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Protocantor Theophania was wreathed in smoke as the gentle draft of the ventilation dragged the scent of incense along through the domed transept chapel. Sixteen centuries guided her hands, wreathed her in the scents of ritual preparation as it spread throughout the Basilica of St. Maia the Stylite. For her, the candles were not tiered from floor to the icon as it would have made her task quite impossible. Theo hadn’t seen anything in front and below of her for months after all. Even now the senior ritualist had to turn slowly broadside to accomplish her task, cutting a striking figure as most respected members of the Order of Saint Anne did.
White hair, tinged at the ends with pink faded from the red of Pentecost observances, was beset with curling ringlets at the back below her single devotional clip of repurposed battlesteel engraved with an icon of the Martyrs of New Sevastopol, and devoutly shaved up both sides and at the nape of her neck. Her features had been sharp as a novice, now a softer with added weight of experience, and a softer outlook on life. A monoblade-thin figure had of course vanished as soon as she took the lesser schema and born her first brood. Hormones and ritual oils had softened her dark skin in a way most nobles could only avariciously dream of matching. Hips that had been incongruously wide were now well supported by her large, firm thighs, the result of much labor rather than intentional exercise. At her core, the reason she moved with such care not to sweep lit candles to the floor or jolt herself to a stop against a railing, was the great life-giving shape of her belly.
Round, not truly spherical, or even really oblate, as everything rested against rather fixed points. Such things as exact measurements were needed for health reasons, plus record keeping, by the nursing sisters, but for her they were simply numbers. She could not reach all the way out to the leading edge of her belly, requiring the attendance of the several-armed bot that hovered alongside her draped in seals and prayer parchment, for any task that exceeded her grasp. In ancient days such size would have excited shock, fear, and perhaps divine appreciation among the sensible. But since the Second Age, the sisters of St. Anne had made such gravidity a sign of devotion to the Gods, though it was a burden few wished to take such a upon themselves.
In her youth on Symeon VI, Theo had thought little of the rarely sighted broodnuns. It was a miserable planet, ill-tended by the church or government authorities as it produced little in the way of tithe other than prodigious amounts of great yams. In her unenlightened state she had been burdened with regrets and sins far heavier than any burden she carried with the Gods’ grace to animate her. Igumeni Rhoxane had seen more than a vicious child, without empathy or love. She was infinitely grateful for that introduction to the true church and the Gods, more than she was to any other mortal being. When they had sat belly to belly in the ritual chapel of the Cathedral of St. Pelagia, there had been no need for words to interrupt the holy chant of the milking angels as hands explored the extent of the other’s devotion.
Here, however, she had received the ultimate temporal approbation possible. As she reached down to quietly decrease the load bearing strain of the counter-grav discs that enabled her more dexterous work. Theo didn’t even wobble with the sudden increase in mass, simply sighing in pleasure at feeling the full weight of her young again. Her turquoise and red trimmed vestments rested naturally again, the stone carved icons and medals that weighted them to hang against her womb without slipping now carried the duty of keeping things decent as long as necessary.
As Protocantor, all rites of impregnation were within her supervision. Others might seek, even lust, for the worldly power of archimandrite, protohegumen, or archbishopess. For her, there was no greater satisfaction than the order’s mission. Saint Anne was older than the worlds they lived on now. There had been others of the forename, but none accorded the respect of going without an epithet, for Saint Anne was one of the Theopatores. The mother of the Blessed Virgin, who had been conceived and born after it had been thought impossible by those people of Holy Earth. When those ancient church mothers of the Last Epoch had turned the creations of the Sethian priests against them, they had revealed a divine blessing. A family no longer had to end when there was no apparent heir. Dynasties nor craftswomen nor any other person. The Gods had delivered a blessing, that they could deliver to the people, so that they might believe.
She waddled into the chapel proper, beneath the transparent dome, with its slowly rotating wheel of stars in the void beyond, the molten gold tracery shaping the divine constellations as they passed, icons of the saints reaching down their blessing from the heavens to the shoulders of mortals covered the arching walls around them. This evening’s service was simple in its vast importance; to guide a new sister through her first breeding and to accept herself an additional offering from an honored knight of the church. Space had been made, the comfortable, simple cushioning laid out by her and her assistant bot this morning, incense now lit, lighting lowered to allow the divine starlight to bless their actions. All was in readiness. Except her charges.
At the archway leading to the chancel, two attendants with finally smoothed, silver decorated space-violet finish waited in cybernetic silence. Only needed if the Gods were more generous than expected, Theo greeted them in passing as she quietly shuffled up to peek out into the sanctuary. Even years of broodnun training could melt away when faced with the great ritual of breeding at last. And it was certainly possible that the holy soldier had not been properly instructed to enter the chapel. Or he might also be nervous! Even the greatest fighters sometimes quailed before a reward for their holy devotion.
Turquoise wrapped dome poked out first, chest rocking forward against the limits of its support almost immediately after to grant her vision of the church. Her assistant, hovering above towards the arch’s key, could have simply reported back the necessary information. But this moment called for a reassuring, human touch, one reveling in her holy duty. Sure enough, by the time the dimmed overhead flicker of synthetic light fluttered on her fair hair, the white and blue vestments of her waiting seeker swim into view.
Shorter than her, with the lovely build of a farmer, sturdy, well-adjusted to life on her native Nikios. Theo tried not to project the future onto a newly tonsured sister, but there were great things ahead for her. The younger woman is mid-bow as Theo catches her elbow, holding her from the gesture. It was not her place any longer. Also the gesture would have buried her face into the protocanter’s shrouded belly.
“Menodora. I’m so glad to see you,” she says at a low murmur, “Your devotion to prayer is admirable, but today is a day of action before the Lords of the Stars.”
There was no need for quiet, but it just felt right to speak gently with the impassive young woman. Her expression may have appeared calm with devotion, her wide eyes revealed anticipation, or fear. The warm words of welcome, with a playful tone, shrunk them a fraction, so Theo held onto her arm, reassuringly stroking it as Mendora was pulled snugly against the side of her chest for a hug. One half of the equation had joined her, and she doubted a knight would be late , so he must have been somewhere within the basilica’s precinct. Her eyes turned towards the rail, and sure enough. The prayers were silent but the movements were obvious.
Ushering the novice through the arch with reassuring words that they will join her in the chapel bed soon, the senior broodnun’s hips swayed even at a gentle pace, footfalls soft in her leggings. At this angle the praying knight slips below the horizon of her belly as she starts to pivot sideways, no less warm in her speaking but with a firmness often needed for the faithful warrior, “Sir Michri? The hour is here.”
“Mm, sister-“ he says, and she assumes that he is finishing his prayers for a moment before rough hands calloused by the inner gloves of power armor cup the bare underside of her belly. Theo leaned into it with a slight huff under her breath, pressing soft, oiled, flesh into his touch. They roamed, focused on her middle, and avoiding the icons that weighted her vestments in place below the epitrachelion. So she slowly rocked her hips, letting him reach further from below. Kisses drew forth a soft ‘ah’ of comfort as his lips worshipfully pressed against her. Now that his attention belonged to her, she turned gently from his grasp.
Garments rustle and he appears beside her, unabashed at his actions, eyes brimming with tears of joy, “My apologies sister, I know it is time for the ritual, but I never expected to be graced with such a favor. All I did was for the Gods and the faith, after what my father had done the line would end with me, justly. My senses were overwhelmed by your holy radiance-“
“Here, Sir Michri, your conduct needs no excuse. All the time you wish to appreciate the shape of my body, and that of Sister Menodora, who awaits us, will come after,” she reminds him gently that perhaps the greatest experience remains ahead of them! Their hands are joined in eagerness, not commanding, since he makes no move to drag her considerable mass, but once again in excitement.
“Your hands!” the Knight has his own surprise to find them marked with healed cuts, unlike the rest of her. The kind that come from flying shards in battle. He clears his throat, centering his attention on her with an upward gaze, “The holy charge, of course, yes, there will be time for intimate worship afterword. I shall follow you, Protocantor.”
Stroking his side gently, Theo bends to plant a kiss on his head, “Of course. Call me Theophania. Or Theo.”
Inside, Menodora did not wait for them. She had removed the vestments of her novitiate, to the thigh high, warm, ribbed knit stockings that were essential on a stationboard environment to stay warm when otherwise bared, the tabard-like skirt of holy emblems joined front and back over the hips by bronzed rings that rested at a steep angle on the slopes of her hips, and the knotted red cords that traced the lines of her body. She was broad at the waist, but flat, fit, with a modest bust, and broad shoulders draped with the stole of ceremony ended with icons of St. Anne.
At the sight of her superior and the honored knight whose reward would transform her into a bearer of the lesser schema, along with a holy brood, she raised her hand to her lips in silent prayer, eyes closed. Theo made the appropriate sign across her belly in return, the knight lowering his head in prayer. By the time his attention was once again on the world, he had fallen into the sort of trap a heathen might set on the battlefield. While he prayed, Theo had positioned herself so that any move back pressed the solid apex of her belly into him, and to move forward would press him into Menodora’s opening arms. He made a muffled gasp, his eyelids aflutter before he reached out to embrace the broodnun before him, awaiting his blessed attention.
It was as if they had worked together in tandem a thousand times, voices lifted together in praise to Saint Anne, the Blessed Virgin, and the Gods. Theo cleared away the belt that secured his robes of plain yellow, arms running along his muscles in a plying way. He was not tense, not now, as hands reached out for the other sister’s hips. A good place to start, he murmured the words as he found each knot along the cord from there to her chest, cupping them affectionately until Menodora murmured for him to press deep, imparting his divinely gifted focus to them as well!
“The way is prepared,” the protocantor declares approvingly as the novitiate draws him forth onto the cushions, waddling solemnly along behind Sir Michri. Finding her mark with her feet, she reaches out for her attendants arms at either side. They helped her safely lower her holy brood to the cushions first, unobserved by the knight, who was drawn an entranced measure further, hands on Menodora’s waist as they exchanged the ritual vows that would ensure it would be his brood that would soon grow within her. When the black-haired woman took his arms, she bid him, “Kneel, Michri.”
He did so, and she stood before him with her naked hips before him while the last of his clothing was removed. She dipped her hands into the oil laid within reach and as she knelt before him brought both hands down his chest, swishing them broadly to paint his chest in it before broadly stroking her own flat stomach in circles and pressing his mouth closed with a kiss. The knight either knew where they were in the ritual, or he was not easily surprised as there was no struggle when Menodora took his hands and pressed him back off his knees. Theo did feel his shoulders twitch when he was laid against her womb, gone by the time her own fingers began to gently stroke his brow and through the ringlets of his hair.
There would be little use for talking from now on, though she did hum a hymn from the Great Song to them as she soothed him. She hadn’t sought a ‘ringer’ for any novitiate seeking full entrance to the order, but the response of Michri to Menodora’s movements was certainly impressive in her experience! With no hands below the waist, he was waiting fully erect, surging with fervor now as the sturdy woman drew her hands from where they had still been tenderly interwoven with his to grip both thighs before her. There couldn’t be too much done now, although often Theo could recall having to spend considerable time with her mouth at this stage.
Her novitiate clearly had no intent of leaving things in there present dry state, as she sunk down in one smooth movement to envelope the head of his shaft with her lips. He moaned, of course, and her fingers tightened a bit as she kept the path of her head’s travel shallow for the moment. More importantly, as she plunged deeper Menodora kept a slow, lubricating pace. Not wishing to make things more delicate, Theo switched her focus to a slow, relaxing massage of the muscles he was about to use most vigorously. Satisfied that things were both willing and ready, she pulled back, licking her lips clean before a deep breath.
Menodora rose fully on her knees now, hands atop the protocantor’s as she straddled Michri. With one confident motion, she plunged him inside, belly tightening fiercely as a real live cock was thrust so far in at once! Practice could only prepare one so much, and Theo thought she was handling the shock admirably. The lifeguard was still there, but the pupil was handling the deep end well, already finding a rhythm that was pressing him hard into her warm, solid belly at each downswing. The knight too caught up with his own motion, reaching up to cling to her thighs with an excited torrent of blessings and thankfulness, hips rising from the cushions only to quickly be shoved back down. It was a beautiful mating drive, seeking pleasure for both of them without sacrificing the time they had to impart his divine gift to her.
Leaned forward her fists were balled against his chest, and then bringing their hands back together as her movement began to draw slowly along his full length. Menodora extended to kiss him fully, mouth to mouth, before the weight of her hips fell back down hard upon him. Perfectly timed, he erupted together with her, joined by their faith and their love in this moment. She rested heavily upon him, but was still bounced by the movement of his powerful legs upward, though not enough to affect their breeding. This moment would never be repeated. Michri was full witness to the slight outward bend to that wide plain of belly above him. It seemed impossible, it took months for such a sign to show, but the Gods were not limited by humanity’s timetables.
It spread slowly from the epicenter, beneath the well of Menodora’s belly button, rounding her out subtly, like a large meal at first but then the knotted red cord that webbed her over began to bend aside, stretching as it became a proper bump. She praised the Gods in that moment, lifting his hands to feel as she moaned even deeper. The power built as everything surging within her caught up, and beneath their touch, smooth skin bulged outward with the tide of development within! New life where all hope had been lost!
Menodora looked well overdue now with multiple children, triplets or more, and still her belly pressed outward, round, and heavy against the knight. He was trapped between the two broodnuns for the moment but this state only lead to further thrusting up into his dam. Her bare chest was beginning to get a bit of bouncing heft to it as this second surge struck, and together their mating was no less loving but far more forceful. Not unheard of, but Theo couldn’t help the smile that turned up her mouth. She would be diving into the deep end of learning to handle her newly increased size as well. Ah, at least she had an experienced tutor. They were finishing, and she struggled, arms braced, to rise. Finding this impossible, her eyes briefly glazed before the black-haired nun remembered the attendants.
Shakily she gestured for them to grasp under her arms and lift her clear of Michri, rendering him invisible to her as for the first time the wide horizon of her womb, full of his brood, blocked her ability to look down. Not to mention the very fully feeling, still settling, weights above it. She managed to give the benediction, flagging quickly as the adrenaline wore off, before the attendant bots gently laid her down, well covered in the mix of their own fluids. Before he could make a move, Theo lightly drew him back against her womb.
“You have done well, but your work is not yet finished,” she said with a deep, husky whisper. Guiding him into laying down against her, she turned him until his well-soaked shaft was before her. To complete his reward, she had to prepare him again. A difficult task in a less fit, or less eager man. All Theo had to do to him now was begin to slowly tease his shaft from the glans down, his fingers finding their way under her vestments providing additional excitement evidently. He was quickly at full fighting strength again, albeit devoutly stroking her belly in their reversed positions. It was her turn to draw upon the mechanical strength of the bots, assisting her up before she in turn drew the knight to his feet.
He followed obediently towards the font, the orientation for the ritual burned into his mind. Either that or the sight of the already greatly laden Theophania simply pulled him along with her gravity. White hair and dark skin gleaming in the starlight, she easily bent forward, laying her belly between the supporting arm rests and letting it hang suspended nearly to the floor within Michri’s view. He took a broad stride and was upon her, rear of her robe displaced with alacrity as he wrapped her in a tight hug, arms against the broad curves of her womb. They were pressed together as he plowed hard into her, better than a great many of her current brood’s fathers, enough to make the great pendulum weight of her bust and belly swing with the force of each impact.
They were drawn tightly together, although Theo knew it was impossible, even with divine assistance, to last very long on the third breeding. She was encouraging, loving with her words of approbation as he hammered her in a resoundingly pleasing way! The knight had a natural talent for the task, it was fortunate that the Gods had guided him to them after all these years. It could have so easily gone to waste without the Order’s intervention. Before she even realized it, Theo came. There was the initial flutter even after these many years that her water had broken, but instead it was her own orgasm, then his rushing to increase her weight.
The effect was much more noticeable in short order, the swell of her broad, firm middle visibly stretching lower before their very eyes. Well, his, Theo had to make do with the exquisite feeling of her brood being joined by new siblings! She was climaxing again in short order as her belly button, firmly outward of course, was pressed into the cool floor by her continued growth. When her assistantbot orb gingerly guided him back, panting, strength flagging, for proper electrolytes, she lay there, glazed, dazed, and recovering herself from the straw of her appearing drink.
It did not take her long, to Sir Michri’s amazement. He was already wonderingly encircling Menodora’s womb with his touch but now Theo’s warm, weighty belly pressed against his back. He was sandwiched between the broodnuns for the moment, until they both joined hands and stepped aside together, belly to belly. The profile alone was stunning, and the knight was staggered with gratitude as Theo gave her own benediction. The ritual was completed, his line would prosper, for the betterment of the faith and the kingdom! Theo graced her new sister’s lips with a deep kiss of her own as they now were forced to meet sideways. With her own sun fully up, a new dawn was here for Menodora as well!