Emberborne by Varien Quill

Emberborne

Story by Varien Quill on SoFurryJanuary 2026~75 min read

Varien Quill, commission, dragon, dragoness, embrio, female, hatchling, pregnancy, pussy, story, surrogate, unbirth

Commission for anon, still accepting commissions

Story bout dragoness Ashton who volunteers to be surrogate of the dragon egg, starting with scene at the clinic. She is full of doubt about the process and will continue to build trust for the egg itself, not knowing how deeply sexual the connection will become.

clenched and caused the plug resting between them to move. Wet noise accompanied her,

vibrations sent by the fleshless walls surrounding the egg rocking her and creating a slick

mess on her lap and the floor. The liquid was nearly dark in her shade, less fertile, however,

her vagina and anal muscles still clasped hungrily, although an nonexistent penis would take

her this evening.

Despite being an alien object, her motherly instincts protected the intruder, and her

egg-sitting became essential, although painful and straining. To say the truth, her desires

were solely filled with a need for sexual gratification, and that is what usually happened. Like

an animal, she did the same: crawled slowly on all four, undulated her spine and abdomen,

releasing sensual roars after each tremor of orgasm, so intense that it made her whine and

push her round ass upwards. Sometimes these fits were dangerous and sometimes not;

either way, the reptilian females who lived in the lands and caves did not choose their mates

for their lifetime.

"It's okay, Miss Ashton. It's almost over."

The dragoness sighed, slightly disappointed, and her arms shook lightly. With no reason, the

tears rolled off her scales, dropping slush into the puddle already formed under her claw

toes. Restrained her, was the urge to masturbate, and the hand reaching and touching her

intimate, caressed her slit, sending pleasure rushes to her brain. Frustrating was this, the

lack of relief, the unending bliss, and yet the longing kept her arousal alive and the climax far,

far away. Until the fluids leaked thoroughly onto the floor, making the grip harder, and the

fingers sank deeper, pulling the hood, massaging the swollen node, sliding two digits swiftly

across the labia, diving and opening, widening the entrance. Yes, always remained the

burning sensation, scorching her needs, boiling her urges.

Before she lost consciousness, she only whispered.

"I'm a mother now."

*****

"You can be a mother too!"

A ridiculous pamphlet lay in front of her while waiting for the procedure in the sterile office,

and the thought of a mishap occurred. Soon, a short, middle-aged woman entered, looking

at the notice and showing a weak smile.

"Miss Ashton. First, the contract should be signed. Secondly, the preparation."

Ashton clumsily stood up from the several chairs placed together, which were hardly

comfortable, yet big enough not to worry, they could not hold her huge weight. She still

wasn't sure about the whole procedure, but she remembered what that pamphlet said.

Save civilization.

Of course, humanity was fine, despite all its hardships throughout the ages. It was the

dragon population that was cut very low by extinction, famine, wars, and diseases. At this

point, the one individual mating organ couldn't generate enough fertilized seedsedsIn

addition, it seemed, the humans were doing everything right, breeding for no reason

whatsoever, and yet dragons... weren't. Something needed to be done, therefore artificial

birth method took place, as there were no natural materials capable of containing the egg

shells. Additionally, the shells were thick and were used for many years; living in the wild

was often easy, andthusu,, raising domestic animals was the main occupation. This was also

the case with her grandmother.

"So, the operation will not seriously damage my health, especially internally?" She blurted.

"Let's try not to ponder too much. I'm a professional, and besides, my hands aren't feeble;

we've had enough of your kind through our clinic, successfully."

Miss Ashton grunted nervously, then went back and sat down. Suddenly, the situation

looked bleak and hostile, without any possibility of a solution, but the mere effort gave her

hope. More trust in her, and he continued. "Well, since you saw a picture on the pamphlet,

let me brief you a little more. One capsule usually contains half a half-sized dragon fetus.

After hatching, the hatchling feeds on the residual protein left within the shell, which lasts

around a week or two, depending on the speed of growth. After the shell is consumed, the

nutrient is required for a female nursing." She heard rumors, among her tribes and villages,

tales about an unimaginably delicious taste, the rich texture, the creamy consistency, and

later the unique flavor. Raw or cooked, the females were craving consumption, especially the

mothers. Indeed, her eyes sparkled brightly, at the simple imagining, the tip of the tongue

licked her teeth, and her sharp incisors bit the air.

While the doctor continued, the dragon's mind daydreamed, thinking of a great number, as

it was likely to contain a couple of litters annually. Surrogates were asked to volunteer

because the chance of repeating the successful process wasn't available; it happened once,

maybe not twice. Therefore, t,he application program was complex, rigorous, and long.

"Miss Ashton? Do you understand? I'm explaining to you all the risks and side effects." He

sounded serious.

But she didn't want to listen anymore, wanting to have a child already. Who cares about a

few inconveniences? Even if she would lose some of her scales, or horns, or tail, or god

knows what, it didn't matter to her. Deep down, her dreams began arising, fantasizing about

her own kid, adorable and curious, energetic and mischievous, smart and graceful. Growing

up tough and free, I became strong and prosperous. Moreover, the dream was her's alone,

the fantasy hers. She finally nodded and yawned. Exhaustion was about taking her. The doc

led her outside, her gown rustled, and her legs barely carried her anywhere. Once the

examination table was encountered, the patient positioned herself comfortably and closed

her wings and eyes.

"Go away. I'm sleepy." Ashton coughed silently.

"I will begin the infusion and sedative mechanism, currently lying would only paralyze you

temporarily. Make yourself ready."

What was the sense, having full control over her arms and legs wouldn't allow her to move

anyway. Was everything going according to plan? Probably, she had seen the surgical tools,

and the doctors outdid themselves creating such fine equipment. Or maybe someone did

them justice, and could be called a close partner, rather than a skilled worker.

*****

"What a realistic dream."

But was it? During her slumber, she recalled everything which happened merely a few

months ago at the clinic. Every information, detail, and observation.

"Seems like things got...worse"

Days and days she rested, fighting her fever, recovering from surgery, never gaining sight,

and nearly starving. Well, at least her house was well built, and the basement wasn't too

cold. Her nest was buried deep underground, underneath her comforter hammock. Mounds

upon mounds piled into smooth and soft, leaving a circular-shaped bed on the floor, covered

in golden straws, plush pillows, and musky cushions. Dragons were not accustomed to sitting

through. Hencec, the whole basement had no furniture, a waste, would it be. Without the

ability to see clearly or even walk with slight pressure, the house was transformed into a

prison, and the small animal meabecame t became a regular diet. Plus, the constant dripping

sound. How annoying! However, her scent glands were active, rubbing against walls, soaking

them with lavender oils, the good spirits would come soon and wipe her worries away. For a

minute or two.

Her condition did not change for three weeksekstime was not tangible, nor could the

physical body be focused on, healing was endless, and progress was delayed. Everything was

blurred or darkened. Her senses were dull, otherworldly, nonsensical, except for hearing,

where subtle sounds echoed wonderfully. Eating was a pleasant exercise, though a bit

messy; her jaw was strong and held the food properly. All her remaining limbs and claws

were useful, not too much and not too less. Furthermore, something odd had happened;

her imagination amplified, being capable of seeing pictures and colors without the aid of

light. Reality and fiction entangle seamlessly, easily blended, confusing the perspective. She

remembered only small fragments from the past, and gradually the memories expanded and

gained details, emotions, reflections, and awareness. Besides, she found the shape of her

swollen belly, glowing unquestionably, and how heavy the water bottle felt. Did the real

world still exist? Would the egg leave its capsule and expand its limits beyond until the end

of the universe?

But one day, things had taken an unexpected turn.

What if she doesn't want to be a mother? Will her village ignore her and not care, and her

friends and family consider the young offspring a problem? But none came. Because the

silence itself was worth more than the talk, nothing beat solitude. Nothing except love, or

was it apathy? Was she truly despised, or was the isolation itself self-imposed? Loneliness

could be cruel; it destroyed the weak and reshaped the strong, or shattered and created

new life. What exactly had happened was fuzzy; her tail flickered frantically, unable to hold

emotion, and her wings moved gently, relaxing. Still, her nest was comforting, its organic

frame embraced her, protecting, making her skin grow thick hairs, keeping the scalding heat

inside. In the same mannerthe environment nourished her, delivering fresh herbs and

flowers during nighttime, preserving salty and roasted meat, gathering iron and silver

metals. If we could call them silver, otherwise their true names didn't carry through.

Then, her muscles contracted involuntarily. Was it happening? But it was way too soon! As if

the child had heard her thoughts, it tried to escape. But stopped and waited for reassurance.

Breathless, her claws tightened, an instinctive action, and her feet squirmed. Just one push,

and the baby would kick its way through and free the womb. Soon, t, he plug pushed its way

out from her slit, followed by liquid that was wasted fast. Until the last drop, and the very

first cracks shone above the entrance. Again, the muscle spasms began and grew stronger,

reaching their peak, the head and chest of the hatchling could be observed, struggling and

grunting, squeezing her vaginal canal.

"Please, not yet..." She started. But what if... she wanted this? Like in every story, when the

dragon mates and turns pregnant, their destiny becomes apparent. Also, her initial

agreement helped form the solution, or was it about shaping the issues? The egg continued

its journey, as if it deemed the surrogate not worthy of its time. And the woman allowed her

womb to do its job, and the egg passed smoothly. With sudden disgust, the sliminess sent a

chill throughout her, waking her up from the catatonic stupor.

Once again, her instincts kicked i,n and her hands grabbed the slippery ooze, forcing her to

stay inside. This was not a dream, but real life, painful and intense, drenched in hot sweat

and bodily fluids. Not the most poetic of all descriptions, the main event, although vulgar

and uncivil, became a vision of beauty. It took half an hour before her cunt deflated slowly.

Furious was her joy, unable to speak, the words would fall flat. Finally, the thought occurred.

I can't let it go.

Then, an oval-shaped object rolled away, hitting the floor, disturbing the quiet atmosphere.

Miss Ashton barely noticed her pussy retracting and the bulge shrinking, nor the sensation

of emptiness. Slowly, the world had gone upside down and ceased to make sense. She

exhaled deeply and looked blankly, with her jaw unhinged. Minutes might have passed,

maybe hours, while she stared at her unhatched child. The dragoness didn't realize that only

mere seconds after it left her canal, her motherly instincts, the same ones she thought were

non-existent, suddenly kicked in.

I can't let it go!

Panting hard, she picked up her baby, her sweet child, with her claws, noticing it was still

wet. The egg smell filled the nostrils,, and her maternal concern overrode anything else. It is

safe and well, and most importantly is mine! But it wasn't ready to come out of the shell, not

for weeks if not months. What should she do? Thinking fast, the only reasonable but also

simultaneously insane thing she could do was to... put it back?

"It's okay. You should sleep a little longer..." Ashton whispered, carefully placing the egg

against her folds. Her arousal kicked, faster this time, readying her pussy, even in this

situation, her hormones were off the charts. She grunted nervously. Had she any second

chance? Oh, don't think like that, her internal voice chided her. With the help of her thumbs,

she spread her vulva and plunged the egg deeper, slowly letting gravity aid the process.

There were no regrets, maybe a shudder of orgasm or a touch of remorse. She never

doubted her decision; a dragoness ought to preserve the species.

The dragon noticed how surprisingly easy it was to slide the huge bulk of egg, moving in her

heated cave, her contractions rocked the fluid remains steadily, soothing the feeling. The

second attempt was painless; the egg sucked in her soft parts, fitting snugly, almost slipping

out, but gaining the correct angle, her vagina's walls clamped and encircled the opening. Her

womb, tight and full, gave the impression, the embryo grew. Perhaps a hallucination?

Dragoness sighed. Both relief and satisfaction coursed through her. From now on, every

movement, any minor shift, was enough. Even the mildest hunch sent the raw waves of

rapture, and her heartbeat grew louder. Tugging and pulling her insides, dragging the

sensitive organs, her esophagus crushing the tiny vessel.

No. No. NO!

Relax. Deep breaths. Soon,, the tremors returned, and the pain followed suit. So far, so good.

The pressure on the cervix indicated a rapid growth, and her thighs shivered and arched with

strain.

This shouldn't.

When did the air start to dry? With long draws, her lungs absorbed oxygen, trying to ease

her labor. Despite knowing the truth, Miss Ashton had resigned, wishing the mind would

clear and rationality would return. Weird, the last weeks were just the same, blurry, dark,

difficult, not counting the daily panic attacks. Not long ago, the incubation period was the

usual one; the actual birth could have been predicted and prevented. Of course, they lived in

the wild, and those things may happen or be changed. While thinking, the wall was

stretching and squeezing the growing creature.

Because the surrogate had no idea what kind of dragon was developing, and, without light,

could see absolutely nothing. One detail was obvious: this was not the same some three

months ago, and whether her guts or bowels were going to burst, giving her a chance at

least to pick up her child and care, wasn't near, wouldn't be anytime soon. I need to stop...

Somehow, between delirium and agony, the dragon found the place and meant it; it hurt

her deeply, causing her horns and her soul to ache. Nevertheless, stubbornly determined,

she pressed her fingers in, holding, making herself fully empty, waiting, expecting the

results, not exactly hoping.

"Sleep well, dear child..." she whispered, before succumbing to slumber, hoping it all went

well.

*****

"I need water..."

Her cavern saw better days. Its usually sparkling scales were dull and greasy, the clawtips

were worn, and her fleshy holes were gaping widely. Fortunately, few people came close,

and dragons seldom enter, regardless of the tribe or order. They were fierce creatures, a

powerful force, hardly beatable. Besides being an exile, wit is simply a formality. Few visits

were permitted, each having a purpose. Nonetheless, there was a hole to get rid of waste,

the stairs were still firm, and the rest was a matter of illusion.

Oh, how ugly the reality was.

For the last three months,, her stomach's size increased again. Each week, a considerable

amount, and because the nutrients were already utilized, her metabolism sped up, speeding

her pregnancy too. More muscular, rather than blobby, the dragon could feel it, feeding her

bloodstream How could her body keep living normally? Then, the answer came. Of course,

energy wasn't provided by fat or simple foods, but motherhood brought the surge. Sufficient

was a lot of fruit, a bucket of meat, and milk. Otherworldly strength, her teeth chewed

ceaselessly, and her tongue licked furiously, ingesting pure happiness. However, sleeping was

enjoyable as well, and besides the nausea or the random cramps, everything was fine.

She approached the sizeable bucket, lying near the exit, scooped a pawful, and drank her fill.

Afterward,she craving arose, the unbearable desire, urging the dragon towards her most

comfortable spot. Her breath was faster, the claws rubbed against the door frame, and her

hips bucked, looking forward to the pleasure. Even her pouty lipss glistened and bulged.

Quickly, the beast had assumed the position, the stance, on her four legs, facing the crude

wall, and her tail curled above her waist, revealing the intimacy.

Yes. Now. More. Fill me.

A moan escaped her mouth, and a guttural whine. Later, she would laugh hysterically. When

they thought it was bad, they were ignorant. Thoughsometimes a strong, pulsating ache, her

brain, and when her imagination had more presence than the fantasy or the hunger itself.

No problem, not her problem. She was hot; her heat overpowered the surroundings, not

helping, probably intensifying the urgency. Then, the image, the fantastic image, had

surfaced. In a swift motion her large, manicured digits closed around her slit. One push and

it went through. Simple and direct, only the sensation wasn't. She barely touched the

surface, almost inside, the heat radiated wonderfully, and a layer of sweat appeared.

Another push and her flesh disappeared, submerged beneath the vaginal aperture. The

sudden arousal seized her body, engulfing the mind, and her voice fell silent, and her vocal

cords too.

Just a little bit.

Perhaps, the inner world had stopped, maybe the entire place was shaken and broke apart;

nevertheless, once her pussy twitched, the fire burned everything. An explosive orgasm, an

earth-shattering explosion, neither the other worlds collided, nor was she burnt, nor was

she alive. A strong shiver woke her; the bliss and pain were impossible to remember, a very

long sequence, endless and immeasurable, destroying logic andd her sanity, evaporating the

fear and shame.

"Wait... is that...?"

She noticed a small bulge inside her belly, slowly moving around like a snake. The horror and

satisfaction were rising fast, and then it dawned upon her. Yes, the cycle had started,, and

the hormones and needs were awakened again. Meanwhile, her free paw caressed her

round and huge belly, taking comfort and reassurance, her instinct kicking in, this time

protective, caring, warm, and a touch aggressive. Thankfully, dragonswere a pragmatic lot;

their concerns weren't trivial, their ideas weren't paltry. Their minds focused on survival,

their actions reflecting their ideals. Especially now, the young need shelter and peace. She

should not yell or kick, yet give a sound blow or a hearty meal.

Knowing well, it was just the beginning of its journey, still not ready to emerge from her

orifice. But how should she feed it? While she pondered, the hatchling had to eat anything

within its range. And what was the nearest thing to gnaw on? Of course, the nutritious egg

shells, those broken and jagged pieces, are conveniently plentiful. Only a few weak patches,

and the gelatinous substance dripped gradually, absorbing into the organism. An intriguing

way, a thrilling adventure, a life-changing process, the next chapter to discover. The tiny

creature got busy, focusing solely on the new activity. If the parents wereaware, none would

react swiftly or properly, and the events unfolded.

Ashton felt something chewing and pulling the deepest folds, before realizing her son was

awake and hungry. Yet, a mixture of panic and excitement overwhelmed hr, the moment her

vagina was penetrated, and her tummy was tapped. It was a wave or a continuous shudder.

Regardless, the child sucked joyfully and consumed heartily, eager and delighted. Oh, not

the worst of all, not the best. Such enthusiasm, could her spirit lift higher, could her muscles

tear and guts rip. But nothing so gruesome happened at all. Instead, the tiny creature, her

child, continued devouring the emptiness.

"Ooooooo..."

Eggshells tasted marvelously. The baby licked hungrily, or was more sucking, its belly was

swelling enormously. Soon,, an unpleasant feeling, or the notion, grew stronger and the

mom's groans louder. Like an elixir or magic potion, the half-liquid and another tough,

similar to jelly, contained unbelievable power and nutrients. Although delicious and

energizing, the meal was tricky or complicated. The hatchling filled, the infant had eaten

until bursting, and after the good sleep, or the happy snooze, the newborn still grew longer.

Every bite and nibble affected the host greatly. He was satisfied and whole, and his mood

improved vastly. Little did he know, she experienced the effects, possibly even greater and

mightier. Hardly ten minutes had passed and,, the skin stretched considerably. Once a silky,

scarred, and perfectly fit, tight wombhad seen better days. Rashness is not true. Then, why

was everything wet and juicy, and a slime, mucus, or simply the lubricant, formed a

transparent film? He bit her jaw and grunted. Never had the dragon feared or suffered.

From the very beginning, the world had no meaning and, more importantly, no essence. A

beautiful lie, or a wonderful nightmare, and although she had not conceived the second

possibility, there were moments like these, the visions, the vagueness,, and emptiness.

Instead of returning to slumber, the hatchling flailed a bit and was promptly scolded. To be

fair, the words were soft and fond. Another five minutes passed. The silence did not bother

her, nor his heavy breathing, no r nor the warm atmosphere. She could deal with the extra

weight and length. Hush, settle down, your meal is alright, but slow. Maybe it was enough

for the day. Later, there would be plenty of time. As the baby listened and obeyed, and

stopped growing, and grazing her uterine walls, the mother sighed. Tired, she squirmed and

settled. Finally, able to stretch her limbs.

What an inconvenience!

Oh, hopefully, the contractions would take longer. Just a breath and courage, here comes the

difficulty. Clamping or relaxing her abdominal muscles wasn't difficult or dangerous if done

carefully. Should she call him, or would it sound too odd? With her forepaw, the dragon

would brush her oversized mound and admire the work. Was it wrong or strange? Probably

a fetish, or kink, or a unique hobby. Either way, what else could bring her a measure of pride,

or give her hope? For the little one, capable of forming and dreaming of their future. Unlike

the adults, who were stuck in the past, unable to deal with the present. Except, or

specifically because, they did their chores, took their responsibilitiesand had no alternative.

Moments later, the bulge twitched and inflated, as if the child became restless. So innocent,

and easy. Her senses sharpened. Every drop or shift was registered and recorded instantly.

Those weren't serious, maybe its head or paw would block her throat. Everything should go

smoothly. Deep and controlled breaths. Okay, don't worry and carry on. Still, there is a

chance, and any event or emotion, regardless of merit, dedeservesheir place. Rather, the

idea. They happen over and over again. What else was the existence, what else the

consciousness?s. Is the world an entity or the soul a void?

Again the body moved. Twice the normal temperature and the heartbeat staccato. She

gulped. Perhaps, only the nervousness created such a perception, and the problem was not

hers. Inside the cozy, and nicely smelling, underground abode, the young male had been

inactive. Could not resist any longer, unable to sleep, and the tiny form wiggled back and

forth. Gathering the leftovers, r searching for a convenient position. Sitting waa torture.

Then, it went quiet.

It seemed the hatchling was finally going to snooze. Good, by morning, his stomach would

likely growl. Before, the sweet and cute noises were deceptive, misleading. During her

pregnancy, they led to certain thoughts and feelings. Yes, while walking, shopping, or eating,

if only the baby had responded, every minute would have been possible. Now was not the

time. Keep focused. Meanwhile, the mother swallowed hard, knowing the consequences,

waiting impatiently, hoping her intestines would stop grumbling. At least, the scales did not

peel, and the udders worked steadily, helping to calm her, placating the thirst.

She slowly rubbed the bulge, admiring the firmness, and her claws glided along the curvy

lines, feeling the warmth and pressure. Without a doubt, the young were energetic. Oh, her

tummy budged so suddenly. Despite the aches or mild sufferings, she had no regrets and

had not shed a tear. Neither the dragons expressed their emotions, nor did humanoids

understand their needs. However, being alone made more sense than solitude. Besides,

Miss Ashton cared less about friends and foes, and family wasn't even part of her

vocabulary. In fact, since learning the sex, the only concern was his health.

Did it just snore?

Her mind kept filling, and the female observed the steady growth, the gradual change, or the

appearance of the contour. Amazingly, the eggshells expanded the digestive system, allowing

the small creature to ingest whatever was available. Like the adult, her organism became

flexible and omnivorous, easily absorbing or assimilating different properties. Or, perhaps,

the inner lining of the female body. Slowly, but surely, transforming the internal organs. How

pleasant would it be to feel the life teeming thin in e theepths. Anyway, the womb contained

a variety and amount that dwarfed the needy taste. On and off, the scales tingled, the

nipples hardened, and every muscle clenched, sending ripples and vibrations.

Had she any leverage or choice, it was highly unlikely. No will or desire remained. One day

and an ordinary task. The dragon stumbled upon this miracle, unwilling or neglectful, and

was probably unaware. Just for the brief, insignificant moment, her brain cranked, ignoring

the rhythm and the sensuality. She breathed deeply, losing the track, and a dull pain cut the

blissful pleasure. Too much thinking, too many notions. Eventually, the eyes closed, and the

mouth fell open.

Who knew that pregnancy would be so exhausting?

While slowly drifting to slumber, she kept massaging her belly, the constant tenderness.

From the top and bottom, firmly pressing her palm. To the point her joints were stiff, the

knuckles sore. Oh, how her digits shook and burned, while her elbows refused the

movement. Though the rough, scaled surface protected her from the consequences. Her last

conscious act, soothing the clitoris or the scrotum, stretching her engorged and reddish skin.

Shame, those won't dry soon. And until the time was suitable, the fluids wouldn't clot either.

"Good night..." she whispered, despite it being morning. Carefully not to accidentally lie on

her belly, the beast allowed herself a long nap, something easier said than done. Not an

ounce or tons, and not all four legs, her sleeping posture had changed. A splayed, bent

dragon's leg, an open spread, the rest lay straight or cocked. The hatchling wasn't a

newborn, yet not fully developed. In short, the body was not complete, and the tail and

wings weren't functional. But at least his teeth and claws could cut and dig.

The sun's rays flickered, and the shadows danced.

"You've gotten so big lately..." she whispered, rubbing her claws along her abdomen, trying

to caress her growing belly. It had gotten exceptionally large, as if it tried its best to make a

better home for the hatchling who wasn't allowed to leave just yet. She'd become quite

attached to the feeling of him inside her, the constant movement, the subtle shifts beneath

her scales. It was a strange, intoxicating sensation she couldn't bring herself to give up just

yet. It had become a secret indulgence, a guilty pleasure that she nurtured with each passing

day.

She often found herself lying on her back, a position that was becoming increasingly difficult,

just to watch the spectacle within her. The way her belly would warp and shift as the

hatchling turned and stretched was mesmerizing. It was like watching a living sculpture form

and reform beneath her skin. She would drag a single claw across the taut surface, a slow,

deliberate line from her chest to her hips, and watch as the hatchling inside would follow the

strange sensation, nudging and pressing against the path she traced.

A smile, rare and genuine, spread across her snout as she began a new game. A gentle poke

just below her sternum. A moment of stillness, then a firm nudge from within, pressing back

against her claw. She moved her claw to the left, pressing against her side. The hatchling

shifted, a bulge moving beneath her scales as it repositioned to nudge her new spot. Back to

the right. Another internal shuffle. She spent hours like this, a silent, one-sided game of tag

between mother and child, her breath hitching each time the hatchling responded with

surprising strength. The discomfort was a small price to pay for the thrill of this secret

connection, this power she held over the life within her.

But the games had their consequences.

Her indulgence had created a demanding child. One evening, after a particularly long play

session, she had rested her claw on the spot where she could feel the hatchling's head, a

gentle, affectionate pat. The response was immediate and insistent. A series of forceful

nudges, more demanding than playful. She pulled her claw away, and the movement inside

her became frantic, a storm of shifting limbs and powerful pushes against her walls. It was a

clear demand: more.

A soft growl rumbled in her chest, a sound she directed inward. The hatchling responded in

kind, a series of sharp, agitated kicks that made her wince. With a sigh of resignation, she

returned her claw to her belly, rubbing slow circles where she imagined the hatchling's head

to be. The frantic movements ceased, replaced by a contented purr she could feel more than

hear, a deep vibration that resonated through her entire being. She had accidentally created

a spoiled, attention-seeking hatchling, and she, the unwitting doting mother, was entirely to

blame.

Her days became a struggle of logistics.

Because of a high demand, dragoness had to prepare her meals accordingly, needing more

sustenance than ever before. She would often pause mid-chew, her belly giving a violent

lurch as the hatchling kicked with the enthusiasm of a much larger beast. Her massive frame

would sway with the impact, her claws scrabbling for purchase on the stone floor. She simply

took another bite and chewed more slowly. This was the price of her enjoyment.

Walking was an ordeal. Her belly, now so large it scraped against the ground with every step,

swung beneath her like a pendulum. The movement was no longer a gentle sway but a

heavy, cumbersome lurch. Each step sent ripples through the taut skin of her abdomen, the

momentum causing the hatchling inside to shift and roll, which in turn caused her belly to

swing even more dramatically. She had to walk with a wider stance, her hind legs splayed to

accommodate the sheer width of her burden, which was now visible on either side of her

narrow hips. It was a constant, jarring reminder of how long she had let this go on.

But the moments of quiet admiration made it all worthwhile. Lying on her back, a precarious

balance she could only hold for a few minutes at a time, she would simply breathe and

watch. The light in her cave would catch the subtle contours shifting beneath her scales. A

snout would press out, creating a defined, draconic bulge. A leg would stretch, a long, thin

ridge that traveled from one side of her belly to the other. It was a private show, and she was

the only audience member. She knew, with a rational part of her mind that was growing

quieter by the day, that she should have birthed this hatchling long ago. The strain on her

body was immense. But the visual thrill, the feeling of being so utterly full of life, was an

addiction she couldn't break.

One night, the peace was shattered. A sudden, intense pressure built inside her, unlike

anything before. It wasn't a kick or a nudge, but a concerted, full-body effort. Her belly didn't

just shift; it began to visibly stretch, the scales pulling apart as the hatchling tried to unfold

from its fetal position. It was trying to hatch from its living egg. A sharp, alarming pain shot

through her abdomen as the skin reached its limit. Just as she feared it would tear, the

incredible tightness of her womb forced the hatchling back into its compact curl. The

swelling subsided, leaving her panting, her claws digging into the stone floor. The game, she

realized with a jolt of both fear and exhilaration, was becoming dangerous.

"Not yet. Please, not yet..."

*****

"Such a feast of kings. Who knew I would actually enjoy such gluttony..." Miss Ashton licked

her chops, her belly growling with a deeper, more resonant sound than her own. The cavern

was filled with the scent of roasted meats and sweet, pulpy fruits. She had outdone herself.

A massive boar, its hide crackling with fat, sat on a bed of coals, surrounded by piles of

glistening, dark purple berries and the strange, luminous fungi that grew deep within the

mountain. It was a banquet for a dragon twice the size of a horse, and her body's new,

voracious appetite demanded it all. She tore into the boar, her powerful jaws crushing bone

and sinew with equal ease. As she ate, her belly began to gurgle and churn, and soon, the

familiar, powerful lurch came from within. The hatchling was hungry, and it was shoving

against her walls with a force that made her entire frame sway.

"Patience, little one. Your turn is coming," she rumbled, swallowing a huge chunk of meat.

She ate until she could eat no more, her belly feeling impossibly tight, stretched to its

absolute limit by the combination of her meal and her ever-growing child. She slumped to

the floor, groaning with a mixture of satisfaction and discomfort, her massive abdomen

resting heavily on the cool stone.

As she lay there, digesting, she decided to play their usual game. With a lazy claw, she poked

the side of her belly, just above her hip. Instead of the usual playful nudge, she received a

violent kick that nearly lifted her hindquarters off the ground. She grunted, the impact

sending a jolt through her. Undeterred, she tried again, this time on the opposite side. The

hatchling shifted, its entire body rolling within her, creating a breathtaking spectacle of

shifting bulges and warping scales. Her breath hitched. Even through the pain, the sight was

captivating.

But the fun had to end someday.

"I'm scared..." she whispered to herself with a sudden mood shift. Just moments ago, she

couldn't feel happier during the feast, but now an unexplainable anxiety crept into her mind.

The dragoness watched her stomach shift and sway, the outlines of her child growing more

defined with each passing day. She could see a small snout pressed against her scales, the

sharp points of tiny claws, the graceful curve of a developing wing. She had let this go too

far. The joy was now tinged with a genuine fear for her own safety. The hatchling was too

big, too strong. It was no longer a secret indulgence; it was a liability. The logical,

survival-focused part of her brain, which she had suppressed for so long, finally screamed

loud enough to be heard.

She took a deep breath, the action causing her belly to press painfully against the cavern

floor. "It's time."

She tried to stand, her legs straining with the effort. Her belly, now colossal, pinned her

down. She grunted, pushing with all four limbs, her muscles screaming in protest. Slowly,

agonizingly, she managed to get to her feet, her stance comically wide to accommodate the

sheer width of her burden. She took a careful step, the swing of her belly nearly unbalancing

her. She made her way to the softest, driest part of the cave, a pile of moss and old hides she

used for her nest. With a pained grunt, she lowered herself onto her side, the shift in

pressure causing a fresh wave of discomfort.

Here we go.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the familiar sensation of her cervix beginning to dilate. She

bore down, pushing with all her might. The pressure was immense, a crushing force against

her hips. Her hips, narrow and designed for laying eggs, not for passing a live, toddler-sized

dragon, strained against the impossible task. The bones groaned, a deep, unsettling ache

spreading through her pelvis. She pushed again, a guttural cry tearing from her throat.

Progress, but slow, agonizing progress. She could feel the hatchling's head pressing down,

stretching her in a way she was never meant to be stretched.

Minutes blurred into a painful eternity. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her muscles

burned with fatigue. She could feel the hatchling beginning to crown, the skin of her passage

stretched to its absolute limit. With one final, desperate push, she managed to get the

hatchling's head and shoulders through.

Cold.

A sudden, sharp blast of frigid air hit the exposed portion of the hatchling. The cavern, warm

to her, was an icebox to the creature who had only ever known the incubating heat of her

womb. The reaction was instantaneous. A panicked squeal, muffled by her own body, and

then a powerful, frantic pulling. The hatchling, with the desperate strength of a frightened

animal, was trying to pull itself back in. She was too exhausted, too worn out from the effort

to resist. She could only lie there, a helpless observer, as her child, terrified of the cold,

frantically wiggled and pulled its way back into the safety of her body. She watched,

mesmerized and horrified, as her belly, which had begun to shrink, slowly refilled. She could

see the distinct bulge of the hatchling's head receding up her birth canal, the contours of its

shoulders and back pressing against her insides. With a final, wet slurp, the hatchling was

fully inside her again. Her belly, once again, was full and round, perhaps even more so than

before, as a fresh wave of amniotic fluid rushed in to cushion the frightened child. A wave of

relief washed over her, so potent it was almost shameful. The danger was over. The

terrifying, painful process was reversed. And... her belly was back. The secret show could

continue. The constant, comforting presence of her child was restored. A part of her, a very

large part, was not completely displeased with this outcome. She could keep her belly for

longer. The fear was still there, a distant thrum, but the immediate, addictive joy had won.

Again.

*****

"It's okay. We still have time, my child. My dearest. But I promise it's much warmer up here

right now. Maybe still not as hot as inside my belly, but you'll have to come out someday..."

She gently rubbed her stomach, trying to soothe the agitated hatchling that was still

shivering and shifting within her. The attempt at birth had left her sore and exhausted, but

also strangely exhilarated. She had pushed her body to its absolute limit, and while she had

failed, the experience had been a visceral confirmation of the life she carried.

Days turned into weeks, and the hatchling continued to grow at an alarming rate. Her belly

was no longer just large; it was a monumental presence, a heavy, living sphere that reached

past her knees. Walking was a constant struggle, a laborious waddle that left her panting for

breath. Her hind legs trembled with the effort of carrying such a monumental weight.

One afternoon, while struggling to reach a particularly sweet bunch of mountain grapes, the

shift of her belly threw her off balance. With a startled yelp, she collapsed onto her side. The

impact sent shockwaves through her body, but the hatchling inside seemed to find it

amusing. A violent series of kicks and shoves erupted within her, a chaotic dance of limbs

that made her scales ripple and dance. As she lay there, catching her breath, she became a

passive spectator to the life within her. Her belly became a canvas, and the hatchling was an

energetic, unknowing artist.

She watched, fascinated, as a snout pressed against the lower curve of her belly, followed by

a paw-like foot extending all the way to the underside of her ribcage. She could even see the

faint outlines of developing wing bones pressing against the top swell of her abdomen. The

movements were no longer gentle nudges; they were powerful, unmistakable struggles for

space in their ever-shrinking home. The hatchling was constantly moving, turning, and

squirming in an attempt to find a comfortable position. It was a futile effort. There were no

comfortable positions left.

But she was entranced.

The strain, the discomfort, the near-constant ache of her over-stretched skin—it all faded

away in the face of this intimate display of life. She would lie like that for hours, just

watching the shifting bumps and contours. She knew, with absolute certainty, that she

should have been horrified. She knew she should have been doing everything in her power

to correct this monumental mistake. But she couldn't. The visual thrill, the feeling of being

so incredibly, viscerally full of life, was an addiction. She wasn't enjoying the movement

because of maternal affection; she was enjoying it because it was a spectacle. A private,

living work of art that only she could witness, all at her own expense.

Then it happened again.

It started with a familiar, intense pressure. The hatchling, frustrated and crowded, was trying

to unfold. But this time was different. There was no frantic stretch. It was slow, deliberate. A

full-body effort to assume the 'hatching' posture, straighten its limbs, and push outwards.

She gasped, her claws digging into the stone floor of her cave. Her skin stretched, the pain

immediate and sharp. Ashton knew she was supposed to birth him a long time ago, but it

was just far too pleasurable not to see her own body respond. Her belly began to swell,

growing visibly rounder, the scales on her abdomen pulling so tight she could almost see the

softer membrane beneath. For a terrifying second, she thought she would burst open. The

pressure peaked, and then, with a groan from her womb that she felt through every bone,

the hatchling was forced back into its cramped fetal position by the uncompromising

resistance of her own body. The swelling receded, leaving her panting and sweating, her

claw hovering protectively over the distended skin. The line between thrill and danger was

no longer just blurred; it had been erased.

As she lay there, recovering, her entire being felt heavy and sore; the entrance to the cave,

usually a comfortable darkness, was broken by two immense silhouettes. Their scales shone

like polished obsidian and polished silver under the mountain's dying embers—a male,

whose shoulder spikes scraped the cavern's roof, and a female, slightly smaller but just as

magnificent. Her belly began to sway, and suddenly she was overcome with anxiety about

the whole situation. Miss Ashton had quite a big secret within her stomach, and she could

not lie about something that massive and evident.

"You..." the silver dragoness began, her horns curling gracefully. "...have our child in there

still?"

He was bigger than the one that now rested on the stone. There's no wonder why it was

stuck. Miss Ashton's jaw remained almost shut as she tried to process their entrance, her

breathing quickening. As long as it would be just her secret alone, she had a chance not to

think about the outcome.

"Yes," the male's deep rumble with curiosity. "He's quite... big, isn't he?"

Miss Ashton could only stammer, a rare event for a dragon of her pride. "The... the

attempt... the cold..." She struggled to form a coherent sentence, a fresh flush of

embarrassment heating her cheeks."He didn't want to come out."

She expected confusion or perhaps irritation. Instead, the female, whose name she still

didn't know, stepped closer, her silver head lowering to inspect Miss Ashton's belly with an

unnerving, intense curiosity. Her forked tongue flickered out, tasting the air. A deep hum

resonated from her chest. It was not a sound of judgment but of profound interest.

"Fascinating," the female purred, the vibration sending a strange tingle through Miss

Ashton's aching abdomen. "I've never... heard of such a thing. It's still growing inside you."

She nudged her snout against Miss Ashton's belly. The dragoness winced at the new external

pressure. The male watched, his large, golden eyes fixated on the scene. "What we should

do now, Vorath?"

"Nyxira..." the male started, puzzled beyond belief. The situation was so odd even to him

that he looked like an old, wise creature caught in an embarrassing dilemma. His jaw hung

slightly. "I... it is beyond any knowledge that I have..."

"I know... But still." The female dragoness, Nyxira, continued to examine her from multiple

angles with wonder that would soon escalate to something Miss Ashton hadn't

anticipated—a sudden pang of jealousy in the female's eye. Nyxira watched the subtle,

internal movements with rapt attention. "I felt so... hollow after we gave the egg to our

surrogate. The world had dulled. My instincts told me our child was safe with you, but my

body ached. I wish..."

She looked down at her own flat underside. Then she looked at Miss Ashton. The raw,

undiluted yearning in Nyxira's expression hit the dragoness harder than any of her unborn

child's kicks.

Nyxira straightened up, her determination now clear. "It was my eggs, but she carried my

hatchling. She experienced it." Her silver gaze settled on her larger mate, Vorath. A

command disguised as a question. "I will have our son. From here." She gestured with her

chin at Miss Ashton’s belly. "Help me," she pleaded with Vorath, her voice low and intense.

"She is tired, but he must come out. And then he must come in." Her forked tongue flicked

at her own chest, emphasizing her request.

Vorath took a deep, resonant breath, the kind that precedes a full-throated roar or the jet of

a fire. But here, he just let out a deep sigh that smelled of soot and agreement.

This is going to be painful...

Miss Ashton watched as the silver dragoness, Nyxira, shifted her position to make it

physically easier. The large silver dragoness carefully placed herself so she had enough room

in between her hind legs, and her silver tail lashed with a sudden mix of excitement and

nervous energy.

Now Vorath turned back to Miss Ashton. "Brace yourself," he rumbled, an apology already in

his tone.

He didn't wait for a response. One massive, obsidian-scaled paw descended upon the

swollen summit of her belly. The pressure was nothing like she had ever experienced. Her

breath left her in a whoof as her organs were forcefully compressed. A strangled cry escaped

her as a new pain lanced through her abdomen—the hatchling was being pushed out not

just with her efforts, but with the strength of the larger dragon's help. Vorath wasn't just

pressing; he was pushing, deliberately and systematically, trying to guide the large,

still-active hatchling down and out of Miss Ashton's too-small body.

"I... can see the head," Nyxira panted, her snout pressed close, her voice filled with scientific

curiosity and maternal urgency.

Miss Ashton's hips shrieked in protest. It was a deep, bony ache, as if her skeleton was being

hammered apart from the inside. She could feel every millimeter of the hatchling's passage,

every shift of bone and scale against her sensitive tissues. She gritted her teeth, her claws

scoring deep grooves into the stone floor of her cave.

Vorath's paws were tireless and immensely strong. He applied pressure from every

conceivable angle—one paw pressing firmly against the top curve of her belly, the other

tucking under its swell to lift and guide. Under this relentless force, the hatchling had no

choice but to comply. Miss Ashton cried out again, a raw, guttural sound of pain and strain,

as her hips felt like they were about to dislocate. There was a final, excruciating pop, a

sensation that echoed through her entire frame. Then came the slick, heavy slide of body

after body passing through her.

The sudden emptiness was as shocking as the pressure had been. Her belly, her colossal,

magnificent, and deeply loved burden, suddenly deflated, leaving loose, hanging skin

flopping against the floor of the cave. It felt wrong, a profound and disturbing lack of where

such profoundness should be. She panted, gasping for air, every muscle quivering with

exhaustion and a profound sense of loss. She laid her heavy head on the stone and did her

best to watch the end of their little experiment before a much-needed sleep would take over

her. She blinked her tearing eyes open in time to see Nyxira moving with a practiced, almost

preternatural grace. The massive male, Vorath, stepped back to give his mate space. The

female dragoness didn't hesitate. As soon as the slippery, dark-scaled hatchling was fully

freed, she positioned herself over the newborn child and, with determined efficiency and an

undeniably pleased grunt, began to draw it inside. Miss Ashton watched the spectacle that

played out after months of carrying the creature. The transfer was seamless, the

hatchling—already toddler-sized, slick with amniotic fluids—disappearing into its new home.

With her belly refilled, a new sense of purpose washed over the female, and she seemed

content.

"I never want this feeling to fade..." she hummed with a note of something akin to music.

Before she had finished her sentence, the familiar shove came from her belly. The silver

dragoness let out a sharp inhale, her entire frame jolting at the hungry push from within. A

look of pure wonder crossed her face. She'd felt it. The unmistakable protest of the dragon,

her dragon, inside her. The powerful push caused her own, newly acquired belly to lurch, a

visible tremor running through the silver scales covering her abdomen. It wasn't the subtle

shifting Ashton had grown used to; it was a strong, violent protest.

"A sign that he's here and well," Vorath added after watching her reaction, satisfaction warm

in his rumbling tones. His gaze was fixed upon her newly rounded form, the gentle curve a

stark, beautiful contrast to her previous, sleek shape. "He likes his new home." Miss Ashton

watched the two dragons for a few seconds as she lay a claw to her own belly that now

sagged. A new, unsettling emotion began to creep in, and it was her turn to envy what she

had just given away, all for her amusement of seeing her own abdomen swell.

Was it all over?

*****

"I feel bad over, husband of mine..." her voice was strained as she lay on her soft nest. The

silver dragoness shifted uneasily, her new belly shifting with her, a tangible, undeniable

weight that was at once thrilling and exhausting. "I made such a fuss. A tantrum that

resulted in this." She gently tapped her silvery-scaled stomach. The protest from within had

subsided for the moment, but the feeling of it, that new form of connection, lingered like the

aftertaste of strong spice. She turned to Vorath, worry lacing her words. "She's all alone over

there..."

"She is fine," Vorath tried soothing as he came over and gently nudged her. But she

remained unconvinced.

"Will I also look as... sagged as her... after it's done?" Her words cut through the quiet of the

cavern like a knife, her concern over her own future appearance overriding everything else.

A silence answered her. He took in her taut, glowing silver hide. His gaze drifted down to the

gentle, perfect dome of her belly, the place where their child, a creature that had once been

nothing but the size of a grape, now slept after the exhausting ordeal.

A new determination settled in her then, as if she'd made a vital decision that involved far

more than just her present satisfaction. Her golden eyes narrowed at Vorath. "You know,"

she began, her voice turning sultry, a playful glint replacing her recent anxiety. A low rumble

as a new dare was set to the test. "Just... just as another challenge, as you so love to have

them... A joke, my dear..." she purred with a playful undertone. "I'll bet I can carry this little

one in here long enough to grow bigger than she did. Imagine that, her head motioned

towards Miss Ashton, who now lay with her own scaled belly in some kind of depression

across the room.

To Nyxira's astonishment, Vorath didn't see it as an impulsive taunt. She expected a chuckle,

a shake of his magnificent head. Instead, a profound light ignited in the golden pools of his

eyes. The idea hit him with the force of a lightning strike. It wasn't a threat. For Vorath, it

was the ultimate expression of virility and provision. To have not only sired a son but for his

beautiful mate to be so full of his offspring, their size a clear and undeniable monument to

his strength and her capacity... it was the single most arousing thought he'd ever had. A

deep, guttural growl rolled from deep within his powerful chest as he looked at her, this

dragoness of dreams. It was a sound he couldn't—would not contain, a raw and unguarded

response. He was completely captivated.

A single, massive claw extended to gently caress the smooth swell of her belly, tracing its

perfect curve. "A challenge? My beloved Nyxira. When I think of you... even bigger... than

Miss Ashton was... all with my seed inside you..." He spoke as if under some alluring thrall of

an idea she had given as a taunting jab. Now it has become his new mission. His tail gave an

involuntary lash, stirring up a cloud of dust in the dim cavern.

The very next morning, as if by magic—or perhaps more accurately, by male dragon

ingenuity—Vorath presented her with a meal. It wasn't their usual fare of seared boar and

hearty mountain tubers. These were the haunches of a wild behemoth, but something was

different. The meat had been tenderized, practically melting at the slightest touch of a

forked tongue. More importantly, the familiar musk of behemoth was almost completely

overpowered by the cloyingly sweet scent of crushed sunpetals and finely powdered river

gems—the key ingredients of the royal hatchling growth formula reserved for young princes

and princesses with stubborn growth spurts. "Here you are," he said with faux casualness. A

simple gift. Her mind, now fully on the dare that she had accidentally made so very, very

real, did not question it. Her appetite for that evening’s challenge had become massive, and

she ate more vigorously than she'd had in weeks. She ate until her newly acquired belly

ached with fullness. She didn't notice the extra vigor with which her hatchling moved the

next day, either; the stronger, more persistent kicks. She only saw them as a confirmation

that he was becoming stronger with each passing hour under her care.

Weeks bled into one another in a rhythm of eating and swelling. Nyxira would watch herself

daily in a reflective piece of obsidian in her lair, fascinated by the gradual but distinct

transformation of her body. The gentle dome below her chest widened with an almost

visible swell, the pale silver of her stomach scales growing taut and beginning to glimmer

with a new light in the afternoon sun. The hatchling’s growth spurt had been more rapid

than her own had been, and he was growing stronger.

"Nyxira! My treasure!" He’d say whenever she'd get a kick from the hatchling. The

movements were becoming almost constant, shifting her stomach with visible lurches.

"My dear... maybe we should reconsider this... it is growing... fast."

He was too entranced by the whole thing, too busy admiring her reflection with a paternal

pride so potent he didn't even try to hide it anymore. "But my dear, look!" he would often

rumble, gently tracing the now-distinguishable shape of their son's snout as it pressed

urgently against her scales. "He is my son! My blood! My life! And I see all of that when I

look at you." The words he chose to praise their child also became new compliments for her.

A month passed, and the dare was far over. By then, Vorath didn't even bother with

subterfuge anymore. He would sprinkle the fine, luminous powder of crushed sunpetals on

all her food with a blatant satisfaction, his tail twitching in rhythm with the increasingly

powerful, and frankly worrisome, prodding that now came from within. Nyxira, who was

now as wide as she was long, had all but given up on objecting. Part of it was exhaustion,

but a growing part of it, she didn't want to admit to anyone, not even herself. A deep, secret

thrill was taking hold every day. She secretly craved having her stomach touched now. She

would try to provoke these movements now in quiet moments. Her secret had become a

quiet vice.

She lay in her nest of furs and moss, a colossal form of silver and moonlight. The moonlight

illuminated what her nest had become: a cavernous expanse of warm furs, deep enough to

comfortably hold a creature twice her previous size. Her belly, now the centerpiece of her

very being, rested heavily between her hind legs, a grand, silvery mound that pressed into

the soft bed and extended well past her knees. Walking had become a series of careful,

wide-stanced waddles, each one making the monumental weight swing like a grand

pendulum that she struggled to control as it tried to overbalance her. She was trapped, not

by walls but by her own burgeoning mass. And there were nights in the dim light where this

truth thrilled her as much as it scared her."You've gotten so big lately..." she whispered, rubbing her claws along her abdomen, trying