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STOP! This is one of three possible story paths of the "Mother Lode" series. Please read the beginning scenario https://www.sofurry.com/view/725947 before reading this story. Sorry for the confusion. ^^

This is part of the submission for prompt 7 of The Writing Prompt Group; A SilverrFox (https://silverrfox.sofurry.com/) and Tanuskidoodle (https://tanuskidoodle.sofurry.com/) collaboration.

A talented West Texas gal is looking to hit the big time.

Nightingale

You are a twenty-nine year old West Texas showgirl stuck in this crappy frontier town set in a heat and wind blasted wasteland, throwing away the best years of your life to pander some simulated sex and innuendo to a bunch of horny miners and cowhands six nights a week. You know that you have real talent and just need a break to get into the Eastern theater and club scene, where the real money and fame can be found. However, breaks don't just happen by themselves. You've learned that lesson the hard way. It takes money to hire an agent, get yourself some real stage time and pay basic expenses until you're famous and making real money. Unfortunately, it takes a lot more than you've been able to save here where the manager takes nearly everything and leaves you with only enough for living expenses.

You haven't stooped to prostituting yourself. That's a path that will only lead to self-destruction and despair. You'd go crawling back to Daddy and the ranch first. Although you are not against using your considerable female charms to manipulate the wealthier men, if you can. You have managed to ensnare a few likely candidates momentarily, but they either left you behind as they moved on to better things, or you had to send them packing when they lost their fortunes. With barely five hundred dollars to your name, you are getting desperate.

Tonight you are standing on the balcony mulling your miserable plight over a glass of cheap red wine after your last performance of the evening. The sheriff walks by tipping his hat to you. He looks scary, but he's a sweet old gentleman, so you wink to him as be passes by.

Three strangely dressed and ostentatious men enter the saloon and immediately buy a round of drinks for everyone. They strike up a poker session with whoever will join them. They are risk takers and play for high stakes; too high for most of tonight's clientele.

You smell money, so you move downstairs to sit by the piano player where you can watch the newcomers carefully to divine their skill level. Neither the chihuahua nor the hyena is any good at all. The chameleon is the best player and wins so much, the local competition gives up. You note, however, that his skin color shimmers slightly when he has a winning hand and dulls ever so slightly when bluffing or holding a losing hand. No one else seems to notice this. You are certain only you can detect his moods with your avian eyes that are so carefully tuned to pick up nuances of color in a prospective mate's plumage. You're a darn good poker player yourself and sense an opportunity to fleece them out of the many thousands of dollars you need to break out of your current artistic malaise and enter the high class world of your dreams.

The three wealthy gentlemen are all in their early to mid-thirties. Of the three, the chihuahua is the shortest, barely over four and half feet tall. Several large pillows from one of the back rooms are fetched for him to sit on so he can see over the table as he plays. Several jokes are made by some of the regulars about whether he is old enough to gamble and drink with the adults. Obviously used to such jests, he laughs along with them and even buys them another drink. He dresses conservatively in a brown, wool herringbone three-piece suit with golden cufflinks and a silver chain watch fob. His shoes are patent leather of the finest quality, and his hat is a brown bowler. Despite his apparent Mexican ancestry, his English is perfect and precise, almost as if he learned it from the British.

The hyena is the tallest of the three, standing well over six feet and husky in build. He speaks in a foreign accent from lands across the ocean. He is dressed like some dime novel version of a cowboy with a large white wide brimmed hat, a multicolored button down work shirt with shiny pearl buttons and black leather pants complete with a fringe of leather strips dangling from the seams. To complete the look he wears pale snakeskin cowboy boots and six guns in holsters on each hip.

Of the three, the chameleon is the only one dressed to fit in with the local crowd. He is wearing plain, dark blue pants, a white shirt, dark blue vest and a jacket that he removed and slung over his shoulder the moment he entered the saloon. His hat is a simple black, flat brimmed affair with a band of braided cord about the brim. He sports wire-rimmed glasses atop his reptilian snout and hung from his flared ears, which look like miniature bat wings perched on the side of his head. His only concession to fashion is a series of gold and silver hooped ear rings in his left ear and a diamond stud in his right nostril. He is slightly shy of six feet tall.

After they play a few hands of poker and the regulars move away in disgust after losing primarily to the chameleon, you introduce yourself to the strangers by your stage name, Nightingale, and ask if they would be so kind as to let you play with them. They agree instantly and fall over themselves to be the first to help you into your chair and buy you a drink. Since they're buying, you ask for glass of the fanciest champagne the Mother Lode serves.

"Why don't y'all tell me your names and what you do to earn your living," you suggest as you sip the delicious, bubbly drink while shuffling a deck of cards.

The chameleon, the obvious leader of the three, answers first, in an Eastern brand of American English. "My name's Charles, Ma'am. Charles Prisma at your service," he says removing his hat as his lightly scaled skin changes colors subtly across all the possible shades of green. "I am the owner of a mining equipment company, Primo Mining LLC. These other two gentlemen are investors." Gesturing to the hyena, he continues, "This is Herr Trauner of Bavaria. His English is rough but he can speak and understand a bit of our language.

Removing his hat, the hyena smiles and nods his head, "Ja. Vhat he sagen."

The Chihuahua is next, and introduces himself in a ridiculously deep voice considering his size. Standing, which has the effect of making him shorter since he has to dismount his pillows to do it, he removes his hat and bows, then proceeds to lightly kiss the back of your hand. "Sir Andrew Wembley. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Nightingale. I look forward to a delightful evening in your company."

"Well, ain't you just the regular charmer," you respond. "You fellas look like high stakes players to me. What do you say to game in a private room with some, how shall I say ... interesting rules?"

Herr Trauner just stares at your suggestion, obviously not catching the possible deeper meanings. Sir Wembley and Mr. Prisma exchange knowing glances.

The chameleon speaks again for the group. "Ma'am, we would be delighted to share your company and a friendly came of a cards in more private and ... intimate setting."

"Ja, intimate," echoes the hyena nodding his head again.

You lead them to a room in the back behind the stage with a velvet covered card table surrounded by six chairs. Several couches and overstuffed easy chairs line the walls. Paintings of Western scenes hang on the walls with a few that are risqué oils of scantily clad women of various species in erotic poses. Sir Andrew brings a bottle of whiskey for himself and his friends and the rest of the bottle of champagne you are drinking and sets them on the table.

You've seen them play, and you are pretty sure you can beat them. Just in case, you have as special marked deck of cards that will help you know what cards the other players have. With it, you can't lose.

"Have you boys ever played Texas Holdem?" you ask. They all shake their heads. "It's all the rage where I come from, where the men are men and the women know how to make 'em men." They all laugh at your joke; the hyena's laugh is a bit delayed unitl he realizes you have made a joke. "The rules are simple. You each get two cards face down. There is a community hand of five face up cards. Three are dealt initially, then we bet as the others are dealt. Minimum bet is ten dollars; max is fifty. We start with blinds and progress from there with standard betting rules. Any questions?"

"The game seems simple enough, but what are the interesting rules?" asks Mr. Prisma as he takes a drink of whiskey. You note that sir Andrew is a sipper, and Herr Trauner is a gulper of his liquor having downed two glasses since entering the room.

"Why silly little ol' me. I plum fergot to mention that this here game is also strip poker," you say in your most innocent voice. The chameleon nearly chokes on his drink in surprise and wipes the stream of amber liquid that escapes his mouth from his chin. Sir Andrew rubs his paws together in eager anticipation, while the hyena just stares in bewilderment.

Mr. Prisma leans over and says to the hyena, "Ausziehen poker."

A huge grin spreads across large fur's face in understanding. "Ja! Ja! Ja!" he shouts as he pounds his palms on the table with each word.

"One article of clothing comes off each time you lose a hand or fold," you continue. "Y'all fold and your clothes go to the dealer, the winner of the hand takes the loser's clothes. You can win back your money, but not your clothes. Y'all with me so far?" You look dubiously at Herr Trauner.

Mr. Prisma answers. "We sure are, Ma'am. Don't worry about Herr Trauner. He'll catch on."

You deal the first hand, and win easily; partly with your own expertise, partly because of their lack of experience, and partly because you are cheating. Within an hour you have made over half what you need to reach your goal, and the chihuahua and the hyena are buck naked and low on cash. They are not bad looking gents for being city slickers and foreigners. Though not massively well hung, they are both surprisingly above adequate, especially the little English doggie. Even Mr. Prisma is down to his underwear, a shirt and a hat. You have lost a few outer layers of your garments, but are still modestly attired.

Having your suspicions about this group and their relationships, you decide to test the waters and see what you can make them do. Your goal of course is to distract as much as possible the chameleon so you can win the rest of what you need.

"You poor naked boys," you say in your most sympathetic Texas drawl. "Would you like to earn some of your clothes back?" Sir Andrew nods, and Herr Trauner follows his lead obviously ignorant of what she is saying. "I'm thinking that perhaps you fellas are a bit more than just friends and business associates. Sir Andrew, if you would be so good as to pleasure Herr Trauner with your mouth, I would be willing to give you each back five hundred dollars to continue the game." The hyena sits expectantly oblivious as usual, while Sir Andrew merely blushes, and says nothing.

Charles laughs, genuinely amused by your suggestion. "No wonder that you are winning so handily, my dear Miss Nightingale. You are an excellent judge of character and psychology. It is true that we do not always play straight with each other." Turning to the hyena, he leans over and says, "Hund saugen schwanz," while pointing at Sir Andrew. You hold five 'C' notes up and then toss them in his face to emphasize the point.

After a moment of confusion spent looking back and forth between you and Sir Andrew, he figures it out. He is a bit disappointed at first, thinking he was maybe getting you, but he shrugs his shoulders, gets out of his seat, moves to one of the overstuffed chairs and sits down. He begins stroking his cock out of its sheath. Sir Andrew sighs and stands, the pink tip of his member already poking out of its sheath. With all the dignity he can maintain, he lightly kisses your taloned hand again, saying, "You are more wicked than I could have imagined my dear. I do hope you will show us some pity later and share something of yours with us besides your pity. Though I have done this often in my younger years while away at boarding school, and still partake now and then, I really do prefer the subtler charms of the ladies."

"Bekommen hier hund. Saugen. Saugen. Ja," demands the hyena, now fully erect and tired of working himself.

"Ja, mein Herr," Andrew replies as he kneels in front of the panting hyena's large black cock and embraces it with his lips.

Charles shrugs his shoulders at their antics. "I guess it's just you against me until the big guy laughs."

"Laughs?" you ask wondering what he is talking about.

"He laughs like a lunatic when he cums. It's quite something to watch. Just give him a few minutes. You'll see."

"That sure is a peculiar reaction," you reply as you use one of your taloned feet to pull down Charles' underwear from under the table while your other foot grasps his limp green member. He, including his dick, momentarily turn several shades of red before he regains control. His cock goes ridged in the smooth grasp of your feet. "I see he's not the only one who reacts all peculiar to stimulation," you say as you quickly deal the next hand.

Despite your foot sex distraction, the moaning of the hyena and the marked cards, the next two hands go badly for you and you are forced to fold both times. You are now down to your skirt, bra and panties. When you remove your bra, and reveal your supple, downy, feathered breasts, it sends Mr. Prisma over the top. He shoves himself back in the chair to escape your clutches, but he ejaculates anyway all over the table and the cards. When he is through, he smiles with a sly grin.

"Sorry about that, Ma'am. I seem to have ruined the deck. I'd go ask for another deck from the bartender, but I seem to be at bit under dressed for the great room." He moves around the table, and removes from the pile of clothes you have collected an unopened deck of cards from his jacket pocket. He doesn't hide a close up examination of the upper half of your naked body as he does this.

"A fine, beautiful lady like you no doubt will suspect a man who carries his own cards, so here." He hands you the deck. "Please examine them to make sure they are legitimate, while I cleanup my ... mess, and get rid of this other deck."

You examine the new cards finding them to be unmarked and unused. You are certain he is on to your cheating. The more you think of his little scene of messing the table, the more you think he was aiming deliberately for the cards. Your only hope of winning now is to use your ability to see his subtle skin color changes.

The two of you joust back and forth with several hands taking the remainder of each other's clothes, but making no further money. It is clear to you that you cannot beat Mr. Prisma without the marked cards, and your near nakedness has backfired so that his color shifts are no longer necessarily related to the hand he has been dealt, but to how much of your female charms are exposed. If you keep playing, the best you can hope for is to reach a draw or possibly even lose as the chameleon becomes more proficient at the game. You are the last to have to remove an article of clothing and decide to make a show of it. You stand atop your chair wearing only your rose-colored lace panties. Slowly you preen your feathers beginning with your head, working down past your breasts, over your belly until you hook a talon on each side of the waist of the panties and slowly pull them down while turning around to present your magnificent ass and tail feathers to your audience.

Herr Trauner begins to laugh a high pitched barking laugh upon seeing your resplendent display. Sir Andrew wisely pulls his head back and strokes the hyena's cock as the big guy spills an abundance of his sticky seed across the floor; all the time laughing himself hoarse. Charles is fully erect again staring openly at your exposed fleshy labia surrounded by downy orange feathers.

Knowing that this may be your one chance to finally chase your dream, you decide to take the ultimate gamble. You step onto the table and saunter over to stand above Mr. Prisma. Herr hyena has finally stopped laughing, and he and Sir Andrew both gape at you, with their cocks in their paws. The chameleon looks up, not even bothering to meet your eyes, so intent is he on the wonders below your exquisitely flat stomach.

You squat down close to him so that your breasts are even with his eyes as you spread your knees apart brazenly. "I'm growing tired of this game, Charles," you say as you gently trace a talon around his soft scaly snout and tickle him under his chin.

"What do y'all say we up the ante and go fer broke, as my Daddy loved to say back on the ranch?"

Mesmerized by the tempting treats on display in front of him, Charles can only croak, "Up the stakes?"

"A stake as big as Texas, Mr. Prisma. Everything, and I do mean everything." As you say this you kneel down and wrap your feathered arms about his neck and kiss him deeply being sure to give him plenty of tongue.

"A cut decides, Sugar. Winner takes all, and I surely do mean all." To emphasize the possible reward, you remove his glasses and lick from the tip of his reptilian snout right up between his eyes to the top his forehead with your long, agile, experienced tongue.

Sir Andrew smiles and howls to the ceiling. Then turning he translates in a whisper into Herr Trauner's pointy left ear. The hyena's grin growing broader with every word, he begins his barking laugh and shouts, "Ja! Cut! Ja! Cut! Cut! Cut!" You can't help but laugh at their obvious enthusiasm for this outrageous wager.

Charles Prisma leans back in his chair pretending to be nonchalant and tosses back a double shot of whiskey. Composing himself as best he can, he says, "You got me right where you want me don't you, Miss Nightingale. You've pegged me correctly as a man looking for the ultimate bet. How can I say no?" He pauses for effect, making his companions nervous as they both stand with their tongues hanging out, panting in expectation. Ending the tension, Charles grins crookedly and says casually, "I'm in."

Sir Andrew howls again at the revelation and puts his five hundred dollars on the table. "I'm in."

Laughing, Trauner slams his cash down on top of Andrew's, forcing the small dog to yank his hand away to avoid having it crushed by the hyena's massive paw. Trauner pounds his meaty paws on the table shouting, "Ich in! Ich in!" making the cards and whiskey glasses dance with his rhythmic pounding, which nearly shakes you off the table.

Amused by his enthusiasm, you hold out one talon demurely for him to help you off the table. He stops pounding, and gently grasps your talon in his paw. With a "Yee Haw!" you jump off the table and into his arms. He catches you as you had hoped he would. You throw your arms around his neck and nuzzle his cheek with your beak.

"Such a good gentleman, Herr Trauner, to catch a lady when she falls." You feel his meaty manhood poking you in the back. "Ooh. Is someone really excited about the bet?"

"Ich in. Ich in," he repeats as he nods his head.

"Well, you may just get that wish, big boy; the 'in' part that is. You have to win first, though. Now be a good gentleman and let this little lady down so she can finish her game." He is uncomprehending as usual, so you use some sign language pointing at yourself and the floor. He figures it out eventually and lets you down with obvious disappointment, but not without handling you in a lot of unnecessary places first. You grab his ear like a naughty child and pull his head down towards yourself in response. He barks a small whiney bark as you do, then pants with his long tongue hanging out when you lick inside his ear. Having him off balance, you shove him so he falls backward into the overstuffed armchair where he had just received his blowjob.

Turning back to the table, you ask Mr. Prisma, "Y'all ready to cut?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

You shuffle the deck several times and place it in the middle of the table. "My deal. You cut first."

The chameleon reaches for the deck slowly while Sir Andrew and Herr Trauner gaze on in rapt attention. He is good at hiding his nervousness from others, but your avian eyes see the light shimmering of color playing across his scales betraying his anxiety. He picks up the pile and lets the cards slowly drop from the bottom of the deck one at a time until only a few are left. He takes the card from the bottom of what remains in his hand, returning the rest to the stack. Placing the card face down in front of himself, he gestures for you to make your cut.

You are tense yourself, but you don't show it. Working the rowdy western saloon circuit for so many years as taught you how to keep an unreadable poker face. Placing your hand on the deck, you pause; not for drama, but because this will likely be your last best chance to realize your dream. If you blow this, you might as well hightail it back to Daddy's ranch and find some boring rancher's son to marry before you find yourself getting too old to marry and too old to perform.

The tension in the room is like the brooding sky just before a tornado touches down. The silence in the room is complete, and only the faint, distant piano playing and raucous conversation from the great room can be heard. Unlike Mr. Prisma, you make a simple cut and with a deft flip of your thumb, send the bottom card on the half of the deck you hold sliding across the table face up for all to see.

Shit! You think inside your head, for you have been taught well that a lady does not swear in public. The card is the four of hearts. The three gentlemen all smile broad grins at this apparent turn of fortune.

"In! In! In!" Shouts Herr Trauner.

"Well. It seems that lady luck is smiling on me tonight," says Charles. "I do believe that you said 'winner takes ALL'." It is plain from the three gentlemen's ready staves, what they interpret 'all' to mean. You remain unflappable and rock steady to the end. The odds are now against you, but you haven't lost yet. Texas girls don't run and hide just because there's a bad storm on the horizon.

"I do mean 'all', Mr. Prisma, but you haven't won yet. Let's see that card." You reach for it, but he stops your hand.

"Hold on there, little lady. I think we both know how this is likely to end, but I'm a generous man. How would you like to consider modifying the bet?" He beams a reptilian smile at you as he says this. Sir Andrew is shocked by this proposal and tries to speak, but Charles cuts him off with a wave of his hand. Herr Trauner looks on in confusion.

"Modify how?"

"I put this card back into the deck never to be seen again. You keep half of the money on the table. My two associates and I have a pleasurable and intimate evening with you wherein we sate our, oh how to put this delicately? Carnal desires. That's five thousand dollars for one night's work, Miss Nightingale. Not bad pay."

You are mightily offended by the offer of money for sex, but realize the offer is quite generous considering the poor result of your cut. With five G's, it is possible you could turn it into the ten grand you need, but it's just as likely you will lose it all elsewhere. No. You decide to stand your ground and rely of the good Lord's mercy. "My Daddy didn't raise me to be a prostitute Mr. Prisma. I'll take my chances and my lumps for no pay if I have to. Let's see that card."

"If that's the way you want it, Miss. I hope you at least let me buy you something in return." You cross your arms and give him your most skeptical stare. Charles shrugs his shoulders and with supreme confidence flips the card to land upright on the table directly in front of you. Everyone in the room gasps, including you. The usually clueless, yet demonstrative hyena, is the first to react by pounding his mighty paws on the table while shouting "Nein! Nein! Nein ... oh scheisse."

You are so relieved to see the deuce of spades that you fall back into your seat with your tail feathers splayed out against the chair's back like a peacock's tail. Sir Andrew is crestfallen and simply stands with his shoulders slumped while leaning against the frustrated hyena. Charles looks at his card with his mouth hanging open and a slow, sibilant hiss of despair escaping his lips.

Standing up again you reach across the table and drag all of the cash to your side and begin to organize it into ten neat stacks of one thousand dollars. You can't help but notice how despondent your companions are, and you find yourself feeling sorry for them. So happy that you now have the money to get out of the West for good and begin your new career, you decide a little celebration and magnanimity is in order.

"Ah, boys. Don't look so long in the face. My Daddy always told me the only thing worse than a poor loser is a poor winner. Just to show you how good a winner I am, I'm going to give you your little party anyway." The sudden joy that they express is pathetic but endearing at the same time.

"Since it's my treat, we do it my way. You boys ready to listen to orders?" They all nod eagerly, including Herr Trauner who says "Ja. Ja."

You take Charles by the paw and have him sit against the back of a pink divan, his legs out flat in front of him on the armless half-backed couch. Next you have Sir Andrew lay down on his back with his head between the chameleon's legs. You climb on top and slide Andrew's fully erect pink cock slowly inside your pussy, with your tongue gently touching the tip of Mr. Prisma's now purple dick. Spreading your tail feathers in a fan as high up on your back as you can, you present your tailhole for Herr Trauner. A bit too enthusiastically, the large hyena enters and places his massive paws on your shoulders. You have to retract your tongue to keep from biting it as you clamp your beak down in reaction to his large cock up your tight ass. Your starting to feel as if Andrew's and Traumer's cocks are touching inside of you.

Once the hyena is fully inside, you say, "OK, boys. Let's try and time this right. Y'all cum together when the hyena laughs. Got it? Do this right, and you each earn a turn in the other two positions."

"Yes, Ma'am," answer Charles and Andrew while Herr Trauner begins to work his way in and out of your tailhole with great enthusiasm. You time your movements up and down on Andrew's cock as best you can with the hyena's erratic thrusts while caressing the chameleon's prick with your tongue and talons as he rapidly shifts colors through the entire spectrum.

As the hyena begins his queer, laughing bark in the back of his throat, you feel your own orgasm beginning to build. You take Charles' cock as far back in your throat as you can, and you force your wet pussy over Andrew's swollen knot. They both gasp from the change in sensation and begin to pant, signaling the onset of their own climaxes. You feel the hyena filling your ass first with his warm sticky cum. Sir Andrew lets loose a moment later, followed immediately by Charles' load launching down your throat. Their success sends you over the edge with ecstasy, and as you surrender to the glorious convulsions of your lust, you smile inwardly knowing that you at last have the chance to fulfill your dream.

[END OF STORY]