Lots of delicious Black Muma eggs!” you hear one of the small voices say.

“Delicious eggs!” the group yells back.

“What we do with warmblood?” a voice questions.

“Can we rut with her? Warm hole might feel good on cocks,” one suggests.

“No. No. Human fuckhole always too loose. Especially after Muma,” a voice comments.

“Then let's use ass. It should be tight and warm!” one suggests.

“Yes! Use ass!”

“Use ass! Use ass!” the crowd chants.