Holding Back

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

“Unff…”

“You’re doing so well…”

Stellor smirked, the blue drake cradling his partner against him. Laying on his back on their shared bed, the sheets rumpled lightly under the line of his spine, though he was more fortunate than other dragons in that he didn’t have dorsal spikes at all. Those were a pain for digging into bedsheets and other soft furnishings as they’d found in the past, with other partners and friends.

Yet Stellor relaxed in the moment, taking on a lightly more dominant role as he edged his partner, Trent. The green dragon panted heavily, tongue lolling helplessly from his mouth, drooling around it. It was as if he couldn’t find the willpower to drag it back into his mouth, like that would take far too much effort. His eyes half rolled back into his head, tail curling back and forth where it draped over Stellor’s legs and the bed. 

Trent didn’t have spines on his back either, otherwise the kind of dragon that had smoother skin instead of scales. His ancestors had been more amphibious, or perhaps even sea-faring entirely, which had led to him developing the softer skin rather than scales. He preferred being damp, although that was not so easy to achieve in the course of morning life.

Stellor’s hand closed firmly around the thick length of Trent’s member, working him up. The drake on top of him had his arms, perhaps uncomfortably, bound behind his back, though there were no other bindings on him. If he wanted to get away, he could. But the fact of the matter was that Trent simply didn’t want to get away when everything felt as good as it did.

The drake didn’t know how long he had been there for, his back arching and nostrils flaring, straining to reduce the ardent ache in his body through any means possible. Trent licked his lips, though his tongue remained outside his mouth, the tip tapered, though too much saliva pooled around his teeth and under his tongue.

The dragon couldn’t do anything about it, not as his entire body quivered in overstimulation. He’d been edged for so long, brought to that throbbing peak of orgasm and then…backed away. Gently and softly, though he hadn’t been allowed to cum. Of course, it’d been Trent who’d asked to experiment with that kind of play, but sometimes he wondered if he really knew what he was getting into.

Pre-cum dripped liberally from his cock, forming a slick, slimy patch on his belly. Trent would have found a way to wipe it away if he’d been free to do so, although that was just another reminder of his arms tugging at the wrist restraints.

It was delicious in the best-worst way as he squirmed and twisted against Stellor, the more dominant, loving dragon hissing softly in his ear.

“Yes, just like that… So close…”

He didn’t need to tell Trent how close he was, though it added another note to Trent’s desperation. The dragon huffed and panted, his chest heaving viciously for every grab at breath, but Stellor held him there, his hand just tight enough around the dragon’s thick cock to hold him.

But not enough to slide him over the edge, as close as the drake was. He could have got Trent off and into eruptive orgasm in the blink of an eye, but it was so much sweeter to let him wait, to make him wait. There was nothing more the drake could do as he groaned, languishing there, hissing in the back of his throat, simply enjoying the moment. There was nothing that could compare to the dragon shuddering half on top of him, one of Stellor’s arms wrapped around him just to keep him safe and secure, in place where he needed to be.

Trent squirmed, breath catching, but the taunting come-down from the lure of orgasm was almost as bad as the moment of the denied peak itself. His tongue slapped wetly against the outside of his muzzle and the drake twisted wantonly, craving something he could not take for himself.

That was the beauty in willingly giving up that little control, after all. He had to relinquish it so he could feel more, his chest straining, body aching deeply as if there was a thrumming cord of energy running through him, played by his partner. His body was nothing more than an instrument for Stellor to toy with – not play. If he had been played truly, Stellor would have had him singing already.

Stellor didn’t tell Trent when he was going to push him over the edge. He just did it. That was half the fun in edging: delivering that ultimate, blissful release.

He stroked his partner’s cock again and Trent groaned, thinking it was just another round of edging. But it was to be so much more than that as his cock throbbed wantonly in the clutch of Stellor’s hand, bubbling up another spurt of pre-cum, almost like semen itself, over the drake’s hand. It drooled over his fingers, marking his scales, though neither cared one bit about the mess.

And then he didn’t stop, Trent’s eyes snapping wide and open, tail stiffening where it’d been extended on to the bed. He tried to cry out – and then a broken roar tore itself furiously from his muzzle, orgasm rushing upon him before his mind honestly had a chance to register what was happening.

A glimpse of pain flared through his frame, though it was only fleeting. Being edged for so long, after all, had to have some manner of consequence, and there was nothing to be done about that. He heaved and half-sobbed in rolling ecstasy, his cheeks wet, though he couldn’t have said what from.

“What a good draggie, you’re doing wonderfully…” Stellor crooned to him. “Let it all out, every last bit of it… Gooood.”

That was all Trent could do, his body sagging with relief against Stellor’s, even though he couldn’t change what had happened, not in the slightest. He was there for the ride and his body rocked through a mix of bliss and strain, thick pumps of cum pouring on to his belly and drooling off on to the bed.

There was pleasure to be had in holding back. Sometimes, however, one needed a bit of a helping hand.