Rest until the time comes for you to lay your clutch

"Yes," you say, weary and sated from the rutting with the chieftain, "rest would be good. Is there a place for me to sleep?"

The wug leads you out of the birth room and to a small chamber of the hut just large enough for you to lie down. The wug eases you onto a bed of velvet-soft leaves and you rest your head upon your arm. The last thing you know before the darkness of sleep is the chieftain spread a fur over your body. You smile dreamily and try to utter a "thanks" but sleep is already upon you.

In your dreams you see the tribe of wugs, their fins inflamed and their croaks sounding the name of their goddess, "Tokonga! Tokonga!"

Brigette stands atop a plinth, a giantess with her green flesh more like an amphibian than a plant. She squeezes her enormous breasts in her hands and powerful gushes of milk rain down upon the chanting wugs. They drink heartily of the downpour, mad with pleasure and desire. You laugh at the sight and take a step towards the fountain of milk to catch some yourself. Your body is heavy and your limbs are fat. You look down and your huge breasts rest atop the enormous bulge of your pregnancy. You feel something moving inside you. Something squirming. A thick jelly spills down your inner thigh as you begin to scream.

You awaken in the chieftain's arms. He blinks his big, inhuman eyes at you and his lipless mouth opens to approximate a human smile.

"Dawn approaches, my mate," he croaks. "It is time for you to lay your clutch."

You nod, still disoriented by the vivid dream, as the wug helps you to your feet. You groan. Your limbs are very sore, your breasts painfully engorged with milk to the point that your newly-fat nipples jut out from your areolas in bold prominence. Your belly is not huge as you had feared, but you look down and it is visibly swollen. You can feel the heaviness of the clutch inside you.

"Oh, chieftain," you moan and he helps steady you. "I am... I am afraid."

He begins to walk you towards the birthing pool. His croak is soothing to you as he says, "There will be no pain, my mate. Warm bloods are well-suited for laying clutches. Your bodies grow them faster and they leave you without effort. Trust. Trust me."

"Y-yes," you say, though in truth as you look at the strange inhuman features of your "mate" you can hardly believe what you have allowed. You have rutted with this creature repeatedly and now you are preparing to release his eggs? This is madness! Your outrage is silenced by a contraction. It is not entirely unpleasant as your inner muscles contract and you feel a weight growing inside you.

"Here, here, easy, my mate." The wug helps you over the metal cauldron. You step one foot inside and then another and lower your naked body into the milk-clouded water. A small amount of water sloshes over the edge as you settle into the tank with your back against the rounded edge. Your breasts float atop the water, nipples releasing a steady trickle of your cream into the water.

"Ooohhh," you moan as another contraction hits you, much more powerful than the first.

"Do not fight the pleasure of it," says the chieftain. "Climax can release the clutch."

He squats behind you, the musk of his cock against your neck. A third contraction ripples through your body and you feel as if something liquid is pouring out of you. When your muscles contract you feel objects moving outward from your womb. A fourth and fifth contraction follow and as you begin to writhe and moan the wug chieftain reaches around and gathers your breasts in his hands. The relief is immediate as he begins to squeeze and express your abundant milk into the water around you.

The contractions become orgasmic as the wug squeezes out streams of your milk. Your head lolls back against his groin and you cum, pushing out the rubbery, marble-sized eggs with each pleasurable squeeze of your inner muscles. The jelly-soft eggs falls to the bottom of the tank, steeping in your life-giving milk and the cool water. The agony of pleasure continues for several minutes. Your face is flushed and your hair is plastered to your forehead as your orgasmic contractions **** out the last of the chieftain's clutch.

Panting with relief, you actually begin to laugh.

"H-how long until, um, they hatch?"

"Weeks," says the chieftain. He helps you out of the water. Your body is flooded with hormones, including those that make you feel happy. You smile and sit against the cool floor of the hut. You see that your mate has become aroused by the birthing process, his pink cock fully emerged from his body's sheath.

"When can we rut again?" you ask, staring at the cock and feel lust.

"Tokonga awaits us, but I would rut now," he croaks with excitement, his fins rippling and red as he steps closer. "Or you use your mouth if you hunger for my seed."

Against your better judgment, both prospects are enticing.