A tiny figure clambered up the uneven steps of the gallows, the crowd watching in silent interest. Clad in an unremarkable brown cloak, the figure bore the distinct slimness and grace of the gentler sex.

Now at the pinnacle, Irene inspected the man who would father her child. Albert Schroder Lean and tall, she wondered what misfortune had lead the young man to a hangman’s end. 

He wore a sack over his head, the noose ominously tied at the base. Not ideal for Irene’s purposes but the office of the hangman had to be respected. She would have liked to have seen the face of the man whose child she would carry.

“Cowards, get on with it” muffled the man, bound arms wiggling behind him.

She had been cloistered in her chambers for a month, forbidden to touch herself, a belt of iron to stop straying hands . She was to pray and contemplate, to steel her resolve for the goddess of mothers. The execution timed to be at her peak fertility, five days after she stained her sheets with her moonblood.

Irene unclasped the cloak around her body and let the itchy wool fall unceremoniously onto the ground, letting her lithe body bathe in the leer of the crowd.

Supple bosoms ready to carry milk, large hips ready to carry a child. Soft motherly features framing a gentle face. Her shoulder length blonde hair, luscious in the warm spring winds. A curvaceous, buxom figure whose toned abs and athletic limbs radiated health. She was the very picture of a woman in her prime, ready to carry child. An initiate of Ishay ready to bloom into full sisterhood. A living image of the goddess Ishay.

With hazel eyes furrowed in focus, the determined young woman began to perform the last rites of Ishay. The crowd murmured with anticipation, a last rite performed by a sister of Ishay was a rare sight.

He could smell spring flowers in the air as Irene approached shortly followed by the soft brush of Irene’s hand as she pulled down his ragged trousers. 

Before he could mutter a word of confusion, Irene enveloped his member into her mouth, his words replaced by a  surprised gasp. He had no unpleasant smell to him, the wardens had cleaned him before his execution. 

Warm mouth coaxed his manhood to life as she worked his limp member up and down with a fluid motion of her neck, lapping at the precum dribbling into her mouth.

Blushing faces speckled the gathered mob, the closest spectators could see the puddle of nectars dripping down Irene’s pale legs. The mob otherwise silent before the spectacle.

Before long he was at his hardest. A little larger than the illustrations Irene had seen.

She removed her mouth from the now fully erect rod, not knowing how close the prisoner had been to his limits.

She applied the anointed oils around his member, starting at the base and making her way to the end, being careful to service every nook and cranny. She cupped his sac, a bulbous testicle in each hand. Muttering a prayer, she churned the textured skin, blessing the potent seeds inside.

Preparations finished, Irene stood, bent back, her petals open to the prisoner. She positioned his pole towards her hungry entrance, murmuring a prayer as his tip parted her dripping lips. She slowly lowered herself onto him until only his bulbous tip breached inside her.The head hitting the seal containing the last vestige of her novitiate. 

With one last motion of her hips and a helpful thrust, he breached into her awaiting warmth, Irene mouthing a loud gasp as warm blood began to trickle down her legs. Sharp pain mixing with pleasure at the fullness in her birth canals.

Whatever restraint Irene had earlier was gone with the last barrier to her inner core, moaning wildly and swaying to the motion of Albert’s thrust. Albert too, scared witless at his coming doom and finding solace in the warm comforting depth of Irene, rutted like a beast off a leash. Velvet walls clinging tightly to his cock, Albert pistoned in and out of Irene, so desperate to leave a little of himself in the world. Wet noises echoing with each thrust as Albert’s hips met Irene’s generous rear.

The creation of life should be joyous and passionate, Irene preached with each mad moan and lustful scream.

This passionate writhing of bodies happened for some time, Irene climaxing again and again to Albert’s thrusts, her body’s pent up needs finally being sated after her long neglect.

Alas, the ending came swiftly, Albert grunting a powerful scream as he exploded within her, consummating their sacred union. He pulsed and pulsed, determined to not waste a single drop, burrowing himself as far as he could. Irene’s hungry womb determined to drink every last spurt of his potent seed.

Justice had other ideas and on cue the hangman pulled the lever, Albert’s cock viciously pulling free from Irene as he dropped off the gallows. A rope of semen being sucked out with his exit, delicate hands moving quickly to cup the flow between her legs.

The prisoner gagged and squirmed, spurting potent seed onto the spring flowers beneath the gallows. The crowd cheering as the criminal met his justice.

Irene watched the display with heated breath, breathing ragged from the exertion of their lovemaking. One hand sealing Albert’s precious seed inside of her, she muttered a quick prayer to Ishay, hoping his seed take hold. Tears blurred her eyes, her body a torrent of hormones.

No child of Ishay deserved to exit the world without offspring and already Ishay’s blessing began their work inside Irene. The man’s seed began to burrow into the unprotected walls of Irene’s egg, hoping to inject it with their potent payload.

She was a mother now, and a priestess of Ishay, her final trials fulfilled as miraculous life grew in her womb.

Although the man was a wanted criminal, deserving his punishment, Irene could not help but look at the limp body of her brief lover with sorrow. 

She laid a free hand to her flat stomach, soon to bulge with Ishay’s gift. She would name the child Albert.