The shift never stopped. As soon as one spider-woman slid off him, thighs trembling, folds drooling a slick trail down his shaft, another was already climbing into place, gripping his shoulders or chest with shaking hands and lowering herself onto him with an obscene squelch. Their bodies were flushed deep red from strain and heat, swollen lips spreading impossibly wide to take him again, the puffed folds glistening so much they looked lacquered. Some hissed at the sting when they first sank down, their breath catching, but the pain only seemed to push them harder, as if the ache meant they were being fed exactly what they craved. Those waiting their turn hovered close, rubbing their soaked slits against his thighs, stomach, or the sides of his shaft, murmuring about how they needed to feel their wombs beaten full again, how empty they were without him pulsing inside.

The air was thick enough to taste, heavy with musk and the heat of too many bodies pressing together. The ground beneath them was slick now, coated in the pooled mixture of their arousal and the wet smacks of their pounding. Every thrust, every bounce, sent a wave of slick running down his hips, splashing over the spider-legs braced beneath the riders. Those who weren't mounted were licking the trails from his skin, their tongues dragging over the base of his cock, over the swollen folds of the women riding him, even down to the pulsing knots of muscle between spider abdomens and human hips. The rhythm was relentless — loud, wet slaps ringing against stone, each one followed by the guttural sound of a woman exhaling through clenched teeth or moaning through a filthy taunt at the next in line.

One leaned forward on his chest, her breasts pressing into him, whispering how she wanted him so deep her womb wouldn't close right for days. Her swollen lips clamped tight around him as she rocked her hips hard enough to make her spider-legs scrape across the stone, her eyes half-lidded and glassy from the constant friction. Behind her, another impatient one reached forward, rubbing her engorged folds against the rider's ass, muttering about how hot it felt just from being close. The rider growled at her to wait, calling her a greedy bitch, but her voice cracked on the last word when his next thrust bottomed out and forced a gush of slick down over the grinding girl's mound.

Their conversations turned into a chorus of filth, each of them talking about how wrecked they felt and how much more they wanted. One boasted she could take him three more times before her legs gave out, another swore her lips were so swollen they could barely part without him prying them open, a third moaned that she didn't care if she tore — she wanted it until her womb felt bruised. They cursed openly, swore at each other for hogging him, and in the same breath promised they'd wring him dry for everyone's sake. The slick between them made everything louder: the deep, fleshy slaps when hips met, the suction-pops when a body lifted just enough to break the seal, the steady drip-drip-drip from the overfilled riders down to the floor.

The heat built until every movement felt like it came with an electric jolt. The ones riding him dug their nails into his shoulders or braced against his stomach, grinding in tight circles after every few bounces just to feel the stretch change inside them. Others stroked themselves furiously while watching, fingers slipping into their own swollen folds, pumping fast while talking about how badly they needed him to wreck them next. A few pressed their faces between the rider's legs from below, their tongues catching every bead of slick that leaked out, their foreheads bumping against his pelvis when the rider slammed down too hard.

It didn't matter how many times they'd been filled or how tender they were — the hunger only grew. Their movements became rougher, sharper, like each one was determined to be the one to finally drain him completely. The swollen lips riding him looked like ripe fruit about to split, glossy and throbbing, but every groan of discomfort from the riders was drowned by the pounding slap of their hips and the gasped curses they let slip when he hit that deep, aching place inside. They wanted the soreness, the burn, the stretch. They wanted to be marked from the inside out.

The pile of them around him kept shifting, bodies brushing, hands roaming, mouths biting and licking at whatever skin they could reach. The wetness was everywhere — on his thighs, stomach, chest, even streaked across his neck where one had leaned in to kiss him and left trails of her slick smeared from her fingers. The nest's walls seemed to pulse with the sound of it all: the echo of flesh on flesh, the sharp breaths, the dripping, the murmured filth that never stopped. There was no pause, no breath between rounds — only the next woman climbing on, lowering herself onto him with a hiss at the stretch, and the cycle beginning again.

And in that endless rhythm, with swollen, ruined pussies still begging for more and the heat of their spider-bodies pressing in from every side, it was clear they weren't going to stop until they had taken every last drop from him, until the web itself smelled only of sex and exhaustion.

The nest was boiling with heat now, a haze of musk so thick every breath came heavy and wet. His skin was slick from head to toe, coated in the sheen of their sweat and the syrupy mess dripping from between their thighs. They never slowed. One spider-woman's trembling body finally gave way and she collapsed forward on his chest, gasping and twitching as her hips still spasmed around him, but she wasn't even gone before the next was already climbing over her, prying herself open with her fingers to show how swollen and glossy her lips had become before lowering herself onto him with a deep, slurping sound. The sting of that first push made her cry out, the stretch almost obscene now, but she ground down anyway, locking her spider-legs around him to make sure he couldn't pull out.

Others crowded close, rubbing their engorged folds against his arms, hips, and even his face, muttering through clenched teeth about how they could feel their insides still quivering from the last time he was inside them. Some boasted about how full their wombs felt, others swore it wasn't enough, that they needed him to pound them until they couldn't close their legs without feeling him still there. The air vibrated with wet, meaty slaps as bodies met, with the quick sucking sounds when a rider lifted just enough for air to rush in before slamming back down. Each one was swollen almost cartoonishly now, the puffy lips pushed apart and glistening like polished fruit, the flesh so tender that even the brush of another's thigh made them flinch and hiss before groaning for more.

He was being drained in shifts, but even in their turns, they didn't give him a moment to recover. One would be bouncing on his cock hard enough to make her spider-abdomen sway beneath her, and another would be crouched low between his thighs, sucking his balls into her mouth, kneading them, whispering to the rider to work him harder, to make his cock twitch inside her. A third would be behind him, licking the sweat down his spine, grinding her soaked folds against the curve of his ass while she muttered that she couldn't wait for her next turn. Even the ones who had already collapsed into the silk-lined corners of the nest weren't done — they'd spread themselves with shaking fingers, rubbing at their swollen mounds and calling encouragement to the others, their voices hoarse from moaning and swearing.

The smell was intoxicating, a heady mix of slick and heat, the stone floor under them glazed in a glistening sheen that made every movement squelch. His thighs and lower stomach were painted with their release, his cock so drenched it looked as though it had been dipped in oil. Each thrust drew a chorus of filthy talk — one rider begged him to bruise her womb, another cursed him for making her cum so hard she couldn't see straight, a third growled at the one behind her to shut up and wait her turn or she'd bite. The nest echoed with it, their voices and the steady, rhythmic slap of hips colliding ringing in the air like a pulse.

The shift changes got faster, more desperate. One would finish with a shuddering cry, her folds still clenching around him as she was pulled off by eager hands, only for another to shove her way in and sink down, ignoring the sting in favor of the heat inside. The swollen flesh of their pussies looked almost unreal now, the lips parted and puffy from the constant battering, some so sensitive they winced with every bounce yet couldn't stop. Every time he bottomed out, the rider's breath would hitch, and she'd either gasp for him to stay there or slam her hips down harder just to feel the ache spike.

Hands were everywhere — clutching at his chest, gripping his arms, sliding between their own thighs to rub where his cock couldn't reach. The heat of them surrounded him completely, bodies pressing from every angle, spider-legs scraping lightly over stone and silk as they adjusted to find better leverage to ride him deeper. Slick dripped constantly, running down his balls, pooling beneath them, splashing onto the legs of those crouched close. The ones not currently impaled on him kept their own pace — grinding against each other, licking the mess off his shaft when the rider lifted, even pressing their faces close to the swollen lips being split by his cock just to taste the mix leaking out.

He was caught in an endless cycle of use. Every woman here was locked in the same rhythm — ride, cum, collapse, return to the line. The ones watching moaned and cursed just from seeing the stretch, from hearing the wet crack each time their hips met. They didn't just want him to fill them; they wanted to take him until there was nothing left, until he was emptied so many times the only thing keeping him hard was the heat and friction of their swollen, drooling pussies clamping around him. And in the haze of silk, sweat, and spider-limbs, it was obvious they weren't going to stop until the nest was soaked in the proof of it, until the air was so thick with sex that even breathing felt like drinking it.