I Want To Lay the Very Best!

Hustle and Heatstroke didn't waste time with taunts. They were a powerful duo, and they knew their window to flip the fight wouldn't last. Hustle stepped in first, her body tense but steady, cheeks still flushed, but her gaze locked and hungry. She pressed up against Calcine's front, her muscular chest mashing against Calcine's softer breasts, forcing the Fire-type into the rare position of being the one yielding in a bust-off.

Behind them, Heatstroke slithered nimble out of Morgan's grip, her tongue flicking lazily along the Murkrow's jaw, her breath thick with that telltale, cloying heat, laced with the subtle sting of her Corrosion-tinged flames. Her long tail coiled up, stroking along Hustle's tense back in a slow, encouraging caress. She let her toxins and heat work deeper into Morgan's mind, slipping past their natural defenses, clouding their focus, worming into her head where brute force couldn't reach. Hustle didn't need the plan explained to her. She understood her role just as well as Calcine did. She wasn't here to overwhelm her outright. She was here to smother her senses, to keep her locked in a crush of bodies, the press of sweat-slick skin, the needy grind of their chests and lips.

If it were just raw power, Calcine would have shrugged this off easily, but Hustle's obvious need for this to work made it far more effective. Calcine could feel how badly Hustle wanted to help Heatstroke. The hunger in Hustle's kiss as she mashed their mouths together, the mare's thick tongue mauling hers with clumsy enthusiasm. Heatstroke mirrored the move on Morgan, her tongue curling past the Murkrow's lips and sliding down her throat, pulling a ragged shiver from the normally sharp-tongued bird.

Calcine had been kissed by more skilled partners before, but something about Hustle's brute-force earnestness still made her smirk. The mare deserved a reward for the effort. Calcine slid her hands down to grip Hustle's firm ass, pulling her in tight, grinding against her with slow, deliberate pressure. Just enough friction to tease, without giving Hustle any real satisfaction. If Calcine was going to turn this around, she needed Hustle to overcommit. She let out a soft, calculated groan as Hustle eagerly ground back against her, the heat of the mare's cock thick and insistent against Calcine's thigh. Hustle's hands came up, trembling but determined, eager to push harder into the kiss and into Calcine, as if she could wear her down by sheer need alone.

Hustle's hands slid over Calcine's hips, fingers digging in as if to anchor herself, but Calcine could feel the tremble still in them. Desperate, overeager. The horse-girl might have found her courage, but she still pushed like someone afraid they'd lose the chance if they let up for even a second. It made Calcine grin against her lips. She could use that. Calcine was very used to partners who needed a little more confidence by now.

Heatstroke was far more skilled. She'd coiled her tail around Morgan and twisted her body to match it in a show of flexible spine that had the crowd watching with rapt attention. Her tongue lapped at the Murkrow's throat, her hands roaming lower, curling possessively around Morgan's cock. She was stroking with slow, deliberate pumps that made Morgan shudder helplessly in her coils. Her fingers bled purple smoke, that same creeping poison that seeped all through Morgan's feathers, and from the look of it, Morgan was truly lost in it now. Heatstroke was effortlessly dragging out moans, every brush of her claws had Morgan warbling like she was having molten pleasure poured down her throat.

Heatstroke's fingers curled tighter, stroking along the sensitive underside of Morgan's cock with maddening precision, while her other hand locked firmly around Morgan's waist, holding her close, forcing every ragged breath to come out shaky and desperate against her lips.

Morgan's wings flicked weakly at her sides, their usual sharp confidence replaced by trembling, useless spasms as Heatstroke swallowed her protests in long, messy kisses. Morgan leaned into them now, her body betraying her, her knees wobbling as she ground helplessly against Heatstroke's hand, lost in the rising haze. All the while, Heatstroke's tail curled tighter around Morgan's legs, keeping her just off-balance enough to remind her she wasn't going anywhere without permission.

Brandy and the rest must be loving this, because it really was a treat to watch. Heatstroke was putting on an absolutely captivating show. Her back was open, and Calcine could have thrown off Hustle and ended it, but she didn't want to win that way. She needed to do something Morgan would approve of, steal the stage, and show up her opponent.

Calcine slid her hands from Hustle's hips to the mare's cheeks, giving them a possessive squeeze that made Hustle gasp into her mouth. It was just enough that Calcine could slip Hustle's tongue free, and she could see the fire of her eyes reflected in Hustle's as she spoke.

"You want to impress your girl, right?" Calcine growled low into Hustle's ear, her tone heavy with challenge. "Then show her. Ride me. Make it a show she'll never forget."

She rolled her hips slowly against Hustle's belly, letting the mare feel how hard Calcine could make this if she really wanted to. Then she forced herself back a half step, giving Hustle the space to take control. Calcine had seen Brandy do this plenty, surrendering herself just enough to let others think they were in charge while still steering them exactly where she wanted.

Calcine caught the burn of Heatstroke's gaze already, those hungry eyes narrowing, drinking it all in as she rested her chin on Morgan's shoulder.

Good. But she could do better.

Calcine grinned at Hustle, "Better make it good, Heatstroke's watching."

Hustle's eyes widened, her breath catching as the weight of Calcine's challenge settled on her shoulders. But she didn't falter. Her hands pressed firmly to Calcine's chest. With a sudden, determined shove, she pushed Calcine back, forcing the Carkol down onto her back with a heavy thud that sent ripples of excitement through the crowd.

Calcine let it happen, smirking up at Hustle as she sprawled beneath her, letting the mare straddle her fully now. Hustle's breath came heavy, the heat of her body radiating against Calcine's as she settled in place, taking the position of power she'd been given. Her hips rolled, slow and deliberate, her thick length grinding with punishing force along Calcine's stone-carved abs, every stroke sending shudders through her solid core. Hustle's sheer size was staggering, her cock thick and commanding as it slid from Calcine's waist up toward her chest and back again, leaving a slick trail of sweat against her rough, muscular frame. The friction wasn't just intense, it was overwhelming, grinding down on her with a force that made her ribs creak under the relentless press of Hustle's hips. Every stroke from Hustle wasn't just an attempted act of dominance; it was a raw, grinding display of strength, her sweat-slicked body forcing Calcine to feel every quiver of muscle, every relentless push of her hips.

Hustle made a show of it, arching her back to exaggerate the heft of her frame, flexing so hard the ropes of muscle along her flanks and belly stood out in stark relief. The crowd gasped, then roared, their cheers a crashing wave as Hustle ground her hips down with punishing patience, dragging herself from Calcine's waist to her chest and back again. The sheer scale of her body eclipsed Calcine beneath her, leaving her pinned flat, forced to endure every punishing roll as Hustle worked her over like she owned her.

It wasn't just Hustle's size that made it work for Calcine, though that helped a lot. It was the freshly found confidence of someone finally letting herself loose. It stole the breath from Calcine's throat. It was so beautiful to see, and Hustle loved it too. She had an Earthquake rumble flowing through her body, making Calcine quake from the inside out. The crowd ate it up, hollering and chanting, whipped into a frenzy by the sight of the towering horse-woman reducing Calcine to nothing but a stage for her performance.

It wasn't subtle, and that was precisely the point. Hustle wasn't just putting on a show for the crowd; she was performing for Heatstroke. Calcine could see it in the flicker of Hustle's gaze, how she angled her body, arching her back just enough to ensure Heatstroke had the best view. Every grinding roll of her hips was a raw, unflinching display of strength for Heatstroke to feast on. She was giving her partner something to salivate over, something to burn into her mind.

Heatstroke was utterly enraptured. Calcine could see how Heatstroke's hungry eyes were glued to every flexing roll of Hustle's hips, drinking it in like she'd never seen her girlfriend move like this before. Maybe she hadn't. Hustle had probably been ordered about before, but Brandy's style of order by submission was unusual, and this illegal arena was a place for strong, dominant personalities. Hustle was getting some clear orders to from someone she wanted to fuck, with directions on how to do it, and it seemed to be really working for the horse lady.

Hustle showed exactly what her body could do when given the stage, using her size and strength to press Calcine flat, to make her feel every ounce of that earthshaking presence.

Even with her breath rattling in her lungs from every grind, Calcine couldn't help but smirk. She wanted Hustle to get drunk on her own power, not just so they could turn it around again, but because it felt good to give someone what they needed..

Hustle, flushed and panting, finally found her rhythm. With a grunt of determination, she hooked her arms under Calcine's legs, lifting them up high, forcing Calcine's strong thighs wide and giving herself a clear, commanding line to press in from behind. Her breath hitched at the feeling as she lined up, eyes wide with exhilaration. Then she thrust forward, sliding into Calcine in one heavy, claiming stroke that made both of them groan, loud and unfiltered, echoing over the roar of the crowd.

Calcine gasped, arching up to meet her, giving Hustle that moment of triumph. But as the thick weight of the mare filled her, Calcine let out a ragged groan, gritting her teeth against its sheer force.

"Arceus, maybe I did too good a job," Calcine huffed, a half-laugh, half-groan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to the overwhelming stretch. Hustle had a lot between her legs, and she was eager to prove it; a beast like her needed a little guidance when she was this worked up.

Calcine exhaled through her teeth, settling her hands on Hustle's hips, giving her a grounding squeeze. "Slow down, girl. Easy now. Treat a lady right," she said, her tone soft but firm, coaxing Hustle to temper her wild, eager thrusts into something steadier, deeper, more deliberate.

Hustle blinked down at her, breathless and flushed, but the command seemed to cut through the haze in her eyes. Her lips quivered in a crooked smile, nerves still there under the surface, but there was a pride behind it now too, a flush of satisfaction that she'd made Calcine groan like that.

"Y-yeah," Hustle stammered, her voice rough, trembling with effort and pride. "I can I can do that. Wanna make you feel good too. I wanna do it right."

Her breath trembled against Calcine's chest as she steadied herself, the grind of her hips turning slower, more luxurious, letting Calcine feel every deliberate inch, every pulse and flex of muscle. The crowd roared at the shift, the spectacle of Hustle's brute power refined into something smooth, deliberate, dominating without losing its tenderness. She held Calcine in place with reverent hands, her body heavy but her movements now measured, coaxing out those rare, broken moans from Calcine, she seemed to crave more than the crowd's cheers.

As Hustle settled into that new rhythm, her gaze flicked down, catching the gleam of Calcine's Fire Gem nestled between her breasts, glowing faintly with the heat pouring off her skin. Hustle's breath faltered, her eyes locking onto it like it was some forbidden treasure. Calcine caught the shift instantly and let out a low, breathy chuckle despite the stretch.

"You like the look of that, do you?" Calcine crooned, running a teasing finger along Hustle's jaw, guiding her gaze back to her face. "Be a good girl for me, keep fucking me just like that and maybe I'll show you what it does."

She gave Hustle a wicked grin, her words dripping with honeyed promise, knowing how the bait would light her up inside. Hustle whimpered softly, her ears flicking back, but she nodded, her determination shining through the haze. Her pace steadied, and the weight of her hips sank in deeper, smoother, every motion now deliberate, measured, worshipful. Hustle licked her lips, her gaze flickering between Calcine's flushed face and the tempting gleam of the gem. Her body rocked into Calcine with a rhythm that dug deep, sending sparks along nerves already stretched thin, each thrust grinding perfectly into her, dragging out slow, aching moans she could no longer hold back. The way Hustle adjusted to her body, filling her just right, made Calcine's mind swim, the friction sparking along every nerve.

Heatstroke's gaze devoured them both, her claws digging possessively into Morgan, who whimpered against her chest, mumbling into her scales, completely drunk on the mix of lust and toxins. Heatstroke's tail lashed, her breath coming ragged as she watched her partner fuck Calcine into the ground, her purple eyes wide, lips parted, hungry and burning with envy.

She couldn't help herself. Heatstroke's voice was thick with envy, but also edged with approval, hot enough to crackle. "Look at you, Hustle. Arceus, you never move like that for me. She's really lit a fire under you, huh?"

Her words were meant to sound teasing, but they slid down an octave halfway, betraying how much it was getting to her. She clutched Morgan tighter to her chest, letting her jealousy mix with hunger, with pride.

Calcine let out a rough, teasing groan, just loud enough to cut through the crowd's roar. "I'll teach you ... if you can fuck Morgan half as good as your girl's fucking me right now." Calcine's eyes were lidded as she stared at Heatstroke, daring the Salazzle to up her game. "Or are you just going to sit there and watch me squirm for her?"

Heatstroke hissed low, the flicker of jealousy in her eyes flaring into something hotter, sharper. She pushed Morgan back against her chest, licking at the Murkrow's throat with slow, taunting drags of her tongue. "Fine. You want me to show you?" she growled, her voice a sultry purr laced with a dangerous crackle. "Watch me make your bird sing louder than you've ever heard."

With a hungry snarl, she pinned Morgan tighter, sliding her hand lower, curling around the trembling Murkrow's cock, stroking her with a wicked, practiced touch. Morgan whimpered, her voice breaking into soft, slurred moans as Heatstroke licked and teased at her neck, her breath thick with poison, her claws curling just enough to keep the trembling bird pressed to her.

Calcine let the roar of the crowd wash over her. Hustle was busy working her over, and Calcine let the mare show off as she plowed Calcine with heavy, deliberate strokes that Calcine sank back into with a pleased grin. She could take this. She could handle it, Brandy's way. Let them think they had her; it only made the payoff sweeter when she took back control.

For now, she let herself savor it. She let Hustle fuck her like she deserved. Hard and slow, with every heavy, grinding thrust dragging raw, needy moans from her throat that echoed off the arena walls, feeding the crowd's frenzied cheers. She basked in the attention, letting them all believe she was on the ropes and that Hustle had her bent and begging.

Because Calcine knew the truth, before this was over, she was going to have all three of them in her lap, and she was going to show everyone just how strong Brandy's style could be.