It’s olden times and there’s a man with a wagon pulled by a horse through a forest road. He hears a heart stopping scream of agony in the far distance.
This is a good man, so he stops, he ties the horse up and he hurries towards the source of the pained cries.
He finds, in a small clearing, a heavily pregnant male naga in labor. A naga who’s slave collar is still on and who’s been chained with his hands behind him to a tree.
The naga’s bare stomach is squeezing itself and a small slit in the scales beneath his half hard cock is getting bigger and bigger. Something is making it bulge and then flatten, bulge and then flatten over and over again.
The man with the wagon realizes it must be an egg.
The naga, tears in his eyes, begs for help. The man with the wagon tries to free him, but can’t. The naga tells him just to worry about helping him birth the eggs right now, that’s all he cares about. Just save them.
The man with the wagon says he may have some tools to help get him free, because the naga can’t push properly like this. He races off back for his wagon and the naga begs him not to go.
As fast as he can, he races back to his wagon and maneuvers it and the horse through the forest and back to the naga who’s straining and straining and gives a hoarse, terrified warning before his slit opens wider and wider as speckled ivory shell begins to emerge, pushed out just on the force of the contractions alone.
With a scream, the naga’s belly clamps down and the egg finally slides out, almost shooting out. He prays the man with the wagon will catch it in time before the fragile shell shatters on the ground.
Luckily he does.
The naga pants and tells the man with the wagon to press down on his belly as hard as he can to help the naga birth the rest of the eggs. It’s the only way.
The man with the wagon has a better idea. He has rope. He ties it tight around the naga’s stomach and makes a knot that allows him to pull with one hand and tighten the rope while the other remains free to catch the eggs.
The man in the wagon cannot help but find the naga beautiful, even like this. His magnificent form swollen at the stomach with eggs, his gorgeous face and piercing eyes now made so vulnerable. The serpentine coil of his tail. His dark, hard little nipples. Even his slit and his cock.
The man in the wagon asks if there’s anything else he can do while they wait for another contraction. He’s hoping there is. He’s hinting.
The naga looks relieved and ashamed at the same time. “Please,” is all he says.
The farmer takes the naga’s cock into his hand. He licks and sucks the blunt, salty tasting head of it to get the naga fully erect and then strokes his shaft. The man in the wagon tugs the rope tight one more time. Then he lets it go so his other hand can press three fingers into the naga’s slit and make circles on the little round bump he finds there.
The naga can say nothing as he comes. He just groans, then he strains for a whole different reason and then his belly squeezes down so suddenly the man with the wagon barely has time to remove his fingers before it’s time to catch the next egg that the naga births into his hands.
The man with the wagon makes the naga come again and cloudy white seed shoots from the naga as the pleasure sends his body into one massive contraction. A contraction that pushes out the next egg and the next while the man with the wagon coaxes and comforts the naga who sobs that he’s going to die of all this and then screams that the next one is coming.
The man in the wagon sees the naga through the birthing of six eggs.
When he gets the naga free, he helps him into the back of the wagon. The naga curls it’s lower body and tail around its six eggs.
The man in the wagon takes the naga home, and helps him tend to the eggs until they hatch. The man in the wagon tells them to stay. He could use the help around the place and he wouldn’t want the naga’s former master coming after anyone.
The six baby naga become adults in just five years. Adults that must leave home and make their own way as naga tradition instructs them to.
The house and the farm seem so empty with all six children gone.
But empty can be good, the naga teaches the man with the wagon. With all the space to themselves, the naga can slither into the man’s room one night and lay beside him.
The naga say he knows the man with the wagon was aroused by the sight of his pregnant body, and by the experience of helping the naga lay its eggs. The man with the wagon can’t deny it, nor can his hardened cock under the blankets. The naga strokes the man and asks if the man would like to experience it for himself. He can do this for the man. There is ancient naga magic.
The man with the wagon says yes. The naga reaches down and begins to stroke him. Then the tip of it’s tail teases the man’s balls. The man with the wagon starts cumming and can’t stop as the teasing tip changes him. Gives him a womb, a birthing hole.
The man with the wagon asks the naga if it hurts to get impregnated. The naga assures him that the way he does it, it won’t.
The naga, hard and thickened with arousal, pushes himself into the man’s new birthing hole and soaks his new womb in seed.
Then, months later, there is a man with a wagon pulled by a horse, going through a forest road. He gives a loud groan of pain and grabs his huge belly. He has to get home fast, because it won’t be long before he’s birthing the naga’s eggs, their first clutch together. And as painful as it will be, the man is aroused by knowing he’s heavy with his lover’s offspring, and that he will be birthing them for him.
When he gets home hurts and he is hard at the same time and the naga spreads his knees to get a better view of the first egg crowning.
The naga tells him he also is beautiful this way, and he should see what it looks like each time he pushes and the egg comes a little closer to emerging.
Five years after that, there is a man with a wagon racing to get home because this time the naga carried their clutch and he wouldn’t miss the sight, or the feel, of a creature like that giving birth to his offspring.
