Dragon King, Part 1 - 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.

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Clark groggily opened his eyes.

It had taken him years to gain approval to visit the hidden civilization of Benosha, and he had gone straight to the forest to explore their ancient shrines. As an archeologist, his interest in them was insatiable. There must have been dozens hidden away in the vast forest, but the one that Clark encountered was a dragon shrine.

He had stared in amazement at the magnificent stone dragon statue perched between some foliage. He proceeded though several wooden archways, coming upon a small clearing in the trees, so small, no human could possibly gain access. Clark peered into it the best he could, spotting what appeared to be an egg, a golden egg, perched on the ground in the leaves. It was about the size of a volleyball. Curiously, he reached towards it, struggling to touch it. He managed to get his fingers to just barely brush it–

There was a flash of light and a powerful outwards gust that threw Clark onto his back.

Only now was he opening his eyes.

Clark did not know how much time had passed – possibly hours. He could barely see the sky through the leaves hanging above him, but what he could see of it was dark blue, which meant it was evening, hours from when he had come out to the forest.

Clark sat up, feeling sore. He put his hand against his stomach, which felt warm and bloated. He wondered if he had internal injury from whatever had happened.

Curiously, he peeked through the tiny clearing, to see the golden egg was gone. Had that just been a dream?

Clark stood and looked around the forest. It was dark, but he was a fairly experienced explorer, and he knew he could find his way back to the village.

It took Clark thirty minutes to get there, by which point he felt his abdomen to realize the bloating was worse. Still feeling a little disoriented, he hurried over to a street vendor he saw nearby.

“I need a doctor. Is there a doctor around here?”

But the street vendor simply shook her head and waved her hands, signaling her lack of understanding of her language. Clark sighed, and looked down at the dusty fruit on the cart. He reached into his pocket and laid down some coins, and was given some dusty figs in return.

Munching on the fruit in hopes it would help with his dizziness, Clark walked through the trees, huts, and buildings, and was surprised to come upon what seemed like an outdoor ceremony. Despite his need for medical attention, his curiosity got the better of him, and he sat down in the back on one of the log benches between two others.

Some of the villagers were performing. They were covered in dark muds and clays, long tails made out of leaves trailing behind them, and massive fanged masks perched upon their heads. Clark immediately recognized the attire as dragon costumes.

Though not understanding the language, he got the gist of what was going on in the visual story. It was the tale of the dragons’ extinction; that someday a majestic royal would revive them.

Clark was transfixed on the villagers’ beautiful and complex dances, the evening breeze buffeting their costumes. Had he not known any better, he would have suspected they believed their tale to be true.

Clark grunted at a sudden feeling of tightness from his tunic. He looked down to see that his stomach had grown large and round, resembling that of a woman who was eight months pregnant.

He slowly placed his hand on it, almost suspecting it wasn’t real. He felt himself beginning to panic. He needed a doctor, and soon!

Clark stood, stunned by how heavy he was. He stumbled slightly, his center of gravity thrown off by his girth. He began to walk away from the ceremony and through the streets, desperately inquiring to anyone he encountered:

“Doctor? I need a doctor. Please – does anyone speak English?”

“Nundilie,” said the latest woman he encountered, pointing at his stomach. “Nundilie.”

“I’m injured. I just need-” He grunted as the pressure in his stomach abruptly spiked, and watched it push outwards two inches, some of his buttons popping. As the woman gasped, pointed, and yammered, Clark struggled to keep walking, desperate to find someone who spoke his language. He didn’t get very far.

Clark sunk down against a building, cradling his belly with his hands. It was dark, the streets were empty now, and he was absolutely huge. If this was all internal bleeding, then he was a goner anyway.

“Need a…doctor…” Clark said, grunting as he had another frightening spurt of growth, his belly pushing out another inch. Clark gasped for breath, sweat pouring down his face. He looked overdue with child, and couldn’t imagine how he was still alive. He squeezed his eyes closed as something…began to happen. The pressure within him began to shift downwards unpleasantly, his belly sinking low on his torso. “Errrgghhhh…” His hips bulged outwards, then the pressure shifted to his ass. What was happening to him?

Not knowing why, Clark began to do what felt natural – he pushed. He groaned in pain, his anus unbelievably tight and…spreading? Somehow he felt something slowly crown, and shift out of him. It was more uncomfortable than painful. He felt as the back of his trousers began to bulge out abnormally, but then stopped, the fabric straining, but holding together and preventing whatever was from proceeding forward. His lower abdomen remained round, his ass wide and hips aching.

“Nnnrgghh…” Clark groaned, his face red, and droplets of sweat dripping down his nose. His hips twitched, the fabric getting tighter. He dizzily clawed at the buttons of his slacks.

“I…I can’t…” he began to feel woozy. The last thing he remembered was a human-shaped shadow hurrying over to him, and then he lost consciousness.

-

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There was some hushed yammering nearby, in a language he did not understand. Clark opened his eyes, feeling tired…but comfortable. He was lying back in a bed. Had it all been a dream?

No…that theory seemed inconsistent with his surroundings. He was sprawled on a king-sized bed with dark red satin linen. This was within a large luxurious bedroom with beige walls and wooden flooring. Beautiful and foreign artwork decorated the walls. A fluffy rug greeted his toes as he sat up and tried to stand.

“Rest, rest,” someone hissed in an accent so thick it was hard to understand. A young man hurried to his side, and with his hand, applied pressure – not force – to his shoulder, encouraging him to recline again. Clark felt so dizzy, he complied.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked wearily.

“No,” he responded. “I – translator.” He tapped his chest.

Clark took a moment to shift his gaze from him to see that there were others in the room. A stout, middle-aged man with gray hair and narrow eyes was flanked by two women, one in her forties or so, and the other somewhat younger.

“Who are you?” said Clark.

The younger of the two women muttered something in her foreign tongue.

“Them – village council,” said the translator. “Them here to help. The King of dragons.”

“What are you talking about?” said Clark, sitting up again. He was reminded of the performance he had seen earlier that night. Or the previous day? The story of a young foreigner who revived the dragons from extinction by literally giving birth to them.

The translator saw his skepticism. “Egg,” he said, walking to a large basket Clark had not noticed on the other side of the room. The translator lifted it, and returned shortly to show Clark an onyx-colored egg, covered in what seemed like reptilian scales. It was slightly larger than a volleyball. “Yours,” the translator nodded enthusiastically. “Mother of dragons.” He placed the basket on the bed beside Clark. He then bowed his head, and stepped away.

Clark stared at it. Was this some sort of weird scheme? Were they trying to scam him in some way? It made sense. Freak out the foreigner. “What are you talking about? Dragons aren’t real. Don’t you know myth from reality?” He began to grow irritated.

The translator frowned then relayed his remarks to the others. There was some speaking amongst the women, but the middle-aged man spoke in English, to Clark’s surprise.

“It is true,” he said solemnly. “It is your fate. Interpret it as you please. A blessing. A curse. You will revive the species. You’ve already begun.” He motioned towards the supposed egg.

Clark glared at him in suspicion and annoyance. He abruptly covered his mouth as a small belch escaped his mouth. He looked down at himself to see that his stomach was somewhat bloated. He felt a sense of deja vu, reminded of how his stomach had swollen up before. Maybe he had been drugged at some point, and all this talk of mystical pregnancies were guiding his hallucinations. Clark reached down to feel the small but bloated mass beneath his tunic. It felt real.

“And so it continues,” said the middle-aged man with a smile. He spoke better English than the translator.

Clark began to get up. “You are all insane.” He stood from the bed, ignoring the vertigo.

The translator was particularly upset by this. “Stay,” he urged, seeming as invested in the tale as the council members. “You no travel. You need recovery. You need eat.”

Clark gave one last sneer to the fake egg on the bed. He gave them props for realism. He reached out, for some reason compelled to touch the fake thing, but then he stopped himself, and pulled his hand away. “I don’t believe you,” he said, returning his attention to the translator. “If you’re not lying, then you must be out of your mind.”

Clark walked through the double-doors and out of the room, into a stone corridor he recognized. He had visited this building the day before. It was the Benosha palace in the center of town. It was the largest and grandest building for hundreds of miles, and said to have been home to the monarch at some point in time.

Clark was surprised that he had been brought here. It gave a sense of validation to the scam. He had gotten written approval to visit Benosha from the council themselves – was that really them? Could they really have been in on the charade?

Clark sighed and shook his head as he walked to the building’s main entrance, slipping through it, and not meeting eyes with any of the wealthy natives walking in and out.

On foot, he headed back to his rented cabin. It was about a mile off, and took him only minutes, walking briskly, panting slightly under the heat of the sun. He didn’t stop to speak to anyone. It was safest to assume he was no longer safe or welcome.

Once he got to his small cabin, Clark walked inside, closing and locking the door behind him. It was one room, with the most basic of necessities: a toilet, a cooler, and a cot. His travel backpack was lying on the ground in a corner. Clark changed his clothes then found his radio. He decided he had to get in touch with his colleagues on the mainland. Clark continued to dig through his backpack in search of their extension number. He came upon a large bag of dried fruit and smoked meat, and took to stuffing large portions of it into his mouth with one hand as he continued to search with the other.

Minutes were spent searching his pack, until he had dumped all the contents onto the floor. The number was nowhere to be seen. The dried fruit and meat were quickly finished, to his own surprise. He had not realized how hungry he was. Feeling frustrated, Clark shoved the backpack aside. Only then did he look down to notice how much his stomach had grown. His mouth fell open.

His fresh shirt was straining against his stomach, which looked six-months with child to his shock. Upon touching it, Clark observed that it was round and firm like a pregnant womans’.

But it was impossible. It was a scheme!

And yet that theory was growing less plausible as the seconds ticked by. Even if he had been drugged with a hallucinogenic, why would he keep specifically imagining himself to be growing pregnant? And when could anyone have had the opportunity to drug him? The only thing he had drunk that day was water directly from the canteen on his hip.

Clark climbed to his feet, holding onto the wall for balance. He marveled at his size, fascinated and horrified simultaneously.

At twenty-eight, Clark was a slim man with short dark hair. At present, he was wearing a fresh tunic, beige pants, and some walking shoes.

There’s something very wrong here, he thought as he stared down at his abdomen, which felt pressurized, as though it was still slowly pushing out from within.

Grabbing a light scarf from the contents of his pack he had dumped on the floor, Clark wrapped his shoulders and left the cabin. He had to get answers.

Clark returned to the site of the dragon ceremony the day before, but everything had been cleared out, and the only person there was who he supposed was a maintenance man, sweeping dust from the edges of the buildings in the small market square. Clark approached him, but like most others, he did not speak his language.

Clark decided that his next stop would have to be the mysterious dragon shrine he had discovered in the forest the day before. He headed out through the trees, in an approximation of the direction of his destination. Though usually unmatched at tracking and retracing his steps, his nerves were getting the better of him. That, and the growing weight on his torso.

Breathing heavily, Clark looked down at himself. The fabric of his tunic was straining. He wiped some sweat from his brow. It was early evening, and he already looked to be eight months pregnant. He gasped as the threading at his flanks began to tear as his tunic continued to stretch from his growth. “This can’t be happening,” Clark hissed, holding his stomach, beneath his navel. “This can’t be happening.” The fabric tore more.

Clark took several more steps forward, but then sunk to his knees. He didn’t know if it was from the fatigue, or just his anxiety. He lowered himself to his back, pulling off his scarf, pulling apart the remnants of the torn tunic to expose his belly. He stared at it, large and round, looking nine months big, having grown so quickly and subtly he had barely noticed at times.

Clark massaged the mass, desperate to ease the pressure, though it only seemed to increase. “No more growth…” he groaned. “No more…” He looked around him, and only then noticed the tail of the dragon statue through some trees. He was near the shrine.

Though it was difficult, Clark managed to sit up. He struggled to his feet, and fell into gasping, clutching either side of his plump belly. He moved forward with an unfamiliar awkwardness to his gait.

Hunched slightly, Clark grunted as his belly pushed out abruptly, an inch all around. He was getting close now…to the shrine, and to the peak in his condition. He had to get to the stone statue, though even he didn’t know why.

Only a few more steps, and Clark finally confronted it. He carefully lowered himself on the grass in front of it, leaning back on one hand, while continuing to rub frantic circles on his stomach with the other. He now looked overdue with child.

“Why is this happening?” Clark questioned the statue, as though it could provide him any answers. Sweat poured from his temple, and down his nape. “Why me? I’m a man. Why do I have to – ugh…errrghhhh…” He was cut off as he had another growth spurt, not painful, just uncomfortable. He watched his belly expand an inch, then another, and then a third, in gentle pulsations, his pants getting painfully tight. Remembering what had occurred previously, Clark reached down and unbuttoned them just as his belly started shifting downwards.

“Ohhhhh…” he moaned, just managing to kick down his pants as his belly shifted again. The pressure was unbelievable. He thought he would break, but instead his muscles continued to shove the egg downwards, keen to eject it. He helped; he pushed. He didn’t want to partake in any of this, but he knew he had to get the thing out of him. He knew that once he did, everything would be okay. For a moment, at least.

There was some rustling in the trees. Blinking back the tears in his eyes, Clark looked up to see the three council members had found him. They had somehow known he would be here.

The two women approached, one getting behind him, and pulling him against her chest. The other lowered herself beside Clark, placing her hand against his bobbing belly as Clark panted and struggled.

The woman holding his belly murmured something in her language. Clark didn’t know why, but he somehow knew she had said “healthy.”

“No,” Clark responded, not even realizing that he had fallen into the same foreign tongue. “This is all but – ohhh!”

Now the mass was pushing into his pelvis, his hips bulging out to accommodate it. Clark felt it begin to crown, but couldn’t imagine how it could possibly fit through his small opening.

“It comes,” murmured the woman behind him.

Clark pushed, feeling the egg slowly stretch him more and more, to a painful burning that made him whimper. Flushed and sweaty, he twisted and groaned. Finally, when the widest part of its width had pushed out of him, the egg popped free and onto the grass. Clark gasped for breath when it was over. Between his legs, he could see that this egg resembled the first one, though it was dark green in color.

“He is a strong King,” said the middle-aged man, finally approaching from the outskirts of the clearing. “He will serve the dragons well.”

The woman behind Clark stroked his head.

Clark was too tired to respond. He was pulled up to his feet, the two women standing at his flanks and wrapping his arms about their shoulders. His feet barely heeding him, he was practically dragged off, out of the forest, the women following the middle aged man who had taken to carrying the egg. When they got back to the village, Clark realized that they were headed back to the palace.

“What’s going to happen to me?” he said weakly.

“Nothing that hasn’t happened already,” the man responded. “Don’t you feel it? The life force of all your future young, waiting to grow?”

All he felt was tired.

As they approached the palace, Clark was surprised by the crowd of villagers waiting to greet them. At the sight of Clark, all disheveled and clammy in his torn clothes, their faces lit up, and he was quickly surrounded by people speaking to him in their language.

Men lowered themselves to their knees. Women kissed his hands. Children stared at him in awe, as others bowed before him. Some reached out, simply wanting to touch him. His shoulder. His stomach. An old woman even embraced him, like a loved one that had been long lost. It was all so overwhelming.

It took some time, but they somehow made it into the palace, back to the luxurious bedroom he had awoken in earlier that day. The young translator was there. He said something to one of the women as he helped Clark into bed.

“Why can’t I understand anymore?” Clark said as he reclined against a pile of pillows.

The translator smiled in understanding. “It soon get easier.”

Clark didn’t understand the science of that allegation, but he was too tired to press. He saw that across the room, the fire place was alight, and to his surprise, the first egg – the onyx one – was within it, sitting in the flames. He sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“You’re going to kill it,” he said, not certain why he cared. It was a different species from his – it couldn’t have really been his child. What did the world need with dragons anyway?

“The fire will help it to hatch,” said the middle-aged man, as the translator placed his hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

Help it to hatch? Already? That seemed preposterous.

But certainly not as preposterous as his rapid, daily pregnancies, he realized. Not as preposterous as his laying eggs. Clark sunk against the pillows. Now what?

As if reading his mind, the younger of the two women walked to the double doors that led out of the room. She murmured a word – “visitors” – as she opened them.

There was a new crowd, one if greater wealth, Clark realized, based on their clothing and jewels. One by one, people entered the room and bowed to him, before they each lowered a gift. Clark could do little more than nod and mumble a “thanks” as he was slowly surrounded by things ranging from large dishes of food that smelled so delicious his stomach grumbled, to large jugs of thick beverages – perhaps exotic juices prepared of the milks and berries of the land.

There was intricate foreign jewelry that was dazzlingly beautiful – rings, cuffs, necklaces, all shining and priceless.

And then there were flowing robes, cloaks, and tunics of various colors that all looked far too large for him – but maybe not for long. Maternity clothing.

Clark had lost count, but he was sure he had been greeted by dozens of new people, each giving him gifts that began to pile onto the floor around the bed. When the last visitor had left, Clark realized that the middle aged man and the translator had also left at some point throughout the ceremony. The two women remained, and took to organizing his new acquisitions into neat piles.

Clark’s stomach grumbled again, and the older of the two women glared at him. She pointed roughly at one of the dishes left on the bed beside him.

Clark understood. He gingerly lifted the cover on the pot closest to him, and was presented with a sticky, stewy-looking thing, within which floated an assortment of round, fist sized masses he couldn’t determine to be meat, fruit, or vegetable. He hesitated, then carefully lifted one, coating his fingers in the warm goey fluid that accommodated it. He lifted the dripping mass to his lips and took a bite. A meat, then. It was soft, but chewy. Salty, and sweet. It was so unusual, he was surprised that he liked it. Clark took a second, larger bite.

It took Clark only minutes to work his way through the large pot of food, paying no mind to the two women, who threw approving glances his way. When he was finished with the masses of meat, he lifted the pot, and drank the stew. He was disappointed when he came to the end; he had come to like it so well. Sucking his fingers clean, Clark’s eyes roved for his next dish.

The pan he chose was filled with puffy, pasta-like pancakes, but somewhat chewier, with the consistency of fat. It was covered in delicious salty red and white sauces. Clark quickly demolished this dish as well, enjoying it just as much as the previous one. He managed to work his way through two more large pots of food, before he finally began to feel quite full. Clark leaned back and yawned, continuing to see the women organizing his new belongings as his vision swam in and out. He reached down and rested his hand against his stomach as he fell asleep.