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..."
