Drawing ever closer, at last her eyes blink slowly in front of yours. Her lips seem to be pouting, then smirking, then - oh. She’s swirling something around in her mouth. Finally it opens up above yours, her fangs extending. Though you flinch in preparation for a bite, none comes - instead venom drips off her teeth and lips, every drop felt as it lands on your tongue. You gurgle once more in protestation at this torture, but her hand pets the skin of your forehead maternally to remind you of your powerlessness. Sadistic delight plays across her eyes as she watches your restrained struggles. As the venom seeps, a heat grows. Though subtle at first, you soon recognize it: lust. Raw, burning need. The poison coursing through you makes little effect on your heart, but a world of difference to your crotch. The slow drip serves no purpose - at least, none that serves you. She is not teasing your body, nor whispering delicious torments. All it does is force you to tremble more and more as she watches, knowing the effect that her venom will have. For no reason beyond her own sadistic amusement, she forces your body to put on the display of a helpless victim losing more and more control of their lust. You feel like a toy.
And the more you drink, the less you mind that.
Eventually she decides you’ve had enough, or perhaps grows impatient. Her mouth closes, and her body rises. Yours, incapable of either, merely burns. The entirety of your body desires her, and your mind has a difficult time coming up with counterarguments. Venom flows through you, commandeering your sensibilities and trading them in for a desire thus far unquenched. She stands tall above you, straddling your body with her arachnid behind. Something moist and ridged stretches out, caressing your thighs. The degree to which you hope it’s a cock is nearly immeasurable. “I think you’ll make a delectable little nest, morsel,” the drider croons. “Let’s start.” Though you can’t shift your head down to look at what she has in her behind, you can feel it. It slaps messily against your thighs, searching out your virgin, moist snatch. The caress the tentacle gives your slit is mockingly affectionate, but any illusions of gentility that may have persisted are soon ended by the thrust that delves greedily and deeply into your virgin twat. If there is any small mercy, it’s that the insatiable lust flooding your mind may wind up sated after all.