Chapter 3
Three’s face was pained, his eyes glossy with tears, but he complied with the guards hoisting him up onto the platform. The differently akimbo appendages finally made sense to Peter. Three was positioned with his chest down, legs and arms bent to assure there was space between him and the bench. Clear plastic domes were then strapped to his chest; one over each nipple.
“Start the pumps,” the doctor came into the space between Peter and Three, the nurse close on his heels. “And how has the content of Three’s milk been? Same as the colostrum?”
“If only,” the nurse sighed, “never in my life have I seen such high quality colostrum; calorie dense, full of lymphocytes and antibodies. The babies have grown exponentially over the last month, far beyond what is normally seen in multiple birth infants.”
“Doesn’t really answer my question…”
“Sorry,” the nurse began flipping through the papers on their clipboard. “Um, well, Three’s current breastmilk is not near as optimal as the colostrum, but it’s still very rich. We also haven’t noted an uptick in any arachnid-related enzymes in the milk.”
“Very good,” the doctor was running his hand along the distention of Three’s belly. “When do you think we can impregnate him again?”
At this, Three bucked against his restraints.
“Oh hush,” the doctor moved his gloved hand from Three’s belly to the small of his back, “your pregnancy was not so bad…”
Peter could see by the tears streaming down Three’s face and the sound of the hard breaths coming through his nostrils that the doctor’s statement was a bold lie.
“And the parts that were difficult you made difficult,” the doctor added in a grim tone. “Maybe this time around you’ll mind your manners…and your doctors.”
“I’m not seeing any lochia,” the nurse had now walked around to Three’s backside, “but I still would not suggest putting a speculum in him.”
“Nothing to see anyway,” the doctor said as he turned to Peter, “this is the one the board needs to have a look at. Could you imagine; two human-arachnid variants pregnant at the same time? With multiples? That Loki team would be sick with envy.”
“Indeed,” the nurse chuckled. “Would you like me to insert the speculum now?”
“Please.”
Peter did his best to try and relax. He needed to accept that this was going to happen. As horrific as it was, he needed to accept it. There was conceivably no way for him to fight back at this point and any paltry resistance he could muster up would just prolong the inevitable.
Lubricated fingers pressed into him and began to work out his sphincter. Peter closed his eyes. You’re not giving up he told himself, you’re surviving…
The fingers withdrew. Next came the cold metal of the speculum. With agonizing slowness it began to open him up. Peter whimpered and made an involuntary jerk against the restraints. Like before, just when the pressure became too much, the locking mechanism was set.
“Done!”
“Very good.
“Which pheromone are you planning for the demonstration?” Peter opened his eyes at the nurses’ strange question.
“I left it to the alignment algorithm again. It did so well with selecting Three’s mate, I figured it would not hurt to let technology take the reigns again,” once more, the doctor ran a bored hand over Three’s belly. The expression on Three’s face was heartbreaking; he was no longer surviving. The variant had given into his fate; his brown eyes staring blankly off in the distance as the mechanical rhythm of the pumps filled the lulls in conversation.
The doctor turned suddenly and asked, “Has anyone broken the news about Two to our waiting guest?”
“I am certain at this point they’ve stopped expecting to see him.”
Peter felt a sharp pang of worry for Two. He and Three were simultaneously being subjected to the most humiliating torment any monster could concoct. Treated as objects; as non-sentient incubators to be prodded and pumped. The idea that this third Peter Parker was too…damaged to join them…prompted Peter One to consider the possibility that any escape plan might have to include his variants.
“Go head and prep One with the sensory mask.”
Peter flinched at this. Mask; he didn’t want anything on his face or obscuring his vision.
“Easy, easy,” a female attendant approached Peter with a set of thickly padded earphones, “the first time’s a little overwhelming, but you’ll get used to it.” She clapped them to his head and in an instant all Peter could hear was the muffled anti-noise of the equipment. That strange movement of air; everything and nothing all at once.
The woman was then handed a pair of metal googles with a tail of several multi-colored cords trailing from the back. As Peter attempted to understand their purpose, cool bits of gel were placed on his forehead to attach electrode patches. No doubt they were hooked to an EEG that would chart every second of his torture.
There was only darkness inside the goggles. Peter’s breath began to race. His chest pitched with hard breaths. Gagged, deaf and blind…it was like being buried alive.
Gloved hands remove to cock cage.
That…that he was not expecting.
A pinpoint of light began to grow in his vision; spreading outward and filling in the screen inside the googles.
Oh no…
The insipid mothering instructional videos were back.
It was terrifying for Peter to consider that there was some sort of time-tested reasoning for showing these videos while sending an Omega into a mild heat. He hated to think that the wires in his brain were so mix-matched, so hopelessly frayed and twisted that seeing images of young Omega mothers dressed in pink and playing with their babies combined with concentrated Alpha musk would break his spirit.
Or…was it scarier to think it wouldn’t? The look on Three’s face haunted Peter even now. The sadness, the defeat. The heartless cogs that ran this hell tried to cajole him with the same methods, the same promises. Happy, smiling Omega mothers and their happy, smiling babies. But the end in no way justified the means. Everything done to him was done without his consent.
Now, another Peter Parker would face the same fate.
Peter’s other senses were already making up for his handicaps. Vibrations from the floor let him know that the audience was filing in. He could smell perfumes and colognes now mingling with the stringent smell of antiseptic that defined the auditorium.
It was not long before time became hard to define. Even with the familiar videos, Peter was uncertain if he had been strapped down for an hour or three days. Nothing was happening, no one was touching him. He was just completely laid open with his legs in the stirrups and the speculum stretching his aching hole.
Then…he could sense them gathering around him. An entire crowd of indifferent medical minds.
Peter yelped against his gag when the first hand touched him. A muted noise managed to break through the ear muffs; laughter? Before Peter could consider it, another set of hands grabbed his semi-erect cocked and sheathed the semen collector over it.
Then nothing.
Peter began to squirm with anxious anticipation against the restraints. The waiting; the waiting was killing him.
Darkness once again filled his vision. A new pinpoint of light...
The image of bodies, naked bodies…
Is this…? Oh, shit…
Rain, damp earth, leather and cherry; the swirling mix of scents hit Peter like a freight train. Peter arched his back against the table; twisting and contorting his body.
The screen clamped over his eyes was now showing an Omega, one not unlike himself, being forcefully held down and taken by a mate. There was no cinematic tact; no attempt to make it beautiful, alluring. No sound accompanied the images. Just the Omaga’s mouth wide with unheard screams. It was a borderline snuff film.
Heat; hot, hot molten heat was oozing from Peter’s hole. It sent a shiver through him and caused his hips to buck. All awareness of an audience was gone. The need, the need; it was like nothing he had experienced before. His body was making him ready; he was ready! On his back, legs open! The Omega in his vision was being taken from behind; the Alpha grinding him down onto the bed. Peter felt his throat vibrate with a moan as another wave of slick pushed out of him. His stomach was now constricting, tying itself in knots.
The Alpha finished and pulled his cock out, a thick and creamy trail of his release followed. So much…but not enough. Peter wanted to be filled to the brim with an Alpha’s cum. He wanted it to spill out, just like his slick was doing now. Peter wanted to be a mess.
A silky touch began to surround his cock, and then sharply pull back. Then again, then again. The collector was on; another Alpha walked into the scene. At the sight of him, the sniveling, cum-filled Omega tried to get away, but the Alpha handedly grabbed him and flipped him onto his back.
It was inescapable. For a brief, lucid moment, Peter realized that he had been forced into a cocoon of unimaginable pleasure. That he was in a stimulation overload and…and…
Peter screamed as both pain and pleasure devoured him.
It went forever. His body became rigid, unable to bend.
Then collapsed into a boneless puddle. The screen went blank.
Peter lost consciousness.