NTR: Stealing wives in Another World

The air outside the nest was sharp and damp, the kind of thick forest humidity that clung to the skin and made every breath feel heavy. Lyssra led the way along the thick silk rope-bridges that webbed between the trees, her abdomen swaying behind her, her human half bare and streaked with drying cum. Behind her, the rest of the brood followed, still marked from the nest — thighs trembling, chitin smeared, their scent heavy and hot in the night air.

Allen moved in the center, a predator among predators, his steps silent despite the damp leaves. He could feel their eyes on him, every brood-sister's attention tuned sharp to his movements. The hunt wasn't just about food tonight. This was a show — a public claiming that would leave every spider in this forest knowing who commanded the brood.

They found the first prey easily — a scaled forest stag grazing in a clearing, its eyes clouded from the brood's pheromone-laced scent. Lyssra hissed, the sound sharp and low, and the sisters fanned out, moving along the branches overhead with impossible speed. Allen didn't bother with stealth. He stepped into the clearing, locking eyes with the stag. It froze.

From above, the brood descended in a blur of chitin and silk. Threads shot out, wrapping the stag's legs and neck, yanking it down into the damp leaves. It thrashed once before Allen's hand closed on its antlers, forcing its head down. "Hold it," he ordered.

The sisters obeyed instantly, their limbs pinning it. Allen didn't waste a moment. He pressed himself against its flank, not to kill it, but to mark it — a slow, deliberate grind of his still-hard cock against its quivering side, smearing the scent of the nest onto the animal. The sisters hissed approval, their bodies tightening with the same heat they showed in the lair.

But this was only the first.

They dragged the stag into a larger clearing where other prey had already been caught — two doe-like creatures bound in thick silk, a small clutch of wild boar squealing against their restraints. The air here was thicker with pheromones than the nest, the musk of arousal layered over the fear of prey. The brood formed a loose ring around Allen, their eyes reflecting moonlight, their bodies shifting restlessly.

"On your knees," he told them. Every sister obeyed, chitin clicking as they lowered themselves, their human halves tilting forward, slick and ready. Allen stepped to the first — the pale-shelled sister he'd used in the lair — and took her by the hair, guiding her mouth to him. She opened eagerly, tongue sliding over him as he looked past her to the rest, making sure they saw the way she worked for him.

When he pulled free, he didn't give her time to breathe. He turned to the next, driving into her from behind, his hips slamming into the soft seam of her lower half until fluid spilled down her legs. Around them, the others began touching themselves, their mandibles clicking, the sound mixing with the prey's muffled cries.

Lyssra moved in beside him, her voice a low purr. "They want you to breed them in front of the prey," she whispered. "They want the hunt to end in heat."

Allen's grin was pure threat. "Then they'll get it."

He made them line up, every brood-sister bent forward with their spider halves spread, their glistening seams exposed to the night air. He moved down the line without pause, using each one in turn — short, hard thrusts that left them gasping and dripping before he moved to the next. By the third, the prey had stopped struggling, the air so thick with sex that even the boars were twitching with confused arousal.

When he reached Lyssra, he didn't slow. He took her like the others, one hand gripping her hair, the other holding her lower half still as he pounded into her. She moaned openly, her abdomen curling with each thrust, silk spilling from her spinnerets in a slow, sticky rhythm.

By the time he finished the circuit, the clearing was chaos — prey trembling in their bindings, the brood on their knees in the dirt, their bodies smeared and leaking. The moonlight caught the strands of silk hanging between them like a web spun from sweat and cum.

Allen stepped back, surveying the mess he'd made, and knew the message had been delivered. This wasn't just a hunt. This was a coronation.

The clearing reeked of heat and victory, the damp earth soaking up the mingled musk of prey and brood. Allen's breathing was heavy but steady, a slow predator's rhythm as he circled them, letting the sisters feel his eyes on every inch of their used bodies. Lyssra's abdomen twitched as strands of silk slid from her spinnerets to wrap around the stag's legs again, binding it tighter. The prey barely resisted now — they'd been smothered in pheromones and Allen's scent, and fear had melted into an almost dreamlike compliance. The sisters began to drag the captives back toward the nest, their movements unhurried and sensuous, like they were carrying offerings for some sacred ritual. Allen walked among them, sometimes trailing a hand over a bare hip or squeezing the seam of a lower body just to hear the gasp and see the knees buckle.

The nest was alive when they returned, a hundred glittering eyes turning toward the entrance, chittering rising like the sound of rain. The sisters laid the prey out on the sticky, silken floor, each one trussed and splayed, their legs shaking. Lyssra crawled up one wall, looking down with a smile that was half-worship, half-pride. "You started this hunt, Allen. You must finish it."

He didn't need more than that. He stepped into the center of the chamber, his shadow stretching across the prey and the kneeling sisters, his cock still thick and slick from the clearing. The first bound doe was dragged toward him by two brood-sisters, her eyes wide, her body trembling under the webbing. Allen knelt, tore a hole in the silk between her thighs, and pushed into her without hesitation. The sisters around him hissed approval, their mandibles clicking in rhythm with his thrusts. He made it quick and rough, not to sate the doe, but to mark her, to fill her with his scent and seed before shoving her back to the wall and calling for the next.

One by one, he took them, alternating between the prey and his brood. A bound boar squealed when Lyssra crouched over it, silk winding around its snout, while Allen used her from behind, his hips slamming into her human half until silk shook loose from the vibrations. Another sister crawled to his side, stroking herself as she begged to be next, her chitin shivering with need. Allen grabbed her by the hair, bent her over the nearest captive, and fucked her so hard her abdomen scraped the silk floor.

The whole nest had become a throbbing, writhing ritual. Sisters wrapped themselves in partial webs, binding their own legs or arms just so he could tear them free before using them. The captives whimpered in overstimulation, their fear drowned under the heat rolling off the brood. Every thrust, every cry, every strand of silk added to the growing heat until it was suffocating.

When Allen finally pulled Lyssra down from the wall and into his lap, the entire brood gathered closer, forming a living wall of slick thighs and twitching limbs around them. He lifted her, lowering her onto him slowly so they could all watch her stretch and sink down, her abdomen curling as her human half moaned against his mouth. She rocked on him, silk spilling in slow ribbons to coat his legs, and Allen gripped her hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises.

When he came, he didn't just stay inside — he let it overflow, spilling down to drip onto the silk floor, where the nearest sisters scooped it up with their fingers to smear over their own openings. Lyssra shuddered, clinging to him, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and around them the rest of the brood collapsed into the same fevered rut, using each other, the prey, even the sticky floor, until the nest was nothing but the sound of wet skin, silk tearing, and breathless cries.

By the time the frenzy ebbed, every captive was sagging in their bindings, every sister was streaked with cum and silk, and the air was so thick with the smell of Allen's claim that no creature in the forest would mistake who owned this brood. Lyssra kissed his jaw, whispering in a voice hoarse from moaning, "The forest will feel this night for generations."

Allen just smirked, looking over the ruin of bodies and webbing. "Good."