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Hold it they said

Every breath comes out heavier, every sigh rougher. Legoshi slouches back, sweat dripping down his fur, as if the weight between his legs could drag his whole body down with it. His claws tap against the chair, restless, each low growl echoing the ache building in his chest and lower still.

The strain is constant. His balls swollen, pulled tight, pressing against the fabric with a faint creak and shift each time he adjusts his legs. It’s not just discomfort; it’s heat, a steady throb that makes his body shiver despite his best attempt to sit still.

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding in quiet frustration, and sometimes a sound slips out, a guttural noise caught between a sigh and a growl. It’s the kind of sound that betrays him, the kind he hopes no one outside the room can hear.

He tries to look composed, hand propped against his cheek, but every twitch of his ear, every hiss under his breath, reveals the truth: the pressure is unbearable, the restraint torturous, and the noise of it all—his breathing, his grumbling, even the dull weight shifting in his jockstrap—, is a constant reminder of how close he is to breaking.

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A little continuation from my previous work Abstinence check, where the boys at Cherrynton must deny their instincs.

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