Dragon King, Part 2 - Male Version

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Note: This is a male version of Dragon Queen.

Summary: After stumbling upon a dragon shrine, Clark starts laying eggs. Contains: Male: pregnancy, belly expansion, breast expansion, egg laying.

Previous Chapter

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Clark awoke to hunger pains.

He sat up in bed. It was the middle of the night, or perhaps the early hours of the morning. The room was dark and empty, except for the burning wood in the fireplace, and his two eggs, now perched there, the onyx one from two days before, and the dark green one, from yesterday. The onyx one was larger than the green one. In fact, both eggs looked larger than they had when he’d given birth to them. Clark crept out of bed and approached the fire, reaching out towards the eggs, but then he thought better, and retracted his hand.

Clark clutched his stomach as it growled. It was still flat…for now. Feeling anxious, he wondered if it would happen again and again. Would he keep blowing up with eggs? And if so, how long would it go on?

Another hunger pain shot through him, and Clark hunched down slightly, clutching his torso. He headed out of the room and stumbled around the palace. It didn’t take him long to find the kitchens. It was empty and dark, but Clark found his way to the fridge. There were several foods in it he could not even identify, but Clark automatically started shoveling a bit of everything into his mouth. He didn’t care whether it was cooked, raw, clean, or dirty, he needed sustenance, and he needed it now.

Clark plowed through containers, jugs, and packages, finding many things to be left over from the gifts he had been given the day before. He favored a bag of strange fruits. They resembled tomatoes, but were twice the size of grapefruits, and the skin was soft, the innards gooey and sweet. He ate at least half a dozen of these.

By the time Clark felt sufficiently fed, he could see that the sun had begun to rise in the windows. He lay on his back on the cool kitchen floor, still in his torn clothes from the night before, the fly of his pants open, and his torso exposed through a variety of tears on his shirt. He hesitated, and reached down to his stomach, hoping the pressure was just from his unusual food binge. His fingers made contact with his abdomen.

Firmness. Fullness. His stomach was bulging out just enough for him to know what was to happen in the coming hours.

The lights turned on, and there were gasps. The two female council members stood in the doorway, the man absent.

“My liege,” whispered one of the women. Now Clark had no trouble understanding the language. “You should have called on us. You would have been well fed.”

“Come now, Mala,” said the other woman. “The King must eat when he must eat. The young dragon would accept no less.”

The two women approached and peered down at him, scrutinizing him in his torn clothes and food stains. Mala frowned at his overall unimpressive state, but the other woman smiled in delight at the sight of his newly-bloated abdomen.

“Come, we must get you presentable,” said Mala. “Creta, help me.”

Creta and Mala peeled Clark off the floor and dragged him off, and Clark was so stuffed and groggy, he was helpless to stop them.

The first stop was the wash room, where Clark was bathed, and too numb to really protest. As every inch of him was scrubbed down by his two attendants, he couldn’t help staring at his body, his belly, that looked a little rounder than before, and his chest, that seemed fuller than usual, with nipples that stood erect.

Clark was hauled out of the tub, then patted dry, and assaulted with variety of hot air jets. His hair was combed, fingers and toenails filed, stomach moisturized, then one of the massive robes he had been gifted was pulled over his head. It was large for him, slipping from his shoulder, and hanging off his body. After being lugged back to his room, the two women looked on disapprovingly as Clark jerked on some boxers he got from his pack.

All throughout the process of being cleaned and made to look “presentable,” Clark was provided with snacks to keep his insatiable hunger at bay.

“Plumplin?” said Creta, abruptly stuffing a tangerine-sized chewy pastry into Clark’s mouth without prompt. “Delicious, aren’t they?”

Brows furrowed and cheeks bulging, Clark forced it down.

“Try this.” A little more tactful, Mala placed something that looked like a pork leg into his hand, though it was covered in much thicker layers of fat.

Clark stared at it for a while. Was this what his life was now? Unable to stop himself, he gnawed on it, suddenly helpless to the sight of food. When he finished, Mala and Creta were opening a variety of containers that looked like salves.

“Lay back,” Creta invited him, smiling. She nodded to the bed.

“Why?” said Clark.

“Go ahead,” Mala insisted.

Clark did as instructed. His condition sas making him strangely complacent. Or maybe he was just in some sort of denial, some fugue state, as they called it.

His attendants pulled up his robe, revealing his rounding belly, and his puffy chest. Clark groaned as they began to massage various salves into his bloated flesh. Creta began to rub into his pecs, and Clark’s face reddened, surprised by how sore and sensitive they were. It all felt so good, Clark pushed his belly out harder against Mala’s hands. He suddenly imagined himself bigger, round and heavy with his newest addition.

“You’re not far off from it,” Mala said, as though he could read his mind, and Clark reddened more.

Too soon, their soft hands withdrew, and Clark was helped upright.

“That is all for now. Call us if you need anything more. We will be down the hall,” said Mala, and the two women left Clark alone in the room.

Clark sat there on the bed. It must have been afternoon by then. He noticed that a variety of dishes had been left for him on the dresser. He approached and picked at them. Soon the food was gone, and Clark was left to his thoughts.

He looked at his belly, which was getting quite round. He looked like a woman six months along in pregnancy. He wasn’t sure, but he wondered if he was growing somewhat faster than he had with the previous two eggs.

Clark paced around, not really knowing what to do with himself. He went to his pack and fiddled with his radio, but it still seemed to be malfunctioning. Maybe it was the lack of reception. He then pulled out his travel journal, and a pen, and hesitated.

Clark wrote:

The past few days have been…unusual, to say the least. I may have been abducted…though I admit, I am not quite sure. The people here seem kind. They haven’t done anything wrong to me. It’s moreso about what my body is doing to me. It’s hard to explain. If another was to read this, they’d think I was crazy, but…

Clark stopped writing, not knowing how to go on.

but I

There was a cracking noise. Clark looked up in shock. He climbed out of bed and approached the fireplace, to see that a large crack had developed on the onyx egg’s surface. At first he feared it had been injured by the heat, but then realized it was simply beginning to hatch. And so soon.

Clark didn’t know why, but this was very worrying for him. Once one of the dragons was born, it would confirm everything he had become. His denials and protests would be rendered meaningless. He would be the dragon King, and they would be his wards. Clark started pacing again.

Mala and Creta soon returned. At seeing the crack on the onyx egg, both murmured in excitement, celebrating what Clark dreaded. Clark watched on uncertainly, looking away unhappily.

“Something’s wrong,” he told them, holding his belly, which looked eight months along in a pregnancy. It was still early in the afternoon. “I’m growing faster than I should be.” Clark didn’t even notice he was speaking their language.

“No, no, everything is perfect. You are fine, dear,” said Mala.

Creta opened the door, with an uttering of, “He’s ready.”

Five servants marched in, their arms piled with dishes containing heaping amounts of food. Clark could only stare, his stomach growling and mouth salivating.

Mala grabbed his shoulders and guided him backwards, until Clark’s bottom made contact with the bed. The first servant marched forward with her carried dish, and Mala lifted a large spoon.

Mala proceeded to feed him, literally feed him. Gulp after gulp Clark consumed, not allowed to lift a finger or expend a drop of energy, as though they wanted to make him as fat and helpless as they could. By the time Clark finished the fifth plate piled with meat and dough, he was quite full, and his belly looked it. He stared down at himself in amazement. He looked like a woman at term with child though it was still quite early in the day.

“Time to change your clothes,” said Mala.

“Why?” Clark inquired.

“It is time for you to greet our people. Saul wants you in something that will…inspire.”

Saul…he was the old man. The third council member who had taken responsibility for him.

Clark still did not understand what was going on, but allowed his robe to be removed, and replaced with tights and a pale green tunic that was formfitting. He suspected that Saul didn’t want him in something that inspired so much as it pronounced.

The tunic buttoned up the back. The fabric was cinched both above and below his belly, pulling the fabric back to his body to ensure his belly was pronounced as much as possible. Clark was a little stunned by his appearance, thin arms, thin legs, huge abdomen, and small mounds visibly budding on his chest. He, Mala, and Creta all surveyed his appearance.

Mala and Creta wore thoughtful looks, scrutinizing him, as though for untapped potential. There was some muttering between them. Clark heard Creta say, “We still have a little time.”

Clark went over to the mirror, continuing to observe his appearance. He rubbed his hand over his belly. He seemed to grow faster every day.

“Clark, how about a snack?” Mala said, as Creta called something out the door.

Clark turned, and was surprised to see more servants march into the room, more than before. There were a least a dozen of them, carrying new dishes piled with food.

None-too-gently, Clark was pushed onto the bed. He plopped down, clutching his abdomen, and wasn’t even given time to gain his bearing before food was stuffed into his mouth.

Plate after plate was brought to him, spoon after spoon, piece after piece. It was too much and too fast for him to even register what he was consuming most of the time. But everything had a fatty consistency. Things that were heavy but could still be gulped down, things he barely had time to chew.

Clark gasped for breath, “I can’t,” he managed.

He was ignored as a large jug was tipped down his throat. He gulped down a sweet, thick, milky, buttery beverage, though he did not want to. It was almost like his body was acting on its own, as though by instinct.

“No…nrrghh…more.” His cheeks bulged with food. His belly felt so tight.

Clark continued to be ignored. His stomach felt full and pressurized as he was stuffed with dish after dish, soft things, flexible things, things that had quick access to his stomach and didn’t need much energy to get down. This went on for an hour as he felt his stomach tighten, and tremble, and push out in his lap. “Errghh…” He ate and ate, too scared to look down, but he could feel himself growing. His body accepted it, his belly keen to take on more, but his mind was in distress.

When it was over, Clark was flushed, sweaty, and gasping for breath. By then the tunic was more than formfitting. It was tight, the fabric stretched taut, pasted to his body. Buttons straining, he looked overdue with triplets. No, larger. Even bigger than he had when he’d given birth the previous day. He now had what resembled plump B-cups perched on his chest, a hint of sweaty cleavage protruding against surplice collar. His belly button was protruding now. Clark touched his abdomen in horror. So tight. He grunted as a tremble ran through it. How was he going to give birth to this thing?

Creta clapped excitedly.

“Much improved,” said Mala, surveying Clark with a nod.

“I…ohhh…” Clark was at a loss for words, he was so stunned and uncomfortable.

“C’mon, we’re late,” Creta chimed.

Clark was dragged off, though he could barely stand in his stuffed state. He was escorted through the palace halls, then to an open balcony, through which he could hear voices upon voices – a large crowd of people.

He was so tight, so full. As Clark was pushed onto the balcony, he was assaulted by cheers, and he could see a massive crowd in the streets down below, with more people than he had even though occupied the island.

Clark held the sides of his belly, still flushed and panting. Mala and Creta joined him on the balcony. Saul was there as well, standing a few feet away, and observing Clark with raised eyebrows. He looked impressed, surprised, and quite pleased.

Creta turned Clark sideways for the crowd, showing him off, and the people were absolutely screaming. Clark realized he had been fattened like a prized pig, and now he was an attraction. He covered his mouth as a small belch escaped his throat. He groaned, and his belly pushed out an inch, then another. The cheers were deafening. Even Saul’s jaw dropped. Creta fell back into her excited clapping.

Saul turned to the crowd. “Even now, he’s growing!” he called, to a new wave of cheers. “As you can see, this is no normal pregnancy. He had already produced two dragon eggs, and he’s growing the third before your very eyes! Alas, Benosha has found its King!”

Another inch of growth. Clark felt like he would collapse. He felt the tunic straining, stitches tearing, and still the pressure increased. Several buttons of the tunic popped open at his lower back. And his attendants were grinning ear to ear.

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