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"description": "Once, an ancient curse has plagued the dragons of Equestria. Now that it has returned, the dragons are... shall we say... very horny. BUT... there is NO outlet at all for that horny-ness! What can Spike, Ember, Smolder and the others do about this? How will they fare having only smooth scales where anatomy should be? Stick around and find out! Expect lots of surprises, belly and crotch play, and other weird stuffs!\n\n-----\n\nFirst ~ PREV ~ [url=https://inkbunny.net/s/3725052]NEXT[/url]\n\nIt begins...!\nAn ambitious thing featuring our beloved dragons of Equestria!\nSetting the mood, and it only gets wild from here...!\n\n-----\n\nCritiques are always welcome! ",
"description_bbcode_parsed": "Once, an ancient curse has plagued the dragons of Equestria. Now that it has returned, the dragons are... shall we say... very horny. BUT... there is NO outlet at all for that horny-ness! What can Spike, Ember, Smolder and the others do about this? How will they fare having only smooth scales where anatomy should be? Stick around and find out! Expect lots of surprises, belly and crotch play, and other weird stuffs!
-----
First ~ PREV ~ NEXT
It begins...!
An ambitious thing featuring our beloved dragons of Equestria!
Setting the mood, and it only gets wild from here...!
-----
Critiques are always welcome! ",
"writing": "[b]\"Dragonslick:\nThe Smooth Curse\"[/b]\n\nWritten by Rupert Chubby Fawks\n\n[color=#cc0000]Disclaimer: all characters presented in this story are of legal age. The following are present throughout: tummylingus, groping, humping, fingering, grinding, featureless crotch sex, orgasm denial, primal urges, and strong language.[/color]\n\n-------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n\n[b]Prologue: The First Flame Without Fire[/b]\n\nLong ago - before the rise of the modern clans, before the first Dragon Lord crowned themselves with molten gold, before even the earliest songs whispered of mating flights under blood moons - dragons knew lust the same way they knew flame: naturally, instinctually, and violently.\n\nThey rutted in the sky, mid-flight, and locked bodies whilst trailing smoke and screams through the clouds. They mated in molten rivers, and their cries echoed through obsidian caverns slicked with musk. There were no rules, no restrictions. Mating was sacred, raw, joyful, and eternal.\n\nAnd then... it all stopped. It stopped neither slowly nor with ceremony. And it stopped... for a short while, so the scholars say.\n\nOne morning, during a period long even before Torch would obtain the throne of the Dragon Lord... \n\n... the dragons of Equestria woke up, and there was nothing. No slits. No cocks. No folds. No inner heat to call forth. Just smooth, unbroken scales, in a place where generations had spilled seed and birthed clutches. No explanation. No warning.\n\nDragon elders called this phenomenon... The Nullification Curse.\n\nOr, as some pony scholars in future generations would call it... ``The Hella-whack Shiznit That Happens From The Crotch-izzle.''\n\nAnyway... if you searched hard enough and deep enough in ruins beneath the Ashen Range, or in sealed scroll vaults hidden from dragon memory, you might find a line or two carved in flame-warped stone. Even in a draconian tongue, you might translate the inscription to:\n\n\"In our lust, we devoured stars. In our love, we lost the sky. So let the fire burn but not erupt. Let bellies kiss where cocks once rose. Let them grind unfilled, until they learn restraint.\"\n\nSome would say it was a punishment from the First Flame. Others spoke of a pact made during a war no one remembers - where dragonkind gave up the right to breed in exchange for surviving something worse.\n\nWhat remained was hunger.\n\nThis was a curse of friction, of belly against belly, of tail-base glistening and lips dragging over a void that shouldn't be. They called it null heat. They'd grind, weep, and worship the soft curve of absence.\n\nThey would never finish.\n\nBut buried deep, one scroll told of a return: a prophecy. Some say, it was an ``antidote'' to the great dragon nulling.\n\n``When belly meets belly with truth, not hunger - then shall the slit open like the first sunrise.''\n\nThese words, some elders disclaimed, were only a small piece of a larger pie that was since eroded by time. Or so they thought.\n\nThe elders said that when those words were spoken in concert amongst the rutting lot, as scaled bellies pressed against one another, through trust and union, then the curse would be broken.\n\nThe affected dragons would perform that rite under certain terms that even today remained a mystery, and that once the curse was indeed lifted, then the dragons would have their long-missed ``schlongs'' and ``meat purses'' back, and they were finally relieved after weeks of denied splooges.\n\nIn other words, the curse WAS lifted, that much today's elders knew.\n\nThe dragon elders also argued among past and future lines that the nulling would not last forever; but rather, it was to teach the younglings a lesson. What lesson? That, too, remained a mystery for over a thousand years.\n\nNo one in today's Equestrian society understands what this was all about... the Curse itself, and the way to reverse it.\n\nAnd yet, knowledge of such a fiasco was scarce, since dragons had long been able to rut with a fiery passion and give birth to clutches of future generations, hence the hatching of then-princess Ember and so forth.\n\nBut, the dragons of Equestria would soon know the meaning of this long-forgotten Curse, and today... something is changing, and they're all ready for what lies before them.\n\n\n\n\n\n[b]Chapter 1: The Curse (or Blessing) Between the Scales[/b]\n\nPresent Day. Many moons have passed since Twilight Sparkle's ascension to the role of Sole Ruler.\n\nThe now-young-adult Spike the dragon had known for a few days that something was missing. Not just in himself, but in all dragonkind. It was something they never said aloud. You were born, you grew your hoard, you tested your fire, you learned to fly, you wrestled and flirted and flexed, and sometimes you'd press against another warm, scaled body and feel... nothing where there should've been everything.\n\nNothing.\n\nNo slit. No bulge. No ache of blood or pressure in the usual ways. Just scales: taut, clean, and seamless scales that stretched uninterrupted from belly to tail root. And still, despite this biological betrayal, dragons became horny. Not cute-little-crush horny, but pacing-the-cave, grinding-on-pillars, biting-your-own-wrist horny. Humping the air. Hissing through clenched fangs while tail muscles clenched around heat that could never be spent.\n\nThe oldest scrolls from the Dragon Lands hinted at a time before - the first time when dragons had their naughty bits taken from them. Spike had read them, wide-eyed and alone, with his claw trembling as he traced illustrations half-erased by time and shame. Back then, they didn't hide their pleasure; they flaunted it, mounted it, licked it, and offered it as tribute in heat-season ceremonies. But then the Nullification came.\n\nAn ancestral spell, so immense and intimate, that it erased every trace of reproductive anatomy from dragonkind: at least for a while. A response to some ancient catastrophe - maybe it was from overpopulation, or maybe it was to protect from something darker. The only remnants now were the instincts, the urges, and the unstoppable need that built like smoke in a sealed cavern.\n\nNOW, Spike was feeling it. He felt the same thing those dragons in the past went through: to have their junk erased.\n\nIt hadn't been but only a couple of days ago when he wanted to ``get his rocks off'' with other dragons at the School of Friendship. NOW, it was becoming more apparent that the ``junk erasure'' happened around that time (very recently). He knew something was up, but at the same time, all he wanted... was that SWEET release `down there'. \n\nJust outside of Ponyville, he was lying on his back in the stone hollow he and his fellow dragon friend Smolder shared - a platonic arrangement on paper, one that had become sticky and strange in practice. His tail was thumping against the floor, and his claws were twitching as his thighs squeezed together, searching for SOME sensation in the smooth cleft of his nether region.\n\nHe rubbed it and palmed it.\n\nNothing came to be.\n\nJust that strange slick tension under the surface, like an itch in bone. His scales were warmer there, hyper-sensitive, with nerves misfiring like static. He hissed through his fangs and pressed harder, dragging his palm up and down repeatedly, grinding his tail base into the soft stone bedding. He could feel the tension building in his belly. His thighs were tensing as if expecting something to rise, to fill, and to swell. But it never came.\n\nSoon Smolder walked in... and she froze.\n\nShe didn't say anything at first. She just leaned against the threshold with her arms crossed and a slowly cocking brow. She watched the way Spike's hips flexed upward as he chased pressure; the absurd sight of a dragon fucking the air with nothing between his legs.\n\nShe understood, as she had done it herself.\n\n``Still not working?'' she said, her voice a low scratch, somewhere between a tease and something darker.\n\nSpike let out a grunt, again grinding against the smoothness. ``I don't even know what working is anymore.''\n\nSmolder stepped in and flexed her wings once before crouching beside him. Her eyes roamed his light-green belly, now glossy with sweat, dribbling down the smooth skin with no destination.\n\nShe reached out and ran her palm down his stomach. ``You're hot. Like, furnace-hot.''\n\n``It can't cool down,'' Spike muttered. ``It's like... my body's screaming for something that doesn't exist.''\n\nSmolder grunted softly. ``Yeah. Tell me about it.''\n\nThen she straddled him. Once, fully clothed - well, what passed for dragon-wear: leather harnesses, metal-studded belts, ceremonial wraps. All the nonsense dragons wore to not touch each other in public during special occasions, like the Feast of Fire. But now, partially undressed, she was grinding against him, their smooth crotches meeting, pressing scale to scale, and it was wrong - wrong because it was right in every other species. But for dragons, it was all just friction: frustrating and maddening.\n\nBut they couldn't stop.\n\nShe rocked her hips down, grinding against Spike's belly, hissing as her own tail whipped once behind her. He met her movement, desperate and helpless. His claws dug into her thighs, feeling the heat of her through the scaled leather of her strap wraps.\n\nSmolder panted. ``Ancestors... I hate this spell...''\n\n``Me too,'' Spike groaned. ``I just wanna... explode.''\n\n``Yeah? Where from, genius?'' she growled, bucking her hips forward. Her own hands snaked between them, pressing down harder against her own smooth, slit-less skin. Her fingers were spreading the obvious section of her scales like it might open for her.\n\nIt didn't.\n\nShe rubbed and moaned - a guttural ``Hhhhaahhh...'' as her claws scraped her belly. It was all nerve endings; raw, confused, and unfulfilled. Arousal without anatomy.\n\n``You ever... hump a rock?'' Smolder said suddenly, in the middle of a shuddering grind.\n\nSpike blinked while panting. ``What?''\n\n``I have. You ever fuckin' try to wedge yourself against a crevice so hard you would scream and hope it splits you open?''\n\nSpike swallowed, and he whimpered with a groan catching in his throat. ``I... rubbed on a gem. A big one. It was... hard and smooth, kinda curved... I came. I think. I mean - I felt like I came, but nothing came out, you know?''\n\n``Oh, Ancients,'' Smolder moaned, leaning forward and nuzzling her cheek to his. ``You're so fucking empty down there, Spike. Just scales... mmnh, fffuck...''\n\nHer tail wrapped with his as they began to move harder and faster. Scale on scale. Pointless, desperate, hot. Their bodies slapping with that moist schlick-schlick of rubbing wet palms over polished tile, their breathing a sharp, unending rhythm of whimpers and low growls.\n\nHer claws were under his arms now, dragging him up into a sitting position so they could rut chest to chest. He gasped - his belly gliding against hers. Both of their crotches were warm with arousal heat and sweat, shimmering like molten gold in the torchlight.\n\nSpike grabbed her shoulders. ``I wanna go deeper...''\n\n``There is no deeper,'' Smolder hissed.\n\nAnd still, she humped, while he bucked. She ground her palm between them, letting her fingers dig into his flesh as though trying to force something out. Something that wasn't there.\n\nAnd then, whimpers rang throughout the burrow.\n\nLong and broken, they both hissed out in waves:\n\n``Nnnnnnffhhahh...! Ffffuckkkk, it - it burns - !''\n\n``HhhhhaaAAHHhh, I need it, Smolder, I - I need to cum, I need something to happen, please - !''\n\nTheir eyes locked, tearful from pressure, from the pain of climax denied, and from the sweetness of grinding into madness together.\n\n``You wanna know the real fucked-up part?'' Smolder whispered in his ear.\n\nHe nodded with a whimper.\n\n``I think... when we get close enough... the spell tightens.''\n\nHe froze.\n\n``Yeah. It knows, Spike. The closer we get to feeling real release, the more it locks us in. Almost like it's watching.''\n\nHe stared at her, and their bodies didn't stop moving. The humping, grinding, and pressing - it was all automatic now, like breathing.\n\nSpike looked down at the glow radiating from both their bellies - faint pulsing warmth, ancient runes flickering in the glistening dragon-oil between them.\n\nIt was the magic: still alive, still binding, and still nulling.\n\nAnd they were going to fuck themselves raw against it. So, they didn't stop moving.\n\nEven after the pulse of the ancient glyphs faded beneath their scales, those cursed runes cooling from ember-gold to dim violet, their bodies kept rocking, back and forth, dragging belly against belly in a friction that scorched their nerves and hollowed out their minds.\n\nSmolder's thighs locked tight around Spike's waist; her claws raking down his back, not enough to bleed, but enough to hurt: enough to feel. Her breath hitched in jagged bursts against his neck - those telltale dragon-gasps, dry and cracked with need. Each one ended in a helpless snarl, like she could growl her way into an orgasm that had nowhere to go.\n\n``Nnnnghh... gods, I c-can't... can't take this much longer,'' she choked out through gritted teeth as her hips rolled against his torso. ``It builds and builds, Spike - it won't stop building, ffffuck - !''\n\nHer body shuddered as she ground downward in punishing thrusts and tail twitching. Her whole frame caught in a loop of unbearable tension. Spike's claws dug into her flanks, trying to pin her hips down, but they only rutted harder for it - her against him, him against the bedding, and the stone itself became slick from the steady drip of arousal-sweat pooling beneath them.\n\nHis breath was filled with stuttered gasps and broken sounds.\n\n``Smold - Smolder, it - it hurts - feels s-so good, but hurts, gods, I wanna - wanna burst - !''\n\nThere was nothing to burst: only slick, sensitive scales rubbed raw from endless pressure. The stimulation was becoming cruel, with pain and pleasure swirling, but they didn't dare stop. They could not. Every second they moved, fed the sensation, and the sensation was all they had.\n\nSmolder sat up slightly, straddling him fully, and she ground down with vicious force, moaning sharply and deeply:\n\n``Unghhh - hahhhh - YES, gods yes, Spike - more - !''\n\nHe matched her movements, bucking upward. Their bodies slapped together with wet slischh, slischh, slischh noises, sticky from the endless sweating. He grabbed her hips, tried to force her down harder, desperate to find an angle, a pressure point that would give them something - anything. The glow returned under their scales again, warm and throbbing.\n\nSmolder tilted her head back and screamed, not in orgasm, but in the climax of frustration. Her whole body locked up and convulsed in a way that should have marked release - stuttering hips and hitched breaths. Her claws dug into Spike's chest as her belly spasmed.\n\nBut still - nothing.\n\nNo spasm of climax, no fluid, and no wave of relief.\n\nHer groin remained: throbbing, raw, and smooth. Her dragonhood was scrubbed from her genes and replaced with this maddening blankness.\n\nShe collapsed forward into Spike's chest with a broken gasp, nuzzling his neck as she sobbed in short bursts, clenching her teeth. ``It's never gonna come. It's never... fff-fucking gonna... hhhhhh - !''\n\nHe held her tightly with his claws sliding down her spine, breathing just as heavily. His own cockless groin throbbed with something like blue-balled agony, as his whole pelvic region twitched in unsatisfied spasms.\n\n``I hate them,'' he muttered with a voice hollow with breath. ``Whoever did this to us. Whatever dragon decided we shouldn't have - shouldn't be whole - ''\n\nShe kissed his neck, slow and clumsy. ``We're whole. Just cursed.''\n\n``You sure?'' he whispered.\n\n``I mean...'' she laughed through a scratchy throat, ``look at us.''\n\nTheir bellies glistened where they'd ground each other raw, both soaked with smeared arousal oil and sweat, and the faint residue of rune-light. A glow still pulsed low under Smolder's scales, like a flickering ember buried in her nerves. She shifted slightly on him, and both of them hissed in sharp pain-pleasure.\n\n``Still sensitive,'' he murmured.\n\n``You're not allowed to not be sensitive when I'm sitting on you,'' she teased, nudging her hips again. He moaned - high and needy - and he hugged her tighter.\n\nFor a while, they just lay there.\n\nChest to chest. Groins pressed. Their bodies were twitching with leftover tension, and their hearts were slowly syncing.\n\nSmolder's wing draped over his back. His tail curled around hers like vines.\n\nThe heat between their bodies was immense. Not the kind of raw sexual hunger from before, but it was something deeper - like molten stone cooling into place. The twitching subsided, and their breathing slowed. Not everything needs a climax to feel complete.\n\nSpike shifted his head, so his cheek rested against hers. ``This is the only thing that helps, you know,'' he murmured. ``Not grinding. Not rubbing. Just... this.''\n\nShe hummed against him. ``I know.''\n\n``Even if it's stupid. Even if it's... broken.''\n\n``Still feels real.''\n\nShe shifted slightly, just enough to press her smooth seam fully against his, scale-to-scale, a perfect anatomical blankness kissing another. A hollow union. No entrance, no shaft, and no slit: just heat and shared ache.\n\nThey lay tangled like that, warm and quiet, lost in the faint aroma of old firestone bedding. The flicker of their ancestral glow dimmed until only the torchlight remained, which cast slow golden flickers across scale and muscle and the quiet folds of their wings.\n\n``Maybe someday,'' she whispered.\n\n``What?''\n\nShe stroked a claw down his spine. ``We'll figure it out. Crack the spell. Make new things happen. Find new ways.''\n\nSpike smiled into her neck. ``Even if we don't, I'm glad you're here.''\n\nShe kissed him. No heat this time: just a press of lip to lip, and a slow exhale of everything they?d failed to release.\n\nThen, Smolder curled tighter around him with both their tails wrapping again in lazy figure-eights. They sank together into the warmth of the stone bed, belly to belly, groin to groin, glowing just enough to know the spell was still there...\n\n...but it didn?t win tonight.\n\nLittle did Spike and Smolder know of the treatments that would await them and their ``blank slates''.\n\n",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": ""Dragonslick:
The Smooth Curse"
Written by Rupert Chubby Fawks
Disclaimer: all characters presented in this story are of legal age. The following are present throughout: tummylingus, groping, humping, fingering, grinding, featureless crotch sex, orgasm denial, primal urges, and strong language.
-------------------------------------------------------
Prologue: The First Flame Without Fire
Long ago - before the rise of the modern clans, before the first Dragon Lord crowned themselves with molten gold, before even the earliest songs whispered of mating flights under blood moons - dragons knew lust the same way they knew flame: naturally, instinctually, and violently.
They rutted in the sky, mid-flight, and locked bodies whilst trailing smoke and screams through the clouds. They mated in molten rivers, and their cries echoed through obsidian caverns slicked with musk. There were no rules, no restrictions. Mating was sacred, raw, joyful, and eternal.
And then... it all stopped. It stopped neither slowly nor with ceremony. And it stopped... for a short while, so the scholars say.
One morning, during a period long even before Torch would obtain the throne of the Dragon Lord...
... the dragons of Equestria woke up, and there was nothing. No slits. No cocks. No folds. No inner heat to call forth. Just smooth, unbroken scales, in a place where generations had spilled seed and birthed clutches. No explanation. No warning.
Dragon elders called this phenomenon... The Nullification Curse.
Or, as some pony scholars in future generations would call it... ``The Hella-whack Shiznit That Happens From The Crotch-izzle.''
Anyway... if you searched hard enough and deep enough in ruins beneath the Ashen Range, or in sealed scroll vaults hidden from dragon memory, you might find a line or two carved in flame-warped stone. Even in a draconian tongue, you might translate the inscription to:
"In our lust, we devoured stars. In our love, we lost the sky. So let the fire burn but not erupt. Let bellies kiss where cocks once rose. Let them grind unfilled, until they learn restraint."
Some would say it was a punishment from the First Flame. Others spoke of a pact made during a war no one remembers - where dragonkind gave up the right to breed in exchange for surviving something worse.
What remained was hunger.
This was a curse of friction, of belly against belly, of tail-base glistening and lips dragging over a void that shouldn't be. They called it null heat. They'd grind, weep, and worship the soft curve of absence.
They would never finish.
But buried deep, one scroll told of a return: a prophecy. Some say, it was an ``antidote'' to the great dragon nulling.
``When belly meets belly with truth, not hunger - then shall the slit open like the first sunrise.''
These words, some elders disclaimed, were only a small piece of a larger pie that was since eroded by time. Or so they thought.
The elders said that when those words were spoken in concert amongst the rutting lot, as scaled bellies pressed against one another, through trust and union, then the curse would be broken.
The affected dragons would perform that rite under certain terms that even today remained a mystery, and that once the curse was indeed lifted, then the dragons would have their long-missed ``schlongs'' and ``meat purses'' back, and they were finally relieved after weeks of denied splooges.
In other words, the curse WAS lifted, that much today's elders knew.
The dragon elders also argued among past and future lines that the nulling would not last forever; but rather, it was to teach the younglings a lesson. What lesson? That, too, remained a mystery for over a thousand years.
No one in today's Equestrian society understands what this was all about... the Curse itself, and the way to reverse it.
And yet, knowledge of such a fiasco was scarce, since dragons had long been able to rut with a fiery passion and give birth to clutches of future generations, hence the hatching of then-princess Ember and so forth.
But, the dragons of Equestria would soon know the meaning of this long-forgotten Curse, and today... something is changing, and they're all ready for what lies before them.
Chapter 1: The Curse (or Blessing) Between the Scales
Present Day. Many moons have passed since Twilight Sparkle's ascension to the role of Sole Ruler.
The now-young-adult Spike the dragon had known for a few days that something was missing. Not just in himself, but in all dragonkind. It was something they never said aloud. You were born, you grew your hoard, you tested your fire, you learned to fly, you wrestled and flirted and flexed, and sometimes you'd press against another warm, scaled body and feel... nothing where there should've been everything.
Nothing.
No slit. No bulge. No ache of blood or pressure in the usual ways. Just scales: taut, clean, and seamless scales that stretched uninterrupted from belly to tail root. And still, despite this biological betrayal, dragons became horny. Not cute-little-crush horny, but pacing-the-cave, grinding-on-pillars, biting-your-own-wrist horny. Humping the air. Hissing through clenched fangs while tail muscles clenched around heat that could never be spent.
The oldest scrolls from the Dragon Lands hinted at a time before - the first time when dragons had their naughty bits taken from them. Spike had read them, wide-eyed and alone, with his claw trembling as he traced illustrations half-erased by time and shame. Back then, they didn't hide their pleasure; they flaunted it, mounted it, licked it, and offered it as tribute in heat-season ceremonies. But then the Nullification came.
An ancestral spell, so immense and intimate, that it erased every trace of reproductive anatomy from dragonkind: at least for a while. A response to some ancient catastrophe - maybe it was from overpopulation, or maybe it was to protect from something darker. The only remnants now were the instincts, the urges, and the unstoppable need that built like smoke in a sealed cavern.
NOW, Spike was feeling it. He felt the same thing those dragons in the past went through: to have their junk erased.
It hadn't been but only a couple of days ago when he wanted to ``get his rocks off'' with other dragons at the School of Friendship. NOW, it was becoming more apparent that the ``junk erasure'' happened around that time (very recently). He knew something was up, but at the same time, all he wanted... was that SWEET release `down there'.
Just outside of Ponyville, he was lying on his back in the stone hollow he and his fellow dragon friend Smolder shared - a platonic arrangement on paper, one that had become sticky and strange in practice. His tail was thumping against the floor, and his claws were twitching as his thighs squeezed together, searching for SOME sensation in the smooth cleft of his nether region.
He rubbed it and palmed it.
Nothing came to be.
Just that strange slick tension under the surface, like an itch in bone. His scales were warmer there, hyper-sensitive, with nerves misfiring like static. He hissed through his fangs and pressed harder, dragging his palm up and down repeatedly, grinding his tail base into the soft stone bedding. He could feel the tension building in his belly. His thighs were tensing as if expecting something to rise, to fill, and to swell. But it never came.
Soon Smolder walked in... and she froze.
She didn't say anything at first. She just leaned against the threshold with her arms crossed and a slowly cocking brow. She watched the way Spike's hips flexed upward as he chased pressure; the absurd sight of a dragon fucking the air with nothing between his legs.
She understood, as she had done it herself.
``Still not working?'' she said, her voice a low scratch, somewhere between a tease and something darker.
Spike let out a grunt, again grinding against the smoothness. ``I don't even know what working is anymore.''
Smolder stepped in and flexed her wings once before crouching beside him. Her eyes roamed his light-green belly, now glossy with sweat, dribbling down the smooth skin with no destination.
She reached out and ran her palm down his stomach. ``You're hot. Like, furnace-hot.''
``It can't cool down,'' Spike muttered. ``It's like... my body's screaming for something that doesn't exist.''
Smolder grunted softly. ``Yeah. Tell me about it.''
Then she straddled him. Once, fully clothed - well, what passed for dragon-wear: leather harnesses, metal-studded belts, ceremonial wraps. All the nonsense dragons wore to not touch each other in public during special occasions, like the Feast of Fire. But now, partially undressed, she was grinding against him, their smooth crotches meeting, pressing scale to scale, and it was wrong - wrong because it was right in every other species. But for dragons, it was all just friction: frustrating and maddening.
But they couldn't stop.
She rocked her hips down, grinding against Spike's belly, hissing as her own tail whipped once behind her. He met her movement, desperate and helpless. His claws dug into her thighs, feeling the heat of her through the scaled leather of her strap wraps.
Smolder panted. ``Ancestors... I hate this spell...''
``Me too,'' Spike groaned. ``I just wanna... explode.''
``Yeah? Where from, genius?'' she growled, bucking her hips forward. Her own hands snaked between them, pressing down harder against her own smooth, slit-less skin. Her fingers were spreading the obvious section of her scales like it might open for her.
It didn't.
She rubbed and moaned - a guttural ``Hhhhaahhh...'' as her claws scraped her belly. It was all nerve endings; raw, confused, and unfulfilled. Arousal without anatomy.
``You ever... hump a rock?'' Smolder said suddenly, in the middle of a shuddering grind.
Spike blinked while panting. ``What?''
``I have. You ever fuckin' try to wedge yourself against a crevice so hard you would scream and hope it splits you open?''
Spike swallowed, and he whimpered with a groan catching in his throat. ``I... rubbed on a gem. A big one. It was... hard and smooth, kinda curved... I came. I think. I mean - I felt like I came, but nothing came out, you know?''
``Oh, Ancients,'' Smolder moaned, leaning forward and nuzzling her cheek to his. ``You're so fucking empty down there, Spike. Just scales... mmnh, fffuck...''
Her tail wrapped with his as they began to move harder and faster. Scale on scale. Pointless, desperate, hot. Their bodies slapping with that moist schlick-schlick of rubbing wet palms over polished tile, their breathing a sharp, unending rhythm of whimpers and low growls.
Her claws were under his arms now, dragging him up into a sitting position so they could rut chest to chest. He gasped - his belly gliding against hers. Both of their crotches were warm with arousal heat and sweat, shimmering like molten gold in the torchlight.
Spike grabbed her shoulders. ``I wanna go deeper...''
``There is no deeper,'' Smolder hissed.
And still, she humped, while he bucked. She ground her palm between them, letting her fingers dig into his flesh as though trying to force something out. Something that wasn't there.
And then, whimpers rang throughout the burrow.
Long and broken, they both hissed out in waves:
``Nnnnnnffhhahh...! Ffffuckkkk, it - it burns - !''
``HhhhhaaAAHHhh, I need it, Smolder, I - I need to cum, I need something to happen, please - !''
Their eyes locked, tearful from pressure, from the pain of climax denied, and from the sweetness of grinding into madness together.
``You wanna know the real fucked-up part?'' Smolder whispered in his ear.
He nodded with a whimper.
``I think... when we get close enough... the spell tightens.''
He froze.
``Yeah. It knows, Spike. The closer we get to feeling real release, the more it locks us in. Almost like it's watching.''
He stared at her, and their bodies didn't stop moving. The humping, grinding, and pressing - it was all automatic now, like breathing.
Spike looked down at the glow radiating from both their bellies - faint pulsing warmth, ancient runes flickering in the glistening dragon-oil between them.
It was the magic: still alive, still binding, and still nulling.
And they were going to fuck themselves raw against it. So, they didn't stop moving.
Even after the pulse of the ancient glyphs faded beneath their scales, those cursed runes cooling from ember-gold to dim violet, their bodies kept rocking, back and forth, dragging belly against belly in a friction that scorched their nerves and hollowed out their minds.
Smolder's thighs locked tight around Spike's waist; her claws raking down his back, not enough to bleed, but enough to hurt: enough to feel. Her breath hitched in jagged bursts against his neck - those telltale dragon-gasps, dry and cracked with need. Each one ended in a helpless snarl, like she could growl her way into an orgasm that had nowhere to go.
``Nnnnghh... gods, I c-can't... can't take this much longer,'' she choked out through gritted teeth as her hips rolled against his torso. ``It builds and builds, Spike - it won't stop building, ffffuck - !''
Her body shuddered as she ground downward in punishing thrusts and tail twitching. Her whole frame caught in a loop of unbearable tension. Spike's claws dug into her flanks, trying to pin her hips down, but they only rutted harder for it - her against him, him against the bedding, and the stone itself became slick from the steady drip of arousal-sweat pooling beneath them.
His breath was filled with stuttered gasps and broken sounds.
``Smold - Smolder, it - it hurts - feels s-so good, but hurts, gods, I wanna - wanna burst - !''
There was nothing to burst: only slick, sensitive scales rubbed raw from endless pressure. The stimulation was becoming cruel, with pain and pleasure swirling, but they didn't dare stop. They could not. Every second they moved, fed the sensation, and the sensation was all they had.
Smolder sat up slightly, straddling him fully, and she ground down with vicious force, moaning sharply and deeply:
``Unghhh - hahhhh - YES, gods yes, Spike - more - !''
He matched her movements, bucking upward. Their bodies slapped together with wet slischh, slischh, slischh noises, sticky from the endless sweating. He grabbed her hips, tried to force her down harder, desperate to find an angle, a pressure point that would give them something - anything. The glow returned under their scales again, warm and throbbing.
Smolder tilted her head back and screamed, not in orgasm, but in the climax of frustration. Her whole body locked up and convulsed in a way that should have marked release - stuttering hips and hitched breaths. Her claws dug into Spike's chest as her belly spasmed.
But still - nothing.
No spasm of climax, no fluid, and no wave of relief.
Her groin remained: throbbing, raw, and smooth. Her dragonhood was scrubbed from her genes and replaced with this maddening blankness.
She collapsed forward into Spike's chest with a broken gasp, nuzzling his neck as she sobbed in short bursts, clenching her teeth. ``It's never gonna come. It's never... fff-fucking gonna... hhhhhh - !''
He held her tightly with his claws sliding down her spine, breathing just as heavily. His own cockless groin throbbed with something like blue-balled agony, as his whole pelvic region twitched in unsatisfied spasms.
``I hate them,'' he muttered with a voice hollow with breath. ``Whoever did this to us. Whatever dragon decided we shouldn't have - shouldn't be whole - ''
She kissed his neck, slow and clumsy. ``We're whole. Just cursed.''
``You sure?'' he whispered.
``I mean...'' she laughed through a scratchy throat, ``look at us.''
Their bellies glistened where they'd ground each other raw, both soaked with smeared arousal oil and sweat, and the faint residue of rune-light. A glow still pulsed low under Smolder's scales, like a flickering ember buried in her nerves. She shifted slightly on him, and both of them hissed in sharp pain-pleasure.
``Still sensitive,'' he murmured.
``You're not allowed to not be sensitive when I'm sitting on you,'' she teased, nudging her hips again. He moaned - high and needy - and he hugged her tighter.
For a while, they just lay there.
Chest to chest. Groins pressed. Their bodies were twitching with leftover tension, and their hearts were slowly syncing.
Smolder's wing draped over his back. His tail curled around hers like vines.
The heat between their bodies was immense. Not the kind of raw sexual hunger from before, but it was something deeper - like molten stone cooling into place. The twitching subsided, and their breathing slowed. Not everything needs a climax to feel complete.
Spike shifted his head, so his cheek rested against hers. ``This is the only thing that helps, you know,'' he murmured. ``Not grinding. Not rubbing. Just... this.''
She hummed against him. ``I know.''
``Even if it's stupid. Even if it's... broken.''
``Still feels real.''
She shifted slightly, just enough to press her smooth seam fully against his, scale-to-scale, a perfect anatomical blankness kissing another. A hollow union. No entrance, no shaft, and no slit: just heat and shared ache.
They lay tangled like that, warm and quiet, lost in the faint aroma of old firestone bedding. The flicker of their ancestral glow dimmed until only the torchlight remained, which cast slow golden flickers across scale and muscle and the quiet folds of their wings.
``Maybe someday,'' she whispered.
``What?''
She stroked a claw down his spine. ``We'll figure it out. Crack the spell. Make new things happen. Find new ways.''
Spike smiled into her neck. ``Even if we don't, I'm glad you're here.''
She kissed him. No heat this time: just a press of lip to lip, and a slow exhale of everything they?d failed to release.
Then, Smolder curled tighter around him with both their tails wrapping again in lazy figure-eights. They sank together into the warmth of the stone bed, belly to belly, groin to groin, glowing just enough to know the spell was still there...
...but it didn?t win tonight.
Little did Spike and Smolder know of the treatments that would await them and their ``blank slates''.
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