wizards lay eggs

since "wizard" and "lizard" are only one letter off i'm just going to assume some similarities

anyway, the discord can't stop talking about ahriman and eggs, so here is a story about exactly that

709 words, NSFW

It was a strange sensation, though not wholly unfamiliar. He felt heavy, pressed by the weight inside as it was his guilt manifesting in the physical. That in itself was a relief; the symbolism of his peculiar discomfort briefly freed him of his hounding remorse.

Everything else, however, was a bother.

A terrifying bother.

Ahriman rolled slowly to his side, resting one slender leg over the other, his sight blurred by tears of strain clinging to his eyelashes. Long strands of dark hair pulled after him like a black veil, its tips wet and slicked from the sticky puddle pooling beneath him.

A shiver ran up his augmented, filigreed spine, and the sorcerer braced for the contraction that was bound to follow. It came with jolting pain and a vision; while he panted and moaned, golden images of a daemonic roost flashed before his eyes, each a promise of what could be should he ever give himself fully to the Architect.

He could feel her gaze somewhere above, in the Soulsea. She was watching him with great interest as he struggled to rid himself of her curse; his humiliation pleased her.

Unable to weather any more painful tremors, Ahriman fell onto his back and dragged his heels over the cold floor in one, two, three desperate attempts to relieve himself of some of the building discomfort. He sent a weak, psychic spark to his abdomen, but it failed to lighten the burden within him, failed to do anything at all. He was helpless against his condition; once again, the Architect was forcing him to play by her rules, on her game board. He was a toy, a puppet.

The thought made him shiver. He hated to be so powerless, and yet…

And yet…

…The idea of submitting to something unquestionably greater than himself flushed his cheeks and sent blood running to his groin. He gave another meek sigh and then—pressed by insufferable heat and a divine presence—gave in to the curse he so desperately tried to shed.

Another gush of clear liquid spilled between his legs, and he weakly forced his knees apart to open the way for whatever was coming.

As the weight within him pushed closer to his entrance, he realized just how big it was, how it stretched his insides like no man or monster he lay with. A trickle of drool ran from his mouth at the sensation; though painful, the oppressive stretching excited him, roused him, drove him further into breedy submission. His stiffening cock leapt and laced his stomach with precome, and Ahriman dared push two fingers down his taint and then slowly inside himself, to feel what he was about to deliver. It was hard to the touch, smooth; having come of the feathered, bird-like Architect, it could’ve been nothing but an egg.

He was birthing an egg.

With his curiosity satisfied, the sorcerer pulled his slick-covered fingers out and instead pressed them to the soft rim of his tight hole to spread it a little, to ready himself for the coming challenge. The Architect rewarded his eager cooperation with a soothing whisper; in hushed voice, she promised him every mortal comfort, and he fantasized for a second that he ended a Terran princeling made for nothing but spoiling and mating, that he was worthy of such care.

As if to encourage his fantasy, the golden egg within him teased at his entrance, begging to be laid. Ahriman arched his back and mustered what control he had left over his muscles; with a forceful push, he spurted another spill of slick and strained the egg halfway out.

The pain was almost blinding. His eyes rolled back in bliss; before he could even bring a shaking hand to his pulsating cock, the stretching, humiliating labor dragged him into a teary climax that saw him cry and slobber and sniffle and filthy his sweating chest with ropes of sticky white.

Finally, after he was done squirming, the egg slid out of him with a wet smack and nestled between his stained thighs. Weak and spent, Ahriman found no energy to look at it, only to heave exhausted breaths up at the far ceiling.

A single pleading thought lingered in his mind.

Again.