CHAPTER 217: NEST THAT DRINKS 2(18+)

The air in the nest was thick now, humid with sweat, musk, and the lingering scent of sex. The stone beneath him was slick from the constant runoff of fluids. The women had fallen into a rhythm — a relentless rotation where no one stayed on him for long, each determined to wring him dry before the next took her turn.

The one currently straddling him had her head tipped back, throat exposed, sweat streaking down her collarbone and over the heavy swell of her breasts. Her hips moved in tight circles at first, grinding against him so the swollen lips of her cunt dragged slow over the base of his cock. She kept her eyes half-lidded, watching his reaction through dark lashes.

"You like that?" she asked, her voice hoarse but laced with pride. "Feels like I’m swallowing you whole, doesn’t it? My pussy’s hugging you tighter than hers did." She tilted her head toward the last girl, who was still kneeling nearby, trembling and dripping down her thighs.

Her folds were visibly inflamed, glossy and engorged, the inner lips pushing out like ripe fruit. Every time she rose up, the stretched flesh clung to him for a heartbeat before peeling away, strings of slick connecting them. The others were close enough to watch, murmuring filthy encouragements, fingers buried between their own thighs.

"Get him deeper," one said, biting her lip. "I want to see his cock push up in your belly."

The rider grinned and adjusted her angle. She came down hard enough that the slap of her mound against his hips sounded like a punch, and sure enough, a faint bulge showed just beneath her navel. She put her hand there, pressing his length from outside as if measuring it.

"Right there," she said, smirking at him. "That’s where you’re going to finish. Flood it until it’s dripping back out. I want to feel it warm inside for hours."

Her rhythm changed — faster, more aggressive. The nest echoed with the wet, heavy sound of flesh meeting flesh. She was leaning forward now, one hand planted on his chest, the other between her legs to rub her clit as she rode. She wasn’t chasing her own orgasm gently — she was attacking it, grinding hard, riding him as though her only goal was to break herself open around his cock.

When she shuddered and collapsed against him, her nails dug into his skin. She panted into his neck for a moment, then pushed herself off with a low, satisfied groan. Her cunt leaked thick, creamy trails as she slid back, his cock glistening and ready for the next.

The one who replaced her wasted no time. Her swollen lips were so puffed and reddened they almost looked unreal, the inner flesh swollen outward in fat, glistening folds. She hissed when the tip pushed into her, not from reluctance, but from the ache of overuse meeting the heat of fresh penetration.

"That’s it," she murmured, sinking lower. "I want to feel every drop you gave her still on you, going into me. I’m going to milk you harder than any of them."

She rode with long, slow strokes at first, making a show of taking every inch before lifting away. Her body undulated with a practiced control, each rise and fall squeezing around him like her pussy was coaxing the cum out of his balls. She reached down to spread her lips, showing the others how stretched and engorged she was, her flesh puffed so badly that each thrust made her mound squish visibly against him.

"Look at me," she told him, locking eyes. "You’re not leaving this nest until I’m dripping so much I can’t walk. And you’re going to remember how it felt when I wrung you dry."

Her control faltered when he gripped her hips and began driving upward into her, forcing his cock in with sharp, deep strokes that made her head snap back. Her words broke into uneven gasps, but she kept holding herself open for him, even as her thighs trembled and her swollen folds battered against his hips.

She came quickly, but she didn’t get off him when she was done. She kept moving, slower now, almost lazily, letting the sensitive aftershocks ripple through her while his cock stayed buried inside. Her smirk returned as she pulled away, leaving a thick coat of cream along his shaft for the next girl to take.

The next one was already kneeling between his legs before the second had fully cleared him. Her hands closed around his slick length, stroking it once, twice, then lining herself up and dropping straight down with a grunt. She didn’t bother with words at first, just set into a steady, pounding rhythm that made the swollen flesh between her thighs smack audibly against him. Her lips were stretched tight around the base, every impact jarring through her body.

By now, his cock was soaked in the mingled juices of half the nest. The smell was heady, the heat suffocating. The riders were wild-eyed and restless, each turn feeding into the next. Their swollen, puffy cunts looked almost manufactured in their exaggerated size and color, the kind of obscene detail that would look fake anywhere but here, under the brutal lighting and sweat-shine of the nest.

They worked him in shifts without speaking much now, each too focused on her own pleasure and the singular goal of being filled. Some lasted only a minute before collapsing off, shaking and leaking. Others clung to him longer, grinding and shifting to hit every nerve. No matter how many came before, they all ended the same way — sore, swollen, and spilling his seed.

He stopped counting after the seventh. The women didn’t stop. The rotation became a blur of bodies and heat, the slap of hips and the obscene stretch of overused flesh. Every withdrawal left his shaft coated in a thick sheen, every entry forcing that mess back into the next hungry cunt.

It didn’t matter how wrecked they already were. Each woman left the nest limping, thighs trembling, but with the satisfied knowledge that the next time she returned, she’d do it all again.

And beneath it all, his cock never softened — not while there were still swollen, desperate bodies waiting to take their place in the endless cycle of milking.

The stone floor was slippery now, glazed in a sheen of sweat, slick, and the steady spill from every body that had taken him. The women didn’t bother wiping themselves anymore — they just staggered off, leaving trails as they went, thighs quivering and swollen lips parting with every step. The rotation hadn’t slowed; if anything, it had grown more frantic.

The next to climb onto him didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. She grabbed his shaft in both hands, holding it upright like a pillar, and lowered herself so the tip pressed directly into the puffy, distended opening between her legs. Her folds were so engorged they barely seemed to fit around him at first — they pressed against the head like overripe fruit about to split, wetness leaking from every seam. Then, with a determined push, she forced him inside, groaning through clenched teeth as her pussy stretched wide around the thick length already coated in the mess of the others.

Her hips came down hard, the swollen lips slapping audibly against his base. She stayed there for a moment, her belly heaving, eyes closed as she adjusted to the pressure. Then she began moving — not the tentative grind of someone testing herself, but the raw, punishing thrusts of someone desperate to empty him again.

"I want it deep," she rasped, her voice low and shaking. "All the way into my womb. You’re not holding anything back from me."

She slammed down harder, her mound bouncing against him with sharp, wet smacks that echoed off the walls. His cock vanished inside her each time, the swollen inner lips bulging around the intrusion before snapping back as she rose. Her hands dug into his thighs, nails scraping along his skin as she rode.

The others were close, watching. Some leaned against the walls with their hands buried between their legs. Others sat in the slick puddles left behind, still catching their breath but unwilling to miss the next milking. They whispered crude encouragements to her, taunting her to take more, to ride harder, to wring out everything he had left.

She did. Her thrusts grew faster, more violent. The obscene slap of her engorged lips against his hips filled the nest, each impact forcing her folds to flatten and spread before springing back swollen and ruddy. Her clit brushed his skin on every pass, and she ground down on it intentionally, chasing the sharp edge of pleasure until her entire body shook.

When she came, it was messy — her swollen lips clamped down on him, milking him with pulsing contractions that dragged every drop from him. Her fluid spilled in thick streams down his shaft, mixing with the creamy remnants of the women before her. She shuddered through it, then slowly lifted herself off, his cock slipping free with a wet pop, glistening and twitching.

Before the air could cool it, the next woman was already on him. She didn’t even bother using her hands — she squatted over him and dropped straight down, letting her own swollen folds take the hit. The flesh was so inflamed and glossy that each thrust made it look as if her pussy lips were being crushed flat, then snapping outward again in swollen relief. She threw her head back, groaning through gritted teeth, and began bouncing in a relentless rhythm.

There was no talking now, just the steady slap of hips and the slick, obscene sound of wet flesh parting and sealing with every thrust. The smell in the nest was dizzying — salt, musk, heat, the faint coppery tang of overworked flesh.

She lasted longer than most, grinding until her thighs trembled and her belly tightened from the strain. She leaned forward, panting into his ear, and muttered that she wanted him to ruin her — not just fill her, but fuck her until her lips were so swollen she couldn’t close them for days. He answered by gripping her hips and slamming her down on him until she cried out, her mound slapping against him hard enough to sting.

When she finally slid off, her folds gaped open, so puffy and abused they looked almost alien — obscene mounds of reddened flesh glistening in the nest’s dim light. She staggered away, holding herself, leaving a wet trail in her wake.

The next was already ready. She straddled him backwards, facing the others, giving them a clear view of his cock splitting her swollen lips. They spread around him like ripe petals, exaggerated and wet, clinging tight before peeling away on each rise. She leaned forward, using her hands to hold herself open as she dropped down again and again, showing everyone how deep he was inside her.

The sound of it was constant — flesh slapping, slick sliding, the faint squelch when she shifted her hips just so. Her ass bounced against his thighs, the muscles tensing with every thrust, until she came hard enough to collapse forward, shaking.

Another took her place. And another. And another.

Hours blurred together. Their cunts grew more swollen, more glossy, the folds so puffed and inflamed they barely seemed real anymore. Every insertion was met with the same obscene stretch, every withdrawal left strings of slick hanging between them. They didn’t stop. Even when their thighs shook so hard they could barely hold themselves upright, they forced another few thrusts, desperate for one more climax, one more flood of heat deep inside.

He lost track of how many had taken him. All he knew was the endless cycle — swollen lips, hot walls, the slap of hips, the tightening pulse when they came, the spill of their fluids down his length before the next woman climbed on.

The nest had become a world of nothing but heat, flesh, and the endless, exhausting need to be filled. And still, they kept coming, lips puffed and gleaming, wombs greedy and open, taking him again and again until there was no difference between one body and the next — just an endless parade of swollen, swollen mouths between their legs, hungry for more.