The cavern pulsed with a dim, throbbing glow as if the walls themselves were alive—breathing, shivering with hunger. The sound of dripping moisture echoed faintly, mingling with the chorus of wet, obscene slaps that still lingered in the thick air. The musk was unbearable, a pungent cocktail of sweat, venom, and nectar that made every breath feel like an aphrodisiac dragged straight into the lungs.
He hung there—bound, wrapped, helpless. His body was no longer his own. The silken cocoon clung to his skin like a second flesh, warm and moist from the heat of his sweat and their saliva. Only his cock and face remained uncovered, cruelly exposed, because that was all they needed of him now. His shaft stood rigid in the cold air, gleaming with the residue of their previous use, pulsing like a living vein. It twitched with every movement, begging—no, screaming—for relief he would never truly get.
