Chapter 374- Morning Brings Exhaustion

Chapter 374: Chapter 374- Morning Brings Exhaustion

The soft cry escaped the toilet.

Three in the morning. The apartment was silent except for breathing. Five women slept in a tangled pile on the mattress, the furs pulled over their bodies, the candles reduced to wax puddles on the floor. The moonlight through the silk-covered windows painted everything silver.

Inside the toilet, the spider woman was bent over the seat.

Her human chest pressed against the porcelain tank. Her eight legs braced wide against the cold tile floor, the tips white with pressure. Her spider body was raised behind her, the silver fur damp, the segments trembling.

His cock was inside her.

PAAH PAAH PAAH

The ribbed walls of her spider pussy gripped his shaft in that rolling, concentric, wave-like milking that made her channel feel like five mouths working him simultaneously. Each ridge caught the ridge of his cock head, released, caught again, the sensation traveling the length of his shaft in continuous, maddening pulses.

"Hnn... haah... mmmh..."

Her soft cries came out as tiny broken sounds, pushed from her lungs with every thrust. Her silver-white hair hung over her face, the strands sticking to her wet cheeks. Her dark eyes were half-closed, unfocused, staring at the porcelain beneath her without seeing it.

"You’re exhausted," he observed.

He said it the way someone comments on weather. Neutral. Observational. His hips never broke their rhythm.

"I... haaah... I am..."

She couldn’t form a complete sentence. Her fingers clawed at the porcelain, her nails scraping uselessly against the smooth surface.

He chuckled.

The sound vibrated through her back, his chest pressed against her spine.

"This spider pussy of yours is the best in the house," he said. His voice was warm, unhurried. "These rings inside you. They grip me like they’re trying to swallow me whole. Every time I pull out, they pull me back in."

"Hnngh... mmm... haah..."

She moaned. Her spider body clenched, the rings contracting around his shaft in a cascade that made his vision blur for a moment.

He pulled back.

Slowly. The withdrawal was torture, each ring releasing him with a wet pop that echoed off the bathroom tiles. His cock emerged inch by inch, the shaft dripping with her fluid, the veins pulsing.

He looked down at her raised spider body.

The silver fur, matted and dark. The segments, compressing and expanding with her breathing. The fold, swollen, pink, gaping.

He slapped it.

SMACK

His palm connected with the soft, furry surface, the sound muffled by the fur but the impact making her eight legs splay outward.

"GYAH...!"

"That’s a spider ass," he informed her. "And it belongs to me now."

She trembled. Her human body shuddered against the toilet tank.

He reached around her.

His fingers found her left nipple. The small, dark bud, stiff from the cold and the arousal. He pinched it. Hard. His thumbnail pressing into the tender flesh, his fingers twisting.

"AH AH AH...!"

She cried out. Her spider body clenched, the rings gripping nothing, her empty pussy contracting around air.

He pulled his cock back.

He stroked it. His fist around the shaft, working the length with fast, deliberate motions. The pre-cum leaked from the head, running down his knuckles, dripping onto the tile floor.

He stepped in front of her face.

"Open."

Her dark eyes looked up at him. Swollen lips. Wet cheeks. Exhausted expression.

She opened her mouth.

She put her tongue out. Waiting. Knowing what was coming but not knowing what was coming.

He placed his cock on her tongue.

He released.

The piss came hot and immediate.

"HGH...?!"

Her eyes went wide. Her mouth flooded with warmth, the bitter, acrid liquid filling every corner, pooling over her tongue, running against her cheeks. She gagged, her throat convulsing, her hands flying to his thighs.

He held her head.

His fingers in her silver-white hair, gripping tight, not letting her pull away. The stream continued, steady and full, filling her mouth faster than she could swallow. The overflow ran past her lips, down her chin, dripping onto her small tits, pooling in the hollow of her throat.

"MMPH... GLK... GLK... HNN..."

She coughed. Her throat worked desperately, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to survive. Her dark eyes rolled upward, the whites showing, her spider legs scrabbling against the tile without finding purchase.

The stream slowed. Stopped.

The last drops fell onto her tongue.

Then his cock twitched.

He came.

The load was sudden, thick, heavy. The first pulse hit the back of her throat before she could prepare. The warm, viscous fluid mixed with the residual piss, coating her tonsils, sliding down her esophagus.

"GLK... MMPH... HNN..."

Her eyes rolled completely. Her cheeks bulged. Her throat worked in rapid, desperate swallows, her body trying to process the combined flood of piss and cum that was filling her mouth faster than she could empty it.

She coughed.

The mixture sprayed from her nose. From the corners of her mouth. Her hands grabbed her own hair, pulling, the sharp pain on her scalp giving her mind something to focus on besides the drowning sensation.

He pulled out.

His cock emerging from her mouth, wet and softening, the shaft dangling in front of her face. He stroked it once. Twice. Shook off the last drops onto her cheek.

He walked toward the door.

"Come after cleaning your mouth," he said. His voice was already distant, already moving to the next thing. "We have some plans to discuss."

The door closed.

The spider woman remained on the toilet floor. Her legs folded. Her face a mess. Her throat burning.

She coughed again. A long, body-wracking sound that emptied her lungs.

Through the small window above the sink, she saw the sky.

The black was thinning. The horizon was turning pink, then orange, then gold. The moon was descending.

Morning had arrived.

She coughed one final time. Reached for the faucet.

The kitchen smelled like breakfast.

He had taken over the small break room with the ease of a man who had done this before. The stove was lit, the flame steady. Eggs cracked into a pan, the oil spitting. Bread torn into rough chunks, toasting on the stove’s edge. Canned meat warming in its own juices. Preserved fruit arranged on a plate.

He cooked without hurry.

His sleeves rolled. His hair loose. His expression carrying the mild, focused calm of a man performing a familiar task.

The smell traveled.

Through the apartment, through the silk curtains, through the sleeping pile on the mattress. It found the women like a hand gently shaking them awake.

The mother stirred first.

Her enormous body shifted, the furs sliding from her thick form. She sat up slowly, one hand on her lower back. Her dark eyes blinked at the morning light.

Her body was a disaster map.

Dried cum on her inner thighs, crusted white against her dark skin. Her nipples were raw, the dark flesh swollen and tender. Her enormous tits bore the marks of the night, the bite marks and the fingerprint bruises already fading from purple to yellow.

She stood. She winced.

She walked to the toilet.

She pissed. Loudly. The sound echoing off the porcelain, her thick body relaxing, her enormous tits hanging heavy. She tried to poop. Strained. Nothing. Her body was too tense, too sore, too confused by the constant cycle of penetration.

She washed. Her face. Her hands. Her dark nipples, which made her gasp when the cold water hit them.

She looked at herself in the cracked mirror.