# Emberborne

Author: Varien Quill
Tags: 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  
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.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/eq52RyGe