Gage

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

The colossus in the seat next to you smiles at you with wide green eyes. The drink in his hand looks like a shot glass, even though there must be a pint of neon pink margarita in it (complete with novelty umbrella.) You lay a hand on his shoulder. Muscles bunch underneath the dragon scales, reflecting dull gray luster in the tropical sun. He takes a quick gulp of his drink. Oh, that’s cute. He must be embarrassed. You ask him again.
“Gage. Name’s Gage. I guess we could go back inside, but there’s not much to do in the hotel.”

He can’t really be that dense, can he? You lean in and repeat your request, but this time with a few added details. The dragon’s eyes bulge, then he inhales another gulp of the margarita. Then he holds his head as brain-freeze brings the great beast low.

When he’s finally able to, he responds, “Are you sure? I mean, yes, but—I’m honored! I… Oh hell, I’m screwing this up, aren’t I?”

In answer, you slap a room card on the bar top in front of him. You only make it halfway back to the hotel before muscular arms lift you up. Your gallant dragon ducks his head as he passes people on the way to your room. You’re starting to guess that’s how he blushes. When you arrive, he ducks beneath the doorframe and lets the door shut behind the both of you. He looks down at you with embarrassed uncertainty. “Um, so what did you want to-”

You interrupt him by reach down and handling exactly what you want. You can feel sheath through the fabric of his shorts. He lowers you carefully to your knees as your fingers tug to reveal a supple gray-scaled pouch with just the hint of interesting draconic arousal. He’s got an elegantly mushroomed head peeking from that gorgeous sheath. Your hope for exotic anatomy is fulfilled as he slowly stiffens under your eager touch. When you rub your hands over the well-defined six pack that stretches across the wide expanse of his stomach, you see ridges along the underside throb into the light.

“Wow, you really mean it, don’t you. Well, who am I to complain?” The world spins as you’re lifted bodily. A moment of falling, then you feel the over-soft mattress creak beneath you as you land. Quickly following you is Gage. He pulls your own shorts free of your legs with one careful tug, and then his giant hands are massaging your butt cheeks. He pulls you backwards, and you’re introduced to that slippery tip you were so recently fondling.

He’s gentle, even though when he leans his weight down on the bed you feel the frame bend. Every time you feel him sliding another ridge deeper, he pauses to make sure you’re okay before his hands pull you another inch backwards. With his anatomy, you’re glad he’s not just going at it full-speed. He even lets you set the pace once he hilts and lets you sit back against the warm scales of his belly, though you’re sure he wants nothing more than to pin you to the bed and hump.

He pulls you back to sit in his lap as he rolls his hips up to meet yours. You can feel him trembling behind you. You know he’s close, but even on the edge of his own orgasm, he holds back long enough to rub a massive hand down between your legs until he feels you squirm and writhe against him in your own peak. Only then does he give you two solid thrusts before flooding you with his own hot exuberance.

The moment his orgasm ends, his embarrassment returns. “Oh! Oh, dear, we made a mess. Let me go fetch you a towel. Would you like a drink?” You rest on the bed as he potters around your hotel room. He emerges from the bathroom, towel in hand, then freezes when he sees you spread on the bed, wet with both his and your own fluids. You can see his interest start throbbing to life again.

“Or. Or, if you want, could we make a little more mess before we clean up?”

Story by Kandrel