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The Only Winning Move (Lay the Very Best - Chapter 381)
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 01:20:22 +0000 UTCMorgan's shadows writhed as she let them loose. Liquid and eager, they curled around Heatstroke's hips and legs, pulling her close, spreading her open. The Salazzle shuddered when Morgan's fingers wrapped around her cock, thumb tracing a slow, teasing circle over the head.
"Fuck," Heatstroke groaned. "Yes, yes, yes."
Morgan grinned. She loved that voice, low, husky, and a little desperate. It sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted more. Wanted to hear it crack. Wanted to make the Salazzle scream. To feel her shake and quiver. To watch her come undone under her touch.
Morgan moved faster, stroking in long, smooth motions. Heatstroke moaned again, hips bucking in time. Her body trembled, tail thrashed, and claws gouged into the arena floor. It was beautiful, and Morgan drank it in, savoring every second.
"You're mine," she crowed. "Mine. All mine."
Heatstroke nodded, eyes half-lidded and glazed, breath ragged. Flames licked at the corners of her mouth, curling across her scaled skin.
Morgan leaned in, her breath hot against Heatstroke's throat. The scent of smoke and shadow mingled between them. Her tongue flicked out, dragging slowly along the Salazzle's jaw, tasting ash, heat, and need. Shadows danced across their bodies, rippling with every movement, tightening their grip just enough to hold Heatstroke still.
"You feel that?" Morgan whispered, voice thick with hunger. "You burn for me."
Heatstroke whimpered, her tongue flickering out of her mouth, arching her body into Morgan's hand. Her cock pulsed and twitched in Morgan's grip, the flames along her skin flaring. A rush of mouthwatering heat flowed along Morgan's wing, and the arena floor beneath them glowed with all the residual heat.
It reminded Morgan of a worked-up Calcine with a firestorm burning under stony skin. Morgan would love to break her apart like Heatstroke, to see all that taut muscle squirm under her touch. But Calcine was just so self-assured, so infuriatingly assertive when she got hot enough to finally push back. Every time Morgan tried to seize control, Calcine twisted it around on her. A challenge she couldn't beat, and yet she kept trying. Like she wanted to lose. Wanted to be burned up by her, undone by a woman too powerful for Morgan to handle.
Morgan's eyes flicked across the arena. There, on the other side of the chaos, Calcine had Hustle pinned up against a wall, one hand at the horse-woman's chest, the other buried between her legs. The look on Calcine's face was pure, unshakable focus. Hustle writhed under her, head tossed back, moaning openly, her feet pounding the earth so hard it shook beneath them both. It was the same damn thing. Hustle had no chance, and Morgan shuddered at the sight of Calcine doing to that powerful horse lady what she could never quite manage to do to Calcine.
It stirred something deep in her. She wanted to be swept up in that unstoppable tide, pinned down, broken open. The thought alone made her knees weak. Fuck, she wanted to lose to her.
Morgan turned her eyes back to Heatstroke, shadows tightening their hold like coils drawn taut. Her breath hitched. Heatstroke wasn't Calcine or Brandy, but she was here, and she deserved something. Morgan kissed her, deep and fierce, prying Heatstroke's mouth open. Their tongues tangled, Heatstroke's breath a molten exhale. Morgan's shadow energy writhed, wrapping them both in a shivery grip. Heatstroke's cock pulsed in her hand, Morgan moving faster, harder. Her other hand cupped Heatstroke's firm ass, squeezing. Heatstroke moaned into the kiss, gasping.
"Yessss," she hissed. "Please."
"You want to be flipped over."
Heatstroke bit her lip.
Morgan leaned in, voice dark and coaxing. "You want to be bent over and fucked until you can't stand anymore."
"Mmmhhhh," Heatstroke moaned.
"You want to feel my cock inside you," Morgan purred. "Filling you up."
She could feel the heat rising from Heatstroke's skin, her eyes glazing as she writhed.
"And you want your girlfriend right there beside you, feeling the same thing."
"Yes," Heatstroke gasped. "Oh fuck, yes."
Morgan grinned and rolled her hips forward, rubbing their cocks together. "Come on then. Let's go see her."
Morgan dug her claws into Heatstroke's ass and began dragging her across the arena toward Calcine and Hustle. The crowd roared. Heatstroke stumbled, panting, drenched in sweat, legs shaking. Her hips swayed, her posture loose.
Morgan didn't rush. She wanted everyone to see what she'd done. How utterly hers Heatstroke was now, her body completely at Morgan's bidding. Tugging her along by the tail, Morgan paraded her prize.
Heatstroke's claws curled weakly. She didn't resist, just gasped with every squeeze of Morgan's claws, her cock twitching with every step.
Morgan stopped short of Calcine and Hustle, yanking Heatstroke forward with a flourish, holding her there exposed, panting away as her skin gleamed. The crowd howled louder. This was Morgan's chance to grab Calcine's attention, and it worked a treat.
Calcine looked up from where she'd been driving Hustle to orgasm. She grinned at the sight of Morgan strutting across the arena.
"I like this," Calcine said, voice a deep, teasing rumble. "Putting on a show for me?"
The words hit like a spark. Morgan's wings twitched, chest swelled... and then faltered. Calcine was in control again. Lounging like a queen, unbothered, one hand still wrapped around Hustle's thick shaft.
Morgan hated how easily Calcine disarmed her. A single look, a smile, and all her heat turned to helpless want.
"I thought you might like the view," Morgan said, her voice thinner than she wanted. She steadied herself, reached out, brushing fingers along Heatstroke's waist. "Thought maybe we could do her together. It's supposed to be our night, right?"
Calcine's eyes flicked over Heatstroke, then back to Morgan. "Anything for you. I have a lovely lady here who wants the best for her girl. How about you press that Salazzle against her, and then we make a sandwich of them both."
Morgan laughed, breath catching. She nodded.
She guided Heatstroke forward, pressing her gently against Hustle's front. Their bodies met with a soft, breathless sound. Hustle reached for her girlfriend, arms curling around her like something precious, their breasts squishing together in a soft, shared heat. Heatstroke gasped, tail flicking as she melted into the contact.
Morgan watched them both and felt a little envy at the love they both clearly shared. Then Calcine's hand found hers. Strong. Reassuring.
Morgan squeezed back.
"You take the lead on this one?" Morgan offered.
"I think when it comes to butts, you're the expert," Calcine said.
Morgan rolled her eyes, but smiled. Her nerves quieted. Together, they shifted in, pressing around Heatstroke and Hustle. Morgan wrapped an arm around Heatstroke's waist, claws grazing her belly, wings flaring. Calcine mirrored her, arms around Hustle's shoulders. Hustle sighed, legs spreading, head resting on Calcine's shoulder.
Morgan met Hustle's gaze. The horsewoman gave a soft, encouraging nod.
"Thank you," Morgan said.
She focused. Shadows coiled, lifting Heatstroke and tilting her hips into the perfect angle. The Salazzle let out a low whine as her legs spread wide, tail lifted high, and back arched.
Morgan wanted nothing more than to make her feel good.
She pushed forward, her cock pressing against Heatstroke's ass. Morgan groaned at the contact, and Heatstroke moaned, her body straining. Morgan leaned in, pressing harder, slipping inside. Heatstroke's body opened up, hot and tight and overwhelming. Morgan paused, panting.
Heatstroke whimpered, her claws digging into Hustle's back.
Morgan bit her lip and forced herself to go slow. Inch by inch. She went slow, savoring the heat and pressure.
Heatstroke trembled, gasping with every movement. Hustle kissed her cheek, whispering encouragement. Calcine pressed in from behind Hustle, matching Morgan's rhythm. They moved together, a slow, powerful roll. They broke the pair together.
Heatstroke writhed, her voice cracking into ragged moans. She couldn't keep up, her mind blurred, body barely upright. She was held up by Morgan's will, every inch touched, worshipped, filled.
Hustle wasn't much better. Her thighs trembled under Calcine's grip, her breath catching in shallow bursts as she tried to hold herself together. Her muscles tensed like she still had something to prove, but every slow, deep thrust from Calcine chipped away at her control. Her back arched, her hands gripping at Heatstroke's sides like an anchor, as if clinging to her partner might keep her grounded. But there was no holding on. Not with Calcine working her the way only she could. Hustle's resolve buckled, her moans rising with every roll of Calcine's hips, until she crumbled entirely, lost in the same pleasure-drenched haze as Heatstroke.
Morgan moved on instinct, lost in the rhythm.
She didn't need to lead.
She didn't need to dominate.
She just needed to feel it.
It was going so well.
So Morgan didn't question the green flames curling around Heatstroke's lips, burning with a color they hadn't seen before. She didn't dwell on how Hustle was sweaty and flushed, but she still had plenty of strength in reserve.
Morgan was ready to lose. She could trust Calcine to dig her out of the hole she was watching them walk into.
It was all up to the Carkol now.
Comments
Irish Not Sane
Oh dam, Morgan really does have the moves and I would not be surprised to see her come out of this date an evolved Morgan who fully accepts herself and her place under Calcine.
