parasitoid that runs her stinger-ovipositor into your soft, fatty tissues, piercing you again and again up and down your paralyzed body. making your flesh bulge with her eggs, pockmarked with holes leaking blood and slime. wet pussies torn open, each with their own fertilized gore-wombs. each is sealed back up, sutured with silk, glazed with sticky secretions, bandage-chastity
it makes you flush and swoon — because you’re feverish, flesh pale and sweating, immune system failing in the face of the new gifts in your veins. but even that resistance serves her — your body cooks itself to warm her eggs perfectly
you’re weakening, but not from hunger; she chews up meat and spits it into your mouth, maxilae shoving it down your throat if you dont swallow, and her drooling maw is your hydration
time passes in a nightmarish haze, but you’re wide awaken when the eggs start wiggling inside you. she seems impatient for it, groping you with chitinous limbs, fingering your swollen gashes. the sharp tip of her ovipositor everts again, and once again wets itself with your blood.
you think it’s torture at first, a thousand slow and hateful stabs to make you suffer, but she’s so careful, so precise. each scarred, egg-laden hole is carefully surrounded with a trypophilic halo of pits - vents for her children to breathe, you realize
you don’t sleep that night. how could you? the wiggling continues, at first tiny kicks, and then a sustained rhythm getting more strained and anticipatory. you feel your heart beat in every pussy.
you’re waiting, and it doesn’t happen — nothing tells you the transition from one agony to another is complete. your whole body is crawling with the movement of something alien. then you realize these can’t all be the twitches of eggs not yet hatched — they have hatched, and your- her children are already stirring
breaths turn sharp, and then into screams. it hurts. dozens of worms writhing, widening their wombs, mouth finding the walls and ripping off muscle fibers or slurping into fat deposits — devouring you from within
and then you see her ovipositor is out again. it’s narrow, leaking tip is lining up with one of your sealed gashes. with a thrust, the bandaged is torn through, your scar-chastity violated, and slime lubricated chitin is rubbing against your insides. sawing back and forth until it finds something — the grub who calls this lesion home.
she’s woundfucking you, and silencing your screams with her mandibles clamping your tongue and maxillae exploring your mouth.
and then, with a shudder, you feel something cool against your feverish flesh, leaking in from her ovipositor. she cums slime into your wounds. maybe she knows your flesh can’t nourish and sustain her young entirely, or maybe it aids in your digestion, or maybe-
you were dreadfully sure you couldn’t endure her fucking every pussy she’d torn open. but now you can feel her slime numbing the pain of her thrusting and her gnawing young to a dull ache.
you gasp when her mandibles release your mouth — only to immediately yelp as she bites down on your neck, and you can feel the buzz of venom delivered. only this isn’t venom, is it? not what paralyzed you. this feels…
you heart beats faster, and your muscles release. a breath you didn’t know you were feeling leaves you. you feel at peace — you feel as one. the mother above you with antennae atremble and mouths drooling excitement, her hands unable to resist palming your sweaty, bloody, lively flesh. the grubs inside you mindless but for her their hunger to relish the nutrients you are utterly replete with
it’s beautiful what you’re apart of, isn’t it? life in its most lurid cycles
you’re moaning when she rips open your next womb, pumping you with more trophic slime to feed and digest and numb you. you’re mouthing pleases and thank yous — for the children, for the dripping loads, for the venom-injection that cleared your mind
you wish you had the strength and movement in your paralyzed limbs to service her, repay even slightly. stroke that ovipositor and help it align and enter smoothly, grope that fat abdomen and its soft cuticle, to hump the strong legs that pin you down
as she gets ready to woundfuck you again, you kind of want to feel that ovipositor in your mouth, stinger pricking your throat as she rams it in, her pleasure twitching up and down the length, and taste that slime, nourishing you like just like one of her children. maybe if you’re good, she will
most of all, you can’t wait for the next venom injection.
(can you imagine enduring when the high ends, your limbs hollowed out flesh outweighted by those annelid grubs?)
you just have to be a good little eggsack