Movie Night

Smolder had never had much patience for stupid questions, but boy did she get a lot of them at college. One time, when she’d been in the dining hall between classes, another student — a pegasus, lanky and lumpy in all the wrong ways — had squinted at her from the next table through her whole sandwich, and finally blurted out as she got up to leave, “Why d’you have tits?”

It was because she was a dragon, he’d stammered, after she’d politely asked him — eyes narrowed, smoke curling from her nose, hand braced on a cinderblock wall that was probably digging into his spine — to clarify what he meant by that. Dragons were lizards, right? Reptiles, not mammals like ponies or zebras or even griffons. And yet Smolder had… well, those. Big ones. Not the biggest — Yona had her and probably every creature on the continent beat — but big enough. And he was just wondering, y’know, what the deal was. Biologically, or whatever.

At the moment, she hadn’t been super willing to explore the matter with him. She was late to class already and he was still kind of checking her out even as she glowered up at him, so she’d said something snarky like, “Well, my mom had tits, and your dad had a tiny dick, so I guess things just work out that way sometimes,” and then stalked off to the sound of the stallion’s friends snickering at him.

Later, though, she’d ended up zoned out through an entire Psych lecture because, damn it all to Pony Hell, it was kind of a good question. Way back in pre-civilization days, dragons laid eggs and pissed and shit through one all-purpose cloaca thing, and the only time they got any milk in them was probably when they ate cows whole. So what changed between then and now to make Smolder so smokin’ hot in both literal dragon and figurative pony terms?

She didn’t figure it out during class, or even after classes ended when she asked her friends about it. It wasn’t until late that night, staring up at the ceiling with her head sandwiched between Yona’s titanic twins, that she realized the truth: her being a dragon and having boobs wasn’t any more or less weird than Yona walking on two legs, or Sandbar having hands instead of hooves, or Gallus having regular omnivorous teeth behind a beak that felt just as soft as lips when you kissed him. They’d all come from different evolutionary backgrounds, and at some point all their ancestors had fucked what must’ve been some apocalyptically hot monkeys, and now here they all were.

So that was what she should’ve told that dude in the dining hall: “Who fucking cares?” But then again, she hated stupid questions, and that was one she didn’t feel like she needed an answer to.

“Hey.”

Smolder blinked and surfaced from her thoughts. She could still taste Silverstream on her lips, and still see the hippogriff zonked out on the couch, softly giggling and idly fingering all the spots where Smolder’s tongue had been a minute earlier. In front of her, the coffee table had been shoved into a corner so there was room on the floor for Gallus to get down on his knees behind Ocellus, who — hands braced on the carpet, eyes squeezed shut — moaned softly as the griffon pounded her from behind, each stroke sending ripples through her asscheeks and setting her breasts swaying underneath her.

And right by Smolder’s side, Sandbar stood smiling with his elbow propped against the wall, smelling like sandalwood and seawater, stiffened dick held loosely in his hand and girlfriend sprawled out behind him in pretty much the same state Smolder had left Silver in. The dragon smirked up at him and — once her pointed downward glance was met with a slight nod — peeled the pony’s fingers out of the way she could take over for him. As she slowly stroked him, he stepped in front of her and leaned in close, his arms tossed over her shoulders and his warm, steady breaths tickling her eyelashes.

“Hey,” she said back, touching her nose to his. He waited a moment, just long enough for her to think about taking the lead herself, then closed the gap and kissed her, just short enough to make her wish he’d come over here sooner.

“How you feeling?” Sandbar softly asked her.

“I could feel better,” Smolder replied. She jerked him a bit faster, squeezed him a bit tighter. “Wanna help?”

Sandbar’s goofy smile grew, and he kissed her again, deep and tender, tongue stretching past her teeth just enough to taste her. Right when she stretched her tongue to meet his, he pulled away and pressed his lips to her neck, then under her chin, then down from her sternum between her tits to her stomach.

When he reached her belly button, he didn’t say a word about biological improbabilities, and instead just flicked his tongue into the little crevice until it tickled enough to make her twitch. And after that, he kept going, sinking from a crouch to a kneel, wrapping his hands around her hips and squeezing her ass as his lips, and his tongue, and his whole fantastic mouth finally touched down on her so-far-neglected pussy.

Smolder liked getting head. She found it hard to imagine any creature on the planet not liking it. And she enjoyed it pretty much no matter who was giving it, whether it was rough from Gallus, sloppy from Silver, overwhelming from Yona, or especially delicate and dedicated from Ocellus.

But Sandbar… holy shit, Sandbar was magical. He didn’t have a special style, a go-to technique, or even an abnormal amount of stamina. But he was strong, and sensitive, and damn near clairvoyant at figuring out exactly what you needed — often before you figured it out yourself — and giving it to you perfectly.

It might literally be magic, actually, some earth-pony connection with the body and soul or whatever. Smolder didn’t care. Smolder just wanted him to keep going, keep his lips right there and his tongue right there and, stars, worship her like she was a thousand feet tall and his only reason for existing was making her feel godly fucking good.

She flattened her palms against the wall, and then her back not long after, tail thrashing back and forth as Sandbar’s nose brushed over her clit. She thought of telling him to focus there, and didn’t even have to ask aloud — by the time the thought occurred to her, his tongue was already there, its presence inside her pussy replaced by pumping fingers that pushed an unseemly grunt out of her lungs. She could’ve spent the whole night and the next day like this, if her knees weren’t about to give out and make her ride his face all the way to the floor. Maybe he’d like that. He was dating Yona, after all.

Or maybe he’d like something else — something he showed with a final swipe of his tongue and a kiss over her clit, and a wolfish glint in his eye as he stood up and took her by the shoulder and slammed her against the wall, chest to chest, rock-hard cock grinding between them. She struggled — not a lot, just enough to tell him not to stop — and grunted again as he flipped her around, pinning one hand between her wings as he used the other to tug her tail out of the way.

“You want–” Smolder started to say, but the words never got out. She felt the bulbous head of Sandbar’s cock press against her, then a rush of pins and needles down to her toes as he pushed forward and all the way into her, until the fuzzy rim of his sheath brushed against her lips.

“I do,” he said plainly — just a simple answer to a simple question. Smolder shuddered, bit her lip, and suppressed a cry as Sandbar drew himself back out and speared back in, filling her completely, stretching her deliciously.

Another point in Yona’s favor: among his many other nice qualities, Sandbar had a really big dick that he really knew how to use. Thank whatever god yaks worshiped that she was willing to share it on Friday nights.

As Sandbar picked up the pace, the pressure he put on Smolder’s back grew heavier, and his grip on her tail squeezed and pulled tighter. Smolder went from braced against the wall to bent over double in front of it, legs spread so Sandbar had all the space he could ever want to fuck her faster, deeper, harder. Despite her best efforts, little sounds of pleasure bubbled out of her throat: half-growls, half-squeaks, all a little bit louder every time the base of his cock spread her pussy lips wider than any other creature she’d taken before.

She’d been wet before, but in a matter of moments Smolder was dripping, each thrust drawing a bit more liquid lust out of her to smear across her butt, slide down the inside of her thighs, splatter in little milky droplets onto Sandbar’s swinging balls. She couldn’t help it; dragons were squirters. Or she was, anyway. At the moment, she didn’t much fucking care what any other creature did when they were getting railed — when they had a soda-can cock that felt it was bouncing off their stomach driving every thought they’d ever have out of their thoroughly tenderized mind.

Her first climax of the night took her by surprise. It didn’t build up so much as just hit like a meteor strike: a particularly deep thrust, a clench around his cock, and then a flood of buzzing, exhilarating warmth that almost sent her to the floor again. Sandbar felt her cum, slowed down just enough to make sure she could stay upright while it passed, then hilted himself inside her right as it tapered off — starting it all over again. Smolder couldn’t help it; she moaned, with her whole chest, and kept mumbling and trembling until the last heart-pounding pulse of her second orgasm faded away.

He was still buried in her when her executive functions kicked in again, humping gently, holding her by the hips as she spasmed beneath him. She pushed back into him, grabbing his thigh with one hand for leverage, the other hand still flat on the wall.

“You good?” she heard him ask, his voice muffled a bit by the deluge of happy brain chemicals she was still surfacing from.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she managed to answer. He pulled out and thrust in again, and her legs gave out completely, Sandbar’s earth pony strength the only thing keeping her from eating shit against the baseboard.

She hadn’t lied. “Good” was a relative term. She felt unbelievably good right now. “Good at standing up” was another thing entirely.

“C’mere.”

She felt Sandbar pull out completely, then twist her at the hips, guiding her into turning in place so she was facing him again. Her hands moved from her sides to the backs of her thighs — squeezing, pulling, lifting.

Smolder pressed her back to the wall and let him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as she settled into his delightfully firm grip. His cock stood straight up between them, still slick with her juices, bobbing slightly as her lips rubbed against the ring of flesh around its middle.

He smiled down at her, the look in his eyes screaming what he knew better than to say aloud: “You’re really hot and I love making you feel good.” She smiled back — cheeks warming, her own gaze leveling out on his hardened pecs. Leave it to Sandbar to be sappy during a fucking orgy. She’d never tell him how much she enjoyed it. She didn’t need to say it aloud.

He pushed her up the wall a bit and wiggled his hips, then brought her back down, sinking her back onto his cock. She grit her teeth and grunted — the most she could consciously give him to tell him she wanted more, despite everything he’d already done. He took it and ran with it, sliding her slowly up and down his length, pulling with his arms and thrusting with his hips so that every stroke touched new spots inside her he hadn’t been able to reach before.

The torrent between Smolder’s legs had slowed to a sticky trickle, but Sandbar didn’t seem to mind one bit, and Smolder sure didn’t either. Each thrust sent aftershocks of her last climax bouncing through her core, and squeezing that core around him got her shivering and him biting his lip in bliss. He wasn’t on the edge yet, but he was getting there — and her help in closing the gap was the very least he deserved.

She looked over his shoulder for inspiration, and found it quickly. Silverstream had crawled across the couch towards Yona and slotted between her legs, picking up right where Sandbar had left off. Yona, meanwhile, had her eyes locked on Sandbar’s cock, squeezing her breast with her hand each time she watched him piston into Smolder’s cunt.

Smolder caught her eye and winked, her way of saying, “Thanks for the boy toy.” Yona smirked and winked back, her way of saying, “Thanks for the show.”

“Your girl’s havin’ fun over there,” Smolder said, leaning up to murmur in Sandbar’s ear.

“I’m having fun over here,” came his lecherous reply, whispered at the same volume into her neck, chased with a nip under her chin that sent a fresh wave of goosebumps rolling down her spine.

And he wasn’t lying — Smolder could see it written all over his face when he pulled back, in the way his nose wrinkled and his lips tightened each time the head of his cock reached her core. She lifted a hand to his cheek, his stubble prickling against her fingertips. When he met her eyes, she hooked a finger behind his ear so she could pull him in for a kiss.

She didn’t pull away, even when an extra-deep thrust sent a jolt of ecstasy through her stomach, even as he groped her ass and pressed his chest to hers so his fuzzy chest tingled against her nipples. She wanted to stay like this — quiet, intimate, totally alone together — as long as she could. She didn’t need to hear another word from him, or say a word back. Creatures in college talked too much anyway, asked stupid questions and gave shallow answers and thought they knew things they’d only read about without feeling them.

She wanted to feel him — herself — the pure wholeness of this moment. She wanted to know he felt it too. She wanted it to bubble out of him because he couldn’t keep it contained anymore.

His hips sped up. His grip tightened. She pulled his lip between her teeth and bit down — not a lot, just enough to tell him to keep going — and finally got what she wanted.

Sandbar sheathed his cock inside her, hips flush with hers, and groaned — a wordless, unbound, wonderful sound. She felt him pulse inside her, slick warm cum pooling around his head and rushing down the outside of his shaft, squeezing out of her cunt and splattering to the ground between his shuddering legs. He pressed her forehead to hers, lips parted, breath hot against her tongue as she rode his orgasm out with him — hand still holding his cheek, savoring how his jaw flexed and his eyelids crumpled and how he felt his climax through every single part of him.

That was what she’d wanted — what she craved every Friday night with the best friends she’d ever had. She wanted to make them feel good. She wanted to see them happy. She didn’t need to say it aloud, and Sandbar knew better than to make her.

If he ever did, though, she’d fucking kill him. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

“Hah… hmm…” was all Sandbar said in the meantime, until Smolder brushed her lips against his again and waited until he reshaped his own for a soft post-coital smooch. “How you feeling now?” he mumbled into her mouth.

“Much better,” she replied, before wiggling her hips and leaning back a bit. “Mind letting me down?”

Carefully, and not a little bit stickily, he crouched down so Smolder’s feet could find purchase on the floor before he pulled his hands away from her butt, shaking his surely-tired arms out as he did. He was just as much a mess as she was — softened cock and thighs glistening with their combined fluids — but the rosy glow on his face and the glint in his gaze told her he was just as satisfied with that mess as her.

Behind him, Ocellus had switched positions — or rather, Gallus had switched their position for them. He’d pushed them flat against the floor with their legs together and butt raised, so he could drive into them full-force with wet smacks that sounded like spanking more than fucking.

As Smolder watched, Gallus’ rhythm grew unsteady and his strokes grew shallower, until finally he hilted himself in Ocellus’ cunt and smothered them with his body, butt flexed and arms shaking as he unloaded inside them. Smolder couldn’t see exactly how Ocellus felt about it from where she was standing, but the blissful squeaks she could hear from beneath the griffon’s chest said more than enough.

“How you doin’ over there, Cell?” she called out as Gallus finally came to rest. After a moment, a skinny arctic blue arm poked out from under Gallus’ cerulean one, the hand at its end formed into a quivering thumbs-up.

Smolder snorted and shook her head. “They’re such a slut,” she murmured to Sandbar.

“Look who’s talking,” he shot back. Smolder narrowed her eyes into a glare — not the easiest thing to manage in the moment, with Sandbar’s goofy smile as a target and his cum dribbling decadently down her legs.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” she growled.

“Why?” Sandbar said with a cheeky shrug. “It’s true.”

Smolder sighed, and slumped, and felt her face get warm. “Don’t hafta say it,” she grumbled. Her cheeks went even redder when Sandbar pinched her chin between finger and thumb and tilted her face up towards his.

“I know,” he said softly, just before kissing her one last time — and, damn him, sending butterflies flapping through her gut. “Wet wipe?”

“Probably a good idea,” Smolder admitted, and she watched him depart with plenty of fuming left to get through before he returned. He was strong and sweet, sure, but annoying sometimes too. And now she had to think of some way to get back at him that didn’t involve fucking him. Dragon coochies were tough, but they weren’t multiple-successive-rounds-with-a-terrifically-gifted-earth-pony tough.

Once again, inspiration found her quickly: Silverstream and Yona had finished too, and the former had already moved on, extracting Ocellus from underneath Gallus so she could bundle the leaking changeling into her lap and pepper her cherry-red face with kisses. Yona, meanwhile, was left alone again — and as Smolder caught her eye, the yak smiled and nodded her head, as if to say, “Floor’s yours if you want it.”

Smolder did want it. She wanted her hands in Yona’s snatch and her face between her gargantuan cans. She wanted some hot, heavy, diamond-hard yaktion.

And most of all, she really wanted to catch the look on Sandbar’s face when he came back from the kitchen and saw Smolder knuckle-deep in his girlfriend’s muff. He’d probably like it, the randy little freak, but he wouldn’t be doing it. That’d have to be enough for now.