Chapter Text
It was cold. That was the first thought Hornet's mind formed as he slowly came to his senses. Where was he, What was happening, and how did he get here in the first place were soon to arrive after the spiderling found the strength to lift his head.
His surroundings were blurry, at first, then quickly came into focus as the memories of what had brought him here washed back over him. A cage, yes, one of gold. It had been forced on top of him, capturing him in a similar fashion to how he'd been bound as he'd first entered the kingdom.
His capturers, bulbous flies, with bulging crusted-over eyes, crowded around his cage. Hornet reached for his needle, only to feel empty space as his hand searched desperately for his lost weapon. Caught in such a way, and without proper means to defend one's self, Hornet was sharply aware of how badly this situation had the potential to turn out.
Much to his anger, the long, carefully crafted rosary necklaces he'd draped over his cloak had also been confiscated. It appeared that the only thing the cretins had left him with was his cloak itself, the thick red fabric proving to be of comfort in even such dire situations.
Hornet tried to back away from the large fly-brutes approaching his contained form, only to find the cage too cramped for him to do much more than pointlessly squeeze himself against it's walls.
The largest wardenfly of the bunch fiddled with lock on his gilded cage, pulling a key from within her satchel, and shoving it clumsily into the padlock, twisting it a few times before hearing the tell take *click* of the cage unlocked.
Before the wardenfly could react, Hornet took action. With the door now loose, he dove out of the cage, making a dash out of the brute's reach.
Or what he thought was out of its reach, at least.
A wardenfly ( for he could not tell if it was the same one who'd freed him) crashed down upon him, using its excess weight to pin him against the dirty metallic floor. Hornet screeched in surprise and indignation, the other wardenflies quickly gathering around their captured weaver.
As Hornet tried furiously to squirm his way out from under the beast's weight, the hands of its fellow wardens made their way to restrain him, grabbing his horns and using them to wrench his head at an uncomfortable angle, pinning down his wrists, and shoving down his torso to keep him from struggling.
He attempted to resume his efforts, having to put twice as much force into his movement as before, the wardenflys proving to be as strong as they were heavy.
“Sinner…”
Hornet thought he could make out the garbled speech of the largest warden fly, her voice mangled and distorted in an almost grotesque manner.
By now, the warden fly who'd tackled the young hunter to the ground had gotten back up, now having its claws wrapped tightly around his throat. He thought over perhaps attempting to debate or bribe the bugs over his release, but decided against it as one of the warden's foul drool dripped down upon him, the fluid feeling repulsive against his small abdomen.
As it seemed, these bugs were clearly far too gone, forever lost to the silken curse that haunted these lands. As Hornet observed the bugs behavior, the largest of them spoke once more, choking out something he was unable to immediately decipher.
“Must be. . Punished. Pay. . For wrongdoings.”
As he thought. They were beyond reasoning. Though, as the words were spoken, the flies holding him down made no move to attack him. They all appeared to be looking towards their leader, waiting for her commands. He watched, still trying to free himself as the large wardenfly spat out more distorted words and phrases.
“Pay… with silk. With seed. .One's sins must be cleansed. . . “
With that, the bugs flipped Hornet over onto his stomach before he had the time to process the wardenfly’s words. His cloak was torn from his form with a violent fervour, leaving him bare and defenseless against the bugs holding him down. Soon, he felt their cold fingers probe at his spinnerets, poking roughly at the sensitive areas along his spine.
Hornet felt dread set in, and braced himself to endure what was to come, tensing the muscles of his back. The wardenflies were impatient, their prodding growing increasingly violent as his silk was yet to reveal itself.
The hand of one particularly bold fly shoved itself into one of the cavities of his spine, squeezing his spinneret hard from within. Hornet kept his mouth shut, stifling his cry of pain as the highly sensitive organ was mistreated. Showing his discomfort would only make things worse, and besides, he refused to let them have the satisfaction.
As the abuse of his silk glands continued, Hornet could feel thread being produced from within his shell. The violent stimulation to his spinnerets was enough to force the production of silk inside him, and eventually Hornet felt a violent tug. This time, he was unable to muffle his screech as he felt something from inside his body be brutally ripped from his spigot.
All along his spine, Hornet felt the grimy hands of the wardenflies practically tearing the silk from his body, gathering it up into their arms while chattering excitedly. The rage he felt in the moment was almost a formidable opponent to his humiliation at being used in such a crude way. Usually, the process of extracting silk from within his shell himself was effortless, and certainly not painful, but now, his body was desperately trying to warn him against the violent treatment.
Every tug, every pull of his silk felt as though the flies were tearing apart his spine, his spigots convulsing, aching to close themselves and be rid of the pain. Though, even through Hornet's agony, thick and healthy strands of silk were successfully being harvested, pulled and pulled from the small spider's back until the wardenflies arms and pouches were overflowing with shining white thread.
Still, they did not stop. Hornet felt himself shaking at the unpleasant sensation of his silk being forcibly extracted, feeling a sense of shame at how disrespectfully the warden flies treated the sacred part of his form. The spinnerets of a weaver were to be admired as being capable of creating a valuable resource, not to be abused into production, especially not in such a forceful and painful manner.
Hornet whined and convulsed under the iron grip of the flies holding him down, this feeling. . . It was awful, he decided. The feeling of something being pulled painfully out of him, only for the thing to be never ending, endless amounts of silk being extracted from within his shell.
The worst thing about it was that it wasn't all painful, the endless drag of thread being pulled through his desperately clenching spigots was agonizing, to be sure. However. . . Hornet was having trouble admitting it to himself.
The silk of a male spider was something essential during mating, and as such, his body idiotically considered his spinnerets as an erogenous zone. Hornet had never paid much mind to it before, as when producing silk for battle, it would never stimulate him anything close to this extent. Even with past mates, he had frankly preferred them not to be touched, as they were far too tender for the sensation to be anything but painful.
But now, pinned to the ground with his face forced into the floor, he felt the undeniable stirrings of arousal within his shell. Humiliation descended upon him in a heavy wave. As he jerked and twitched upon the dirty floor, Hornet felt his body preparing to mate. The chitin of his crotch had already begun to part, though only slightly, his dismay heightening as he felt a finger force itself inside.
“STOP! I COMMAND YOU-” Hornet shouted frantically as he tried his best to ignore the sensations and fight back against the hands holding him. This was too much. He'd been prepared for many things, but this was a step above the expected misfortune. He would prefer pain to pleasure from his enemies any day, as he felt the humiliating feeling between his legs quickly eroding his confidence.
The fingers prodded around inside his crotch, feeling at the rapidly hardening flesh beginning to peek from the moist gap in his chitin. In there, his flesh was soft and wet, throbbing and stiffening with every new pull to his aching spinnerets.
As Hornet's shaft began to properly peek out from between his trembling thighs, he felt the tight grasp of a warden's hand around his protruding flesh. Hornet screamed in pain as his rod was torn from inside his crotch, forced to reveal itself, its full length twitching and pulsating, pressed against the cold metallic floor.
Fully helpless, ashamed, and furious beyond belief, Hornet could do nothing but cry in frustration. Starting with bitten-back tearful whimpers, and quickly escalating to full-body sobbing as he felt himself be flipped over roughly once more. His over sensitive, inflamed spinnerets made contact with the floor, flaring up and contracting in pain as the wardenflies began to force his legs apart.
Hornet laid there, still struggling weakly with his arms pinned firmly above his head, his legs spread and folded up to his chest, fully exposing his crotch, the dripping shaft twitching excitedly between his legs. A stark contrast to how Hornet felt himself. There, the wardenflies paused, looking to their leader for guidance once more.
“The sinner's. . . Body. . .For forgiveness. . It begs.”
The large warden muttered to herself as she staggered forwards towards the helpless weaver. Her words were jumbled, and did nothing but cement the sense of shame Hornet felt at his body’s reaction. He forced himself to stop struggling as the sensation of the wardenflies grasp upon his sensitive flesh was only adding fuel to the fire.
His body felt aflame with shameful desire as the largest fly descended upon him, having apparently decided to take him herself. Hornet's gaze reluctantly made its way to between the fly's spindly legs. At first, he could see nothing but the standard rolls of hairy blubber, but as she came closer, lowering herself down, close enough to hear her wheezing breath, a slimy, jagged, slit became visible in the flabby flesh between each stick-like leg.
Hornet attempted to quiet his sobs, determined not to shame himself any further. It was hard not to sob loudly all over again however, as the stinking odour of the warden-leader suddenly made itself all too noticeable.
Horrified, he stared down at where the warden was rapidly lowering herself. The beast's slit was dripping with yellow-tinted clear mucus, and was rapidly moving down to capture his quivering rod. As the entrance of the wardenfly's. . .Cavity made contact with the tip of his shaft, Hornet screamed. His spine arched instinctively, his spinnerets pulsing as his thighs shook at the overload of sensation.
Immediately after the surge of pleasure, Hornet felt disgusted with himself. This was nothing to be aroused by, just looking at the creature's genitalia made him want to expel his insides and yet, somehow, his body denied logic, forcing him to feel pleasure despite the revolting nature of what was happening to him.
As the wardenfly moved down, quickly forcing him inside with a single hard thrust, he felt himself be crushed inside its internal passage. Just from looking at it, he'd expected it to be a loose fit due to the obvious size disparity between him and the brute, but instead, it almost felt like an iron clamp around his sensitive flesh.
Hornet arched his back even further, screaming in pleasure at the feeling of being raped. All of a sudden, the hands holding him down, clamping around his sensitive chitin felt heavenly. It was too much. He sobbed, feeling the muscles of his slim abdomen twitch violently as he was forced to ride out his sudden climax. As Hornet came within the warden, shuddering and seizing, he tried his best to stay afloat above the waves of instinct threatening to drown his mind.
“N-no-o. . . “ Hornet managed to choke out a single word from between his hysteric sobs. This wasn't happening. And furthermore, he wasn't enjoying it.
Logically, he knew that his body's reaction to this was inevitable, and was not a proper indicator of his enjoyment of whatever was happening. But he'd always thought he'd had more control over his body than this.
As the wardenfly began to move, Hornet felt himself slipping away, lost to a wave of primal impulse. He thought his shaft must be crushed into nothing but a leaking, twitching nub by this point, as the warden's passage shrank drastically around his length.
Hornet sobbed, both moaning in pleasure and crying out in distress as the fly continued to hump him, her crusted, bulbous eyes and snorting trunk only a few inches away from Hornet's face. His hips began to rut upwards uncontrollably, fucking himself in the wardenfly’s passage.
Hornet felt good. Too good. He couldn't form a single coherent thought over the raging needs of his body. Usually, mating for him was gentle process, with occasional breaks lest he become oversensitive, but with the fly above him, it was far from anything he'd ever experienced before.
They'd always respected his boundaries, his past mates, treating him with reverance and soft, slow touches. That was what Hornet preferred, at least. But his preferences were quickly becoming less and less important every second the wardenfly fucked onto him, his body's needs and it's own awful, debasing preferences becoming more important by the second.
Squealing in delight as the fly grabbed one of his horns, wrenching his head violently to the side, Hornet came once more, squirting seed into the beast who'd mounted him.
The warden's breathing had by now grown uneven, it's garbled grunts and hisses serving to splatter stinking saliva onto the rutting weaver-prince below. Grabbing Hornet’s generous thigh, the fly forced his leg further up, until his knee made contact with his shoulder.
Hornet paid the pain of the position no mind, too busy fucking himself into the flabby opening of the wardenfly, lost in a mindless haze of base instinct, panting and drooling as he rode out his latest climax.
“Oough.. Mmmph! S-ssssto- AHHH!” The once intimidating hunter seized in an agonising overload of pleasure, his back arching and his body locking up in what felt like an endless orgasm. The other flies did nothing but watch as their leader took the sinner, claiming his small body upon the cold floor.
Eventually, the warden grew bored, getting back up, and moving off of the trembling form of the conquered weaver. By that point, Hornet had climaxed three more times, and was on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness, when one of the flies who'd been holding him down rolled on top of him, mounting him.
As the leader took it's place in holding him down, the smaller fly began to thrust itself downwards. It felt awful and wonderful at the same time, though this one's passage was looser, Hornet noted to himself in both disappointment and relief. Hornet writhed, pinned underneath the fly's hefty shape, riding out shameful climax after climax as the smaller wardenfly continued fucking him.
This time, the fly wrapped it's hands around Hornet's dainty throat, firmly gripping his neck at first, then quickly moving on to choking him, spitting onto the mess of a spider below, or perhaps just drooling onto him unintentionally. Hornet didn't know. Didn't care. By now, thinking was practically impossible, his body being puppeted by impulse alone. It was hard enough to get out a single word inside his mind, he could barley imagine having to string two words together.
After an unknown amount of time, the fly fucking him got off, letting another fly take its place on top of him. Hornet was too consumed by pleasure to even realise they were switching, preoccupied with continuing to jerk his hips upwards into the constricting passage of flesh above. With every thrust he felt himself be crushed, the wardenfly’s hole too shallow, forcing his shaft to be squished down in order to fit.
To Hornet however, any pain he felt was numbed, near-nonexistent in comparison to the mind melting sensation coursing throughout the entirety of his form.
Eventually, the wardenfly fucking him got up, moving off of his twitching body. Hornet yelped as he felt a hand slap his shaft, causing the organ to spurt once again.
He laid there, shaking in the aftermath of his pleasure, as the group of brutes stood in circle around him. It was a while before he was able to return to his senses, his head pulsing in agony as his vision came back into focus. The aches and pains left on his body by the assault were making themselves plain as day in absence of the previous mind-numbing pleasure.
His legs felt sprained, having been pulled too far apart, along with having been bent at many questionable angles. His shaft, still twitching, had yet to retract itself, burning with pain and sensitivity. And his spinnerets. . . The agony radiating from his spine was overwhelming.
Hornet let out a disgruntled whine as he felt hands upon his disgraced body once more, lifting him up off of the cold floor. The hands of the warden flies were rough, inflaming the pain of his injuries as they roughly shoved him back inside the little gold cage, which up until this point, had been lying discarded, tipped over in the middle of the room.
Only half-conscious by this point, felt himself be crammed once more into the gilded prison. He hissed as the metal of the cage made contact with his aching spinnerets, feeling a few tears, unbidden, make their way down his mask. As the door of the cage was closed and re-locked, Hornet was unable to stop his mind from slipping away into the comforting darkness that beckoned him.
The last thing he heard before falling unconscious was the screech of his cage being dragged across the metallic floor.