Obsession
Pure fap material. I started writing this as a vignette and couldn't stop! This is what happens when I get too worked up at work. X3
He couldn't stop staring.
He'd only come to the gym for a light workout; really, it was nothing more than a half-assed attempt at keeping his New Year's resolution to "get in shape." He only even set foot in the locker room afterwards because it's what he'd been told ever since he was a child: Work out, take a shower. It wasn't even like he'd worked up a sweat; no, he was probably more than fine to walk right out of the building without anyone thinking twice about it. But, it's what he had been told.
And now he found himself staring.
It was strange, to say the least. He'd never looked twice in any locker room before; sure, guys were changing, everyone was liable to see another dude's junk at some point. It wasn't anything anyone hadn't seen before; what was the big deal? And it certainly wasn't like him to think about it more than a second.
But this was different. The dragon in front of him, he wasn't even nude. He'd taken his shirt off sure, and he had clearly been working out for many years looking at his build. Just from the back, his scales rippled and flexed in even the simple act of taking that shirt off, every muscle bulging beneath with almost no provocation.
And he couldn't stop staring.
By the time he realized it, he wasn't sure how many other guys were even in the same room. The dragon hadn't seemed to take notice, but that was okay. He didn't want any undue attention, especially if anyone were to think him a fag. He'd just snuck a quick peek. It was the sort of thing you can't help but do in such a scenario!
But he wasn't staring at the dragon's back anymore, oh no. No, that would have been okay, even acceptable. The guy was built like a truck, after all. A little admiration was fine, healthy even.
But that wasn't where he was staring.
You see, the dragon had turned ever-so-slightly, moving to remove something-or-other from his locker. And his eyes, they couldn't help but drop.
And the moment they locked onto that incredible bulge in the front of those gym shorts, he couldn't pull them away.
He could see the faintest of outlines in that bulge, telling him what, roughly, the dragon was packing. And the mere thought of such a serpent made him weak in the knees. He'd had to sit down.
And stare.
With every subtle movement, his eyes followed that bulge, watching as it deflected the soft, cotton material of those shorts. There was a bit of lag to the movement, as though the dragon were slightly aroused, at least physically. He wasn't sure how he knew that, or even why he was thinking about that, but his concern never seemed to make it past that point. His thought process seemed caught in a loop: That's totally his cock. Looks big. Slightly hard. Why am I thinking about this?
But he couldn't stop.
He'd tried! Every time he blinked, he tried to jerk his face away, to look at the walls, the floor, anything else. But he couldn't move. No, that wasn't quite right: He didn't want to move. He wanted to keep staring, to keep ogling that sausage stuffed in those shorts.
A slight difference in movement broke his cyclical train of thought momentarily. The dragon had hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband. He was getting ready to lose the shorts. He didn't look up to confirm anything; his eyes never left that bulge. He could just tell.
He knew.
And sure enough, several agonizing seconds later, that same waistband crossed his field of vision, revealing a straining, weighted pouch. The dragon was wearing a bright pink jock strap beneath those shorts.
He almost lost it. The stretched fabric left little to the imagination, but it was enough to make him squirm on the bench. The outline of the dragon's dick was clearly visible. His sac, almost impossibly large and heavy, sat behind it, perked up by his muscular, scaled thighs. Or at least, their outline was.
That fact was frustrating.
He watched that hefty bulge sway and swing with every slight motion of the dragon as he continued to remove his workout attire, bending over almost gracefully, balancing perfectly with his tail. None of that mattered, though. All that mattered was what was in that bulge. He could make out even the tiniest twitches, where the organ inside was pulsing ever-so-slightly. He was somewhat aroused.
His lip quivered.
The dragon stood again, having successfully removed the previous offending garment, and he could finally really see that pouch in all its glory. Perfectly rounded. Perfectly weighted. Tucked perfectly between his legs. The pronounced shapes of the dragon's testicles heaved and sagged with a gentle tempo, almost like his genitals were breathing. He found himself unconsciously matching the tempo with his own breath, rising and falling with that tantalizing bulge.
He swallowed the saliva that had been pooling in his mouth.
The jock strap itself was an interesting piece of clothing. Hot pink, the pouch sporting vertical ribs that accentuated the size of his equipment while simultaneously keeping it all bundled together in a wonderful, tight package. Two straining elastic bands wrapped from the bottom of that pouch, between his legs, and around each side of his thick tail, each cradling a powerful globe of butt. He was only tangentially aware of that fact; truthfully, his entire world seemed to center on that burgeoning piece of material in front.
There was that little shift, that same difference. The dragon was getting ready to lower his jock strap.
He trembled on the bench, every ounce of his being aching in anticipation. He was going to get to see that penis.
The dragon's hands were, once again, agonizingly slow. He bit his lip, knees shaking, reciting a small mantra in the back of his head: "Gonna see it. Gonna see it. Gonna see his penis."
The thick waistband's lower edge crossed the top of the bulge.
"Gonna see his penis."
A scaled hand, every finger thick with muscle, crossed his vision as it lowered the garment further.
"Gonna see his penis."
Finally, the top of the waistband lowered. He audibly gasped, stretching to try and get a better view.
"Gonna... Gonna see..."
The organ that emerged from beneath that pouch bounced gently as the elastic band finally freed it. Thick, black, and every bit of twelve inches in its current state. The tight sac behind it heaved, almost struggling to contain a pair of nuts that could have put ostrich eggs to shame. It was glorious.
It was beautiful.
It was throbbing.
Twitch. Twitch. With each gentle beat of the dragon's heart, he watched the tip bounce, precum bubbling from it.
His penis was showing.
It was getting hard.
The length swayed and bobbed, his eyes following its every move. It lazily lurched and sagged, blood slowly pooling in it. His sac, too, followed the same pattern, rising and falling in perfect time.
The glans swelled, and the cock reached up, straining, foreskin pulling tight.
It was hard.
The penis was hard.
He gripped the bench tightly, eyes remaining focused on that stiff, twitching rod, as his own leaped in his drawers, depositing a fresh load of semen right through his boxers, staining his workout shorts. He gasped and moaned, writhing on the bench, unable to stop the incredible pleasure coursing through him.
The penis was hard!
It was hard!
And drooling!
And... and bouncing. Bouncing strangely.
It seemed to be growing. What was...
And then the organ smeared its fluids against his cheek.
His nostrils flared, body eagerly taking in that incredible, masculine scent. He moaned out again, barely able to sit still on the bench.
***
"Penis penis penis penis penis..."
The poor little iguana had been babbling that since shortly after he pressed his dick against his face.
It wasn't like he could help it, he knew. His dick was powerful. This was the third one today.
"Worship it, boy." The iguana followed, no question.
He shuddered. He could certainly use another release...