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Web of Submission: Spiderman’s Alien Conquest
🕑 Added 2025-02-24 03:00:04 +0000 UTCThe night was thick with humidity over New York City, the skyline a jagged silhouette against a moonless sky. Peter Parker, clad in his iconic red-and-blue Spiderman suit, swung through the concrete jungle, webs snapping from his wrists with rhythmic precision. His lean, muscular frame flexed beneath the spandex, every sinew taut from hours of patrol. He’d been tracking something strange -an eerie glow reported near an abandoned warehouse by the docks. As he perched on a rusted crane, his spider-sense buzzed faintly, a whisper of danger he couldn’t quite place.
Then it hit - a searing jolt through his skull, his senses screaming as a shadow loomed behind him. Before he could react, a tendril, slick and black as oil, lashed out, coiling around his waist and yanking him off the crane. He twisted mid-air, firing a web, but it dissolved uselessly against the creature’s glistening hide. He crashed onto the warehouse roof, rolling to his feet, heart pounding. “What the hell...” he started, but the words choked off as the alien emerged fully into view.
It was a Xytheran—a species unknown to Earth, its name a guttural hiss in its own tongue, though Peter wouldn’t learn that until later. Towering over him at nearly eight feet, its body was a nightmare of sinew and iridescent scales, shimmering between indigo and void-black. Its limbs were long and segmented, ending in clawed tendrils that writhed like living whips. Its face - or lack thereof - was a smooth, eyeless expanse, save for a maw that split wide, lined with needle-sharp teeth and dripping with a viscous, glowing saliva. But what caught Peter’s eye, what made his stomach lurch, was the thick, pulsating appendage protruding from its lower torso—alien, grotesque, and unmistakably phallic.
“Whoa, buddy, let’s talk this out—” Peter quipped, flipping backward, but the Xytheran moved faster. A tendril shot out, razor-sharp, and with surgical precision, it sliced through his suit, shredding the fabric over his groin in a single, violent tear. The cool night air hit his exposed skin, his cock springing free despite the adrenaline pumping through him. “Hey!” he yelled, swinging a fist, but another tendril pinned his arm, then his legs, spreading him wide as the creature loomed closer.
He fought - God, did he fight. His muscles bulged as he strained against the restraints, webbing firing wildly, sticking to nothing but air. “Get off me, you freak!” he snarled, twisting his hips, but the Xytheran’s appendage was already there, hot and slick as it pressed against him. With a guttural rumble from its maw, it thrust forward, penetrating him in one brutal, unrelenting push. Peter’s scream echoed off the warehouse walls, a mix of shock and defiance, his body arching as the alien’s length filled him, stretching him beyond human limits. It was invasive, searing, and - fuck - somehow sparking nerves he didn’t know he had.
The creature didn’t pause. Its tendrils tightened, holding him aloft as it fucked him off with merciless rhythm, each thrust a wet, obscene slap against his trembling frame. Peter’s moans broke free despite himself, raw and ragged, his abs clenching as he tried to resist the overwhelming sensation. “No - fuck you - I won’t -” he gasped, but the words dissolved into a groan as the Xytheran’s maw descended, latching onto his cock with a suction that made his vision blur. It sucked hard, draining him, every pulse of his orgasm greedily consumed, the glowing saliva coating him in a tingling heat that sank into his skin.
He felt it then - the shift. The Xytheran wasn’t just feeding; it was infiltrating. Tendrils burrowed beneath his flesh, thin and insidious, threading through his veins, his nerves, his mind. His resistance faltered, his fists unclenching as a haze clouded his thoughts. “Stop… I’m… Spiderman…” he mumbled, voice slurring, but the alien’s will pressed harder, a deep, resonant command echoing in his skull: Submit. Serve. His body shuddered, slick with sweat and alien fluids, as the tendrils rewrote him, turning his defiance into obedience.
By the end, Peter hung limp in the Xytheran’s grasp, his torn suit dangling in tatters, his once-sharp eyes glassy and vacant. The creature withdrew, its appendage glistening with triumph, and Peter’s lips parted in a soft, reverent whisper: “My lord…” He knelt, muscles slack but ready, a perfect toy molded to the Xytheran’s will, his identity as Spiderman erased beneath the alien’s dominion.
The night swallowed them both, leaving only the hum of the city—and the Xytheran’s satisfied hiss.
