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Greylock took his first, tentative steps outside the cell where he'd spent the last century, and then stopped.

He'd finally done it.

All that time having the prison constructed, staffed, and operated, and he'd finally managed to push through his craving for revenge and set his sights—such as they were, in his blindfold—on something higher. His leash to a magically anchored stone had kept him there for so long; once he'd finally found the resolve to go he'd needed the guards to jackhammer the piece out of the floor in order for him to leave, and even now they wheeled it next to him on a handcart.

“Come on, prisoner, truck's waiting, just walk straight ahead,” said one of the officers he hadn't put enough pressure on for him to realize who'd compelled him to come work there in the first place, who thought the suggestions in his mind were his own thoughts. He growled softly behind his muzzle at their nerve, but it got him moving again: he wasn't thinking back now, he was thinking forward, getting outside these walls, focusing less on his lust and more on the original goals that had gotten him into such trouble in the first place: control, power, wealth, expanding his reach over important figures until he could direct a city, a country, perhaps the whole world... The desire to make it happen put a little more urgency in his steps as he struggled against the chains to make his way down the hall, able to build a rough lattice in his mind of the walls around him from what the guards could see and confident his control over them would make sure they stopped him from running into anything that he missed. Moving was still awkward with such a short chain between front paws and collar, keeping his forelegs sharply bent to the point that the hobble on his hind legs almost didn't matter, but he kept going. He was getting out of here. He wasn't free, there might not be a magical power in the whole world strong enough to break the enchanted bondage, but so long as he had his mind, he wasn't about to let that stop him.

“You sure they'll both fit? Looks like a tight squeeze,” said one of the other guards as Greylock clumsily negotiated the turn to towards the loading dock. For all that he'd spent a hundred years chained, the anchor meant he hadn't had much of any practice actually walking around in them!

“Manifest only has one truck, so they gotta squish in there somehow. Keep moving, prisoner, in you go.”

There was one thing Greylock hadn't been able to bring himself to let go of, and he could sense that trapped mind, whirling with anxiety, grow closer and closer to his own as he shuffled into the trailer behind the worker wheeling his leash along: the other dragon held prisoner, already loaded into the transport truck to come along for the ride. If his straitjacket hadn't kept his front legs in its compact hold, it might have been tricky indeed to fit in with him, but Greylock managed to settle down on his side with only gentle pressure on his bound wings from the side of the trailer and on his chest from the canvas-covered chest of the prisoner next to him.

The other dragon squirmed and mumbled while the guard strapped the rock down and then exited the trailer through a small side door; a twitch brought the dragons' hips into contact as well, along with a metallic tap of chastity belts bouncing gently off each other, which prompted a “mmmff!” from within his hood. The prisoner squirmed a bit more urgently, while Greylock shuffled a little to get himself more comfortable next to him, able to feel his forelegs twisting within his sleeves, his snout making exploratory sensory-deprived bumps against his neck.

“Have a nice trip!” said one of the guards with a laugh once he'd curled his tail into the trailer. For a moment he could see himself and his prisoner through the guard's eyes: a pair of blind, bound dragons pressed against each other almost as if embracing, one violet and one red, wriggling, groaning muffled into muzzle and hood, and appearing for all the world not as puppeteer and puppet but two heavily locked-down captives totally under biped control... Then with a heavy metallic clang the door shut behind them, closing them up in the trailer for their journey and cutting off his secondhand view of the space, forced to rely on his own vision and that of the other dragon: one pair of eyes shut beneath a blindfold, the other beneath a hood, he plunged into true blindness.

Greylock let his connection to the prisoners left back in the jail fade as the trailer swayed around them, signaling the start of the journey, and maintained his hold only on the drivers and the dozen or so guards who'd be coming with him to the city. The rest of the staff and the prisoners would gradually come to their senses over the next few weeks to find the prison's bank accounts empty, its files destroyed, and the wardens in charge all vanished, but the hollowed-out company and the prisoners left behind would be for the state to figure out; he was moving on to bigger and better things now. Him, his minions, and the dragon squirming helplessly next to him, brought along at the last minute when he realized he wasn't certain when he'd be able to bring anyone new into his orbit and might have want of some entertainment during less busy periods... Like, say, when there was nothing to do but spend hours riding along in the transport trailer while it drove East, when his retinue knew their commands and didn't need any additional direction for a while and he could focus his full attention on his captive.

And what better mind to bend utterly to his will than another dragon's?

“Mmmff,” mumbled the defenseless dragon; with a heavy gag and muzzle beneath his hood, he could hardly make a sound, but he was trying anyway. “Mmmm, mmmff-mmn, hmmff mmm!” Their back arched, pressing more of their body—mostly canvas-covered, in his straitjacket—against his, but heavy restraints that had kept him a very horny prisoner for years certainly weren't going to break now, and Greylock had no intention of making it easier for him!

With the two of them so close to each other, the blindfold didn't make it any more difficult to sense exactly how the prisoner was positioned, or the location of his head, able to let the radiating energy of his emotions tell him exactly where to go. He bent his own neck and pressed their snouts together, forehead to forehead, and instantly his perception of his mind sharpened: not quite so strong as eye contact, but near enough, even with his blindfold and his hood between them! He felt as the prisoner felt, the even more strict restraints on his limbs, the lewd humiliating gag in his jaws, the smothering sensory deprivation and the firm warm contact of another dragon's shifting scales, a presence that captured much of his thoughts while what remained was focused, of course, on the steady, aching pulse of his shaft against strict steel chastity over his slit.

He was trying to get the other dragon's attention, trying to feel against them for a way they could save each other, a way to help each other escape from their bonds, and Greylock heard the echoes of what he tried to say even while his hood kept him muffled_._ “Hhmmff!” Help! “Mmm nmmff ffmm mmmffmmff!” We need to escape!

That's exactly what Greylock was doing, carried further from his former cell with every passing moment, and soon to arrive at what would more appropriately be called a lair, a base of operations in a big city from which to hatch his future plots for power and wealth. But his prisoner? There is no escape, he projected into his mind, a soft growl rumbling behind his muzzle.

He flinched: he could tell right away those thoughts weren't his own, and his whole body shuddered in denial. He needed to break free, he needed to get out of chastity, there had to be a way—

There is no escape. He felt how the other dragon's cock throbbed when he repeated it; the thrill of their desperation made him shiver and growl again from his own longing, length pulsing with a century of lust. You know you can't. You don't want to escape.

“Mmm-mmmmm!” cried his prisoner; his head shook minutely as he tried to reject the thoughts, but Greylock bore down on him, not letting him slip away from the contact, as if there was any room in their trailer to retreat even if he hadn't been the more tightly bound of the pair. He could feel the hammering of his heart against his ribs through his scales just as strongly as he felt it through his mind, his chest heaving, trying to fight his straitjacket and legbinder but with hardly any room to budge pinned between Greylock and the opposite wall. The voice in his head wasn't his, he needed to get it out, how could it possibly know that his chastity belt felt tighter than ever when he was told something like that—

“Rrrmmmff.” The feeling of his prisoner gasping for breath, their belts tapping together as he struggled and thrust impotently drew further, forceful growls, years of imprisonment and Greylock's mental influence already weighing on his thoughts. You crave helplessness. You know it fills you with desire. You can feel your excitement... Greylock could feel it too, his own and his prisoner's, two mighty dragon cocks aching so close to each other within their respective chastity, separated only by those two thin and unyielding layers of steel; the feedback made him writhe, powerful muscular limbs knocking together as they both wrestled their restraints towards different ends.

Do not deny what you want.

It was the dragon's love of bondage that had enabled Greylock to snare him in the first place. Ordinarily a dragon came and went from his area of influence too quickly for him to have time to find cracks in their mind to exploit to encourage them to stick around, but he'd been able to feel the submissiveness in his thoughts, goaded and encouraged it until he could be directed to turn up at the prison for restraining, and at last gave Greylock another dragon to play with. Those years in his power with his psyche open to explore had told him every secret desire, every note to play that was the most effective in strengthening his submissive need... but for the moment he only needed to watch in amusement as the dragon's racing imagination showed him those fantasies almost without encouragement. To be bound, gagged, never allowed to escape, kept in his slit, teased and teased and teased without relief, his imagination was so eager for it that Greylock could almost feel a vibrator playing over his chastity belt from the vividness of his desires! The phantom sensation was so tantalizing it made him writhe and quiver and groan, but he had so many decades of practice staying focused through intense arousal.

His captive struggled and moaned, dizzy from hyperventilation, fighting his bonds and his own mind while Greylock drank in the experience, relishing the ease of manipulating his thoughts as he gently encouraged and enhanced what he felt. You know you can't escape the straitjacket. You can't reach, you can't open the locks, you never have. You never will. As if his predicament was not real enough already, as if he needed any help to intensify the powerless longing, the lust, the aching denial and crushing helplessness... You can't escape your hood. You love being gagged and blind. It thrills you to feel your mouth so full and not be able to reach up and unlock it. The prisoner moaned urgently into that smothering gag and hood and continued to thrust against him, thrust and quivered, thrust harder, dragonhood pulsing desperately as he fought, and strained, felt his hooded blindness still more strongly from how it stopped him from seeing any potential ways out...

Your chastity will never let you out of your slit again, he told him, and “mmmfff! Mmffff, mmmmfff!” he protested, his grinding and his breaths growing faster, his own thoughts echoing weakly back to Greylock. Please, please, please, please... He repeated, gasping, feeling so very close to a release that Greylock hadn't let him have even once since capture, the focus on this helplessness causing the strongest surge of arousal yet! You can't unlock it. You'll never be free of this endless, needy, aching, he told the shuddering, heaving, desperately grinding dragon, who felt like he was right on the brink of release just from how aroused he was by what Greylock made him think.

He could do something about that too—he needed to, in fact, for he was not about to let another dragon do something he couldn't! You will not cum.

The way the thought was nearly enough to set the dragon off right then, with hardly any stimulation at all, was such an amusing irony that he showed it to the prisoner. Feel how hard you ache when the thought hits you. He played the sensation right back to him, how the pent-up denial had felt so good, how his body had told him even stuck in his slit with no sensation but the restraint over his dragonhood he was almost ready to shoot from how horny it made him and how all that had brought him there was to ride the shape in him and think it would never happen. You cannot cum because you want to feel this. The denial. The need. His dragonhood was throbbing so hard against the chastity belt it was nearly numb, bringing Greylock's raging lust right along with it.

“Mmmmm!” Please! “Mmmff, mmm mmmnn mmffff!” Please, need to cum!

You can't cum. You don't want to cum. Overriding his pleas with a muffled growl of his own, he clumsily pushed himself atop the other dragon, pinning their head to the floor beneath his own, mittened paws pressing his chest down, hind cuffs bracketing his legbinder while he thrust against the other dragon. Belt pressed against belt, rubbed firmly, his shaft straining for freedom so very close to his prisoner's. You don't want to cum. You want to be denied. Over. “Rrrmmff.” He thrust again. And over. He shuddered in lust, thrust harder, metallic clicks sounding from their chastity belts from the contact, all his muscles quaking in tension from the raging fire of his and his prisoner's lust. You want to never cum.

The dragon's mind felt like it was hanging by a thread, trying feebly to resist the desires Greylock had found and fed until they grew to such a consuming need; his heart pounded in his ears, his cock pulsed and strained furiously, but despite the intense spike of arousal—his own and Greylock's, mingling through the mental link—he didn't orgasm, throbbing and drooling and clinging now to the denial Greylock enthralled him with, holding on to the desperate sensation of being trapped on the edge, of going no further, of needing climax while instead sealed within his slit and unable to escape the bondage that kept him in such a tormented state...

That's it. Every thought was another forceful grind, another shaky breath, another muzzle-muffled growl as he chained the prisoner's mind. Accept your desire. Never let yourself cum. Never escape. He could feel every quiver of his muscles both in his mind and beneath his mittened paws, every beat of his racing heart, every wave of lust scattering any attempt to muster his thoughts as he teetered on the edge, reveling in the intensity of it, the burning need and the longing to feel this way, on and on, as much and as long as he could without ever letting orgasm interrupt it...

My prisoner. Mine. A few more thrusts emphasized his dominance, bound and blind and muzzled as he was, his chastity belt driving the pace of their grinding, not the dragon pinned beneath him. Not the dragon who struggled frantically against the straitjacket as if he knew how utterly trapped he was about to be, arched his back, leaned needily against Greylock above him and whimpered in lust, in longing, utterly powerless against the mental assault. You'll never be free.

The prisoner's body thrashed and his mind broke, sinking deep into submission even while he struggled and bucked and forced Greylock to clumsily hold him down: to feel the bondage, feel the helplessness and feel the lust and denial that he was so desperate for and now crashed down so intensely that he would have cum if his mind hadn't just been so firmly commanded to never do so. Even with Greylock strictly muzzled, the press of forehead to forehead felt just the same as fangs around his throat, commanding obedience, commanding surrender, and all the prisoner could do was seek exactly what Greylock told him to: his limbs fought and muscles strained to feel the gear he couldn't escape, he moaned and he gasped to know he couldn't speak, couldn't see within his hood, he humped and arched upward and pressed so urgently against the other dragon's chastity to feel still more intensely how he'd never break out of his slit.

How he'd never cum, only feel this pent-up aching need, on and on and on...

Greylock groaned in lust, frustration, dominance, his own thrusts growing more and more rapid. He hadn't broken a mind this thoroughly in a long time, especially not with such a focus on arousal, and now the prisoner's thoughts were an endless whirl of helpless raging need that his own mind was plugged deeply into! “Rrrrgh! Nnnngh. Hh-hhnn, mmmnnn, rrrrrhhg!” He ground his teeth in tension and continued to frot belts with his enthralled prisoner as he shuddered from the ache of both their slits, the desperate strain of both shafts, the desire raging in each of them with bumping chastity their only outlet; his whole body shuddered, as close to orgasm as he could possibly get in his cursed chastity belt and wavering there, suspended over the cliff's edge but never... getting... further...

Can't escape. Can't cum. Can't escape. Can't cum. The dragon's thoughts were now trapped in that loop he'd built for him, running through his head over and over while he moaned in fruitless lust... and making Greylock shudder knowing they were true for him too: his gear was permanent, his chastity belt had a spell to block orgasm. “Rrrnnmmg!” He made a deep muffled snarl and kept grinding while their thoughts intermingled, wishing just one, more, thrust could finally get him off, muscles tense and trembling as his chastity kept him pent up and frustrated despite his efforts. He was so, damned, close, relief was right there if he could just find a way through, he couldn't let up! He was so powerful, he was in control, surely his mind could get him there even if his body was restrained!

So furiously worked up, he turned his considerable mental strength towards his own thoughts now, trying to visualize himself out of his slit, to make himself think he was hard, that he was getting pleasure—so much pleasure!—and that with his next, thrust, just a little more, he'd get there! It was easier to pull the memory of orgasm from his prisoner's mind than his own, it had been so long, but he summoned it regardless—tried to ignore the endless current of can't cum that came with it—and imagined he was feeling the ecstatic rush of climax as if the strength of his longing could make it happen! His cock pulsed, ached as desperately as the prisoner's did beneath him locked in their chastity, and when he felt how he pushed his tongue against his gag when he moaned he tried harder still, added another layer to the fantasy he tried to fix over his own mind. He wasn't thrusting against belt, against scales, against paw, that thick phallic gag underneath that hood was him and the sensation crossing his mind of a maw so stuffed was his prisoner obediently suckling, pleasuring... The intensity of his effort was such that he swore he did feel a tongue between his legs, that his prisoner found the taste of hot slick flesh, mouth full of pulsing eager dominant dragon cock that just like both of those desperately throbbing dragon cocks trapped beneath chastity belts was primed to blow— To blow—

“Mmmmm! Mmmfff!”

“Rrrnnngh!”

No matter how hard he pictured himself free, hard, spurting all his pent-up cum, the magic was too strong to defeat. Greylock slumped down shuddering all over and breathing raggedly through his nostrils, still atop his quivering, gasping prisoner, can't cum, can't cum, can't cum, echoing through his head and chastity belt bumping his own all the while. Damn it. So impossibly close, and yet... That had to be the hardest he'd felt the orgasm denial in years, the tip of his cock numb from pushing against his belt so hard thanks to his own and the other dragon's mighty, contained arousal. His own breath was labored, his body tense and sore and muscles trembling from the futile exertion, especially where the steel gripped his limbs, and his heart rate gradually calmed as he mastered himself... which the endless chain of helpless thoughts radiating from his prisoner made difficult, but even if they kept his length throbbing hard as he tried to settle down the satisfaction of knowing he had bent his mind into such a hopeless needy state made the endless hum of desire and denial a pleasant background sensation in his thoughts.

Not so for the prisoner, whose mind was now bound in deep submission, any free thought impossible as he was consumed by his powerless lust and his need to stay that way forever, endlessly fighting his straitjacket, his hood, and his chastity for Greylock's amusement, never to cum again...

Nothing can save you now, he whispered into his mind, nearly able to feel the chains that had wound through it and enjoying how the words made their body quiver beneath his. He extended his reach to the driver, just enough to learn there were still a couple of hours to travel before they reached the city, then returned his full focus to the helpless dragon he continued to gently, dominantly grind his chastity against. And we have all the time in the world to enjoy it...