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John MacTavish loved his job. Even if he and his coworkers acted like it was a normal 9-5, it was anything but. To lighten the mood, they gave each other nicknames, calling John ‘Soap’ for his quick reactions and dirty jokes, and went on pub crawls together when time allowed it. But not a single one of them could tell their family or friends what they were doing.
Being the keeper and handler of a rare consensually captive naga was a privilege and a challenge all in one.
Soap had been intrigued by the stories of long-lost hybrids and deadly tribes of half-man, half-snake people as a child. As he grew up, they became a reality. As technology exploded and the naga populations were discovered, certain concerns arose. Were they considered citizens? What rights did they have?
And with curiosity came greed. Adult naga were enslaved and put on display in circus shows. Babies were kidnapped from their home to be sold like exotic pets.
That’s where Ghost, the in-house naga, had come from. He’d only been a teenager when a drug raid had found him in the bathtub of a rich condo. He was nearly mute and had long shied away from any attention, human or naga. He had never seen one of his people since he was a child and had felt uncomfortable reintegrating with a culture he didn’t know.
How did Soap know all this? Ghost told him, of course.
He was the only person to have managed to open up the tightly-lipped naga. It took time and effort and some obnoxious jokes on Soap’s part, but they became fast friends in the end.
Soap knew Ghost in and out, even literally thanks to his chumminess with Ghost’s doctor, so he was immediately concerned when he noticed Ghost was acting strange.
The naga hadn’t been seen anywhere near the front of his habitat. He’d been eating less and less, and then hadn’t eaten at all. It wasn’t unusual for that to happen before a shed, but Soap hadn’t seen any of the usual signs. Ghost hadn’t even been the least bit itchy the last time they’d spoken.
Soap had prepared the space anyways: he’d warmed up the pool, ordered in some more scratching posts, and had maintenance turn up the humidity. But it’d been two days and there was no sign of Ghost.
Soap never entered the space uninvited but this was going on for long enough that he was getting concerned. His coworkers had agreed, but they hadn’t been trusted in at all. So Soap, as a de facto sacrifice, stepped into the habitat, and marched off in search of Ghost.
He almost immediately peeled the mask off of his face. He might get told off for it—zoonotic diseases and all that—but it was way too hot for it. Besides, he was in a unique position that let him get away with a lot of shit. They couldn’t exactly fire him.
“Ghost?” he called out, stepping over a log. The grasses were tall and soft on his skin. He could imagine this was how those old adventurers felt, feeling their way through the faraway jungles until they stumbled upon something so fantastical, so amazing, that nobody believed them when they went back home.
“Ghost, it’s me, Soap,” he said again. He looked around, scanning the tops of the trees in case the naga had wanted to try hammocking on his own tail again. There was nothing but the whispers of the manufactured airflow through the leaves.
Even in the foliage-dense area, he saw a tangle of brush that stood out. Dead vegetation was routinely cleaned out to prevent rot, but this had that sweet-hot scent of decay to it. Soap could feel the uptick in temperature as he neared the brown and yellow pile. And in the center of it, curled up tightly, was Ghost.
The naga never failed to take Soap’s breath away. He was massive in that way you can’t comprehend until you get next to him. His tail alone was the length of a minivan. His hand could fit over Soap’s face—they’d tried it once. When he rose to his full height, Soap had to tip his head back.
Ghost’s tail was a gorgeous inky black with rippling patterns of white like the reflection of water. Although Soap couldn’t see his humanoid upper body in the coil, he knew it to be pale and muscular, well-fed from his specially made diet. And his eyes—oh, his eyes—a deep, gorgeous brown that made Soap’s heart flutter, framed by eyelashes like silk.
As much as he wanted to just stand there and admire the sight in front of him, he had to check in on his charge.
“Ghost?” he said softly. “Wha’s goin’ on?” He saw the body shudder and uncoil just enough to let Ghost peek over his tail. The man’s face was etched with exhaustion, dark bags under his eyes. His skin seemed especially pallid. After being with Ghost 50 hours a week, however many days a year, Soap could immediately tell that something was dangerously wrong.
The silence stretched for too long. He crept closer, dropping his backpack to the ground. “Tell me what’s wrong, love,” he murmured. Ghost blinked, slow and sleepy. He flicked his eyes away.
“… ‘s stuck,” he mumbled. The muscles in his tail rippled. Soap was close enough now that he could put his hand on the dark scales. The naga was little warmer than usual, but what Soap noticed the most was how tense he felt. Usually his body had some give to it unless he’d had a big meal. But as Soap ran his palm up the huge coils, he could feel the discomfort radiating out of him.
“Indigestion?” Soap asked. Ghost was blushing, the color stark against where he was resting his cheek on his tail. Soap took a step closer on the springy pile, but Ghost glared at him and he paused. He took the hint and raised his hands amicably.
“Cannae help ye if ye hide it,” he said softly. Nothing hurt him more than Ghost being in pain of any sort. And by the furrow between those pale brows, he could see it.
Slowly, Ghost pushed himself to his… well, not feet. Essentially, he stood up. He crossed his muscled arms over his chest, broad shoulders casting a shadow over Soap. But the man’s eyes immediately fell to the unmistakable swell of Ghost’s belly. He felt his mouth go dry. Impossible. No fucking way.
“Mary, mother of Jesus,” he whispered.
Ghost snorted. “Not really,” he said. “Duds. But… they won’t come out.” He glanced down at himself and tilted his head. He gingerly put his hands on his stomach, fingers digging in just slightly to relieve the strain. His chest, now exposed, was puffy and swollen. Soap almost fell over with how lightheaded he suddenly felt.
“You… eh… what…” Soap said, intelligently. Ghost rolled his eyes and leaned forward to hide the paunch away again. Soap shook himself. Well, that image was going to ruin his life. “Is tha’… normal?” he asked.
“Dunno.” Ghost looked a little forlorn. “Got nobody to tell me.” Soap felt his heart twist.
“Aye. Em… wha’ have ye given a go at?” He gingerly stepped over Ghost’s coils. The naga sat back on his tail to make room for him. It was just like a routine examination except… very, very different.
Ghost shrugged. “Sat in the pool for a while, pushing ‘em out, stretching… Nothing.” Soap scratched his chin. He’d had chickens growing up and it wasn’t uncommon for a hen to get egg-bound once in a while. Unfortunately, the only thing left he could think of wasn’t going to be easy.
“If all that hasnae worked, ah’ve got one last thing te try.” He swung the backpack down from his shoulders. Inside was a basic first aid kit, size adjusted to the massive naga, of course. Ghost looked unnerved by the admittedly very large needle that sat inside. A sedative that they’d never have to use, Soap could promise him that.
“Here. Petroleum jelly an’ gloves.” He offered them up to Ghost, who looked at them with confusion.
“Oh. Oh, internally,” he said in realization. He fidgeted for a moment. “I do it?” The pink staining his skin crept further south. Soap’s mouth twitched downwards. If that was a sign of fever, then he had to work quickly.
“Well, tha’ was my plan,” he replied distractedly. He reached up to press the back of his hand against Ghost’s neck, the only part he could reach. He was red and warm, yes, but not enough to be truly concerned. “No’ possible?”
Ghost blinked down at him through those pale eyelashes. He took in a deep breath. “I want you to do it, Johnny.”
Soap felt the air leave his lungs. He nearly choked on his spit. “M-me? Ah’m no doctor, Ghost, ye ken tha’.”
“Yeah, but you still know me better than anyone else.” Ghost offered a small smile. “Better than I know myself, sometimes.” Well, that was just unfair. Soap went over his options again but it didn’t take long for him to sigh in resignation.
“A’right. Let’s get ye fixed up.” He tried not to look too eager. He waited for Ghost to get comfortable.
The naga leaned back, resting on his own tail for support, and slid one hand down his front. At the tip of his index, a few inches from his navel, there was a slit in the scales, flushed and swollen around the edges. Soap swallowed thickly.
“Ye’ll tell me if it hurts?” he asked hoarsely. Ghost nodded. His breaths quickened. God, he couldn't take his eyes off of the bulge of Ghost’s stomach. Just to figure out what’s going on, he told himself. He reached out and put a hand onto Ghost’s bump.
It was surprisingly firm, like a pregnant human’s. But if he pressed enough, he could feel the shift of the eggs deep inside. The tip of Ghost’s tail squirmed.
Soap fit one of the latex gloves over his fingers before he paused. “Wha’s the point if ah’m goin’ in so far anyways?” he asked. Ghost looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or glare at Soap, but he didn’t protest when the man tossed the gloves aside.
Soap scooped from jelly from the container and lathered it on his hands. He wasn’t exactly an exotic animal vet, but he’d had some fun in some wild bars before.
His fingers danced around Ghost’s slit. The scales on the edges of it were soft and flexible. It was shaped somewhat like a pussy, but was about the length of his hand from top to bottom. It opened up under his touch, exposing the pink, sticky insides.
He stroked his fingers along the vent like he was petting it. Ghost sighed above him. Soap bit his lip to hold back a grin and pressed harder. As Ghost relaxed, two small nubs just below the arch of his slit emerged. Soap squinted at them in confusion.
“Gimme a guide down here,” Soap grumbled. “There’s no’ enough holes.”
Ghost mumbled something sarcastically, but he still reached down and used two fingers to show himself off. With the other hand, he pointed things out. He brushed one of the two bumps, seemingly on accident, and his entire body shuddered. He turned a delightful red color at that.
“Cloaca, and then… uh, cunt. Toilet and sex holes, to put it bluntly.” Soap joined him in the exploration, taking note of what touches made Ghost’s breath hitch.
“Strap in, lad,” Soap murmured. He dipped into the upper hole as instructed, and was surprised to find his two fingers soaked. The slick was viscous, more like syrup than lube. Ghost reacted strongly to even the smallest movement, squirming under his hand.
“Good?” Soap asked.
“Kind of.”
Soap went slow and steady, testing at the edges of his hole. This he knew how to do, at least. He scissored his fingers and could see deep into that pink cavern. He swallowed thickly. He’d been half-hard for a long time, but now he felt like a right pervert.
Soap pressed in until his knuckles collided with Ghost’s slit. Ghost grunted. Soap added a third finger.
“Still okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Ghost replied breathlessly. His brows were pinched together and his mouth was parted slightly. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them. Soap smirked up at him.
He began thrusting his fingers in and out. It was ridiculously wet. Each curl of his digits made loud noises, and slick dripped onto his pants.
When he finally managed to tear his gaze away, Soap saw that something creamy and white was also dotting his clothes. He glanced up at Ghost. The naga was holding a hand to his chest, blushing as that shimmering liquid dripped out of his nipples. Soap’s mouth went slack.
“Are ye…”
“Dunno. Started a day ago or so. Never happened before.” Ghost’s eyes fluttered shut as he squeezed his pec. “Feels good,” he sighed.
That was it. Soap couldn’t help but lean up and catch a taste of the stream flowing down Ghost’s torso. It was surprisingly thin, thinner than cow’s milk, but so, so sweet.
Soap had nearly forgotten what he was doing until Ghost shivered and his cunt rippled around Soap’s hand. He nearly slapped himself for letting his cock get the best of him, all the while licking the sugar from his lips.
The fourth finger had Ghost tensing up. Soap paused. He let Ghost’s muscles relax around him before starting again. He stroked his thumb back and forth at the stretched entrance to ease the way. What he wouldn’t give to just taste. But no, he had to at least pretend to be professional here.
Ghost’s hips bucked forward and took Soap’s fingers all the way to the webbing of his thumb. Ghost’s tail trembled and he hunched over, one hand coming down to grab at Soap’s back. His nails dug in lightly.
“Tha’s it, lad, jes take it like that,” Soap whispered. Ghost outright moaned at that. It was out of Soap’s wettest dreams: hand-deep in the big naga man above him, belly rounded out with his babies, drinking ambrosia from his chest—Yeah, Soap would’ve been reported for medical malpractice.
“The thumb now, doll,” he said in warning. Ghost bit his lip and hesitated. “Ah gotcha. Ah’ll make it nice and easy, will go in wi’oot a hitch.”
“Okay,” Ghost sighed.
Soap rubbed his thumb in little circles before pressing it in. Ghost jolted, his teeth gritted against the sting. Soap eased it out. He repeated it: stroke, press, back out. Again and again until Ghost was curling over and on the next push, it went in.
Soap sucked in a sharp breath. His hand was being squeezed tight enough that his bones creaked. He let Ghost adjust to it, gently curling his fingers upward to lessen the strain. Ghost was gasping now.
Slowly, he pressed in further than his knuckles. Ghost whined.
“Wait! St-stop, wait, wait,” he hissed. Soap immediately paused, concern furrowing his brow.
“Hurts?” he asked. Ghost wouldn't meet his eyes as he nodded. “‘s alrigh’, we’ll stop—” He started to withdraw his hand.
“No!” Ghost shouted. Soap startled.
“O…kay,” he said. “It hurts, but ye wantae keep going,” he clarified. Ghost nodded furiously, his face buried in one of his hands. Soap didn’t know whether to be charmed or concerned, but he’d listen to Ghost no matter what.
His hand inched further in. He could feel the tension in Ghost’s insides. He used his other hand to massage at the seam where they were joined. Ghost was making noises he’d only ever heard in his dreams. He sighed and whimpered, squirming as he fought through the worst of it.
With one last shove, there was a release and Soap’s hand was swallowed up to the wrist. Ghost was leaning over Soap at that point, sweat dripping from his face. He shuddered and moaned at the sudden thrust.
Soap gulped. He gently moved his hand and watched the way Ghost came undone with each curl. He knew how to make a partner feel good with his fingers, but Ghost’s body was entirely unfamiliar. He had to explore as he went.
Good thing he loved a challenge.
Ghost’s walls were smooth and firm beneath his touch. There was a bit of give to them, but Ghost was pure muscle beneath that. He seemed somewhat sensitive too, trembling and whimpering with every breath.
Soap figured he could try what was familiar first. He turned his hand palm-up and found the slightest ridge along the roof of Ghost’s hole. He stroked along it, a finger on each side.
Ghost cried out. He took fistfuls of the nest like a lifeline. Soap didn’t let up, following the ridge deeper and deeper until his forearm was being swallowed up. He traced it all the way back until he met a more soft, wrinkled place. The tip of Ghost’s tail writhed.
Soap was feeling pretty damn proud of himself. Ghost was at a loss for words, but his pitched-up voice told Soap all he needed to know.
Suddenly, Soap felt something give. His fingers dove further in and were suffocated within another hole. Beyond that, a warm kiss of something round.
“This it?” he asked softly. Ghost nodded, eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no, shshsh,” Soap soothed. Ghost pressed a hand to his stomach.
“‘m gonna have ye push, aye?” Soap asked.
“I can try,” Ghost rasped. Soap nodded.
“Tha’s all ah can ask. Give it a go for me, love.” Ghost grunted and the muscle squeezed around Soap’s hand. He withdrew it some, then pressed again, fucking into that secret place. Ghost was really moaning now, babbling Soap’s name and “yes”, “please.”
Despite Soap’s efforts, Ghost was near tears with frustration. “‘s not working,” he whined. Soap frowned in sympathy. He retracted his hand some, knuckles brushing along that ridge again.
Ghost buckled over him. Soap did it again and again and again until Ghost was shaking, his cunt rippling around Soap’s arm, and as Ghost’s moans peaked in pitch, he withdrew all the way out and thrusted back in.
Ghost’s body convulsed. Soap felt it push his arm out and suddenly liquid was gushing out onto his shirt. Soap looked up at him in awe. Ghost put a hand to his stomach again and gasped. He was doubled over, slick dripping down his front. His insides gaped and twitched, enticing Soap back in until, deep inside, he saw a peek of creamy white.
Ghost’s face was pressed into Soap’s hair. His arms trembled as he visibly strained, whimpering. Slowly, the egg dropped further and further out until it fell to the ground, more squirt following behind it.
It was the size of a football, soft and oval-shaped, and textured the same, like leather. One end was more tapered than the other. That might’ve been due to all the pushing, however.
The next eggs came easy—they were smaller, and a brighter white color. Soap leaned back against the coils of Ghost’s tail to make room for them. He let Ghost sob into his mohawk until he was finished.
In the end, after Ghost’s shuddering had subsided, there were six eggs. Soap could only imagine them heavy with children. How big would Ghost get then? Would he incubate all of them? What would the babies look like?
Ghost let out one last shuddering, drawn out moan. Milk was streaming from his pecs. His eyes were barely open from exhaustion. Still, Soap had never been harder in his entire life. He didn’t dare move, worried he’d finish at just the slightest friction.
Ghost clutched his stomach again. It was still rounded, but sagged down gently. Soap almost mourned the loss.
The naga shakily settled down into the nest, his tail curling around the eggs. “I know they’re empty, but I… I can’t toss ‘em.”
“Aye,” Soap said. His voice was embarrassingly breathless. “Do ye wantae… tell th’ others about this?”
“The eggs or the orgasms?” Ghost asked, smiling. Soap’s ears burned hotly. “Not sure. Apparently don’t even need ‘em for next time.”
“Doll, if there’s a next time, ah’m not sure ah will restrain mahself,” Soap admitted. He looked down at himself forlornly. He was soaked from chest to boots in squirt and milk, and still hard as a rock. He gave one last look at the pink insides he’d been in and sighed. At least he wasn’t lacking in material for the wank he absolutely was going to have in the shower.
“Might have to hold you to that,” Ghost whispered, his pupils blown wide. He laid his hands on the cradle of his arms. “Now go get cleaned up. I can’t keep looking at you with… all that.” Ghost glanced away shyly.
Soap nodded. He leaned over and planted a kiss on Ghost’s warm cheek before turning and not-so-elegantly shuffling into the foliage.
As soon as he figured he was out of sight, he brought the collar of his shirt up to his mouth and sucked on the soaked fabric. The taste nearly brought him to his knees.
Yeah, he was so fucked.